M. Quill (
tensions) wrote in
fuguestates2022-11-13 07:58 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
MOULIN ROUGE AU
COME WHAT MAY ( ensemble ) It's 1899. And the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. |
COME WHAT MAY ( ensemble ) It's 1899. And the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. |
never seen the sky before | Stiva, Justin
Soft, quiet, serene - the absolute picture of desire, as still and calm as a statue, a moment frozen still in clear amber. There is not a hint of impatience or anxiety, every fold and ruffle of diaphanous cloth arranged exactly so.
Satine kneels, awaiting his lover's arrival, stocking-clad legs bent and splayed slightly on the bed, long hair twisted together in an elaborate chignon, pinned with dangling sapphires and pearls, revealing a slender neck wrapped in delicate silver chains arranged in a careful web, a few strands disappearing beneath a low, ruffled neckline (a careful arrangement to both emphasize and disguise a lack) edged in lace. He is not so much wearing clothes as artfully covered, a few near-translucent layers draped over a brocaded corset of white and blue, a flared skirt with a hem stopping just short of the tops of his stockings, revealing the ribbons of his garters peeking out, a pair along his inner thighs, and another set stretched over the curve of his backside, all held taut by the white lace belt at his waist, hidden under the skirt.
There is a box on the bed, placed like a gift, awaiting a knowing eye and an expert hand, akin to the additional accessories of a child's doll.
Time ticks away, well past the appointed hour, but Satine doesn't move at all, doesn't even glance at the clock, simply settles, head bowed very slightly, awaiting his intended visitor.
no subject
Usually, he doesn't care if he even likes the things he comes to possess. He doesn't really care. It's not the point. But, he does like Satine. Quite a lot, in fact. He likes how very special she is, and how she seems drawn to him despite everything. He likes it when she dances, twirling about in her sequins and silk. And he likes how pretty she looks when he makes her cry, how she's desperate to please him every time.
But what he doesn't like is how slippery she can be, how she thinks she can sneak things by him. He owns all of her. And that includes her secrets. The fact that she thinks there could possibly be any part of her that she can keep for herself or for anyone else is...annoying.
Stiva walks in to the familiar dressing room, tossing off his tailored jacket carelessly, letting it fall over the back of a tufted chair. He sees Satine, (his beautiful diamond, his most prized possession) there but barely acknowledges her, only glances over her before looking back down as he undoes his cufflinks and the top most buttons of his shirt. After a few moments, he says, "So, it looks like you do in fact know how to keep your appointments. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten what your priorities are."
He finally looks at her and he does so as if he wants to get inside her skin, deep in her bones, like he’s about to drive her into the ground just to see if anything walks away alive.
no subject
He was prepared for that. Even anticipated that, to some degree, the bright, burning pain of lust, that unspoken, snarling hunger, stemming from possession and dominance.
"I've missed you, monsieur," he murmurs in response, blue eyes open and clear as he tilts his head, meeting that dark gaze head-on, tone guileless and genuine, not soft or cringing, seemingly without any ulterior motive whatsoever.
no subject
"But if you really did miss me, I doubt you would have been so careless as to forget to see me last night."
Stiva bends a knee upon the bed, slides his fingers through the intricate lines of Satine's necklaces, letting the silver strands lace around his hand before he tenses his knuckles, curling them into a fist and jerks the courtesan forward. "Or were you trying to test me, mon chérie?"
no subject
"No matter how much I may prefer specific company."
no subject
"How sweet you can be when you want to," he murmurs, contemplative as he slowly forces his thumb into her mouth, forcing her to accommodate him.
"It doesn't matter what your other demands might be here," he continues, pressing down on her tongue as if to keep it in check. "I own you, Satine. Every part of you. Your time included. This whole gaudy establishment is mine, don't you remember? You live to please me. Are we clear?"
no subject
"For as long as you want me," he whispers, voice clear despite the restriction, still meeting his gaze head on.
no subject
"And what of your want for me?" He says, softly, not gently, as he pulls back and observes her. Expectant.
no subject
"Please," he murmurs, but there is a snap of fire, even of challenge, "allow me to show you, monsieur."
no subject
"Go on, then."
no subject
"Please, monsieur," he whispers, begs, breath hot and already almost panting with desire. "May I please have your cock?"
no subject
"Just look at you," he growls, clearly pleased, sliding on hand through Satine's hair and down her pale back as she positions herself so. "Such a good girl for me when you want to be."
He plucks at the string of her panties playfully, listening to it snap against her skin. "Well? What are you waiting for?" Put on a show for me.
no subject
"May I?" He repeats, eyes bright with anticipation and hunger, kiss-smeared lips lending an air of lewd desperation to his appearance. Without waiting for an answer, he reaches for the lowest buttons, long fingers deft and skilled, careful but hurried as he searches out his granted prize.