[ it's probably hypocritical of him to call her out for being nice. after all, the Big Bad Wolf is acting kind enough to run his fingers through her hair and massage her scalp. the last time he did that involved cramming his cock down her throat. does he let that stop him from thinking it strange to see this tired, grumpy woman show affection to him in return? absolutely not. ]
Says the lady getting the VIP treatment right now. I told you to put your hands to use.
[ notice how he doesn't stop, though. he continues his best attempts at washing her hair with nothing but water, only pausing to scrunch his nose up at the feeling of hers brushing along the tip of it. while it has been four months since she has last been tended to, Bigby can't even recall the last time he's shared a bath or shower with someone. go figure. ]
There's plenty of risk. I can pull away any second. Going to snatch it back up and place it back on your ass if I do?
[ he decides to do just that. there's the softest of paps at the side of her rear before retracting from it altogether, letting it fall limp to his side. just because he is being nice doesn't mean he isn't going to tease. ]
[She'll wash his hair, anyway. A blowjob might have to wait until they're in bed together, but who can say? His hand drops, though, and that's not fair; she squirms against him, humming softly in displeasure.]
That was as much treat for you as it was me, Bigby.
[She tries to put some severity in her tone, but he'll feel the curve of her smile against his neck. How odd, how easily that comes to her. How easy all this is, standing in the shower with him and doing nothing but teasing. Mm. That'll require some thought, but not right now. Right now, Rosalind wants nothing more than to stop thinking and simply enjoy herself.
Which means she's quick to reach blindly for his wrist, grabbing it and pushing his hand to settle right where it was. Stay, and she arches her back again, pushing her ass into his hand.]
You're always so eager to grab . . . don't try and pretend you don't want to right now.
[ and he's the one spoiling her? this is not how things are supposed to work for him, dammit. there's probably going to be a time where he regrets letting certain people get close to him, if only because he will forever feel like they don't know what they're signing up for when they do. no one in Fabletown would jump in a shower with him, let alone allowing his fingers to get so much as close to any particular limb.
yet here Rosalind is, so eager to be touched by his large, firm palm that she reaches back to guide it right onto the curve of her ass once more. fortunately, his mind doesn't wander to more negative territory right now. he lets her move his fingers as he sees fit, and when she tries to call him out for his preference, his shoulders rise to form a light shrug of defeat. ]
You must think you're getting to know me so well, huh.
[ she is, at least in a physical sense. his palm squeezes deeper now, giving her something she would be much, much more familiar with. the other hand is working at the back of her neck now as well, rubbing along her ears and squeezing at certain pressure points to alleviate what he can only imagine is sore as all fuck. ]
There's some soap behind you. In case you want to actually get cleaned and not just felt up.
[ and soap benefits them both, if the cock that's slowly growing erect and brushing along her v-bone has to say about anything. how easy it would be to just shift it between her thighs, but. he is being a good boy right now. miraculously. ]
[She doesn't move for a few moments, though she probably ought to. But his fingers feel sinfully good, rubbing against her neck, pinching here and there, giving her relief in a way she hadn't even thought to seek. It'd take another minute before she'd simply melt against him, pliant and warm in the best of ways. That might be a bit embarrassing, because then she'd be only half a step away from mumbling affection, and that . . . probably wouldn't go over well with him.
So he's right . . . she probably ought to wash up a bit. The outer layer of dirt has long since washed away, but a bit of scrubbing (even with his soap, and she can't imagine it's anything like the rich stuff she buys) would do her good. With a little sigh she squirms just enough to get him to pull his hands back, turning in his arms so she can reach the soap.
If that means his cock is pressing against her ass, well. That seems to be a personal problem for him. She's busy getting cleaned up, thanks, and what a lovely sight that must be for him: her soaping herself up, running a sudsy washcloth over wet skin, over her breasts and between her thighs, humming softly as she does.
She's through, because this isn't just meant to be a tease.]
I know what you like in bed, anyway. Though I wouldn't mind hearing more about where it is you come from. All you've really told me is about your powers-- and that isn't meant to be blaming, before you start. But I'm curious.
[She half-glances behind her, not so much trying to catch his eye as simply address him.]
[ giving genuine affection is just about the quickest way for him to stumble backwards, slip on water and bust his ass. so yes, it is good that she is able to restrain herself to an extent. Bigby can deal with the murmurs, the sighs and the shifting of her hips, the latter being that he benefits from the fact that she is rubbing up along his cock in the process. he almost regrets telling her of the soap, because she's pulling back and he is left standing there, looking down at his erection with furrowed brows.
it doesn't help that she's turned around and pressed her backside into him in just the right angle so that his length lines up between the crease of her cheeks. he's the one murmuring to himself now, eyes dancing between the connection of their lower bodies and the way her hands begin to cover herself with the soft suds of soap. she may not have meant for it to be teasing, but Bigby takes it as exactly that. both hands slide up to her hips, now, pulling her back into him so that she can feel the girth of him more directly.
maybe it would have been better to listen to her before he did that, because now he has to answer a legitimate question as he grinds himself into Rosalind. hm. ]
Which one? I've had quite a few.
[ he assumes she is talking of worlds, but even then — he has had quite a few. then there's the question of his home as Bigby, or his home as the Big Bad Wolf. the heat in the water is going to be lost before he can get through all of that. ]
[She smiles as he tugs her back, rolling her hips just to give him an extra thrill. She's really not up to anything too vigorous, but on the other hand, she's perfectly pleased with the way he's grinding up on her. He can keep doing that for a fair bit, Rosalind decides, magnanimous even in her mind.]
