pathography | the one where things get messy.

The stutter might be funnier if the whuff of air didn't send a little shiver of heat down her neck and through her scalp. A ticklish, tingling sensation that seeps all the way down into her belly.

The way he holds her doesn't hurt. It's not common for Vex to feel like she's being treated as though she's... valuable, she supposes. It's not a thought she cares to examine too closely, and she looks at her own reaction to it even less, but there's no denying the way it turns something inside of her soft and makes her bold.

She squirms a little closer to him, if that's even possible. As though if she wiggles gently and just right she can find a way to nest fully flush in the hollow of his chest.

"Are you always so honorable?"

Her body aligns easily with his, her ass resting against his hips and her shoulder blades making a home against his chest. She's not much shorter than him, just enough that he has to tilt his head down to settle it beside hers. (Forward, incredibly forward, even as he's aware his prick's nestled against her bare ass right now. There's something far more intimate about his cheek pressed to hers.)

She speaks, and on some level, Percy's aware of the right things to say - or at least that there is a right thing. Flirt back, give her the kind of answer that suggests he could drop the honorable act for the sake of carousing.

But when he hears the word, he thinks of Cassandra's blood soaking into the land of their ancestors. Years spent in hiding, doing anything and everything he had to in order to get closer to his goals. Dreams of revenge, at any cost. He's many things, but he's quite sure he left honorable behind long ago.

"No." He took too long to answer, forgot to breathe for a few long moments. His abdomen's tensed like he's expecting to be punched. "But tonight - for you, I can be."

It might not be the right thing to say, if there is such a thing, but it isn't the wrong thing either. The words have the hallmark honesty that arrested Vex's attention in the first place. While she's sure Percy has his secrets (don't they all?) and far more than that, he has those parts of her she'd have no reason to know of because their association has been so short, he's shown now more than once that given the choice between an expedient lie and the truth, he'll choose the truth.

It's certainly isn't something she's used to. And it makes her believe in his reactions more—not that she thinks anyone could fake this kind of awkwardness he displays, but it does dispel any notions that he's humoring her.

That combines with his answer to send a ripple of surprised pleasure through her.

A silly thing, but—

"I don't know that anyone's ever felt the need to be honorable on my account," Vex says, turning toward him, letting their cheeks brush.

Her ass rocks against him subtly, tantalizing and very intentional. As though to make a point.

"But far be it from me to dissuade you."

"Well - that's a shame." His breath hitches as she shifts in his embrace; he's aware with a renewed vigor of the way his prick's nestled against her ass, how obvious it'll be if he gets hard. (How much he suspects she'd enjoy that.) He'd hardly have to move at all in order to kiss her, and he doubts she'd mind if he did. He doesn't kiss her. "I think you merit some honor, Vex'ahlia."

They're in a public place, however ill-traveled right now, which makes the desire to kiss her inconvenient...but he can't possibly think that she's going to lead him up to her room at the inn, in front of every member of her party, he realizes. Here might be the plan, and he might have been naive for thinking otherwise.

On the other hand, she might be banking on the possibility that everyone else will be in a drunken stupor by the time they return. (He can't quite fathom the idea that she wouldn't mind being seen with him in a delicate context.) It seems safest not to assume, and to let her decide just where things go from here. He's been reliant on her generosity thus far, to no real harm; she can continue to call the shots.

Percy doesn't pull away, but he doesn't breach the last breath of space between them, either, tempting though her full lips and soft expression are. He watches her steadily, leaving the decision open for her.

Vex has wondered if Percy would kiss her. She figured it more or less even odds, and honestly she's not sure which she'd hoped for. Both were entirely valid moves in the game she's playing, and both she knew she'd enjoy. Her plan, such as it is, has been to see how she can wind this pretty, posh boy up before he unravels on her, and either way it's easy to tease.

Then he says that, and she's left without a strategy. It's not flirtatious and it's not playful, there's no deflection.

The words unbalance her, briefly, as the part of her that finds them intensely gratifying wars with the part that refuses to believe it. Not that she thinks he's lying, exactly, but Percy doesn't know her. Even if he does mean it now he'll learn better in time.

Likely not all that much of it.

So she does the first thing that comes to mind, the thing that will make her feel in control of the situation again: she turns her head and she kisses him, finding his mouth with all the hunger of a cat holding a mouse under her paw.

Which is to say she's starving.

But also patient enough to play with her food.

Percy knows, on some level, that startling at a kiss at this point is absurd - there's no world in which Vex's lips don't find his eventually. But his first instinct is still tension, his biceps taut and hands grasping tighter at her shoulder and hip.

