moritat | Victorian weenie au

As far as she knows, it's only returning the magnificent favor he'd done her. What problem could there be?

But Paloma's head bobs just once, twice, and halfway down her third she dares a peek up at his eyes. The distress waiting shocks her off of his dick, letting go of it with a positively filthy pop from her lips.

"Harry?" As soundlessly as she can manage his name in a query. She stares, neck craned, from the same spot on the ground.

Oh thank god, she stopped, she isn't going to choke?! But it doesn't help him stop his pathetic weeping, and now she's looking at him and he feels he has to hide his face. He buries his face in both hands, sobbing into his palms.

She should be used to him getting off and crying in tandem by now. They're one and the same.

dick still rock hard tho

Of course it's still hard!! Look at it, all wet and glistening!!

Her heart seizes, clenches from the enormity of seeing him break down like this. Paloma can't leave him be. She pushes to sit upright, slipping her hands around his, pulling them away to allow for their noses smushed together--

"Love?"

No he'd rather not look at it.......

He'd also rather not look at her, it's like looking at all the terrible things he's done and he wants to cry all the more for seeing her beautiful face in the midst of it! "I'm sorry-" It's maybe a little too loud, until he muffles himself again by wrapping his arms around her and dropping his head to rest in her collar. Just another way to hide his face.

Her poor weenie and his sad, bereft weenie. Paloma puts that out of mind and embraces him tightly, to perhaps help him feel secure, and wanted even if she doubts that's the issue. She'd thought she demonstrated the opposite rather vividly.

Murmuring directly into his ear, she smooths the hair down at his nape. "Do you wish for me to stop touching ...?"

How can he answer that question...he definitely doesn't want to sit in the discomfort of getting so worked up but not actually getting off. He absolutely wants her to touch him. But he also is definitely going to feel more and more guilty. It's a fitting punishment if he doesn't get the satisfaction, right? Maybe he can be forgiven then.

All he can really do in response is shake his head while latching onto her even more.

It's a pathetic state of affairs. Hyde is so done with this shit.

Paloma--

Isn't completely sure what he means.

So long as there's room for doubt, her hands and mouth stay where they are. The man can cling for whatever length of time he must. Poor repressed Henry Jekyll. She kisses his brow.

"No, I may? No, no more?"

Her shoulder and chest are going to be awfully wet.

Having to clarify, he can't really decide which he meant by it still. He feels badly for her having to put up with this. It's one thing when he cries with some one night stand or prostitute, he can just leave, or they're being paid so it's fine to ride it out.

"...You may." It can't get any worse, he's already disgusting! Might as well finish the job. Fingers twist in her hair and the strings tying her corset together. He isn't about to stop clinging, though.

He says that, but still she frets. She sits back onto her feet and regards him with the utmost solemnity before taking his face up between impossibly gentle palms.

"I am happy to. But you are not happy, love. We do not need to."

But he is, and he wants to, that's the problem!

"Please forgive me." Does he mean for crying and interrupting her, or for wanting sex in the first place? The answer is both, and that's why he can't look her in the eye.

Just get rid of this trash.

She kisses him on the mouth, feather-light and startlingly chaste. Only then do her hands drop from Jekyll.

And still she smiles, hoping to show the good will he hasn't impugned. Certainly they are a mess, and have made a mess, but that's all this is. A mess they can work on. "Nothing needs my forgiving. Ah ... we should, ahh, dress?"

Lord, her bloomers will smell strange under the heaviness of those skirts. Paloma picks at the wet slit of it absently.

"...Have they gone?" Is it safe to go out, and to speak?

His own hands still want to seek her out in some way, any at all. Those moments of being comforted and looked after have spoiled him. Paloma isn't warm, and yet she is. There's also the matter of his blueballs, and at least having some intimacy might help to ease that off... Maybe. It's better than not, anyway.

Paloma listens for chatter, footsteps, other telltale signs, but the group has moved on. "Yes."

Holding him again comes as a natural instinct. She latches on torso to torso, where she can tuck under his chin and he can cry it out without somebody staring. As for his neglected dingus... it gets squeezed between their bodies. So, temporarily forgotten, but there is a resolution.

Is that really a resolution? He chooses to put it out of mind. Which is not so easy to actually do. But he can tuck his chin over her head, to hold her close.

"I am sorry, truly. For everything. You deserve much better, always! I came to apologise, and yet I need to do so yet again..." Of course, he's such a weenie that he keeps crying all the while.