Whichever you consider to be your most recent one, I suppose. Beyond here, that is.
[But that's a curious answer. Everything about him is curious, really. It's a good thing they're both immortal, because it's going to take ages before she stops pestering him with questions.]
[ ah, well. the good news is that Rosalind won't have to subject herself to anything too vigorous, because Bigby will be the one putting forth the effort. he appreciates the way she makes a point of grinding him, but it's his fingers sinking tighter into her skin to ensure she doesn't go anywhere. one hand moves closer to her pelvic bone just south of her navel, rubbing any leftover suds into her skin as she continues to coerce more information out of him.
he should probably convince her not to worry about bullshit related to him right now, to instead worry about feeling better and enjoying the heat of the water. or the cock sliding up against and into her ass. she's the type to not let something go once he piques her curiosity, however, so he clicks his tongue against his defeat as a form of accepting defeat. ]
Describing anything about my home is going to sound "interesting". I guess maybe because you're what we would call a Mundy in Fabletown.
[ he purposely leaves it at that. she's going to want clarification on what a Mundy is. he knows this. but he's too busy idly thrusting his lower half into hers, sorry. ]
[The good news is that she is enjoying the heat of the water. All the questions in the world can't distract from the fact that this is the first shower she's had in two days. Rosalind ducks her head forward, getting her hair wet once more, before squirming against him in a pointed tease. The glide of his hand against her stomach is just bonus; Rosalind sighs softly, delighted by the contrast of rough fingers against soft skin.]
Mundy . . .
[But it doesn't take a genius to figure out what that might mean.]
Mundane? Those without powers-- so you come from a world where you're not in the majority.
[She assumes. It's not such a leap in logic, though, given his initial reluctance to tell her about himself. Mm . . . she shivers as he rocks forward against her again, her back arching despite herself. Just like that, and perhaps she won't be so upset if he fucks her after all.
. . . though, she thinks, it would a bit more fun if they were in a bed. It'd be a lot more fun if she-- yes, she decides, and doesn't move just yet, too eager to hear this explanation to bother with teasing him just yet. He's far from coming; she has a fair bit of time.]
Fabletown . . . that's a bit on the nose. Vampires and werewolves and witches populate it, I assume . . . are you all stars of specific tales, or is it more a wry commentary on what the rest of the world stereotypes of you all?
[ he doesn't really come from Fabletown. not literally. it's not the realm he was born in, nor was it for anyone else that resided there along with him. but she did ask for him to elaborate on the one most recent, so he doesn't bother to clarify.
there won't be any impromptu fucking in the shower, though. at least not right now. Bigby is satisfied with the skin-on-skin contact, idly thrusting himself forward into the woman to remind her that she has an erect cock lined up with her ass at all times. he opts for a change, and without asking, the fingers on her stomach move down to spread her legs enough. before she thinks he's aiming for any particular hole to plunge into, she'll find him sliding between her thighs instead.
at least she will have some relief in the form of him rubbing along the bottom of her cunt now. ]
I didn't come up with it. Besides, the people that live there had just as cheesy names. [ Snow White. Beauty. Beast. Big Bad Wolf. ] We'd be freezing our ass off in cold water if I tried to explain in detail, so yeah, let's go with the "specific tales" thing. Some of them bigger than others.
[Ah, and her breath catches, her hips rocking back against him now and again. If he wants to fuck her thighs, that's more than all right by her, but she won't deny she's getting some enjoyment out of the heat teasing against her.]
I've badgered stories out of all the other immortal men I know. You might as well tell me one and complete the set.
[The worst part about that is that it's entirely true. Ardyn and Nightingale both had told her things from their past; Ardyn had even framed it as a fable. Rosalind squirms, pressing her legs tighter together to give him a thrill.
A beat, and she glances behind her.]
Were any about you? Or were you lumped in with werewolves in general?
[ oh, dammit. now she wants him to talk about people he's known for decades. centuries. Fables that are either stashed away in stasis chambers or gone forever. Fables that would be hoping and praying it was him in the pod right now — that or just outright dead. maybe if he thrusts harder and faster, she'll become distracted by his cock running along the lips of her cunt. that sounds good. he's going to do just that.
another sharp stab of his hips and it's loud enough to make her ass slap back against his lower abs. he lets out a grunt, the first solid indication that this is actually arousing and pleasureful to him. as if the swollen cock hadn't given that away already. ]
I'm sorry, can we talk about the fact that you know multiple immortal men? Are you just snatching them up for some kind of collection or something?
[ again, deflecting. but he is also surprised to hear there are others that come from their respective worlds. maybe not too far-fetched when considering his own origins, but still. Bigby lets out a groan at her last question, but he concedes and gives her something. ]
Plenty of stories about me. Some real, some fake. Most of them real. And no, not lumped in with werewolves.
[ because he isn't a werewolf, but he doesn't want to linger on that. ]
[Sort of. She sort of collects them, it's a fifty/fifty thing, let's not linger on it. She's drawn to the supernatural and bizarre, she can hardly help that; it's just that people who are different in some way are so much more interesting than boring, ordinary human beings.
Which might neatly explain why it's him she's grinding back against, rolling her hips down and shivering at the way his cock presses up against her. She's half-tempted to tell him to simply fuck her already; god knows she's gotten wet enough.]
So tell me one. Or do you want to wait until we're in bed?
