[ The pin holding his necktie is removed, the clean white fabric undone, unwound, tossed onto whatever surface is passed by as he approaches. Talk of knots and their tangling properties almost bids a smile out of him, you know, as a person with a particular strategy when it comes to such quandaries.
This is all new, even down to the notion of having two other human bodies to consider, let alone all they have signified to him in the past year, in the past twelve hours. ]
To discuss the situation? [ is his reply to Julius, and he resists the urge to look at Petrana as he moves in close to where the other man is seated on the edge of the bed, giving him no time at all before his hands come up to gently take his face, to lean down to kiss him, as if finishing the up until this moment broken circle of intimacy—
—if more thoroughly than the tender exchanges prior. ]
( it is different to what she saw in the dream, and not only because it is more thorough. intimately close, as well, and a thing that she finds herself not outside of except for the complexities of trying to fit together three people instead of two. there is an impulse that she's had for some time and in this moment it seems appropriate to follow it—
another knot. the one holding neatly back his hair, it comes free with her nimble fingers, and all so absent-minded she ties it loose around her own wrist before threading her fingers into now-freed hair.
her own is pinned up, neat, off her neck. her dress is simple, but more by her standards than anyone else's, and she's made no start on undressing herself beyond her shoes. when they do part, she considers the tableau, which is not unpleasant, and the prospect of what's to follow it. )
I can think of several ways, ( eventually, ) that we might pass these hours.
( logistically speaking. granted, there was never a third party in her marriagebed—nevertheless, it's extremely likely that petrana's sexual history is the most creatively adventurous of the three of them. she has some ideas. )
Perhaps we ought to establish where we are most comfortable beginning. I know that Julius has been with men—
( there is an implied question, and yes, this still counts as frank discourse where she's concerned. )
[Marcus kissing him is arresting in reality in way that it wasn't in the dream, whether because it was a dream or simply because it wasn't a novel experience for his dream-self. This is something entirely new. Julius leans into it, in no hurry to cut the moment short.
When they finally do part, Marcus's hands still framing Julius's face, it takes him a moment to fully register Petrana's comment. When he gets there, the comment draws a bit of warmth to his smile for its sensible practicality. He could confirm, elaborate ... but instead he waits, the hand that went to Marcus's arm during the kiss lingering there. He leaves room for Marcus's response, giving every indication of being very interested.]
[ Practicalities are good, for Marcus is not thinking in those terms. The terms he is thinking in is that he wishes to touch them both at the same time, to collect up these little intimacies—scalp still tingling from the brush of Petrana's fingers, Julius' hand set on his arm—as though they could all wake up a second time and find reality once again reset.
(Or as though he will leave this room, and must then reconcile with what is in need of repair, what's been broken beyond it—)
But a frank discourse, such as it is, is not unwelcome. ]
I have as well, [ he says. In breaking from the kiss, he has a knee against the ground so as best to be in range of them both. Where Petrana's hand has drawn away, his trailed his after it, fingers impressed along the inner of her wrist, the loop of ribbon now there. It takes him a second to understadn she is talking of particulars, and adds— ] In either respect.
( she draws his hand to her, and kisses his palm, lightly, bright-eyed. pleased. one could hardly imagine her to have been the same woman pacing this same room an hour beforehand, vexed beyond measure and biting off words she was mostly sure she would regret if she did not. now she is the warm sun, anticipating satisfaction. )
Don't think me presumptuous, then— ( or do, feel free to, she is, ) —or in undue haste, but as we have established you will not come between us as a wedge, might I propose having you between us in a more literal sense?
( she is partial to the idea of having marcus rowntree. on bare feet, she goes to her desk; the bottom drawer and its false back that had presumably at one stage held the secrets of office and these days julius at least knows to mainly contain a few things she's acquired discreetly for their use, the most relevant of which being a jar of oil he might correctly presume is what she's decided to fetch. )
[He certainly has a guess, based on the smile her errand elicits.]
My love, you are all presumption, but you wear it very well. And, [he adds] I think it a very clever suggestion. Assuming it's something we'd all like.
[It isn't quite pitched as a question, but he glances back to Marcus all the same. His proximity alone is pleasantly distracting. Julius suspects that without Petrana's practical streak, he could get pleasantly lost in kissing him and abruptly find himself at a loose end when they suddenly had to arrange three bodies in a way that pleased them all. Instead of kissing Marcus again before he can weight in (tempting as it is), Julius lifts his free hand to lightly trace the line of his jaw, experimenting with his new liberties in a way that suggests he's thought about them before.]
