From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
They were stood on the brink; the cusp of something dark and violent shortly in the future, that all of them could feel. Tensions rising, friendships ending and power shifting around them each second. It was, in short, a stressful time before a much more stressful time to come. Morgan was well aware of this and knew she had to prepare - also, equally, she had learnt the benefit of the odd break in the last year.
Perhaps she was the less crass of the two of them, but she was not blind to the way Neron's eyes lit up when he was handled, commanded; if they had access to all physical abilities regularly, she would have long ago given him what he wanted. As it was, they'd had to wait until they could take a trip to the Grounds, but Morgan had made it clear what she intended to do: when they entered the room (she would still make him go to get the keys) he was to do exactly as she said.
Dressed in her heavy cloak clasped in the front, she waited by the door until he came with the keys and when it was unlocked, stepped in after him and shut it. Wordlessly, before they began, she glanced to meet his eyes - a last check that he wanted to continue.
Neron isn't sure there's really a point to the key to this room any more; if any Ascended wanted in enough (or any raging demigod, if rumours are to be believed), then they would be able to break down the door without much of an issue at all. Still, he dutifully opens it up for Morgan, offering a small smile before he steps inside. The door clicks shut behind them and he turns to lock it once more, leaving the key in place and letting out a shudder as it hits him.
It always feels like it's the first time he's doing this, a blanket of feeling shivering across his skin and arousal burning in his veins. Dressed in his customary black - shirt and tie and all - Neron turns to regard Morgan with quicksilver eyes. It's sweet of her to check, but he doesn't need it. "I am all yours," he purrs, and waits for his next instructions.
There was always a vicarious enjoyment at seeing Neron rediscover his sensation; the visible shiver, the way he stiffened and paused just for a moment, a short enough time that you had to be looking to catch it; Morgan was looking.
She nodded to indicate she'd heard him, but didn't respond right away, slowly bringing her hands to the clasp of her cloak and unfastening it, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath was not her normal leather armour and sensible pants and shoes, but something new; nothing that would be referred to as sexy by most people, but for Morgan it was quite the venture. Tight dull leather pants and a white shirt of thin fabric that hung off her shoulders and chest, showing all that was underneath if you looked for a moment.
This was an outfit only Neron would ever get to see, but she wasn't about to let him touch - he had to work for that. Looking back to Neron, Morgan took a step forwards and with steel eyes that bore into him despite his height over her, commanded: "Down on your knees."
Neron, at least, is very aware of the privilege of this moment, and as the cloak pools to the ground and reveals tight leather and a peek at what might be beneath Morgan's shirt, he does not take it for granted. Indeed, while he might not touch, there is nothing about the way his eyes drink her in that suggests coyness or polite company, and his smile is tipped with fangs already. But then she steps forward and the order rings through his blood and plucks at strings there laid long dormant.
Still, his gaze never leaves Morgan's as he complies, taking his time about it. There isn't really an elegant way to get on one's knees, but Neron makes it look about as carefree as it gets. Even so, once there he can't help but take her in from this new angle, chin lifting a fraction to enjoy all the places hugged by leather and thin fabric.
An amused tug on Morgan's lips made her blow out a small huff of air as she watched Neron get down, obviously trying to make the movement sensual. That easy smirk stayed on her face as he looked back up at her and she cast her eyes down, leaning in close to gently tip up his chin with her thumb and forefinger.
"You're not to move or say anything unless I permit you to, understand? If you want to bring something to my attention, you say Warden and you wait permission." Turning his face from side to side with her fingers, looking him over for a long moment, Morgan seemed like she might pull away - then she grasped his hair and pulled his head back, her fingers pushing into his mouth.
"Suck." Was the simple command given. Morgan was not entirely sure what she was doing, mostly working from her natural authority and her imagining of what Neron would like, but it wasn't clear by looking at her: on the outside she was the picture of dominating power, looking down at Neron with an almost detached disinterest as she roughly thrusted her fingers into his mouth.
I want you to hit me as hard as you can, that's what brims on the tip of Neron's tongue, but of course that isn't the game they are playing here, and he keeps his eyes averted when Morgan reaches for him, examining, deciding, ordering. "I understand," he purrs, hissing in a breath as her fingers plunge into the back of his hair and roughly pull back. The pain isn't much, but it's a promise of something more.
And then there are fingers in his mouth, Neron's eyes slipping shut as he complies, his tongue curling around them. Everything fades to raw touch and feeling, the Hailstorm surrendering to senses that very rarely receive this much attention. Frey's influence certainly helps, and were it not for the command not to move he'd already be unbuttoning his pants to touch himself. Shame, that.
Neron was an obedient slut when he wanted to be, and Morgan couldn't help the huffed laugh and smile that came over her lips. There was something quite attractive, almost deliciously ironic, about seeing the usually verbose, sarcastic man so happily staying quiet and taking something in his mouth. She let him stay like that for a few more moments, fingers roughly pulling away when she decided it was enough.
As for being hit has hard as she could? Oh, Morgan hadn't forgotten, but delayed gratification was the game here. If she had given him what he wanted right way, there would have been nothing to build up to. Grabbing his jaw with her finger and thumb, she tilted his head up to look at her again. "I think I should show you what will happen if you step out of line."
And so she did; without any further ceremony Morgan wound her hand back and swung it at his cheek, removing the hand holding his jaw at the last moment so none of the impact would be dampened. When he fell to the side, she would gently place one boot on his chest, the slow softness of the action at odds with the nature of it, and ask: "So you see why you should obey?"