[She glances behind her, smirking a little.]
That's sweet. Aren't you hospitable? Letting me sleep here and telling me a story, my.
[ Bigby doesn't know if he should be feeling jealous or if his ego should take a blow for not being the only """immortal""" she knows. upon considering the chances becoming more likely with the number of universes and worlds merged into one, he figures he shouldn't get too pouty over something ridiculous. he doesn't even know Ardyn is grouped in that same pool, however. what a pain in the ass that conversation will be when it ever comes... ]
Mm. Don't know about that. Not unless you're looking for nightmares before I tuck you in.
[ he says it with a playful enough spin, but truth be told, it's only added to ensure he doesn't make the situation tense. his stories are far from ones he would want to give to someone in an attempt to flatter or humble himself. Bigby is used to them being told by others, and even when they aren't bloated and dramatized more than they needed to be, they all drove home the same point — if you ever meet the Big Bad Wolf, you were fucked.
hardly the thing he wants Rosalind to think about when his cock is hard and her cunt wet. he tries to deflect for as long as he can, giving another sharp jab before one of his palms slide up her stomach to cup a breast into his hand. he gives a deep squeeze as his thumb finds one of her nipples, sure in the fact that it would be a proper distraction. ]
If you actually wash me off like promised, I might even wake you up with breakfast. Who knows.
[ spoiler: he won't be waking her up with breakfast, but it is a nice thought to have. way better than one of him eating people, right. ]
Nn-- I'm going to be very upset if you don't, Bigby.
[She's going to be very unsurprised, though she thinks she can at least get him to make coffee for her. Perhaps. It's worth a shot, anyway, and heaven knows Rosalind likes a challenge, especially when it comes with the thought of Bigby doing something nice for her.
But his ploy works perfectly: she's flushing, squirming thanks to that attention, too distracted to bother chasing after what he isn't giving her. Later, she thinks vaguely, and lets the matter drop in favor of grinding her ass back up against him again.
Fuck me, she tells him soon, too wet to dream of letting him just use her thighs. He doesn't need telling twice; with a groan he slips into her, stretching her open wide and filling her up, and Rosalind's mouth drops open, a moan slipping past her lips, her cunt throbbing around him.
It's not the most vigorous sex they've had, but what they lack in speed, they more than make up for in pleasure. Before long they're echoing around the bathroom, moans and whimpers and the wet sound of skin against skin, until at last he spills into her and leaves her aching for more.
It's very hard not to beg him to reciprocate, but luckily, he's not feeling particular cruel tonight. She slumps back against the shower wall, cold tile at her back, and gasps against the crook of his neck as his fingers slip between her legs.
The water's gone tepid by the time they finally exit the shower. Rosalind moves languidly, her muscles gone soft and pliant. She's a far sight from the uptight, tense woman she'd been arriving here, but a hot shower and an orgasm will do wonders for anyone, Rosalind included.]
How grabby are you going to be tonight?
[She asks it idly as they head into his room. She's almost certain he'll grope her at least once before they fall asleep. It's almost too tempting not to: she's stealing one of his button-ups, and the hemline falls only to her mid-thigh.
And . . . it's not that she's never slept with a man before. Of course not. She and Robert had shared a bed for nearly fifteen years; she's more than used to it. But it's odd to share one with someone who isn't Robert. She feels a little like an interloper as she sits on his bed, watching him as he moves about his room, but it's a feeling she keeps firmly to herself.]
Simply curious. You seem to have a particular affection for my backside.
[ if there's one thing he can confidently say he's learned about Rosalind, it's that she has more endurance than he would have reasonably expected. for someone that has been on her feet and subject to much strain to her muscles, she was able to withstand standing for a little bit longer if it means she gets fucked. then again, maybe it is easy to forget about the need to sit down, to sleep, when one is getting filled with a cock from behind. either way, she's a trooper and once their romp in the shower is over and done, he believes she's more than earned some rest.
they've both exited the shower after exhausting every little bit of hot water his home had available. Bigby opts to wear clothing for the one half that Rosalind avoids, a pair of pajama bottoms that ride low on his hips. he can't believe she's really wearing his clothes, but at this point, he doesn't believe there is any stopping her. is he watching as she puts it on? absolutely. is he so distracted by the thought and image of someone else wearing his button-up that he hardly hears her question? you know it.
Bigby has a delayed reaction to her question, and he visibly shakes his head when it soaks in. a hand runs through wet, matted hair, smoothing it back while he pauses to think. a few more seconds and he shrugs his shoulder. ]
Don't know. Not usually the snuggling type, so you might be lucky. Or disappointed.
[ she mentions his fascination with her backside and he can't help but smirk, not particularly embarrassed about being called out for it. he even makes a point of glancing down and stepping to the side to see if he can get a peek underneath the button-up. ]
[She scoffs as he leans over, but she's too tired to be anything but amused by it. At least he'll get a reward for his efforts: he can absolutely get a glance of the curve of her ass, though it only lasts for a few seconds. Then she's turning, facing him properly.]
And here you were supposed to tell me that you adored it. A compliment isn't impossible for you, Bigby, despite what you might want others to think.
[She's exhausted, their fuck having taken out the last bits of her stamina, but it's still hard not to be tempted by the way he looks right now. He isn't the only one staring; Rosalind eyes the lines of his hips, her gaze pointed, before turning away.
