#feral witch noises that are coming close very fast sdfgdfhgfh

[cursedfortune]

[ TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist. ( feral samael noises in the distance )

👀 @utallige

If there was one thing Samael learned about quickly, it was how ready she was to strip into comfier clothing. Not that she didn't love her black dresses, but there was nothing like donning something nicer (and shorter) to curl up in bed in. What had she selected this time? One of his shirts. Surprise!

Honestly, what did the King expect? Having to run off into work for something, being gone all day... maybe she just missed him. His clothes did smell like him even when clean. She even made a nest of all his silly little body pillows he favored so much (though, perhaps not as much as her 'body pillow'). His return only had the witch peeking out from the blankets, plum curls a bit less tame than usual. No doubt she had been dozing if the way her dark gaze blinked slowly at him, squinting at the light, didn't give that away.

Yet one arm untucked itself, a hand reaching out to him. A small and impatient sound after she clearly had been patient all day. The sleeve of his shirt clear, if her dress over the chair wasn't obvious enough. Hearing Samael shuffle and finally slip into bed behind her brought a little sigh of contentment. Especially when she was enveloped by his arms. Warm, like Hell itself. She could get used to his flames.

While this darling King could certainly run his mouth, the two of them were always fine to speak a wordless language.

Yes, the shirt she was wearing no doubt had ridden up in her prior slumber to now hug at her waist - which only meant the little garment beneath was easily enough revealed. Not that it bothered her in the slightest. Samael was hardly a shy demon and she was hardly a prude witch. But it was upon feeling his fingers dance over the fabric of the shirt and dip beneath that the witch inhaled a touch more audibly. No effort was made to stop him. In fact, she only enabled his behavior by snuggling herself back against his front. A soft chuckle beneath her breath followed as she rested her hand upon his arm, thumb affectionately rubbing with unspoken permission to do as he wished.

His touch always betrayed the power she felt from him and yet also shared something in common - perhaps her favorite quality about him. Passionate, in everything he did. Always so fully invested in his schemes, his collecting of things, the school and its students, his other work, and even his attention to her. There was absolutely nothing to warrant him to be so nice, to be gentle with her at times even in his teasing. Not when the two of them could be so terribly cut throat (literally and figuratively). But she melted at whatever he did and shared with her, even just skimming his fingers over her bare waist.

Mortem tilted her head to peer over her shoulder at his smug visage that she could see so well in the dark. A sight to behold in the thin rays of moonlight, truly. One then interrupted as she pressed a few kisses along his jaw down to his chin, "Mm... welcome home, Samael." Her head tilted a little further to kiss him proper; all the waiting around of the day falling away as relief to have him here again settled in. Did her missing him even need to be said when it was so clearly in her voice, in the way she sought him in return?