[ Marcus may be doing the math on her proposal, watching her stand and turn and walk over there, but then Julius touches him and he thinks: it is a fine idea, of course, and however they go about it—
He looks back to him. There's a question in there, so he answers it, simply; ] Aye, [ and quietly. And there is time enough to get pleasantly lost.
His hand goes up to press Julius' a little firmer in place, so that it maps against his jaw, his throat, and there is something mirrored there, of experiencing something new, his hand conforming to the back of Julius', pulse warm beneath the other man's palm. Marcus moves back into proximity along with a second kiss, this one designed to push Julius further backwards onto the bed and so that he might climb onto it too, and over him, a knee between his legs other balancing on the outer.
He sits up a little, and will reach for Petrana as soon as she is in range, to reel her in. ]
( how handsome they are together—she could admire them indefinitely, but when marcus draws her near she kisses him, first, and then julius with her fingers still wound through marcus's hair. that she is comfortably at liberty to do so is a wonderful thing, she thinks; the prospect of finding them both warm and handsome and hers. with the idea of that thing being uncomplicated for an hour or two, before they have to contend with—
all else that must be contended with. it can wait while they're here, mischief quirking the corner of petrana's mouth sideways before she presses a knee to the bed and pushes off with her foot to use the force of her small body to tumble them into a pile on it, entangled.
she is quite pleased with herself when she pushes up on her hands, tucking stray hair back behind her ears— )
I don't doubt that we are.
( she leaves her hair where it is, and sets her hands to the laces of her bodice. )
[Her comment draws a warm laugh from him, though he's certainly far from unaffected at finding himself at the bottom of their pleasant tangle.]
This bed is going to crash through the floor under the combined weight of our self-satisfaction.
[The comment is addressed to no one in particular and is not in any way a complaint. But he's always more inclined to joke a bit as he relaxes, at least until his focus is too fully engaged elsewhere. To that end, he reaches for Marcus, idly untucking his shirt. Julius is by now arguably the most dressed of any of them. Maybe it would be gentlemanly to start on his own clothes; instead, he's inclined to help finish what Marcus himself started.]
( petrana laughs, a much less consciously modulated sound than is her usual wont in company - this is, inarguably, somewhat different to what she typically considers in company. sat up on her knees and against marcus's thigh, she loosens the lacings until she can free herself of
the first of several layers, all but one of which fasten tight. there are some benefits to julius's robes. )
I hear no censure, ( she says, placidly, tugging stays undone next. it is deliberate and unhurried and far more intimate than the pleasant hour they had all three passed entirely nude in a hot pool. )
[ The waistcoat is discarded, left to slip off the end of the bed in its own satin lining. He sits back and up a little as he feels Julius' hands snag in his shirt, welcoming the help before taking care of the rest. Predictably leanly muscled beneath the layers of fabric, and probably just as predictable, the errant scars, and a deeper gauging one that seems to stripe right around his ribs, hooking up his back.
Their laughter together seems to warm the room. Marcus is not quite untethered enough to join it, but hearing it is enough. He thinks that this could all overwhelm him, and perhaps it already has.
Julius in his robes will need Marcus to get off him to, well, disrobe, and so he slides off sideways, mattress shifting, until he is half behind Petrana, where his focus shifts. The laces to her stays are already loose but not yet free, so he assists in this, sneaking his hands up under them to feel her through the remaining cloth layer, hands smoothing up her ribs while his other hand goes to loosen her hair from its pins in gentle, encouraging tugs. ]
[Ostensibly to Petrana, but not exclusively. He takes advantage of the opportunity Marcus rather pointedly presented to undo his robes. It's a simpler operation than undressing Petrana, the layers easy to shrug off when unfastened at the few points they're secured. The downside, as Petrana has observed before, is that the simplicity allows little chance for allure, at least as far as the process itself goes. The results are arguably more satisfactory, as Julius is in better shape than his more bookish habits might suggest.
(Perhaps more scarred than they might suggest, too; the mess a dracolisk made of his left shoulder at Ghislain was likely memorable enough from the last time Marcus had seen him disrobed. But the Fifth Blight left him with plenty of smaller scars long before he came to the Inquisition.)
