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Being the family disappointment is… an adjustment.
It’s not easy to go from the spare, to the heir, to the black sheep. And she’s sure by now that she is the black sheep, considering Winter didn’t run away from Atlas, twice. Winter never had an outburst at a social event. Winter never locked Father in his study with General Ironwood after they’d argued. Winter didn’t want to do the barbaric thing and become a huntress. No, Winter had joined the military, and as much as their father had hated it, he’d had no choice but to accept it and praise her “decision to give up her title and serve the kingdom.”
“So what?” a raspy voice grunts from somewhere beyond her own head. “Scared of needles?”
Weiss looks down, wrinkles her nose at the smirk she finds beneath her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Usually when kids start pulling the ‘fuck you, Dad’ kind of shit, they get a tattoo. Or pierce somethin’.” Weiss huffs, but she’s unable to poutily cross her arms since she needs them for balance when he bucks his hips up against her particularly hard. He laughs, but keeps talking anyway. “Some of ‘em do go out and fuck people old enough to be their parents, but, heh… not quite like this.”
“In case you forgot, I was an heiress. People know who I am. I’m not about to go out somewhere and meet someone random, and have them kidnap me to try and sell me back to my father.” She looks off toward the opposite wall. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I asked.”
“‘S ‘cause I wasn’t. Still ain’t. Just making conversation.”
“Are you supposed to make conversation?”
“Well you said no kissing, and I said no kissing. What else you want me to do?” He snickers. “I was more surprised you didn’t set up a camera and make a recording to leak. Make Daddy Dearest look bad all the way from Mistral.”
“… with the CCT down, it wouldn’t matter. It’d be localized to Mistral and he’d never know,” she mumbles. “Ugh, my hips are getting tired.”
“Well then get off, we’ll be here all night at the rate you’re going anyway.”
Weiss scoffs, but stills, and climbs off of him. She stretches, settles on her hands and knees, and pulls her hair out of the way. “What, am I keeping you up past your bedtime?”
“Hey, don’t be a smartass or you can find some other way to act up and disappoint your parents.”
She feels his weight shifting around behind her, hears joints crack a little as he repositions and fights the urge to giggle. The urge is gone, however, when she feels the slide of his cock against her, teasing but not slipping in. Weiss sighs, leaning down to rest on her elbows, and actually presses her hips into the movement until he pulls back, then finally pushes into… oh that is not where she was expecting that to go.
She does give an undignified little grunt, but he doesn’t appear to notice why, or else he probably wouldn’t have kept moving.
She’s heard that it’s supposed to be unpleasant, if it takes you by surprise, and it’s supposed to hurt. It did feel a little uncomfortable at first, but not enough so that she’s going to ask him to stop. Every slow drag out makes her shiver, and every push in makes her toes curl, her breath escaping in short pants as she adjusts to the feeling. Her fingers twist in the sheets, and she cries out rather loudly when he presses in deeply, deep enough that she can feel his skin against her.
This seems to give him pause, and he looks down as he pulls back. “What… oh, shit--”
And just like that, he’s pulled out, leaving Weiss shivering and panting for a moment before she whines at him. “Why did you stop?”
“… why did… what? Did you even notice what just happened?”
“Yes!”
“… and you’re… mad that I stopped.”
“Obviously!”
“… alright, alright, give me a second…”
His weight shifts further away from her and she pushes herself up onto her hands again, looking over her shoulder. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed and rummaging through the nightstand for something when she spots him again in the dim light. She practically growls. “What are you doing?”
“Relax, princess.” He comes up with what looks like a small bottle, and rather than ungracefully clamber back to her, he apparently sees fit to grab one of her ankles and pull her toward him, yanking both legs out from under her and leaving her lying on her stomach.
She gives an undignified yelp, and attempts to squirm back up onto her hands and knees, but is stopped when she feels his weight settle across her thighs. “Now what are you--”
“Your arms get less tired this way, calm down. Cross your ankles.” She hears the pop of a plastic cap and the cool, slick squish of something wet, though she can’t quite make out what he’s doing back there at first. Not until his fingers, now cold and a little sticky, rub over her, one of them even pressing inside and curling slowly enough to make her whimper. “You coulda mentioned you wanted this from the start, y’know. Woulda gotten the lube out sooner.”
“… I’ve never done it before,” she mumbles, burying her face in her arms again as she finally crosses her ankles like he’d told her. “I didn’t know I’d like it.”
There’s something… more exciting about it. Even moreso than the act of… getting fucked by your friends’ uncle while they’re asleep down the hall, it just makes it feel… so much different that, on top of that, he’d been fucking her like that, she thinks, though she doesn’t tell him that. She’s a bit too shy still to properly say it, and she doesn’t… want him to tease her about it.
“… oh. Damn. Well. Glad to help you figure that one out.” He pulls his hand away and shifts around behind her again, and right before she turns over her shoulder again to complain, he pushes himself back into her.
Weiss moans loudly into her arms as he settles, squirms in his hold when he grabs her hips, and she’s only given a moment to adjust before he resumes his thrusting. It feels… far different this way than before, a little tighter with her ankles crossed somehow. Definitely a lot stickier now but… she thinks she can live with this trade, honestly.
She honestly loses track of how long they’re at it, and she doesn’t quite remember when she’d wiggled a hand under herself to shakily rub at her clit to help herself along, just that she’s doing it by the time he pulls back and drags her hips with him, shifting the angle he’s been moving at and making her, yet again, grunt in a very unladylike manner. And, yet again, he laughs at it. But she really doesn’t have the presence to be irritated about it, not when she’s pressing her face into the mattress against the thrusting, rocking her hips against her own hand, grabbing at the sheets with her free hand. And she definitely isn’t irritated in the slightest when every muscle in her body goes taut as she finally comes.
She’s not really aware of him pulling out of her again. She’s… a bit too distracted, panting and shivering against the sheets. She is vaguely aware, though, when he clambers off of the bed and fumbles around in the dark for something on the floor: the rustle of fabric that follows implies that he’s yanking his slacks back on.
“… what are you doing?” she finally manages, pushing herself up onto her elbows.
“Runnin’ down the hall to grab you a towel. Gimme a sec.”
“Why?”
“You’re gonna wanna clean up, that’s all gonna feel real gross when it dries. Hold on.”
Weiss stays where she is, lets him leave, and when she finally notices the feeling of splatter on her lower back, she makes a face. Oh. That’s what he meant. Gross.
He’s back in a minute or two, and gets her back for her with a warm, wet washcloth, handing her a different one -- she can tell because she sees him drop the first one onto the nightstand -- to get the rest of the mess. The stickiness between her legs, mostly. When she drops it aside, he hands her a dry towel, takes the washcloth and puts it on the nightstand with the first one, and then wraps them both up in the towel when she’s done with that.
“You sleepin’ in here, or you goin’ back to your room?” he asks when she finally wobbles up to look for her clothes. “Ruby’s been comin’ in here in the mornings to make sure I’m up, dunno if that’s how you want her to find out.”
“I’ll go back to my room.” Weiss doesn’t really care if the others find out, eventually, but… she doesn’t want to have that conversation early in the morning. She drops her dress back into place, gathers her shrug, her shoes, her underwear, and her sash, before pausing by the door and glancing back over her shoulder at him. “… thank you. For that.”
“Heh. Any time. Glad to help.”