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The first time they fucked, they took their time, slowly removing clothes, kissing, savouring skin and all of that. The act itself had been a mess of claws grabbing skin, moans and arms hitting heads; Balthier doing his best to keep himself from blowing, Fran ecstatic by being fucked, her needs ran wild. She laid on her back urging him on for more, being close, so close, getting nothing but clumsiness and loud moans in return. Finally he gave up keeping it going for much longer, putting his weight to her as he came, his erection lasting just enough for her to blow; writhing in his embrace as her cunt throbbed long after his cock had softened.
“I’m sorry,” he’d murmured into her hair. She sank her teeth lightly into his neck, kissing the sweat off his skin. “Don’t be sorry, it is me who has no patience.”
He learned to appreciate her impatience; leathers and armour flying off as soon as their feet crossed the threshold to a room. Balthier learned to portion his stamina, Fran to set aside her own needs to give him what he liked. Fran liked fucking, Balthier had a fixation for and with tongues: Kissing, licking, being kissed and being licked. When she sucked him off, his fingers would toy gently with the soft tip of an ear as he sighed pleased. Most of all, he liked applying his tongue to her instead of the other way around, humming softly as he savoured her flesh, her scent arousing him like nothing else.
He learned how to treat her orgasms: Soon he could pound three out of her by his cock alone. For a creature as silent as the Viera, she could moan and writhe and shout as she throbbed, shook, clenching around him, making it hard to not blow with her.
She always came to his bed as a loaded gun, ready to blow.