She sits on the bed. It's not quite as soft as the bed she has back in Olympia, and the sheets certainly aren't the ridiculously high thread count she insists upon, but after two days? She'd happily sleep on the floor. Anything even remotely soft is worth a great deal, and Rosalind sighs as she tucks her legs beneath her.
Her hands go behind her head, and she starts tying her hair into a neat braid.]
At least if nothing else, I shan't freeze tonight. Has anyone ever told you you're a furnace?
[That might be a problem come summer, but at least in winter, she'll take advantage of that without shame. She isn't particularly eager to cuddle with him, but she is eager not to spend another night cold, so. And speaking of chills . . . it's not that he doesn't have heat in this room, but she could also stand if he came over right now, because it's rather cold when you're still damp.]
If you get any flattery out of me, it's done with my hands. And that's a big if.
[ they've been looking at each other naked for the past half hour or longer. his hands had been all over and inside of her. she knows her body — and yes, her backside in particular — is adored. or at least the closest thing to adored that Bigby can muster up without feeling untrue to himself.
still continuously surprised that she hasn't passed out yet, he begins to walk over to the other side of the bed in order to crawl underneath the sheets. the last woman he had in his bed was Aranea, and that was a woman who was too fatigued to do anything even remotely sexual. kudos to Rosalind for trumping a battle-hardened mercenary in that regard. it leads him to wonder why the fuck his home is a pit stop for people, but he isn't about to start bitching about company. something in him says he enjoys it. ]
I'm going to assume that is you calling me warm. Thanks, I think.
[ Bigby groans as he gets comfortable on his own back, feeling his hips and thighs were rather tender as well. nothing he couldn't deal with, but at least it allows him to appreciate the bed and its comforts equally. ]
Is that code for something along the lines of "Bigby, I want your arms around me"? I might consider it if you ask nicely.
[She reaches for the edges of her sleeves, rolling up one carefully. There's a practiced air to the way she does it, suggesting she's rather used to wearing men's shirts-- or at least, one man in particular. Bigby's a bit larger than him, though, so it takes extra time. But soon enough she's done it. Sleeves up, hair tied, and she's finally ready to settle back under the sheets, lying down properly.
Cuddling or not, it's not a particularly wide bed; some touching is inevitable. Feet and legs and torso, and Rosalind offers him a slight smile as she turns on her side, facing him. For once, it's not a smirk, but rather something softer and sweeter.
Without much warning, she scoots forward, outright pressing herself tight against him. He's either going to have to stay with his arms stiffly at his side or wrap them around her.]
Bigby, I want your arms around me, because I'm prone to chills and you're very warm.
[He's not going to be able to see her smug little grin, but he can at least hear it. She shifts and squirms this way and that, settling in, her eyes already eager to slide closed. She won't last much longer, but there's something else she has to get in first.]
[ ah. okay. Bigby should have maybe expected the possibility of Rosalind latching onto him regardless of what he did first. when she does, he grunts, but he doesn't make any effort to shove her away or roll over instead. his shirt feels soft when it's not on his own shoulders, and it's almost natural in the way his arm slides underneath her. her head will now be resting on his bicep, with his fingers barely dragging against hers. ]
I think I've made a point of saying I fucking spoil you, but it doesn't hurt to remind you again.
[ he figures she's going to be asleep before she even realizes it, so he merely stares up at the ceiling with little thought of thinking he can get away with exploiting the shirt that is undoubtedly riding up her thighs. when she speaks again, he looks down at her, even clearing his throat awkwardly at the sudden thank you. ]
Uh... yeah. Don't mention it. I figure this should make us about even.
[ there's the briefest of squeezes out of him as he reassures her, even going as far to extend his fingers to brush some stray, wet hairs out of her face. ]
[Oh, that's . . . nice, actually. The brush of his fingers and the way he squeezes her and the warmth of his body as they settle beneath the sheets, all combining together to make something . . . mm. Not quite intimate, but comfortable. She'd been a little uncertain at the start of all this, but now Rosalind feels relaxed, utterly so. The wind whips outside, cold and harsh, but she feels . . .
Safe, she realizes, and it's a stunning realization. She feels safe, and more importantly, she doesn't feel alone. Here she is and here she'll stay til morning, all because he's fond of her.
It's something she hasn't felt in six months, not since Robert left her side, and she's loath to fall asleep and chase it away. So though her eyes are eager to close, Rosalind yawns and squirms, tipping her head back to push against his fingers.]
Well. If you won't tell me a story, I'll tell you one, hm? About . . . hmm. I suppose I was asking you for a fairy story; you might hear one from my world. Or something from my past, pick one of the two.
[ part of him wants to pretend he's fallen asleep. not because he's a dick (for once) just looking to make her be quiet, but because she should get as much shut-eye as she can. she's traveled miles upon miles on feet and embraced more wilderness than she would have ever wanted in her life only to fall upon his doorstep to get fucked in a shower. on her feet, at that, not even on her damn back or something. perhaps that's surprisingly kind of Bigby to think like that, but he decides not to when she suddenly throws an offer out there. ]
Oh, just so you can hold me to returning the favor at some point? I see what you're trying to do, Ms. Lutece. [ he's not completely serious, and he proves it by reaching down with his hand and giving a light swat at the side of her ass. she did expect he would touch her at some point; maybe not like that. ] I've heard enough fairy tales to last more lifetimes than you know. Let's go with something from your past.
[She says it more laughing than protesting, so he's probably in the clear for that. Though she does reach down to grab his wrist.]
If you're going to be like that, don't do it when I'm exhausted.