As he turns his attention fully back to the two of them, he take a moment to frankly enjoy the image of Marcus quiet literally undoing Petrana. It's a pleasant sight.]
( a pleasant feeling, too, marcus's hands between her lightweight chemise and the loosening boning of her stays—her hair coming undone, too, uncoiling from its pinned twists so spill down over his hand and to her shoulders. there are still her skirts, too, and petticoats, and she finds herself laughing, again: )
You might make yourself further useful, there looking so pleased with yourself, ( a little dry. he is much easier to undress than either marcus or petrana, and he at least has more than enough practise with both her clothes and the sort marcus favours so there's no call for him to rest on his naked laurels.
as much as she has yet to tire of seeing him, undressed. she is impatient to better acquaint herself with marcus, too, but they have time—will have time—it is not a race.
she makes a sound that might have been an oath from another woman when her impatience pulls a lace tight instead of undone. not a race. )
[ Petrana will miss out, in this current configuration, but Julius from his vantage point will be able to notice the twinge of amusement subtle in Marcus' expression. It will be satisfying to drive them both to a point where even their witty banter falls to the wayside.
Not that he is complaining that it persists. He finds a hook at the back of her chemise up near the nape of her neck, and this he undoes along with the delicate buttons that hold it closed, although as long as the stays are still causing her grief, the most he can do is push the fabric down off one of her shoulders.
And also sweep her now loose her back, and smooth his hand down the curve of throat and shoulder, and then dip low beneath her neckline as his other hand blindly tugs at lacing that cinches her skirt—
—it's not a race.
But there is a subtle sound from him of confusion and impatience both when that tug does not seem to do what he thinks it will, and he leans back to try to see what he's doing. Why are there so many layers. Why are they fastened in this manner. ]
[The momentary impulse to watch Marcus try to work it out is present, but brief. Instead, Julius takes Petrana's instruction and moves to help. Practice means he could make quick work of even her layers if he'd wanted, but instead he takes his time. It suits the moment and, not incidentally, gives Marcus a chance to observe when Julius tugs a different lace, releasing tension in the fabric the other man had accidentally pulled taut.
It is, after all, not a race.
He takes the moment, though, to press a kiss to Petrana's bare shoulder. And he does not observe that his much-criticized choice of wardrobe has some practical advantages, which is its own act of affection under the circumstances.]
( it is not unpleasant, finding herself between two pairs of busy hands—even if the sound she'd made upon a lace pulling tighter had been breathless for a different reason entirely. it comes out in another laugh, bubbled up, leaning forward into julius when he kisses her shoulder in a way that doesn't make her any easier to free of the frankly impractical garments she makes a habit of— )
I will have you both know,
( a warm murmur, in answer to the general air of things unsaid, )
that my present outfitting is, daily, by far a simpler thing than was ever allowed by my lady of the wardrobe.
( this could be so much worse. they don't even know. she says, as she assists in the process, )
I believe there was a time I owned gowns I could not have even instructed you in the removal of.
( the way they're kneeling together on the bed—there isn't really anywhere for the skirts she's wearing to fall to, when they come loose, so much as puff out like a cushion or a parachute as she rises up on her knees, the shape of her suddenly outlined beneath a chemise sheer enough it would have been considered inappropriate for a married woman of status in the city of her birth.
that had, in fact, been one of the reasons she purchased it. )
[ Marcus gladly cedes the fussery of laces and other delicate fastenings to Julius, settled back on his haunches to watch both that and the shape of her as she rises up around the flood of fabric left behind. He strays nearer to impulse, reaching out—
First dragging the sheer fabric up higher to loosen the hems beneath her knees and the trappings of her fallen skirt, and then to (gently) (firmly) push her over and down, a playfulness to the force of it that is no less impatient at the same time. ]
Procure yourself some of those, [ he invites, as he pushes her chemise higher up above her waist. ] See what happens when instructions fail us.
[ He's never used magic in bed, but he has indelicate hands.
Marcus lets himself divert to where Julius is kneeling, ostensibly on the other side of her, and leans over to graze a kiss against his bare shoulder while reaching down to loosen the fastenings of his own trousers.
