sampippy | Outside Voorhees Hall, Columbia University, New York, Thursday

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Outside Voorhees Hall, Columbia University, New York, Thursday

What was a girl to do when her first year of college was about a week away from being over and she was desperate for one last boost in coolness in the eyes of her peers (namely, her three roommates)? Why, obviously the answer was to invite a guy over! Specifically, a guy she'd slept with like a year ago and who she - let's face it - barely knew aside from that. But he was impressive! Or at least impressively hot, and, also he was nice even if Xanthippe was loathe to admit that was a positive quality in anyone.

So she'd invited Hyacinthe over for a visit. And she'd gone and picked him up on the edge of campus and walked him through it and now they were here, right outside her dorm. It was one of those imposing brown brick buildings, old as rocks and heavy with history.

The sign outside said VOORHEES HALL.

"So, yeah," she said, looking up at the building. At her side, her fingers were fidgeting with the edge of her overly lengthy sleeve. "This is where I live now."

In a building with her last name on it.

[ooc: NFB due to distance, and for the boy mentioned!]

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"I suppose 'twas," Hyacinthe agreed, hiding a grin by kissing her throat. "Did I have to guess, though, I would say our worlds diverged at Elua's birth. They remain the same through Yeshua's death and resurrection--including, then, the glory that is your namesake--but then split off."

"Yeah, guess that makes sense." On a scale of Fandom, anyway. She sighed - for nothing else but the feel of his lips. "Weird."

"I agree," Hyacinthe told her, catching her skin in his teeth and nipping. "Your world is very strange."

Probably not what she meant, but hey. He enjoyed the tease.

"Uh, you're in my dorm room," Xanthippe pointed out, raising her eyebrows and snickering. Her hand tan back through his hair, fingers getting tangled up in the curls. "So I think that here, my world's totally the normal one."

"I make it a habit to rarely argue with a lady in her own boudoir," Hyacinthe said, eyes sliding closed at the feeling of her hand in his hair. "So instead, I shall just stay quiet..."

Well, at least until he groaned a little. But details.

Xanthippe snickered again.

"That didn't sound quiet."

So she tugged on his hair a little.

"But 'twas not an argument, though," he pointed out with a pleased sigh. "I believe I can be forgiven for being unable to stay silent when you tease."

"But, what if I, like..."

She paused to bite the side of her lip. It didn't look as much like an insecure thing as it sometimes did - the corners of her mouth were pulling into a kind of a shy smirk.

"Wanted you to be quiet?"

She was trying to figure out this whole 'being in charge' thing.

"Well, first, I suppose, you'd need to tell me what I'd get for following those instructions," Hyacinthe said, giving her a slow grin. "And, perhaps more importantly, what I'd get if I didn't."

Xanthippe's face scrunched up. "That sounds like a ton of detail," she said. "I don't know if you've, like, earned that much detail."

As far as she was concerned, he'd earned just about anything he could think to wish for, but, for the sake of a game...

"Yeah, I don't think you have."

Hyacinthe grinned at her, eyes warm and approving, then leaned down to nuzzle at her throat. "Might I humbly inquire how I could earn that detail?" he asked, voice soft and respectful, but with an undercurrent of amusement.

For the sake of a game, he was happy to play along.

"Maybe by kissing my neck."

There was a random bit of warmth in her voice, brought on by the warmth in his eyes.

"Also, you should like... put your hands on my ass." Because she didn't like when random guys grabbed at her - obviously - but he was more than welcome to. "But no promises."

"Of course not," he assured her. "I live but to serve, mam'selle." His hands slid over her rear, cupping her with strong fingers, enough to lift her up a moment before settling her back down onto his hips. He leaned forward, brushing her hair aside with his nose, and placing a soft kiss on the pale, vulnerable skin of her throat. "You'd like to have me serve you, hmmm?" he asked, voice deep and rich as chocolate. "A whim, a demand, and 'tis done, my face buried 'tween your breasts or your thighs, begging for the opportunity to please you once more."

