dragonlady7

post, the witcher, meet death sitting

via https://ift.tt/3khqFGh

So the Lambert/Keira fic is going well, sort of. Lambert is proving that even nonbinary demisexuals can have Disaster Bi Energy if they try, which was a thesis I’d been interesting in proving, so good for him. He has patiently talked Keira through the concept of ninbinary genders, and concluded by asking if she wanted to talk about it or wanted to fuck about it, and you can guess which one she picked.

So, this is well into the latter process, here, and he has just realized that while Keira talks a good game, she has no fucking idea what she’s doing. (Also, he is discovering that while his intentions to take charge and coach her through this were pretty good, he’s in kind of rough shape mentally and he doesn’t have the capacity to be in charge of shit, at the moment.)

“Assume you know how this works,” he said. Words were really, really hard; he’d gone away, in his head, in a good way but not a talking way. Tricky, because she probably needed some talking through this. Shit.

“I do,” she said, endearingly earnest. Lambert had assumed, from the way she’d reacted when he’d first brought up strap-ons in general, that she was an old hand at this, but this earnestness along with some other little clues he was just adding up were suggesting to him that perhaps not. Anyway he’d been super drunk and credulous when she’d suggested it; he wouldn’t have known bravado from genuine blasé unconcernedness if it’d actually smacked him in the face with a paddle with its name carved on it.

Oh, he was in for it, but, fuck, he’d had worse, and he was well-stocked with healing potions, and if nothing else it’d be a hell of a story. Sheer willingness got you pretty far, in this kind of shit.

(Don’t worry they’ll be fine, she’s been practicing and has read every sex manual ever published.)