Impatience is really only a part of what is good about this, the indulgence of it, clothes falling about them like it's raining and there's no need to hurry, no threat of being caught, no possible reprisal, no one to tell them they cannot. ]
We've plenty of time to try that later, [of Marcus's (not unappealing) suggestion. It's something he'd reminded himself of even before the dreams; that they have time, as much as anyone else does. That they needn't apologize or hide. Years on, it's still an impulse he's fighting.
But there are better things to dwell on, presently. The image of Marcus Rowntree impatient is a pleasant one, and Julius's look is appreciative before he moves to retrieve the jar of oil Petrana had cleverly fetched earlier.
Marcus had said they were clever, and that's surely true, but they're still learning one another. Julius would rather ask than risk misreading a signal, and so:]
I can picture a few arrangements, with you between us.
[It's not that Petrana can't weigh in too; it's that he trusts her to do so without prompting, so it's Marcus he addresses.]
What do you think? On our sides? Petra on her back and me behind you? What sounds best?
[Even if the words are conversational, the heat in his tone makes clear he's certainly not holding himself aloof. But on the other hand, he wants to make it clear from the beginning that it's three of them, not two plus one. Giving up some direction is the best way he can think of.]
Neither of you will come near me if I should have a gown we cannot afford to replace—
( —is emphatically, if warmly, said, from her new vantage point beneath them; the way marcus has knelt, and julius has shifted, she has enough space to decide that she will push up onto her elbows and wriggle the rest of the way out of her chemise entirely, discarding it loosely somewhere behind her. on the bed.
(it is lightweight; it slides down, disappears off the edge.)
completely and finally naked, she sports fewer scars than either marcus or julius—thin, silver lines at her hips and abdomen and the underside of her breasts, whippet-thin but soft enough to say she wasn't always, a miniature hour-glass. a smaller bosom than her ambitious corsetry at times suggests.
she says, )
I seem to be upon my back already, ( slyly, drawing her knee alongside marcus's thigh, following the line of it up with her fingers to—
not actually help unfasten his trousers. there is not much shy about her; he seems to be doing so well removing them, there is more than enough space for her to reach past his hand and take him in hers. )
But not for long. He pushes his trousers down past his hips and he kneels forward as Petrana takes him into her grasp, and he can gently kick the last of fabric free. (Another scar bitten into his thigh, high up. Blades, not creature claws or teeth.) In return, he touches her, a broad palm low at her abdomen that glides slowly upwards, rough callused fingers on soft skin. ]
It suits you, [ he says, to her. He looks back to Julius, a frank appraisal that scopes out how he's faring, dickwise, but opts to stay where he is, lounging close to Petrana. (Really, how could he be expected to move away at a time like this.) ]
Behind me, [ he says. ] And I over her. I've not been with two before.
[ And that seems the least overwhelming way to go about it, with some ability to moderate the pace of it whilst between them. On that note—
Marcus slides his hand downwards, pushing his fingers between her legs. ]
[While Julius is not so gauche as to show it, there is a bit of internal satisfaction that he would have guessed right, if he'd committed to guessing. It's not wildly unexpected that Marcus wants at least some measure of control, under the circumstances. Julius is disinclined to blame him.
Instead, he takes instruction with good grace. There's not a truly smooth way (that he can think of), to resettle himself around their various limbs, so he doesn't try, opting instead for expediency and not accidentally resting his knee anywhere he shouldn't. Once he's behind Marcus, he has no complaints of the view. His eyes sweep from Marcus's back to Petrana's face, clearly finding pleasure in both. He rests a hand at Marcus's side, and much like his earlier contact to his jaw, there's a sense of pleasure in simply being allowed. Invited.]
I suspect, [he says, low] that it may take us a bit of practice to coordinate, but I have every faith we'll get there in the end.
( pleasure in looking upon; pleasure mirrored back to him from her face, too, petrana's free hand flattening on the bedding to unnecessarily brace herself in pushing back against marcus's hand, resisting impulse to close her eyes in favour of meeting julius's first, then marcus—
there is delicacy in the fine lines of her, but not in the frank way that she appreciates both the immediate and the anticipated. nor in the way she uses toes hooked behind marcus's calf to pull herself closer underneath him, knees bending, judiciously sliding her hands away from his groin with the thought that it will probably take slightly longer to prepare him than her and she's not getting a man nearly forty off first when she has such high hopes for this morning.
not that she ceases to touch him. her fingers splay out over the scar high on his thigh, memorising its shape, tantalizingly close to where she was stroking him a moment ago and isn't any more. )
[ As much as his body language, his actions, his eye line all seem keyed into Petrana, he is aware of Julius' movements across the bed, his settling behind him, and there is something mildly startling, still, of a touch from behind when his focus is forwards on a warm body. He is in no rush to get used to it.
