Sputnik Music Forums - Black Metal

Marie should have known, when he bought the rug. Because really, what sort of man bought a fur rug, in this day and age?

Well, maybe a man like Lyle Dylandy would have. But Allelujah? Her Allelujah? It was just-- odd. Jarring.

Especially since he wanted her to dress up, too.

She fingered the costume he'd left on the bed. It wasn't ugly-- she'd seen Sumeragi dressed up in something not dissimilar, at Mileina's last costume party. But Sumeragi's costume hadn't had gloves. Or a fur-lined back and front. Or a zipper-- there.

With a quiet sigh, Marie read the note that lay on top of the neatly folded costume. If she delayed much longer, she wouldn’t be able to finish the preparations for dinner before Allelujah got home.

It itched. Not the fur, luckily—whatever company made these things seemed to know what they were doing on that front, at least—but the zippered section over her genitals had been chaffing her since she’d slipped the one-piece on.

She was so focused on not squirming that she didn’t hear Allelujah at all, as he came back behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

It was more instinct than anything else than made her spin around and press the knife against his throat. She’d been trained against sneak-attacks for years—it had nothing at all to do with how uncomfortable the stupid bunny costume was.

“Marie,” he rumbled, eyes dark and pleased behind the—was that a snout?? “You aren’t wearing the gloves,” he said, moving his hands down to rub at her tail, before moving down to cup her ***. He didn’t seem very concerned with the knife pressed against him, she noted sourly.

“I was getting ready for dinner—I didn’t want to get them dirty,” she shot back, still flustered. She withdrew the knife from his throat and turned back to the counter to put it down. Allelujah, quietly stubborn as ever, didn’t move his hands, and just started to rub at her lower belly, instead.

Marie looked down at his costumed arms, wrapped around her, and hesitantly ran her hands down one of them, surprised at how soft it was. She could just see the outline of his costume—all soft, furry edges—in the reflection of the window. The tips of her rabbit ears stretched up above his head, blocking his face from view, until he leaned down to kiss her bare shoulder.

With an mental roll of her eyes, she glanced toward the doorway to the living room—and ran.

Allelujah followed, of course, caught her before she made it half-way across the living room, just like he’d wanted, so they landed with a soft thump on the fur carpet in front of the fireplace. She squirmed, pressed flat on her belly by his greater weight. She scrambled forward, kicking back at him as best she could, hands gripped tight in the fur in an attempt for leverage.

“Marie,” Allelujah said, struggling to grab her wrists, grinding against her—he was already hard, she noticed with a tiny thrill. “Marie, I’ve caught you,” he said, and ended it with a grunt when she tried to smack him in the face with the back of her head, bunny ears flopping wildly. The stupid snout softened the blow, of course—she wouldn’t have done it, otherwise—but Allelujah made a short noise of annoyance, and one of his hands stopped grabbing at her for a moment as he went to adjust the nose-piece.

Just like she wanted.

With a sudden shift of her weight, Marie threw him off her, and rolled to sit on his chest, shins pressing down on his arms. He stared up at her, blinking in mild surprise, “Marie,” he started, slightly reproachful, “I told you, I’m the one who’s supposed to—”

“Shut up, Allelujah,” she said, smartly, and leaned down to jerk off the offensive snout. “You didn’t say anything about this,” tossing the nose piece into the fire. Pity she hadn’t thought to start one, before starting dinner.

“No,” he said, slightly chagrined. He looked so timid, lying there beneath her weight, a lamb in wolf’s clothing. “But it’s—still alright?” This said as he shifted her legs off his arms (barely any effort at all; he always did humour her), to rub his hand down the soft, white fur that decorated her belly.

As if she could refuse him anything. “It’s alright,” Marie said, quietly, a blush creeping up on her cheeks as she looked down at him. “The crotch itches, though,” she said, unwilling to let that one go quite as easily.

For some reason, that seemed to cheer him up. “Oh,” Allelujah said, smiling brightly, “Marie, that’s—that’s the point.” With a motion that was far too practiced for her liking, he tilted her hips up, and with barely a glance, unzipped the crotch of her costume, back to front, the light pressure of his hand sending a little burst of heat through her as he unzipped past her clit, and suddenly stuck two of his fingers up inside her as deep as they could go.

“Alle—Allelujah!” she said, shocked, and offered no resistance when he rolled them over again, keeping his fingers tight up inside her.

“Marie,” he said, and bowed his head, the large, floppy dog ears-- Wolf, she reminded herself, he said he would be dressing up as a wolf-- hiding his face from view for a moment. “You didn’t think they put that there for nothing, did you?”

Marie flushed hotly, in embarrassment and because he’d started to pump his fingers inside her. She didn’t answer him, except to say, “You didn’t wear your gloves, either.”

Allelujah smiled, and ducked his head again—this time to lean down over her body and rub his face against the hair on her belly. “Marie,” he said, reverently, like he always did at times like this, and craned his head up so he could meet her eyes with his head still rubbing against her, luxuriating in the feel of the fur.

She flushed, the same strange tightness in her chest she always felt when he said her name like that—like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. His fingers moved inside her, lazily, pumping in and out wetly, the smell of her starting to fill the air around them.

She was still—well, not fully dressed, but the rest of her torso was completely covered in the bunny outfit he’d picked out, though her arms and legs were bare, and everything she could feel on her skin was fur, soft—but completely alien. She moved one hand to card through Allelujah’s hair, the familiar texture a sudden, sharp comfort amongst all the strange sensations she was getting from the rest of her skin. “Allelujah, you caught me,” she said, and drew his head up to her for a kiss.

His fingers withdrew from her, and he brought his wet fingers—she was soaking, down there, she thought a little wildly—to cup her chin, rubbing her own juices into her flesh.