[Which is more so she can buy herself time to think. Hmm . . . something from her past? It can't be something ordinary, then.]
Mm . . . I was fifteen when I first entered university. Or-- no, fourteen, but I was fifteen the first time I made a friend. I was . . . very angry as a teenager. Very, very angry. I was resentful of the world and determined to prove myself, and absolutely naive as to how things worked. I thought that if I could simply prove that everyone in the world was stupider than me, they'd all have to bow to that fact sooner or later.
Well. You can well imagine how that turned out. It wasn't nearly as bad as when I was a child, but I experienced my share of, ah, setbacks, as it were.
But I had a roommate in my second year. Victoria Pendergrass. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was very much enamored with her. She was . . . vivacious, I suppose you'd call her. Brilliant and beautiful. And of course, she had a little gang of friends, and so I gained friends through sheer proximity.
One of them rather reminds me of you. Not entirely-- you're far gruffer than Henry Standish ever was-- but you both get a kick out of setting off my temper and riling me up. He used to do it by baiting me with scientific principles.
[She yawns.]
Mm. I almost married him, actually. We, ah, he was my first-- well. He was my first, and I suppose he felt an obligation afterwards, so he proposed. It was flattering, if not both very clearly a pained effort on his part and utterly horrifying for me.
But then there was Robert, and any further propositions became unnecessary. Which really was for the best, because Henry Standish had no idea how to please a woman, stupid boy.
[ when she grabs his wrist, he just reaches around with his free hand and paps her on the ass again. just because he can. he doesn't say anything after, though, listening to her go on with her story. there's a few comments he wants to make, mostly about how she's too smart for her own good, and how shitty of a last name Pendergrass is, but he doesn't. not yet. not until he hears Henry Standish. ]
Please don't compare me to a guy named Henry fucking Standish.
[ then she talks about marriage and he's immediately wincing. ]
Wouldn't that make you... like, fifteen or sixteen when you almost married him.
My mother began presenting me for marriage when I was thirteen, Bigby. That was a bit young, but she hoped to make a match based on my lineage. By sixteen I was attending every party my mother could find during semester breaks. That wasn't so young, not for us.
[ ages thirteen through sixteen for Bigby most likely consisted of him devouring animals and people double his size, so he figures he doesn't have much room to judge. so he doesn't. it's just an interesting thing to consider, Rosalind being a teenage wife. what a bullet she dodged with that one. ]
Guess it's a little funny. You went through your kid years too fast, so life tells you to chill the fuck out and you're stuck in your thirties for... how long was it, again?
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Says the lady getting the VIP treatment right now. I told you to put your hands to use.
[ notice how he doesn't stop, though. he continues his best attempts at washing her hair with nothing but water, only pausing to scrunch his nose up at the feeling of hers brushing along the tip of it. while it has been four months since she has last been tended to, Bigby can't even recall the last time he's shared a bath or shower with someone. go figure. ]
There's plenty of risk. I can pull away any second. Going to snatch it back up and place it back on your ass if I do?
[ he decides to do just that. there's the softest of paps at the side of her rear before retracting from it altogether, letting it fall limp to his side. just because he is being nice doesn't mean he isn't going to tease. ]
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[She'll wash his hair, anyway. A blowjob might have to wait until they're in bed together, but who can say? His hand drops, though, and that's not fair; she squirms against him, humming softly in displeasure.]
That was as much treat for you as it was me, Bigby.
[She tries to put some severity in her tone, but he'll feel the curve of her smile against his neck. How odd, how easily that comes to her. How easy all this is, standing in the shower with him and doing nothing but teasing. Mm. That'll require some thought, but not right now. Right now, Rosalind wants nothing more than to stop thinking and simply enjoy herself.
Which means she's quick to reach blindly for his wrist, grabbing it and pushing his hand to settle right where it was. Stay, and she arches her back again, pushing her ass into his hand.]
You're always so eager to grab . . . don't try and pretend you don't want to right now.
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[ and he's the one spoiling her? this is not how things are supposed to work for him, dammit. there's probably going to be a time where he regrets letting certain people get close to him, if only because he will forever feel like they don't know what they're signing up for when they do. no one in Fabletown would jump in a shower with him, let alone allowing his fingers to get so much as close to any particular limb.
yet here Rosalind is, so eager to be touched by his large, firm palm that she reaches back to guide it right onto the curve of her ass once more. fortunately, his mind doesn't wander to more negative territory right now. he lets her move his fingers as he sees fit, and when she tries to call him out for his preference, his shoulders rise to form a light shrug of defeat. ]
You must think you're getting to know me so well, huh.
[ she is, at least in a physical sense. his palm squeezes deeper now, giving her something she would be much, much more familiar with. the other hand is working at the back of her neck now as well, rubbing along her ears and squeezing at certain pressure points to alleviate what he can only imagine is sore as all fuck. ]
There's some soap behind you. In case you want to actually get cleaned and not just felt up.
[ and soap benefits them both, if the cock that's slowly growing erect and brushing along her v-bone has to say about anything. how easy it would be to just shift it between her thighs, but. he is being a good boy right now. miraculously. ]
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So he's right . . . she probably ought to wash up a bit. The outer layer of dirt has long since washed away, but a bit of scrubbing (even with his soap, and she can't imagine it's anything like the rich stuff she buys) would do her good. With a little sigh she squirms just enough to get him to pull his hands back, turning in his arms so she can reach the soap.
