(no subject)

[mycursedface]

Medusa, living as she does in a cave, is still not entirely used this whole having doors business. Nor is she used to knocking, but it wasn't all that long ago that she was living here, so she remembers to knock.

And hope that Sam's in.

And that he isn't...busy.

(she has the invitation in her hand)

Comments

[mycursedface]

"Ye-es?"

[necessary_child]

"Nothing," he murmurs, and kisses her again.

[mycursedface]

It's very hard to think and worry and remember (him) when Sam's kissing her. She really hopes he won't stop. So she trails her fingers across his back, traces out designs and runs and abstract patterns, perfectly content.

If he wants anything more, he's going to have to initiate it himself.

[necessary_child]

Sam has no plans to stop, as such. But he's still, when all is said and done, very much Sam.

So as Medusa's fingers trace patterns over his skin, his own clever fingers are running down her sides and around the waist of her skirt, tracing and tugging and teasing-- but just playing, for the moment.

[mycursedface]

She kisses his neck, her snakes sliding over his shoulder because they are that damn close. Her fingers glide down his spine and she pulls back, just enough to look at him with a question in her face.

[necessary_child]

Sam smiles at her, leaning up to kiss her briefly before pulling away a little way again.

"Y'okay, Beautiful?"

[mycursedface]

"I..." A quick smile. "Yeah, I am. Um." Her hands settle on his hips.

"Bit nervous, I guess."

[necessary_child]

"Do you want me to stop?"

[mycursedface]

A deep breath.

"No."

[necessary_child]

Sam's watching her with wide, careful eyes.

"You say stop, we stop, Meda. However far we go, no questions asked. I swear it." He doesn't touch her; at least, no more than he already is.

[mycursedface]

"I know, Lucifer. I trust you. And I want...you. This. I'm just...still nervous."

[necessary_child]

"I know."

This time, he reaches up to cup her cheek with one hand.

"It'll be okay, Beautiful. If not now, then in the end."

[mycursedface]

A wry smile.

"But it can't get okay if I don't work on it."

[necessary_child]

Sam smiles back at her.

"And I think I like the idea of working on it," he says, and kisses her.

[mycursedface]

Well, good.

At least, Medusa would say that, if her mouth wasn't otherwise engaged.

[necessary_child]

But isn't this much more fun than saying things?

Well, if it isn't, Sam has been falling down on the job. And that's the sort of thing he likes to discourage. His hands slide around Medusa again, tracing patterns and designs over her back.

[mycursedface]

It...is, actually. Saying things means Medusa can end up tripping over her own words and not saying exactly what she means, but here...

Here she can kiss him, have her hands ghost over his skin until they reach the buckle of his belt, and there really isn't much room for misunderstandings.

[necessary_child]

There's absolutely no misunderstanding that wriggle from Sam, as he kisses her a little more fiercely.

[mycursedface]

It's a good thing that Medusa can multitask, really. Of course, that kiss make her fingers slip, but it doesn't take that long for her clever fingers to undo Sam's belt and slowly start to pull it off.

[necessary_child]

Sam's own light, artist's fingers trail down to the small of her back then around her hips, finding the catches on her skirt and neatly undoing them.

[mycursedface]

While this does mean that wriggling out of said clothing is easier, she also has to wriggle off him to do so.

...She'll leave that, for the moment. He still has a fly to undo, after all.

[necessary_child]

Sam groans, softly, as she eases the zip down. He wriggles out of his trousers as best he can, running his hands down her skin.

[mycursedface]

Right. A certain amount of slipping off is needed here (damn skirts. stupid knickers), but Medusa is very, very soon back and kissing him. She's nervous, yes, but she wants him so damn much, and at the moment desire has the upperhand.

[necessary_child]

Sam wriggles against her, kissing her fiercely, hands tracing surprisingly gentle lines over her skin, down to the small of her back.

[mycursedface]

Medusa winds an arm around his shoulder and she's close enough to him that's all just skin sliding against skin (well, also scales, given her snakes). Her wings, already partially unfolded so they don't bend painfully against the bed, are also moving. Not much, just...restless, even as she runs her nails lightly down his spine.