The man's got it into his head that he's done her a disservice while Paloma only wants to know how she can help him see. See her willingness, the excitement more than the shame of nearly rutting like dogs.

Her eyes lower from maidenly guilt at the obscenity of that thought. "But it was lovely. You are lovely. Kind, too." She really ought to be kind to him as well. Ladylike little fingers seek out what dangles from his trousers and encircle it.

That's because the worry is more selfish than he'd like to say. For not wanting to appear any less than perfect. Not so much an apology as please forget I have imperfections.

But he wouldn't even be able to get his pants back on if that obscene hardon stayed, so how can he protest the help. It's appropriate really, it's all the more pathetic and like him to be sitting on the floor of a washroom, crying while being jerked off. His fingers find her hair again, though this time to stroke rather than violently tangle up within it.

A fair hand more encouraging, given his emotional state. Although this would've ended sooner if she used her mouth, this will do him fine. Lubricant's easy to come by so as not to hurt him with unpleasant friction. A slick palm's good enough for anyone!

Paloma forgets caution about where the mess will end up. With his dick trapped between them, and her curled over it ...

A slick palm is usually what he takes, if anything - you don't hear him complaining! On the other hand, that other self rumbles inside him for annoyance with the entire situation. He could have had the best head in the world. Deep throat central. But no.

He's grateful for the servants having left, so he doesn't have to worry about the low moan that escapes his lips. Or when it escalates to something with more volume, as he arches his hips closer, breath caught in his throat between the sobs and climax. ...But he also forget their positioning, until the moment it's over, and he suddenly recalls, her clothes. All at once he pulls away to look down at her, mouth agape.

"Ah-!! Oh no!"

Reality is so cruel. First, in the middle of his orgasm, Paloma realizes she's rarin' to have another go; second, his jizz went all over her chin and corset. Some of it's escaped down her cleavage, and she feels another wet spot across her throat.

"Sssh ... umm," she says blankly. A flush is in her cheeks that could never be there but for the blood magic's false life. "Ummm."

...Um is right. All he can do is stare in horror. He's defiled her, gotten his dirty seed all over her, what a disgusting, terrible man?! "I-I am so sorry!!"

It's kind of a turn on. Even after he's just spent himself. But no he can't think that way, that's all Hyde, not him, Jekyll would never! Obviously!

Could be worse. Could have gotten into her eyes. Big bad vampires still use those.

Paloma flexes out her fingers and tries to think of the best way out of this, head buzzing. "I, I did not think of this, while I should have." Listen. Listen. When a girl's only ever blown a dick or straight up let a dude nut inside her, she hasn't faced a problem like this before.

He could LICK it off of her. She squirms. How SINFUL. "Let, ahh, the water. Run water quickly!" She sets to unlacing the corset behind herself with appropriate superhuman agility.

Precisely another one of those thoughts that must belong solely to Hyde. It enters his mind to lick it off -- but that's definitely wrong. To consume something like that...! ...But he already has. Is it better or worse if it's his own? Still, that was Hyde too, Jekyll isn't a homosexual, licking it off her would be pretty gay, even with his tongue on her tit.

But before he knows it, cheeks burning, he leans forward and places his hands on her hips as he ducks to run his tongue along her jaw.

She misses a lace. Extraordinary in its own right, given her vampiric abilities. Undoing the ties on a corset should be child's play.

Paloma can't help it, he-- he's gone and done what seemed to her an impossibility. It looks that, at most, it was improbable. Her irises shrink, and after missing a second time, her fingers tug at the laces in a slower pace. He's not running the water, but Jekyll is ... cleaning up after himself. Just in a way that puts the fire back in her belly.

Even though his cheeks are still stained with tears and his eyes are bloodshot, for crying over giving in to base desires, Jekyll seems to be doing a fine job of setting it all aside. He shifts again to trail his tongue from her collar bone all the way up her neck, very sure to do a good job of cleaning up after himself. And then there's what went between her breasts...which naturally leads him to linger there. It isn't his fault he has to cup her titties. It's all in the name of cleaning them off.

What, he isn't getting himself hard again, no way

The corset loosens and drops to make it easy for him to bury his face into her breasts. He's doing a vile thing. Surely the Bible has words for people who lick come off of a woman's tits, and no good Catholic girl would sit there and press against the back of his head in encouragement.

Or helpfully push out her chest, shoving away the unlaced corset. Paloma's Catholocism is the definition of decrepit.

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we get it jekyll you only JO with heterobros

No gay stuff

I bet he's gotten with hot chicks recently