It's only a moment, though, his first jittery instincts taken over by a kind of heartsick need that lives nearly as deep within him. There's no patience in the way he responds, only desires so desperate that they've forgotten all shame. He moves her - or himself, he won't be sure later - so they're facing each other fully, pulling her flush to him again. He doesn't remember to worry about what his mouth tastes like or whether prior experience has made him an acceptable partner or where to put his hands.

(That last one is easy, in fact. Running entirely on his own impulses, one warm palm rests at her cheek, fingertips massaging into her hairline. The other is at the small of her back, splaying toward her ass.)

When he draws back, he's breathless and wide-eyed and suddenly all too aware of his lanky arms and the dirt slowly sloughing off his abdomen. The way he felt all of that below the metaphorical belt, his body's burgeoning response to her attention.

"I - can't." No, you idiot, she'll get the wrong idea. He hurries to add, "Not yet - I'm not, er, subjecting you to anything until after -"

He waves at the soap, struggling to find a polite, unpresumptuous way to say I'd like to clean everything down there before you touch it.

There's a brief moment when he pushes her away—not something Vex experiences often—where she stares at him, surprise and something like disappointment on her faces, turning her mouth into an uncertain pout.

Then his words sink in and she laughs, all pleasure and breathless relief.

"Darling..." she trails off, forging through the water to reach for the soap.

"Are you saying we need to get you clean before you let me dirty you up again?"

"Yes." Percy's shoulders slump, an embarrassed smile on his lips. Under other circumstances, laughter might kill his nerve, but right now, it's a massive relief. Anything to know he hasn't murdered this night in its cradle - after that kiss, he doesn't want to lose the pleasure of her company. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

She moves away in search of the soap, and he follows without hesitation. Staying near to her feels increasingly vital.

Luckily this isn't the wrong type of laugh to have bubble up during sex. It isn't directed at Percy. Instead, it's a release of tension, and... well, with any luck, something they can both find slight absurd.

Fucking someone for the first time is usually at least a bit absurd, in Vex's experience.

But not less intoxicating because of it. She finds the soap and turns on him, the water somehow making every motion both smoother and more laborious as she reaches.

"Let's get on that."

"I - yes," he agrees. "Let's."

If he's nervous - and he is - it's anticipatory now, the same spark of hope and expectation that comes with firing the pepperbox after modifying it. He's trying this, adjusting his approach, and he'll see what he gets in return.

For now, he stands before her in wait, watching her every move. It goes without saying, he suspects, that he's at her mercy here; she can do with him what she wishes.

It's fortunate that he agrees. Not that Vex wouldn't have stopped if he asked, but it would have spoiled the moment, interrupted the flow of things. And to some degree, all he has to do is not interrupt.

Vex is happy to take the lead, whether it's initiating the kiss or cleaning Percy to her standards.

To her credit, she doesn't reach for his cock immediately. She goes back to his chest to start working her way down. Picking up where she left off, as it were—and also making him wait as she lavishes attention on every inch of his body.

Now is when he thinks where do I put my hands? Touching her clearly isn't out of bounds, but the idea of it seems uncomfortably intimate right now; standing there with his arms at his sides makes him feel like a ragdoll. It's the easier choice, though, and so he resigns himself to being her limp plaything.

Well.

Not as limp as he'd like, in one area. Her hands scrub soap over his chest and down his stomach and sides, and his prick responds as though it's the guest of honor at a banquet. He's standing at full attention before she reaches his hips, his gaze somewhere over and to the side of her head, as though pretending he's not aware of just how desperate this must look. (Her touch may as well be magic, though - she skims over him with exactly the right pressure, missing none of him on the way, and he's apparently lacking in self-control. Not that he expects she'll mind, but her tolerance doesn't quite ease his embarrassment.)

Vex wouldn't describe herself as tolerating Percy and his reactions, anymore than than she tolerates food when she visits an inn. While it might not be the only or the ultimate draw of staying the night, it's certainly something she expects when she comes in the door. It's something she'd be disappointed if she found it missing.

She didn't invite herself to join a filthy, lonely young man in the bath, she didn't offer to help clean him, because she's interested in his self-control.

If he didn't respond when her fingers skated down over his hips, following the lines toward his prick, Vex would have been disappointed.

From the way her brows lift and she meets his eyes, her lip curl slightly, he's the recipient of far more than her tolerance.

"You alright with me cleaning this too, darling?"

See, that's embarrassing, too. All of this is embarrassing - someone could walk in at any moment, he hardly knows her, and explaining any of this to her compatriots is going to be supremely awkward if it comes up.

But it doesn't seem like the bathhouse gets a lot of clientele at this hour. He's technically getting to know her now, albeit in an unconventional fashion. And if everyone's kept drinking at the same rate, they'll be utterly annihilated by now. He can't actually find a good reason to try and put an end to things, except for sex itself is embarrassing and I don't want her to decide I am, too.

