tiltingwithlips | [Werewolf AU. WE DO WHAT WE WANT.]

[Werewolf AU. WE DO WHAT WE WANT.]

Kate Percy is having a bad day.

Tonight's the night of the full moon, and usually she spends the day in her room before slipping out to the heath at moonrise. Usually. But today, the Percys are playing host to a neighboring baron, and Kate has had to spend the day seeing to the guests. The baroness has called for every luxury possible since she arrived, and the baron smells of disdain whenever he speaks to Kate, and Kate is ravenous.

If she can make it a few more hours -- just long enough to make sure the cook has dinner well in hand -- she'll be able to shrug it all off and go out in the moonlight.

Hopefully she won't lose her head and bite the baron, in the meantime.

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Kate rests her forehead against his and growls happily.

He braces himself against the wall, one finger hooked under the seam of her dress. "A very fine means of keeping quiet!"

"I would not have our guests hear us talk of them!" she protests. "But . . ."

She kisses him again. Well, all right, she bites his lip, gently. It's sort of like kissing, right?

"I may howl my love for my lord and find no shame in it."

"By heaven! Leave off shame altogether." If he has more to say, he forgoes it in favor of somewhat more urgent kissing.

Kate should be close enough to understand why that is.

As if her nose hadn't already told her enough. Groaning, she thumps her head onto his shoulder.

"Ah, Harry, if we stop not now--"

"No. We are past stopping."

He's just decided this.

Which means he takes her by the hand and starts toward their chamber.

He didn't seek her out for this, necessarily, but as it stands they are definitely past stopping.

She laughs. "'Tis very well!"

Better that they're taking it to their bedroom, though.

She practically overtakes him on the way there. With the full moon on the rise, all her appetites are burning hotter than usual.

No sooner has he slammed the door than he is shedding his jacket and pulling off his boots. Sometimes this has to wait, as he'll not wait to kiss if he need not do so.

Kate seeks to help with his shirt where she may.

If this occasionally involves ripping off a button, well . . .

. . . She's sorry?

A button or five is nothing to fuss over at a time like this (nor any other time, given how much attention Harry usually pays to his state of dress); their seamstresses have long since given up on telling them to be careful.

A larger concern: if he keeps backing her up and not looking where he's going, will they both topple onto the still-unmade bed? Or will they trip on the corona of discarded garments first?

There's a stumble or two, but they make it to the bed more or less upright. When Kate bumps into the bed, she takes Harry by the shoulders and turns them around to push him back.

He'll fall willingly enough -- but the thing about Kate still wearing most of her dress is that he has no compunction grabbing it and taking her with him.

She growls again as he pulls her down, landing with her hands on either side of his shoulders.

A fine position for him to take her face between his hands and kiss her again.

With teeth. And some low noises of his own.

It seems like she had a plan a moment ago, that probably involved somehow getting this damnable dress off, but it has quite flown her mind. Who could focus on such things when there's the scent of him in her nose and the sound of his heart pounding in her ears and the taste of him on her lips?

Harry's ardor is no less fierce and no less poetic at heart. Yet at the moment he's confronting some somewhat more earthbound problems. If he maneuvers his hand so... and reaches there... is that the lacing at her back?

He tugs experimentally. (Oh heaven, the strong lines of her spine beneath the cloth.)

She steals another kiss, then sits up, straddling his hips.

"Wilt lend me thy aid?"

He sits up himself. "Wilt let me be quick about it, else I be driven to distraction?"

Ah, this is easier. If he wraps both arms around her... and busies himself with the crook of her neck in the meantime...

There. 'Tis loosed.

Meanwhile, she returns the favor of kissing her way up his neck.

Sighing happily, she starts pulling the dress off.

The excellent thing about dresses is that, while they can be unwieldy, they yield up their treasure all at once when they are off. The tugging is still ungainly, and they must separate a little, to be sure, but if they must, they must, and to conclude, Harry may as well shuck his pants while they're at it.

And there. With plenty of bare skin on all sides, Kate more or less pounces on her husband for a kiss.

His lady wife is not the only one who's led on by hunger. When he breaks away, he shifts himself behind her. Her hair is up, and her neck is exposed. He nips behind her ear, one hand at her collarbone, the other kneading her breast.

The whine that escapes her throat is not very dignified, but very pleased. She arches her back, pressing into his hands.

Her own hand comes down to grip his leg, and her thumb strokes the inside of his thigh.

For that, she'll get an encouraging noise, but more than that, he curls closer against her, planting a path of kisses across the full line of her shoulders.

One hand moves onto her own inner thigh, splayed fingers pressing just hard enough.

Groaning, she spreads her legs and leans back, presses her nose into his hair and inhales deeply.

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