If that means his cock is pressing against her ass, well. That seems to be a personal problem for him. She's busy getting cleaned up, thanks, and what a lovely sight that must be for him: her soaping herself up, running a sudsy washcloth over wet skin, over her breasts and between her thighs, humming softly as she does.
She's through, because this isn't just meant to be a tease.]
I know what you like in bed, anyway. Though I wouldn't mind hearing more about where it is you come from. All you've really told me is about your powers-- and that isn't meant to be blaming, before you start. But I'm curious.
[She half-glances behind her, not so much trying to catch his eye as simply address him.]
What was your home like?
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it doesn't help that she's turned around and pressed her backside into him in just the right angle so that his length lines up between the crease of her cheeks. he's the one murmuring to himself now, eyes dancing between the connection of their lower bodies and the way her hands begin to cover herself with the soft suds of soap. she may not have meant for it to be teasing, but Bigby takes it as exactly that. both hands slide up to her hips, now, pulling her back into him so that she can feel the girth of him more directly.
maybe it would have been better to listen to her before he did that, because now he has to answer a legitimate question as he grinds himself into Rosalind. hm. ]
Which one? I've had quite a few.
[ he assumes she is talking of worlds, but even then — he has had quite a few. then there's the question of his home as Bigby, or his home as the Big Bad Wolf. the heat in the water is going to be lost before he can get through all of that. ]
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Whichever you consider to be your most recent one, I suppose. Beyond here, that is.
[But that's a curious answer. Everything about him is curious, really. It's a good thing they're both immortal, because it's going to take ages before she stops pestering him with questions.]
Or whichever one you think is most interesting.
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he should probably convince her not to worry about bullshit related to him right now, to instead worry about feeling better and enjoying the heat of the water. or the cock sliding up against and into her ass. she's the type to not let something go once he piques her curiosity, however, so he clicks his tongue against his defeat as a form of accepting defeat. ]
Describing anything about my home is going to sound "interesting". I guess maybe because you're what we would call a Mundy in Fabletown.
[ he purposely leaves it at that. she's going to want clarification on what a Mundy is. he knows this. but he's too busy idly thrusting his lower half into hers, sorry. ]
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Mundy . . .
[But it doesn't take a genius to figure out what that might mean.]
Mundane? Those without powers-- so you come from a world where you're not in the majority.
[She assumes. It's not such a leap in logic, though, given his initial reluctance to tell her about himself. Mm . . . she shivers as he rocks forward against her again, her back arching despite herself. Just like that, and perhaps she won't be so upset if he fucks her after all.
. . . though, she thinks, it would a bit more fun if they were in a bed. It'd be a lot more fun if she-- yes, she decides, and doesn't move just yet, too eager to hear this explanation to bother with teasing him just yet. He's far from coming; she has a fair bit of time.]
Fabletown . . . that's a bit on the nose. Vampires and werewolves and witches populate it, I assume . . . are you all stars of specific tales, or is it more a wry commentary on what the rest of the world stereotypes of you all?
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[ he doesn't really come from Fabletown. not literally. it's not the realm he was born in, nor was it for anyone else that resided there along with him. but she did ask for him to elaborate on the one most recent, so he doesn't bother to clarify.
there won't be any impromptu fucking in the shower, though. at least not right now. Bigby is satisfied with the skin-on-skin contact, idly thrusting himself forward into the woman to remind her that she has an erect cock lined up with her ass at all times. he opts for a change, and without asking, the fingers on her stomach move down to spread her legs enough. before she thinks he's aiming for any particular hole to plunge into, she'll find him sliding between her thighs instead.
at least she will have some relief in the form of him rubbing along the bottom of her cunt now. ]
I didn't come up with it. Besides, the people that live there had just as cheesy names. [ Snow White. Beauty. Beast. Big Bad Wolf. ] We'd be freezing our ass off in cold water if I tried to explain in detail, so yeah, let's go with the "specific tales" thing. Some of them bigger than others.
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[Ah, and her breath catches, her hips rocking back against him now and again. If he wants to fuck her thighs, that's more than all right by her, but she won't deny she's getting some enjoyment out of the heat teasing against her.]
I've badgered stories out of all the other immortal men I know. You might as well tell me one and complete the set.
[The worst part about that is that it's entirely true. Ardyn and Nightingale both had told her things from their past; Ardyn had even framed it as a fable. Rosalind squirms, pressing her legs tighter together to give him a thrill.
A beat, and she glances behind her.]
Were any about you? Or were you lumped in with werewolves in general?
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another sharp stab of his hips and it's loud enough to make her ass slap back against his lower abs. he lets out a grunt, the first solid indication that this is actually arousing and pleasureful to him. as if the swollen cock hadn't given that away already. ]
I'm sorry, can we talk about the fact that you know multiple immortal men? Are you just snatching them up for some kind of collection or something?
[ again, deflecting. but he is also surprised to hear there are others that come from their respective worlds. maybe not too far-fetched when considering his own origins, but still. Bigby lets out a groan at her last question, but he concedes and gives her something. ]
Plenty of stories about me. Some real, some fake. Most of them real. And no, not lumped in with werewolves.
[ because he isn't a werewolf, but he doesn't want to linger on that. ]
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[Sort of. She sort of collects them, it's a fifty/fifty thing, let's not linger on it. She's drawn to the supernatural and bizarre, she can hardly help that; it's just that people who are different in some way are so much more interesting than boring, ordinary human beings.
