scots_wolf | RP post: Saffron

"I met him," Urquhart says, "and had to beat him up; then I met him again in female shape and took him to bed. Where he didn't exactly garner glory. He's got lots to learn if he ever wants to be any good at it."

"So he's the one who was a little less-than-satisfactory," Saffron murmurs, hiding her grin against his shoulder.

"Come to think of it, his younger self did leave something to be desired, but I have had both past and present, and I can guarantee you: he has gotten better with age."

"Oh, good to know," Urquhart says, reaching out for his own glass of sangria. "I thought I might have to teach him the hard way. But if you say he learns anyway, I needn't bother."

"Wisdom comes with age," she murmurs, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head.

"Especially in the art of sex."

Urquhart sits as well, and drinks deeply. "It does," he agrees. "Sometimes. Sometimes, foolishness and delusions come with age."

He thinks of Blithildis Overstolz, and shudders briefly.

"Ready for more?"

"Mmm. Well, it's a give-and-take, aging."

Personally, she's going to resist it for as long as she possibly can. Saffron lifts an eyebrow at his question.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I think I need a little longer," Urquhart says, "but I guess I can try what wine with fruit and Saffron is like, in the meanwhile?"

Her grin widens, turns more devious, her fingers twining through the ends of his long hair.

"Well, then, don't let me stop you, in the meanwhile."

Urquhart disentangles himself, refills the sangria glass, and slides down to crouch between her legs.

He spreads them a little and ponders what he finds there.

And pulls a slice of mango from the glass.

She props herself up on her elbows, watching him with mild curiosity.

As he settles between her legs, a shiver of anticipation runs down her spine, and she draws her lower lip in with her teeth.

Urquhart lets the mango drip, casually, over her mound of Venus, and onto her folds, then slides its slick, sticky wetness through there, to meet that which is there already.

He eats the piece of fruit, then bends to lick the juices.

She gasps, a sudden intake of breath, as the chilled fruit drips slowly over her heated flesh and then slides, slick and sticky, between her legs.

Her fingers comb through his hair, palm cupping the back of his head, urging him there with a soft hiss and a moan as he descends to lick at her.

"Fruit with Saffron is delicious," he murmurs, lips moving on her folds, tickling softly while his tongue delves deeper, tasting and rubbing.

Another shudder wracks her system, followed by a breathy sigh; her fingers release their grip on his head to lightly trail down his cheek.

"I'm glad you're enjoying the combination," she manages, gasping again when his tongue presses deep.

"The best," Urquhart assures her, looking up at her. "The very best. This place is paradise, and the Muslims had it right!"

With that cryptic pronouncement, he dips his head again, blond hair sliding over her thighs, as he returns his attention to where it's most wanted at the moment.

She's momentarily at a loss for words, giving herself over to pure sensation as his lips and tongue move over her skin, tasting her, delighting in her. Once again, she's reduced to a helpless, quivering mass of muscles, shaking uncontrollably as he brings her close to her edge.

"What?" Saffron asks, between gasps, her curiosity getting the best of her even as she nears her peak. "What - did they have right?"

"Paradise has the best women, food, and drink," Urquhart says, dripping the juice of a slice of peach onto her folds where they meet in front.

And then, he licks it off with some vigorous rubs of his tongue.

He wants to drive her crazy, she's convinced. He wants to unravel her starting from the top of her head all the way down to the tips of her toes, draw her out like a taut string until she's tensed and trembling and then snap her tight.

She can feel the muscles of her abdomen tightening, her chest rising and falling with erratic breaths, the gasps turning into moans which grow louder in volume.

"And somehow - you've found a way - to combine the two," she murmurs, her whimpers interrupting her words.

"You found it," Urquhart murmurs, against her folds. "You are the true genius here."

And then he says nothing any more, because he dips his tongue deep into her opening.

Better things to do with his mouth than talking.

She's not going to protest his way of thinking, or even say anything to the contrary, not when he's doing what he's doing with his tongue, or the way he presses it right there, enough to make her arch her back and moan his name.

He's definitely found a much better thing to do with his mouth.

She rocks her hips against his mouth, already getting close again.

"So good," she cries.

He chuckles, concentrating now on rubbing the place where her folds come together with its tip, and pushing two fingers inside her, for extra stimulation, as he doesn't have any of those things Tanya had.

She's practically in the throes of her ecstacy, her long hair spilling over her shoulders like living flame as she rocks back and forth against his fingers, rolling her hips.

"Close," she manages, biting on her lower lip, her movements quickening, her hips stuttering against his hand, and when she falls over the edge, her voice catches in her throat as she comes apart above him.

And again, he keeps going as he had learned, pushing fingers inside her, and licking her folds until she will be utterly undone and unravelled.

Soon, it'll be too sensitive, and she'll be forced to urge him away, pressing her hands on his shoulders to gently nudge while she squeezes her thighs together, slowly recovering.

"You're going to be the death of me," she sighs, drawing him up to her, kissing him hungrily to taste peaches and herself on his lips.

He kisses, her, taking her into his arms, warm and strong.

Wolves are cruel. Wolves are tender.

"Tell me to stop before I am," he says. "I want you again, and again, and again. Alive, and not your cold dead corpse."

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