(For someone he hardly knows, her opinion's come to matter a great deal in the last hour or so.)

"That -" and he gives her a weak smile, trying to make the joke of it clear - "is what I've signed up for, as I understand it."

Perhaps more importantly, he might spontaneously combust if she doesn't.

A pleased hum, as though the admission itself were a treat—something she'd been hoping for. That might not itself be the case, not exactly, but she'd be lying if she didn't find it enticing.

And she's not especially interested in holding back when she's enticed just now. It's rare she gives herself this kind of outlet—always too many reasons not to—so when she indulges, she likes to get the most out of the opportunity.

Now that means that she doesn't just let her hand fall to his cock, wrapping around the shaft and giving him a firm squeeze. She also leans into him, she arches against his chest, free hand slipping around Percy's shoulders while she explores his responses to her touch.

Her eyes are trained on his face for every reaction.

Her hand wraps around him, and everything leaves his head. Self-consciousness stands no chance against her touch, and her touch is everywhere. Closed around his length, pressed against his torso, hooked gently around his shoulders - taking up his space kindly but insistently, until there's the water and there's Vex'ahlia and nothing else exists. The whole village could walk in here, and his wide eyes would be fixed on hers still, his arms slowly coming around her in a loose embrace.

No encounter has ever felt quite like this before. Nothing he's done with another person has pulled him so thoroughly from the thoughts that haunt him at all hours. Later, he'll reason it away: He's tired, he's lonely, she just broke him out of prison. Right now, it feels like the best kind of magic, to feel someone else taking control for him. God, but he doesn't want to have to be in control anymore.

Looking at her is like looking at the sun, though - more than a moment, and it's too intense to bear. Percy dips his head, pressing his cheek to hers, hiding his face in her wet hair.

The weight of Percy's gaze is palpable, heavy and heady. It goes straight to the part of her that longs for approval, to be special. She doesn't interrogate too closely how intoxicating that is, or how it soothes an ache in her that never quite goes away. In the moment, at least, she's beautiful and she's powerful and he wants her enough to risk being caught in a public place.

As stuffy and clearly well bred as Percival de Rolo is, the fact she doubts he's the kind of man to forget himself so easily, it's more flattering than he probably knows.

And it only encourages her as she explores him. She's not shy about it, feeling his length, stroking down it, and further still to cup his balls. It's not all pretext. She's sure that his more intimate areas need the attention as much or more than his shoulders or his chest did. That doesn't mean she doesn't exploit the excuse for all it's worth.

Vex is rather proud of her ability to multitask.

There has yet to be a moment when she didn't carry power and beauty in the palm of her hand - especially now, when her palm's pressing against parts of him he doesn't make a habit of letting others near. She's effortless in her charms, so far as he can tell; hers is the grace of a goddess made mortal, offering blessings to the unworthy, providing benediction to whatever poor souls take her fancy.

Percy's never cared to involve himself with the gods more than absolutely necessary, but he could make an exception tonight.

She really is good at this; the entire night, she's managed to be reassuring without making him feel like a milksop, and now she's as sensual as she is practical about washing him. Her hand lingers along his shaft, familiarizing herself with his length as his breath shudders near her ear. Her palm finds his balls, her fingers moving along the seam running between them - and he presses a kiss to her neck, willing himself not to come that very moment. (It's not even a particular touch that's making his thighs tense and his hips nudge toward her, because it's all of it, everything about the fact that he's not alone right now.)

"Vex'ahlia," he moans, embarrassed by the sound of it and unable to stop himself. In an ideal world, he'd be able to follow that up with something coherent - possibly a warning that he's not sure he can hold out much longer, but that his stamina isn't usually this bad, and he thinks he'd be able to manage a second round anyway - but under the circumstances, the best he can manage is, "Please -"

As goddesses go, Vex'ahlia is a fairly earthy one.

There is a certain kind of power that feels as though it comes with this kind of intimacy, this kind of control over someone else—someone who quite frankly seems as though he may be rather over controlling himself. Everyone needs to let go now and again, and after Percy's time in prison and whatever it may have been that came before it, it's clear that it's his time to slip.

Imagine being able to give him that, and him letting go so fucking eagerly.

"It's all right," Vex says. Whether it's understanding or permission doesn't matter, because she doesn't fucking care. She's clearly willing to be flattered by his enthusiasm.

She adds then, "If you go now, I'll just find some way for you to make it up to me later."

Permission, and a promise.