Xanthippe made a whiney noise, because his voice was unfair. Especially like that. It was easy for her to completely lose her track of thought just by listening to him.

Apparently.

"Beg?" she mumbled, trying to get a hold of what she'd just been thinking. Planning. "I'd like that."

He thrust up against her, their conversation having a fairly predictable response on him and he thought she might appreciate the sentiment. Plus, she just felt amazing against his body, warm and soft and still a little slick. "For the chance to get more of this, I would," he murmured. "Or was that a command?"

"No," she sighed as his thrust made her make a little downwards grinding motion of her own in response. She shook her head - then said, "But this is."

And she straightened up more, pushing herself upright so that she wasn't sitting back on her heels but was instead kneeling over him, depriving him of some very crucial skin-to-skin contact.

"Beg."

Her voice only faltered a little bit!

Before he could beg, he needed to get some quality whining in there at suddenly being deprived of her warmth that feeling. Just a small sound, deep in his throat, but it got across his feelings of deprivation quite nicely.

"Please, cherie," he said, looking up into her eyes. "It kills me not to touch you. I would do anything--anything--you ask of me, Xanthippe. But I need to touch you, taste you, make you cry out. I need to feel you, please."

That whining of his had been hot. It turned her on, and being turned on gave her confidence.

"Not good enough."

Ooh, that one actually sounded convincing! Guess what she needed was to tap into her Mean Girl side, even if he wasn't someone she desperately needed to be lower than her on the steps to popularity. No, she was pretty keen on him being exactly where he was.

She pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "I mean, you're saying 'anything', but that's, like, way too easy. I want specifics." Or fodder for figuring out her next move.

"Do you want me on my knees?" Hyacinthe asked. "I'd beg first, and then offer the languissement, my tongue deep inside you. I'd kiss my way up your legs, starting from your perfect ankles, cherie, and all the way up, until I could suck each nipple into my mouth, like sweet cherries."

... Seriously, though? Was this how sex was supposed to be like, because most of Xanthippe's experiences since starting at Columbia were just -- so, so far from this.

"Maybe," she said, like that hadn't just made her feel weak in the knees. (Which was a fun thing to feel when you were currently on your knees.) "I think you should be on your knees, and you should like, totally beg to get to put your tongue i-- on me."

Being explicit was a thing she was in the process of learning. But, she was already shifting off him, because how else would he be able to do what she said.

"Right now."

Hyacinthe had heard that stumble, Xanthippe. He knew what you'd intended to ask.

He slid off the bed and fell to the knees in one fluidly graceful movement, like a dancer falling into place. "Stand for me," he said, tugging her knee to bring her closer. "You should stand while I do this. You'll like the way it feels."

Powerful. She deserved to feel powerful and glorious.

Xanthippe kind of counted on him to hear things. And notice things. It helped, probably, when she was too skittish to go all the way with an expression or a gesture.

Standing up was easy, though. Or at least she thought so until she was actually standing up - because then she suddenly felt exposed and self-conscious.

She was trying to fight through it, though. Looking down at him helped. He was kneeling for her, and she couldn't say that didn't thrill her.

He knelt before her further; he'd promise to start at her ankles and work his way up, had he not? And he was a man of his word, so 'twas with lips and tongue that he made his way slowly up, letting the anticipation build. When he was upright again, he murmured, "Slide your hands into my hair, cherie," before continuing his ascent.

He kissed the back of her knee. Nipped the soft skin of her inner thigh. Dragged his tongue up through the wetness that covered her skin and nuzzled her soft curls, trying to stoke her desire to new heights.

Well, that solved the problem of what to do with her hands. She would've hated to just be fidgeting with them, no matter how nicely it would've gone with the self-consciousness.

But sliding her fingers into his hair felt natural. It felt like it grounded her in the moment - though watching and feeling him work his way up her legs had done its fair share for that, too. Anticipation was building.

She shivered.

He looked up at her and winked. "Pull my head away do you wish to tell me to stop," he said, voice teasing, "and in, do you wish me to do more of the same."

And then he was diving back between her legs, his tongue following that seam between them.

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