Which might neatly explain why it's him she's grinding back against, rolling her hips down and shivering at the way his cock presses up against her. She's half-tempted to tell him to simply fuck her already; god knows she's gotten wet enough.]
So tell me one. Or do you want to wait until we're in bed?
[She glances behind her, smirking a little.]
That's sweet. Aren't you hospitable? Letting me sleep here and telling me a story, my.
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Mm. Don't know about that. Not unless you're looking for nightmares before I tuck you in.
[ he says it with a playful enough spin, but truth be told, it's only added to ensure he doesn't make the situation tense. his stories are far from ones he would want to give to someone in an attempt to flatter or humble himself. Bigby is used to them being told by others, and even when they aren't bloated and dramatized more than they needed to be, they all drove home the same point — if you ever meet the Big Bad Wolf, you were fucked.
hardly the thing he wants Rosalind to think about when his cock is hard and her cunt wet. he tries to deflect for as long as he can, giving another sharp jab before one of his palms slide up her stomach to cup a breast into his hand. he gives a deep squeeze as his thumb finds one of her nipples, sure in the fact that it would be a proper distraction. ]
If you actually wash me off like promised, I might even wake you up with breakfast. Who knows.
[ spoiler: he won't be waking her up with breakfast, but it is a nice thought to have. way better than one of him eating people, right. ]
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[She's going to be very unsurprised, though she thinks she can at least get him to make coffee for her. Perhaps. It's worth a shot, anyway, and heaven knows Rosalind likes a challenge, especially when it comes with the thought of Bigby doing something nice for her.
But his ploy works perfectly: she's flushing, squirming thanks to that attention, too distracted to bother chasing after what he isn't giving her. Later, she thinks vaguely, and lets the matter drop in favor of grinding her ass back up against him again.
Fuck me, she tells him soon, too wet to dream of letting him just use her thighs. He doesn't need telling twice; with a groan he slips into her, stretching her open wide and filling her up, and Rosalind's mouth drops open, a moan slipping past her lips, her cunt throbbing around him.
It's not the most vigorous sex they've had, but what they lack in speed, they more than make up for in pleasure. Before long they're echoing around the bathroom, moans and whimpers and the wet sound of skin against skin, until at last he spills into her and leaves her aching for more.
It's very hard not to beg him to reciprocate, but luckily, he's not feeling particular cruel tonight. She slumps back against the shower wall, cold tile at her back, and gasps against the crook of his neck as his fingers slip between her legs.
The water's gone tepid by the time they finally exit the shower. Rosalind moves languidly, her muscles gone soft and pliant. She's a far sight from the uptight, tense woman she'd been arriving here, but a hot shower and an orgasm will do wonders for anyone, Rosalind included.]
How grabby are you going to be tonight?
[She asks it idly as they head into his room. She's almost certain he'll grope her at least once before they fall asleep. It's almost too tempting not to: she's stealing one of his button-ups, and the hemline falls only to her mid-thigh.
And . . . it's not that she's never slept with a man before. Of course not. She and Robert had shared a bed for nearly fifteen years; she's more than used to it. But it's odd to share one with someone who isn't Robert. She feels a little like an interloper as she sits on his bed, watching him as he moves about his room, but it's a feeling she keeps firmly to herself.]
Simply curious. You seem to have a particular affection for my backside.
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they've both exited the shower after exhausting every little bit of hot water his home had available. Bigby opts to wear clothing for the one half that Rosalind avoids, a pair of pajama bottoms that ride low on his hips. he can't believe she's really wearing his clothes, but at this point, he doesn't believe there is any stopping her. is he watching as she puts it on? absolutely. is he so distracted by the thought and image of someone else wearing his button-up that he hardly hears her question? you know it.
Bigby has a delayed reaction to her question, and he visibly shakes his head when it soaks in. a hand runs through wet, matted hair, smoothing it back while he pauses to think. a few more seconds and he shrugs his shoulder. ]
Don't know. Not usually the snuggling type, so you might be lucky. Or disappointed.
[ she mentions his fascination with her backside and he can't help but smirk, not particularly embarrassed about being called out for it. he even makes a point of glancing down and stepping to the side to see if he can get a peek underneath the button-up. ]
Mm, no. Just something easy to hold onto is all.
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And here you were supposed to tell me that you adored it. A compliment isn't impossible for you, Bigby, despite what you might want others to think.
[She's exhausted, their fuck having taken out the last bits of her stamina, but it's still hard not to be tempted by the way he looks right now. He isn't the only one staring; Rosalind eyes the lines of his hips, her gaze pointed, before turning away.
She sits on the bed. It's not quite as soft as the bed she has back in Olympia, and the sheets certainly aren't the ridiculously high thread count she insists upon, but after two days? She'd happily sleep on the floor. Anything even remotely soft is worth a great deal, and Rosalind sighs as she tucks her legs beneath her.
Her hands go behind her head, and she starts tying her hair into a neat braid.]
At least if nothing else, I shan't freeze tonight. Has anyone ever told you you're a furnace?
[That might be a problem come summer, but at least in winter, she'll take advantage of that without shame. She isn't particularly eager to cuddle with him, but she is eager not to spend another night cold, so. And speaking of chills . . . it's not that he doesn't have heat in this room, but she could also stand if he came over right now, because it's rather cold when you're still damp.]