She had to admit, this was not her usual thing, but she was having fun.
Morgan's fingers slip from his mouth and Neron's eyes open slowly, peering up at her with something fey come to life in them. He doesn't speak - he knows better - and as her hand comes to grip his jaw something ripples through his body, almost impossible to detect, but she is close enough to catch the breath he takes, the way his spine straightens. And he both braces and doesn't for the pain as she strikes him - only it doesn't actually hurt, and he'd have cursed if it weren't for the fact that the gesture itself is enough.
Coming around to a boot on his chest and a beautiful woman standing over him has silver flushing his cheeks, his arousal painfully obvious where it strains against the fabric of his pants. "Yes," he almost purrs. "I see." It's a fine line, though, between obeying and not. Neron likes to invite punishment - what more can he say?
Morgan's eyes flicked down as she stood over Neron, taking in his obvious arousal and needy eyes; this was a delightful sight from her angle as well. For a moment she kept her boot in place, considering what to do next; this still didn't come entirely naturally to her, but she didn't want to lose the air of authority. Perhaps, she thought, it was time to use him for her own pleasure; that was a part of this, right?
"Up. On the bed." She instructed, lifting her foot and pointing to the raised cushioned platform that filled the further half of the room. Assuming Neron followed her instructions and went, she would follow after removing her boots and pants; it was a skill of hers to maintain an air of authority no matter the situation and she still strode confidently over to him without anything on her bottom half.
Climbing over Neron and gently yet firmly pushing his shoulders back, she climbed over him. This was common for them; he liked to taste her and she liked to be over him, but just before she lowered herself over his mouth she paused, hand in his hair. "If you do well enough at this I might touch you." Morgan explained, fingers going to lightly, feather-soft, touch the bulge in Neron's pants before drifting away.
Neron complies (of course he does), rising to his feet and sweeping over to the bed in a movement only made fluid by the fact that it's dark outside and he's an Ascended. He keeps his gaze on the floor, though his ears are sharp for the sound of shifting fabric, and as Morgan approaches and pushes him back, he raises his eyebrows in surprise. A very pleasant surprise, granted.
He tilts his head, and perhaps he'd have said something were it not for her fingers suddenly brushing over his erection. Neron lets out almost a growl of frustration, managing not to lift his hips by some degree of self-control, though he channels it into the task at hand instead. Leaning up, Neron presses his mouth against Morgan, his tongue flicking out to taste her, to tease against her clit in slow, indulgent circles.
The grin that graced her face at his clear frustration from the light touch was decidedly a little wicked; Morgan's fingers left him as she sunk down onto his mouth and tipped her head back, a breathy moan leaving from parted lips as his slow attentions to her clit began to build a heat in her body. Gradual, each touch from him bringing a new layer of sensation; Morgan began to lose herself in it's progression.
Still, there was a game they were playing here and she had not forgotten. Her hand in his hair tightened, pulled him closer; if he were still breathing she would worry about him but as it was, he knew what he had to do and he was perfectly capable of doing it. As a reward for doing well so far, pushing her closer and closer to that taunt pinnacle, she reached back again and now pulled one finger up his shaft, starting at the base and softly, so lightly she could barely feel the texture of his pants, drew it up to the tip. "A little more."
Neron is focused on his task up until the point where she starts to touch him again, at which point his pleasure comes humming up through his throat against against her, his hips lifting a fraction as if to chase a sensation that is far too light and does not last nearly long enough. It's true that anyone else would likely have suffocated by now, but not the Launceleyn; his hands join his tongue in trying to tease her towards her climax, drifting over her thighs and her hips while his tongue plunges deep into her folds.
A little more can mean a lot when it's such a delicate dance, and he's ashamed to say that perhaps he goes overboard and into a lot more. Such is the high he is chasing, every flick of his tongue and press of his fingers begging her to touch him again. Even a little is too much at this point.
Neron knew how to please her by now; he'd certainly spent his fair share of time between her legs and that experience had benefited his tongue. By the time his hands were on her legs they would feel her shaking, having to lean over and rest herself with an arm above his head as the building waves of pleasure became too great to focus through. Hopefully he would forgive her a brief recompense from the persona of the dominating woman as she moaned and moved over his face in the depths of her climax.
"Ah-!" Morgan cried as her thighs closed in around his face and she tipped her head back, feeling the sensation out for as long as she pleased; partly because it was delicious, every part of her light and free...but also because the longer she partook in her own orgasm, the longer Neron didn't get to have his.
Eventually she slowly pulled away, laughing as she saw his face and running a thumb along his bottom lip. "Now, you might have earned yourself a reward. Why don't you tell me-" Morgan lowered herself backwards, straddling Neron so that her hips just hovered over his. "-What you'd like?"
It is a very good thing that Neron doesn't need to breathe, especially as Morgan's orgasm seizes her and leaves her lost to her own pleasure. It's as frustrating as it is tantalising, his hips arching up a little as he continues to help her ride out the wave of her climax. None of it, though, does anything for the erection aching against the tent of his pants, and by the time the Warden shifts to look back at him, his cheeks are flushed silver and he's panting, even though he absolutely doesn't need to.
Raising an eyebrow at her question, Neron huffs out a soft laugh, letting his hands drift down her thighs. "I'm all about equality," he breathes, his fanged grin very crooked indeed. "Give as good as you get and all that. What do you think?"