He shifts a little at the trailing touch of her fingers at his thigh, the odd dual sensations of unfeeling scar tissue and sensitivity surrounding it.
(In this midst of all this, an intrusive memory—not of the original blows that had marked him, but of the ice-hot searing pain that had reopened these scars he'd lived through in a dream. The numbness of his leg, the fresh splitting of muscle and bone striped around his torso. Tasting blood. Derrica, rising up from where she'd collapsed, swinging—)
(—no, not now.)
Likewise, his touches to her stay shallow, light. His fingers push only a little deeper past the gathering slickness of her and then drag back before he can breach her, his body curling forwards against her as beckoned. Not all the way over her, not yet, save to stretch out beneath where Julius' hand rests on him. ]
We've some advantages, [ he says, quiet, lazy, accent likely thicker for it. His eyes are on Petana but it's to Julius he says, ] How does she like to be touched?
Take your time, [Julius says, after a bare pause suggesting thoughtfulness rather than hesitation.] She's taking notes in her head for later, so being deliberate gives her more time to notice details.
[The smile he gives her over Marcus's shoulder is puckish.]
I suspect you'll necessitate an entirely new section. Perhaps a new color of ink.
[That's a tease, but a fond one. One hand stays on Marcus but with the other he touches himself, as unhurried as he's advising Marcus to be. He's already partway erect, but he sees no reason to rush this as Marcus and Petrana settle themselves.]
I will hide that book, ( she threatens, idly, in case marcus thought julius might be being facetious; the fondness that curves her mouth belies it, a little embarrassed but not so much she won't brazen it out. it isn't, after all, as if he's wrong.
her tendency to be even in this a little bit apart...as much as it's something they've worked on (it is not an unpleasant project, julius attempting to white out her capacity for higher thought), and as much as it has shades of something much less safe to relax into, the newness of marcus here in their bed is fascinating in a way that she's inclined to let herself indulge.
she does want to see what he does. the sounds he makes, and when he makes them. how his body moves. what he reaches for; what he likes.
petrana likes to be good at things. she works very hard at it. this, too. but for now, where she is confident— )
I will rush ahead if you aren't careful, too. Use your fingers, Julius, I didn't fetch that oil for decoration.
( though her gaze snags thoughtfully on marcus's shoulders as she says it. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
This is all new, even down to the notion of having two other human bodies to consider, let alone all they have signified to him in the past year, in the past twelve hours. ]
To discuss the situation? [ is his reply to Julius, and he resists the urge to look at Petrana as he moves in close to where the other man is seated on the edge of the bed, giving him no time at all before his hands come up to gently take his face, to lean down to kiss him, as if finishing the up until this moment broken circle of intimacy—
—if more thoroughly than the tender exchanges prior. ]
no subject
another knot. the one holding neatly back his hair, it comes free with her nimble fingers, and all so absent-minded she ties it loose around her own wrist before threading her fingers into now-freed hair.
her own is pinned up, neat, off her neck. her dress is simple, but more by her standards than anyone else's, and she's made no start on undressing herself beyond her shoes. when they do part, she considers the tableau, which is not unpleasant, and the prospect of what's to follow it. )
I can think of several ways, ( eventually, ) that we might pass these hours.
( logistically speaking. granted, there was never a third party in her marriagebed—nevertheless, it's extremely likely that petrana's sexual history is the most creatively adventurous of the three of them. she has some ideas. )
Perhaps we ought to establish where we are most comfortable beginning. I know that Julius has been with men—
( there is an implied question, and yes, this still counts as frank discourse where she's concerned. )
no subject
When they finally do part, Marcus's hands still framing Julius's face, it takes him a moment to fully register Petrana's comment. When he gets there, the comment draws a bit of warmth to his smile for its sensible practicality. He could confirm, elaborate ... but instead he waits, the hand that went to Marcus's arm during the kiss lingering there. He leaves room for Marcus's response, giving every indication of being very interested.]
no subject
(Or as though he will leave this room, and must then reconcile with what is in need of repair, what's been broken beyond it—)
But a frank discourse, such as it is, is not unwelcome. ]
I have as well, [ he says. In breaking from the kiss, he has a knee against the ground so as best to be in range of them both. Where Petrana's hand has drawn away, his trailed his after it, fingers impressed along the inner of her wrist, the loop of ribbon now there. It takes him a second to understadn she is talking of particulars, and adds— ] In either respect.
no subject
Don't think me presumptuous, then— ( or do, feel free to, she is, ) —or in undue haste, but as we have established you will not come between us as a wedge, might I propose having you between us in a more literal sense?