She's earthy and merciful, holding him close, letting him thrust into her hand as though this is anything besides pathetic and needy on his part. Vex'ahlia is a miracle several times over at this point; by all rights, he should be wedged into the corner of a cell beside a festering corpse, and instead he's embracing her like he'll fall to pieces if he lets go. He shouldn't be here, and the knowledge is exhilarating.

He comes laughing at her plan to hold him accountable for his actions later, the sound strangulated enough by his release that it probably doesn't sound much like a laugh at all. And for a moment or two, everything is fine. Percival de Rolo is a normal man living a normal life, and someone else gives a damn about whether he lives or dies (or just experiences a little death). Maybe later he'll sleep in a real bed, beside a living person, and he'll dream normal dreams.

And even after he's done, every tension running out of his body, a hazy sense that things are all right lingers. It's nearly better than the way she'd stroked him earlier, the peace of mind settling over him.

"I - oh, damn," he mutters under his breath, wondering whether it's going to look more undignified to try and capture his jism or to let it linger in the water, since either option sounds rather humiliating. That's the only issue worth worrying about right now. "I recover fairly quickly, for what it's worth - not to presume, but your options are, er. Open."

"I have every faith in you, darling," Vex says with gentle humor, not laughing at him, but with him. At least to a point, as she understands it. This is all right. It's all right to be a little silly, and a little vulnerable and a little human with a woman who has her hand on his prick.

But that doesn't mean she won't find the humor in it too.

"I suspect you'll last a bit longer next time for having this one out of the way."

She softens the observation (if you can call it softening), but leaning in, arching up enough to sink her teeth into his earlobe in a playful signal she's not put off by that.

She's also not all that worried about whether they share the bathwater with his jizz.

She follows up the nip by kissing his jaw. "In the meantime, you're looking much more fit for company now. Feeling better?"

"Much better." He tilts his head slightly, taking in the sight of her with some bemusement. She's close enough that he doesn't have to squint, and the most rapturous description in the world couldn't compete with the plain truth of the look on her face: She's happy to be here with him.

That probably shouldn't be a revelation, but it's not old news to Percy just yet. He feels laughable enough as a rule that he couldn't blame her if this evening inspired mockery, and yet none of it does. Blame the afterglow, but he's really starting to believe the things she's saying, in her words and in her touch. No pity, no boredom, only a woman willing to indulge in a night of pleasure for them both.

"I have some ideas for you," he adds, running a daring hand up her side. It's all coming out shier than he wants it to, but in the grand scheme of things, he finds he doesn't care so much; what matters is that he says it, because once it comes to doing it, he thinks he can manage. (And by that point, he won't have to say anything at all, thankfully.) "Would sitting at the edge of the bath be too exposed?"

That is an excellent question. Vex glances over her shoulder toward the door, then around the currently otherwise unoccupied bathing pool. This wasn't exactly her plan when she brought Percy here, but well—it's not exactly not the plan either. It's not that she wants to be caught, or wants anyone to watch them. The risk of it, on the other hand, does give her a little shiver.

She wets her lips when her gaze returns to Percy's face, taking in the shy desire melting his icy green eyes.

"I think it might be just the right amount of exposed."

"Oh -" Surprise crosses his expression, like she hadn't actually expected to get a yes in return, but he'd like to think he tames it back quickly. He can't help the grin that follows, broad and all too earnest as he reaches over for the soap. "Well, then. We'll get there."

It's not the place to start, though. Percy likes her here before him; he particularly likes the damp press of her body against his. Slipping one arm around her waist to keep her in a loose embrace, he runs the soap up and down her back in long, lazy strokes. Her spine, her shoulder blades, her sides, down past the small of her back to the swell of her ass - and he tips his head down to kiss her as he works, wanting an excuse to close his eyes. When there's nothing left to wash, he sluices water down her body with cupped hands, having set the soap aside for the moment.

His bare palms sweep over her, lingering at her ass - but at a certain point, he's got to move on. Breaking the kiss, eyes wide and roving over her, he opens his mouth, but he can't seem to think of anything to say. Nothing that would rise to the occasion, at least, nothing worthy of the sight of her there. After a moment, he gives up on speech and soaps up his hands, beginning at her hips this time, his hands slowly climbing.

Sometimes, conversation simply isn't necessary. Vex doesn't miss it. Percy pays her enough compliments with his hands as they rove over her curves with the pretext of cleaning the road dust from her skin. His mouth is an excellent accompaniment against hers, or on her neck, or teasing her ear. That last even wins him some shivers of appreciation.

Vex is slippery under his touch, wet and soapy and smooth, and she moves toward him purposefully. As lanky and underfed as Percy is, he's still firm with wiry muscle, and his arms and his hands speak to more physical labor than his speech and manners would suggest.

She can't say the combination is bad for her.

"You seem to have a few thoughts for what we'll do before we get there."

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