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[guinegreer]

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[achilles]

( part of him is soothed just by the notion greer is kneeling somewhere, waiting for him. it makes it easier to make her wait, even if ash is crawling out of his skin to get close to her — this is better. let her reach the point of doubt and past it, to the empty nothingness of subspace. it's not something ash has ever been able to reach, but he knows all the descriptions for it, knows how to get a sub there with minimal, but meaningful effort. so, he makes her wait. he makes himself wait. really, he only finally crosses the threshold when he can't bare it anymore — not necessarily when it's best for greer, which would ordinarily be the point.

just not today. he steps inside her room and sees her poised, her back bent, every notch of her spine shadowed on her smooth skin. ash observes her, lets her wonder who walked into her room for a few long, generous seconds, before he steps past her entirely, fingers itching to stroke her hair. of course, he doesn't. he's pulled taunt with an undefinable something — an emotion there's no real name to, which he'll have to explain to her eventually. for now, he takes a seat on a chair across from her, waiting another minute or so to see if she'll break command, before snapping his fingers and pointing to the space of carpet between his legs. )

Crawl here.

[guinegreer]

[ It’s a surreal state to be in, and difficult to describe — hyperaware of her surroundings, and the slightest sound in the room, everything from the clock ticking on the nightstand to the slightest creak in the hallway. Greer doesn’t know which are Ash’s footsteps and which might belong to, say, the Balfours’ maids. If one of them were to walk in here now and find her like this…

Her cheeks burn anew, but the mere concept of shame compels her to remain kneeling. That’s the whole point — that Ash can make her feel this way, that she can revel in the discomfort, that she’s willing to embrace submission by existing at her most vulnerable, for him. It’s love, but it’s also something else, something deeper, and she feels it swell up within her the second she finally hears the knob turn: worship.

When a hush falls over the space, she knows it’s him; anyone else would have immediately moved to fill the silence, but he lets it take up room instead before stepping past. His scent fills her senses and she wants to take hold of him, wants to curl up in his lap, but she waits, practically on pins and needles, until he addresses her first. The command is a relief, and she tips forward onto all fours, crawling to him with her eyes still on the floor. He hasn’t given her permission to touch him or address him, hasn’t told her to do anything else, so she resumes her initial position, just knelt directly in front of him, her fingers briefly curving over her thighs when she harbors the thought of nuzzling into his leg before flexing out again. ]