The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[The Iron Bull]

Bull stalls for longer than he'd like to admit; fussing with getting the jar opened and placed just so, a good coating of it slathered on  his hands, the same paste rubbed briskly to warm it, asking twice if Coquette needs another pillow... Eventually though, he has to... touch her naked body. 

Don't be a perv. Don't be a perv. Don't be a perv. Don't be a perv.

"So, uhh, this stuff-- the paste, the bruise paste, I mean, it works best if-- I have to rub, err, rub it in. And you knew, but also, well, it's-- a massage. Need to massage it in. And firmer is better, but, well, I mean, I don't want to hurt you. So."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"So it will hurt," she says, mournfully. "Ugh. Well, soonest begun, soonest ended." 

[The Iron Bull]

"Well, no, that's what-- Sorry, I'm uh, I'm not the best with words in the best'o times. And staring at a cute ass on a pretty girl ain't the best'o-- oh, uh, which isn't to say that seeing your ass is a bad thi-- butt. I mean your butt-- which is real fine. I mean-- eerrrggg." Bulls's voice cuts off and the sound of thumping replaces it.

[Coquette Blacquin]

She chuckles. "I don't mind swear words, you know. If that helps any. I recognize you're trying to clean up your language for nobility and that's not a bad idea but if one slips out once in a while, I won't be offended." A beat. "Good to know you think I'm pretty, though."

[The Iron Bull]

"Very pretty," Bull mumbles. "Try'n real hhhhh-- umm." He mutters something that she can't understand despite hearing well enough and takes a breath. "Just say the word and I'll back off. Leave ta room even, iffen that's the word. I don't ever want you to hafta feel afraid of me," he says quietly, the care and deliberation he's putting into each word easy to hear. "Prefer ya not be made ta feel awkward or discomforted by me neither but I'm a bit'o a brute sometimes and I ain't never been in a situition like this ever before. Seen more than a few naked women, working before, but never, uh, this personal. Certainly never got allowed ta touched any of'em," he finishes with a bit of youthful shame.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"A virgin?" she asks, surprised and a little delighted. "I wouldn't have guessed, a strong handsome man like you. And I wouldn't worry too much. You're... nice. Gentle, polite, kind... I'll let you know if things get uncomfortable but I doubt they will."

[The Iron Bull]

The Iron Bull actually whines a little when she says the v-word, but he settles back into position near her hips. "Thank you," he whispers, then clears his throat. "Right then. Let's, uh, get to work on this. Gonna start real soft, spreading it around, then I'll go," just a slight fumble before he goes for, "with more strength. It should feel a little painful, but not more than like a low burn. As iffen'u were hitting a good stride during a run."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Okay," she says softly. "Ready." not that I don't trust him, but I am going to grit my teeth and hope this doesn't hurt too badly. I'm a wuss when it comes to pain, she tells herself, not really clear on how her diet affects her pain tolerance. 

[The Iron Bull]

Bull takes one last steadying breath, then places his hands firmly on the back of her right thigh. Soft. Warm. Huh. Fair bit of tone there, he realizes suddenly, hands starting to stroke and press lightly. She's got to do running or something to have legs like this. Err, maybe not think about how firm and supple and-- "Is this okay?" he asks, voice a bit rough.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Yeah," she says, surprised. It doesn't hurt as bad as I expected.

[The Iron Bull]

"Good, good," he murmurs, slowly relaxing himself. He can't help but stare a little (though the bruising and welts are a turn-off), and he certainly has more than a few lewd thoughts about what he's feeling and seeing, but his hands remain respectful and careful. He switches legs after a while, then moves his hands upwards. Just pretend it's the same as her leg. Which is also hot, but not her very fine ass. There's just a brief hesitation on first contact before he resumes rubbing in the paste. "So, uh, random topic or is talking not the thing to do right now?" he asks with faked brightness.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Talking is good," she murmurs sleepily. "Sorry, I am... very relaxed, right now."

[The Iron Bull]

"Hey, not gonna complain that you're relaxed," Bull says with a chuckle. "Fer one, your a-damned-dorable with being all sleepy and stuff. Kinda reminding me of, uh, what's-his-face's griffon. Can't recall his name, but the griffon was named Bioloph. Majestic, fierce, mesmoringly beautiful in this sharp sorta way... and an utter cuddle-bug iffen he knew yous were a friend. He'd sprawn himself in a patch of sand or dusty ground, soaking in the sunbeams. Made the saddest, cutest little squawking-whine-meow if he saw a friend nearby, begging for someone to groom his feathers or brush his fur. Fer two, you relaxing is like half the point of alla this."

As he rambles, Coquette isn't the only one to relax. His voice falls naturally into the cadence he uses to soothe animals when he's grooming or treating them, the pitch lowering and that almost sub-audible rumble his minotaur heritage grants him returning in full force. His touch firms, the bulk of the timid hesitance dropping away, even when he's working on bottom and center of her ass. It does start to brush against the bounds of actually painful a few times, but he eases back at the first hint of a flinch or whimper. "So yeah," he concludes another of his seemingly endless anecdotes, this one on the humorous side. "Management put a real firm ban on using sawdust as a weapon after that duel. Bunch of killjoys really. I mean, boo-hoo, one and two-thirds of a concession stand and the ref's beard is a cheap cost for a how that-- heh-- explosive." 

He snickers a little, not even noticing how he's got both his thumbs in the crack of his ass as he works an extra dollop of paste in a particularly bad bruise. "'course, that just means that the next time they wanted to toss me into a free-for-all, I had to come up with another plan. Couldn't very well disappoint my fans by having a boring fight, now could I? So I asked around at the caravan taverns, looking for some inspiration. Got some too; too much, some might say in fact." He falls silent, longer than just taking a breath would account for. After a few more seconds, Coquette realizes his hands have stopped moving as well.

[Coquette Blacquin]

She makes a sleepy, inquisitive murring sound, lifting her head just a touch to see what's caught his attention. 

[Varisia Primfana]

A flood of adrenaline wipes out any sleepiness she's feeling when her curious peek ends up with her locking eyes with her wife. Her dead-eyed wife, whose playful smile sets her gut to churning. Eyes widening, she lifts up more and sees that Bull has gone very, very still, barely even breathing. No wounds, no collar, no chains, but Varisia has one hand under the front of his skirt, the muscles in her forearm tensed just a little. From the look of barely controlled... fear? Rage? Panic? All of that and more? in The Iron Bull's eyes, it's not a fun grip she's giving.