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[ they've been looking at each other naked for the past half hour or longer. his hands had been all over and inside of her. she knows her body — and yes, her backside in particular — is adored. or at least the closest thing to adored that Bigby can muster up without feeling untrue to himself.
still continuously surprised that she hasn't passed out yet, he begins to walk over to the other side of the bed in order to crawl underneath the sheets. the last woman he had in his bed was Aranea, and that was a woman who was too fatigued to do anything even remotely sexual. kudos to Rosalind for trumping a battle-hardened mercenary in that regard. it leads him to wonder why the fuck his home is a pit stop for people, but he isn't about to start bitching about company. something in him says he enjoys it. ]
I'm going to assume that is you calling me warm. Thanks, I think.
[ Bigby groans as he gets comfortable on his own back, feeling his hips and thighs were rather tender as well. nothing he couldn't deal with, but at least it allows him to appreciate the bed and its comforts equally. ]
Is that code for something along the lines of "Bigby, I want your arms around me"? I might consider it if you ask nicely.
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[She reaches for the edges of her sleeves, rolling up one carefully. There's a practiced air to the way she does it, suggesting she's rather used to wearing men's shirts-- or at least, one man in particular. Bigby's a bit larger than him, though, so it takes extra time. But soon enough she's done it. Sleeves up, hair tied, and she's finally ready to settle back under the sheets, lying down properly.
Cuddling or not, it's not a particularly wide bed; some touching is inevitable. Feet and legs and torso, and Rosalind offers him a slight smile as she turns on her side, facing him. For once, it's not a smirk, but rather something softer and sweeter.
Without much warning, she scoots forward, outright pressing herself tight against him. He's either going to have to stay with his arms stiffly at his side or wrap them around her.]
Bigby, I want your arms around me, because I'm prone to chills and you're very warm.
[He's not going to be able to see her smug little grin, but he can at least hear it. She shifts and squirms this way and that, settling in, her eyes already eager to slide closed. She won't last much longer, but there's something else she has to get in first.]
Ah . . . I almost forgot.
Thank you. Truly. This means a great deal to me.
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I think I've made a point of saying I fucking spoil you, but it doesn't hurt to remind you again.
[ he figures she's going to be asleep before she even realizes it, so he merely stares up at the ceiling with little thought of thinking he can get away with exploiting the shirt that is undoubtedly riding up her thighs. when she speaks again, he looks down at her, even clearing his throat awkwardly at the sudden thank you. ]
Uh... yeah. Don't mention it. I figure this should make us about even.
[ there's the briefest of squeezes out of him as he reassures her, even going as far to extend his fingers to brush some stray, wet hairs out of her face. ]
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Safe, she realizes, and it's a stunning realization. She feels safe, and more importantly, she doesn't feel alone. Here she is and here she'll stay til morning, all because he's fond of her.
It's something she hasn't felt in six months, not since Robert left her side, and she's loath to fall asleep and chase it away. So though her eyes are eager to close, Rosalind yawns and squirms, tipping her head back to push against his fingers.]
Well. If you won't tell me a story, I'll tell you one, hm? About . . . hmm. I suppose I was asking you for a fairy story; you might hear one from my world. Or something from my past, pick one of the two.
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Oh, just so you can hold me to returning the favor at some point? I see what you're trying to do, Ms. Lutece. [ he's not completely serious, and he proves it by reaching down with his hand and giving a light swat at the side of her ass. she did expect he would touch her at some point; maybe not like that. ] I've heard enough fairy tales to last more lifetimes than you know. Let's go with something from your past.
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[She says it more laughing than protesting, so he's probably in the clear for that. Though she does reach down to grab his wrist.]
If you're going to be like that, don't do it when I'm exhausted.
[Which is more so she can buy herself time to think. Hmm . . . something from her past? It can't be something ordinary, then.]
Mm . . . I was fifteen when I first entered university. Or-- no, fourteen, but I was fifteen the first time I made a friend. I was . . . very angry as a teenager. Very, very angry. I was resentful of the world and determined to prove myself, and absolutely naive as to how things worked. I thought that if I could simply prove that everyone in the world was stupider than me, they'd all have to bow to that fact sooner or later.
Well. You can well imagine how that turned out. It wasn't nearly as bad as when I was a child, but I experienced my share of, ah, setbacks, as it were.
But I had a roommate in my second year. Victoria Pendergrass. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was very much enamored with her. She was . . . vivacious, I suppose you'd call her. Brilliant and beautiful. And of course, she had a little gang of friends, and so I gained friends through sheer proximity.
One of them rather reminds me of you. Not entirely-- you're far gruffer than Henry Standish ever was-- but you both get a kick out of setting off my temper and riling me up. He used to do it by baiting me with scientific principles.
[She yawns.]
Mm. I almost married him, actually. We, ah, he was my first-- well. He was my first, and I suppose he felt an obligation afterwards, so he proposed. It was flattering, if not both very clearly a pained effort on his part and utterly horrifying for me.
But then there was Robert, and any further propositions became unnecessary. Which really was for the best, because Henry Standish had no idea how to please a woman, stupid boy.
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Please don't compare me to a guy named Henry fucking Standish.
[ then she talks about marriage and he's immediately wincing. ]
Wouldn't that make you... like, fifteen or sixteen when you almost married him.
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[A beat. She wrinkles her nose over at him.]
My mother began presenting me for marriage when I was thirteen, Bigby. That was a bit young, but she hoped to make a match based on my lineage. By sixteen I was attending every party my mother could find during semester breaks. That wasn't so young, not for us.
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Guess it's a little funny. You went through your kid years too fast, so life tells you to chill the fuck out and you're stuck in your thirties for... how long was it, again?
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