( she is partial to the idea of having marcus rowntree. on bare feet, she goes to her desk; the bottom drawer and its false back that had presumably at one stage held the secrets of office and these days julius at least knows to mainly contain a few things she's acquired discreetly for their use, the most relevant of which being a jar of oil he might correctly presume is what she's decided to fetch. )
no subject
My love, you are all presumption, but you wear it very well. And, [he adds] I think it a very clever suggestion. Assuming it's something we'd all like.
[It isn't quite pitched as a question, but he glances back to Marcus all the same. His proximity alone is pleasantly distracting. Julius suspects that without Petrana's practical streak, he could get pleasantly lost in kissing him and abruptly find himself at a loose end when they suddenly had to arrange three bodies in a way that pleased them all. Instead of kissing Marcus again before he can weight in (tempting as it is), Julius lifts his free hand to lightly trace the line of his jaw, experimenting with his new liberties in a way that suggests he's thought about them before.]
no subject
He looks back to him. There's a question in there, so he answers it, simply; ] Aye, [ and quietly. And there is time enough to get pleasantly lost.
His hand goes up to press Julius' a little firmer in place, so that it maps against his jaw, his throat, and there is something mirrored there, of experiencing something new, his hand conforming to the back of Julius', pulse warm beneath the other man's palm. Marcus moves back into proximity along with a second kiss, this one designed to push Julius further backwards onto the bed and so that he might climb onto it too, and over him, a knee between his legs other balancing on the outer.
He sits up a little, and will reach for Petrana as soon as she is in range, to reel her in. ]
I think we're clever enough to make up the rest.
no subject
all else that must be contended with. it can wait while they're here, mischief quirking the corner of petrana's mouth sideways before she presses a knee to the bed and pushes off with her foot to use the force of her small body to tumble them into a pile on it, entangled.
she is quite pleased with herself when she pushes up on her hands, tucking stray hair back behind her ears— )
I don't doubt that we are.
( she leaves her hair where it is, and sets her hands to the laces of her bodice. )
no subject
This bed is going to crash through the floor under the combined weight of our self-satisfaction.
[The comment is addressed to no one in particular and is not in any way a complaint. But he's always more inclined to joke a bit as he relaxes, at least until his focus is too fully engaged elsewhere. To that end, he reaches for Marcus, idly untucking his shirt. Julius is by now arguably the most dressed of any of them. Maybe it would be gentlemanly to start on his own clothes; instead, he's inclined to help finish what Marcus himself started.]
no subject
the first of several layers, all but one of which fasten tight. there are some benefits to julius's robes. )
I hear no censure, ( she says, placidly, tugging stays undone next. it is deliberate and unhurried and far more intimate than the pleasant hour they had all three passed entirely nude in a hot pool. )
no subject
Their laughter together seems to warm the room. Marcus is not quite untethered enough to join it, but hearing it is enough. He thinks that this could all overwhelm him, and perhaps it already has.
Julius in his robes will need Marcus to get off him to, well, disrobe, and so he slides off sideways, mattress shifting, until he is half behind Petrana, where his focus shifts. The laces to her stays are already loose but not yet free, so he assists in this, sneaking his hands up under them to feel her through the remaining cloth layer, hands smoothing up her ribs while his other hand goes to loosen her hair from its pins in gentle, encouraging tugs. ]
no subject
[Ostensibly to Petrana, but not exclusively. He takes advantage of the opportunity Marcus rather pointedly presented to undo his robes. It's a simpler operation than undressing Petrana, the layers easy to shrug off when unfastened at the few points they're secured. The downside, as Petrana has observed before, is that the simplicity allows little chance for allure, at least as far as the process itself goes. The results are arguably more satisfactory, as Julius is in better shape than his more bookish habits might suggest.
