It is what it is, and what it is is an important point of consideration when it comes to sex position.
[She pulls off her skirt and underwear and tosses them aside, then straddles him and lowers herself carefully down. She takes a moment just to breathe, to get used to the feeling of him inside her-
-and then immediately starts bouncing on him with enthusiasm, riding him hard and fast.]
[Yeah, that enthusiasm is noticeable, and he's more-or-less forced to grab onto her thighs just from how much it is; he feels as though he's going to topple right off the sofa from it... or maybe die outright, considering he's still new to this whole "fucking" thing - He needs to mentally catch up with it all, legs spreading and his heel pushing into the arm of his couch like that will somehow slow things down and make it easier to catch up.]
[And also to have a fun time herself, that's also important.
She keeps that same rhythm, a small mercy to make it easier for him to get adjusted to her movements. Grinning down at him, she squeezes her own chest, letting out a shameless moan of,] Louis...
[It may be a small mercy, but it's a mercy nonetheless - it does make it easier to just ease into the speed she's moving at, grinding against her everytime she brings her hips down against his. It's a lot, but it's a good kind of "a lot", he's decided. Like a bath that's just a little bit too hot, but in a way that's pleasant.
...
And then she has to go and do that, which - Well, keeping up with the bath analogy, it's a lot like she's taken a bowl of cold water and dumped it over his head right as he'd gotten used to the heat. His fingers grip at her thighs, nails digging into them, as his expression goes uncertain and wobbly... but he doesn't do anything to stop, either, his own movements against her picking up despite the aches of it all and the nausea still settled in his stomach.
Should he be working so hard? Absolutely not. But what else is he supposed to do in the face of her moaning his name like that?]
[Now that she's slowing down for him, it's clear he's already panting and worn out... but he neither nods nor shakes his head in response, instead just shutting his eyes and leaning his head back against the sofa for a moment. Just a moment, as he thinks of how to explain his thoughts.]
... I... Don't know.
[His grip on her thighs goes firm, now, to try and still her completely. ... With himself still inside her, of course. But it's a gentle "okay, stop, let's talk".]
- Something about hearing it after everything I have done feels... strange. This is not something I've ever felt before - like something in my chest has been wrapped in thorns and vines, tugging tight just hearing you moan like that...
[He goes quiet, hearing that. Clearly needing to think about it, letting out a sigh as he turns it over in his mind.]
... Not as much as I wish it would.
Please, don't get me wrong - I want this so badly... I would love nothing more than to let you ride me like it's going out of fashion. If I had the choice, I'd allow you to fuck me until I fall unconscious. And I feel no shame admitting this.
But somehow, at the same time, it makes me feel as though we're stirring the contents of my chest cavity with a spiked mace.
That sounds cool, actually! I wanna try now. Okay, I'll definitely learn! ...I guess between Music Club and work and quests and dates and friend stuff and taking the kids out to do fun things and making food and missions and...
Oh, no, no-- I am certain that if we stop, I'll burst into flames and perish right here on the spot.
We Grim Reapers are resilient, able to handle everything from mortal wounds, to starvation, to hyperthermia, all without batting an eye - but we aren't immune to being blueballed. Unfortunately.
[Notably, he's not letting go of her thighs at all. No getting up yet, they're not done??]
... I just - Feel we must address the elephant in the room. In that, as always, whatever is happening in my head is a confusing, garbled mess that not even I follow along with most days, and it's chosen this as something to be quite a bit more confusing and garbled about. I think I am feeling...
[He trails off, looking to the side as he clearly tries his best to untangle the multicolored, hallucinogenic mess that is his own thought patterns - And then, with a tone in his voice as if this is the most alien word he has ever heard and could choose to say:]
Well... yes - you are right about that. A normal person... they would look back at such actions and feel remorse, wouldn't they?
[His hold on her thighs lightens up a bit, and he starts to rub one of his thumbs in a little circle against her skin.]
... That I feel it at all is a testament to you and your ability to worm your way inside of people, you know. I can't remember a time where I have felt it this strongly - and for reasons beyond disliking the consequences.
Of which there have been none, mind you; somehow, I am walking away from my crimes completely scot-free, and instead of being happy about such a thing... it feels wrong.
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