(Perhaps more scarred than they might suggest, too; the mess a dracolisk made of his left shoulder at Ghislain was likely memorable enough from the last time Marcus had seen him disrobed. But the Fifth Blight left him with plenty of smaller scars long before he came to the Inquisition.)
As he turns his attention fully back to the two of them, he take a moment to frankly enjoy the image of Marcus quiet literally undoing Petrana. It's a pleasant sight.]
no subject
You might make yourself further useful, there looking so pleased with yourself, ( a little dry. he is much easier to undress than either marcus or petrana, and he at least has more than enough practise with both her clothes and the sort marcus favours so there's no call for him to rest on his naked laurels.
as much as she has yet to tire of seeing him, undressed. she is impatient to better acquaint herself with marcus, too, but they have time—will have time—it is not a race.
she makes a sound that might have been an oath from another woman when her impatience pulls a lace tight instead of undone. not a race. )
no subject
Not that he is complaining that it persists. He finds a hook at the back of her chemise up near the nape of her neck, and this he undoes along with the delicate buttons that hold it closed, although as long as the stays are still causing her grief, the most he can do is push the fabric down off one of her shoulders.
And also sweep her now loose her back, and smooth his hand down the curve of throat and shoulder, and then dip low beneath her neckline as his other hand blindly tugs at lacing that cinches her skirt—
—it's not a race.
But there is a subtle sound from him of confusion and impatience both when that tug does not seem to do what he thinks it will, and he leans back to try to see what he's doing. Why are there so many layers. Why are they fastened in this manner. ]
no subject
It is, after all, not a race.
He takes the moment, though, to press a kiss to Petrana's bare shoulder. And he does not observe that his much-criticized choice of wardrobe has some practical advantages, which is its own act of affection under the circumstances.]
no subject
I will have you both know,
( a warm murmur, in answer to the general air of things unsaid, )
that my present outfitting is, daily, by far a simpler thing than was ever allowed by my lady of the wardrobe.
( this could be so much worse. they don't even know. she says, as she assists in the process, )
I believe there was a time I owned gowns I could not have even instructed you in the removal of.
( the way they're kneeling together on the bed—there isn't really anywhere for the skirts she's wearing to fall to, when they come loose, so much as puff out like a cushion or a parachute as she rises up on her knees, the shape of her suddenly outlined beneath a chemise sheer enough it would have been considered inappropriate for a married woman of status in the city of her birth.
that had, in fact, been one of the reasons she purchased it. )
no subject
First dragging the sheer fabric up higher to loosen the hems beneath her knees and the trappings of her fallen skirt, and then to (gently) (firmly) push her over and down, a playfulness to the force of it that is no less impatient at the same time. ]
Procure yourself some of those, [ he invites, as he pushes her chemise higher up above her waist. ] See what happens when instructions fail us.
[ He's never used magic in bed, but he has indelicate hands.
Marcus lets himself divert to where Julius is kneeling, ostensibly on the other side of her, and leans over to graze a kiss against his bare shoulder while reaching down to loosen the fastenings of his own trousers.
Impatience is really only a part of what is good about this, the indulgence of it, clothes falling about them like it's raining and there's no need to hurry, no threat of being caught, no possible reprisal, no one to tell them they cannot. ]
no subject
But there are better things to dwell on, presently. The image of Marcus Rowntree impatient is a pleasant one, and Julius's look is appreciative before he moves to retrieve the jar of oil Petrana had cleverly fetched earlier.
Marcus had said they were clever, and that's surely true, but they're still learning one another. Julius would rather ask than risk misreading a signal, and so:]
I can picture a few arrangements, with you between us.
[It's not that Petrana can't weigh in too; it's that he trusts her to do so without prompting, so it's Marcus he addresses.]
What do you think? On our sides? Petra on her back and me behind you? What sounds best?
[Even if the words are conversational, the heat in his tone makes clear he's certainly not holding himself aloof. But on the other hand, he wants to make it clear from the beginning that it's three of them, not two plus one. Giving up some direction is the best way he can think of.]
no subject
( —is emphatically, if warmly, said, from her new vantage point beneath them; the way marcus has knelt, and julius has shifted, she has enough space to decide that she will push up onto her elbows and wriggle the rest of the way out of her chemise entirely, discarding it loosely somewhere behind her. on the bed.
(it is lightweight; it slides down, disappears off the edge.)
completely and finally naked, she sports fewer scars than either marcus or julius—thin, silver lines at her hips and abdomen and the underside of her breasts, whippet-thin but soft enough to say she wasn't always, a miniature hour-glass. a smaller bosom than her ambitious corsetry at times suggests.
she says, )
I seem to be upon my back already, ( slyly, drawing her knee alongside marcus's thigh, following the line of it up with her fingers to—
not actually help unfasten his trousers. there is not much shy about her; he seems to be doing so well removing them, there is more than enough space for her to reach past his hand and take him in hers. )
should probably mark nsfw at least once;
But not for long. He pushes his trousers down past his hips and he kneels forward as Petrana takes him into her grasp, and he can gently kick the last of fabric free. (Another scar bitten into his thigh, high up. Blades, not creature claws or teeth.) In return, he touches her, a broad palm low at her abdomen that glides slowly upwards, rough callused fingers on soft skin. ]
It suits you, [ he says, to her. He looks back to Julius, a frank appraisal that scopes out how he's faring, dickwise, but opts to stay where he is, lounging close to Petrana. (Really, how could he be expected to move away at a time like this.) ]
Behind me, [ he says. ] And I over her. I've not been with two before.
[ And that seems the least overwhelming way to go about it, with some ability to moderate the pace of it whilst between them. On that note—
Marcus slides his hand downwards, pushing his fingers between her legs. ]
no subject
Instead, he takes instruction with good grace. There's not a truly smooth way (that he can think of), to resettle himself around their various limbs, so he doesn't try, opting instead for expediency and not accidentally resting his knee anywhere he shouldn't. Once he's behind Marcus, he has no complaints of the view. His eyes sweep from Marcus's back to Petrana's face, clearly finding pleasure in both. He rests a hand at Marcus's side, and much like his earlier contact to his jaw, there's a sense of pleasure in simply being allowed. Invited.]
I suspect, [he says, low] that it may take us a bit of practice to coordinate, but I have every faith we'll get there in the end.
no subject
there is delicacy in the fine lines of her, but not in the frank way that she appreciates both the immediate and the anticipated. nor in the way she uses toes hooked behind marcus's calf to pull herself closer underneath him, knees bending, judiciously sliding her hands away from his groin with the thought that it will probably take slightly longer to prepare him than her and she's not getting a man nearly forty off first when she has such high hopes for this morning.
not that she ceases to touch him. her fingers splay out over the scar high on his thigh, memorising its shape, tantalizingly close to where she was stroking him a moment ago and isn't any more. )
no subject
He shifts a little at the trailing touch of her fingers at his thigh, the odd dual sensations of unfeeling scar tissue and sensitivity surrounding it.
(In this midst of all this, an intrusive memory—not of the original blows that had marked him, but of the ice-hot searing pain that had reopened these scars he'd lived through in a dream. The numbness of his leg, the fresh splitting of muscle and bone striped around his torso. Tasting blood. Derrica, rising up from where she'd collapsed, swinging—)
(—no, not now.)
Likewise, his touches to her stay shallow, light. His fingers push only a little deeper past the gathering slickness of her and then drag back before he can breach her, his body curling forwards against her as beckoned. Not all the way over her, not yet, save to stretch out beneath where Julius' hand rests on him. ]
We've some advantages, [ he says, quiet, lazy, accent likely thicker for it. His eyes are on Petana but it's to Julius he says, ] How does she like to be touched?
no subject
[The smile he gives her over Marcus's shoulder is puckish.]
I suspect you'll necessitate an entirely new section. Perhaps a new color of ink.
[That's a tease, but a fond one. One hand stays on Marcus but with the other he touches himself, as unhurried as he's advising Marcus to be. He's already partway erect, but he sees no reason to rush this as Marcus and Petrana settle themselves.]
no subject
her tendency to be even in this a little bit apart...as much as it's something they've worked on (it is not an unpleasant project, julius attempting to white out her capacity for higher thought), and as much as it has shades of something much less safe to relax into, the newness of marcus here in their bed is fascinating in a way that she's inclined to let herself indulge.
she does want to see what he does. the sounds he makes, and when he makes them. how his body moves. what he reaches for; what he likes.
petrana likes to be good at things. she works very hard at it. this, too. but for now, where she is confident— )
I will rush ahead if you aren't careful, too. Use your fingers, Julius, I didn't fetch that oil for decoration.
( though her gaze snags thoughtfully on marcus's shoulders as she says it. )
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)