The hotel in Altamira really is luxurious, and well stocked — "to provide for all your wildest fantasies", just like the lady at the concierge desk says and everything — so they've taken their time with the preparations, getting comfortable, playing and petting and teasing... but Marta still can't help but feel a little nervous. She looks back over her shoulder at Emil, and tries to give him a reassuring smile — he looks like he needs it.
"Now?" He asks, one hand hesitantly stroking the back of her thigh, like he's trying to reassure her, too.
Marta nods at him. "Sure, whenever you're ready."
Emil shuffles a little closer to her on his knees, and Marta drops her head to stare down at the bedspread between her hands. She takes a few steadying breaths, trying to ease the nervous fluttering in her stomach. She wants this, she's ready—the nicely-scented oil they found earlier slicks her, so when Emil's fingers slide into the cleft of her ass, when he presses against her, there's only the quickest moment where it feels like too much, and then he slides in easily. They both make noise then — almost the same noise, a half-swallowed little squeak — at the way that feels, and Marta can't help but squirm a little. It's strange, really strange; she feels full and sensitive in places where she's not used to it.
Behind her, Emil is making more tiny whimpering noises, his mouth pressed against the back of her shoulder. Marta appreciates the way he's clearly trying his best to hold still, to wait for her to adjust, though sometimes his hips twitch a little against her. Okay. She should keep going, then.
She reaches out, rummaging through the soft sheets until her fingers close around the smooth surface of her vibrator, discarded after an earlier go at warm-up play. She shifts her weight on her knees, absently running her thumb over the familiar pleasing curves — it's her favorite for a reason; the soft texture and the sparkly-pink color always help her relax, make her feel like this sort of thing wasn't such a big scary deal after all. "It's just as sickeningly cute as you are, Martmart!" Alice had said as she'd picked it out, when they'd gone out shopping on Marta's 14th birthday — and thinking of it, Marta wonders if maybe that had been meant as more of an insult than she'd thought. She shakes her head, chasing away that thought; the vibrator really does suit her perfectly anyway, and the last — last, last, super really last — person she wants to be thinking of right now is stupid Alice, of all people!
"—Are you okay?" Emil asks, gone tense behind her — of course: he must have noticed her shaking her head like that.
"Yes, I'm fine," Marta assures him, and takes another steadying breath. "Help me up?"
"O-Okay, sure..." Emil agrees, and wraps one arm around her waist. It's awkward, and they're pretty clumsy, but eventually they both make it up to kneeling. This new position changes the way Emil feels inside her, and Marta makes a small pleased noise that Emil echoes. She can't tell if it's her thighs that are shaking like that, from the effort of kneeling on the bed like this, or Emil's, but she figures that if she can't tell, neither can he, so there's nothing to be embarrassed about — doing it like this should be a little overwhelming, shouldn't it?
One more deep breath — for luck! — and Marta reaches down, presses her vibrator between her legs, and pauses. This is why she asked Emil to do it this way — to take her from behind — so she could have this; she rubs the tip of it against her lips, imagines that it's the other Emil, no, Ratatosk, pressed against her like that. They'd have to do it like this, of course — she trusts them both, but Emil would be more gentle, more careful, and she'd feel more comfortable with him being the one behind her. She pushes, presses the first few inches of the vibrator inside herself and whimpers at the way that feels — so much more full than usual, so much more pressure, Emil's cock in her ass making it seem tighter inside her. She listens to the pleading noise Emil makes in the back of his throat and imagines Ratatosk's answering groan. Marta holds still like that for a few seconds, her palm braced on the base of the vibrator inside her, and just imagines being full of both of them like this — she knows it's impossible; it's the same body, either way, but she loves them both, in their own ways, and wishes she could do so without having to choose one over the other.
She shivers, flexing her muscles, and makes a soft crooning noise at how good that feels. Her hand slacks a little in response, and the vibrator slides out of her a little, to her frustration — it's hard to reach, like this.
Emil's hand comes to rest against the back of her knuckles, between her legs, and his other arm tightens around her waist, more secure, more confident.
"You can take more than that, can't you?" he purrs in her ear, and she gasps as he presses lightly against her fingers, driving the vibrator slowly back up into her, deeper than it'd been before.
Marta leans back against his chest — his legs aren't shaking any more — and tries to look up at him. "Emil?"
He bites her shoulder, gently. "...Do you want him back?"
She can't do anything but hold still, frozen in place for a moment by the knowledge that it's him—the only time Ratatosk ever comes out any more is in battle, or when Emil's especially frustrated—but to have him here, now, really have him be the one inside her...
Marta's legs begin to shake again, and Ratatosk hesitates. His hand relaxes against hers, the vibrator sliding out again, and he shifts, almost like he's going to pull away.
Marta makes a small noise of protest, and when she pushes the vibrator back in by herself, he moves with her, his hand gently cupped around her fingers.
"It's... It's okay," she reassures him. "I want you— I want you here." And she means here, with me, but the way Ratatosk hums, thoughtful, and presses on the back of her hand until her fingers brush against her slick folds makes Marta think that he probably heard here, as in— as in—
"Right here, huh?" He says against her shoulder, and Marta shivers at the way that feels; his breath is warm, the way his lips brush her skin gently as he speaks makes her feel tingly. He presses again, helps her rock the vibrator inside herself. "You'd like me deep, like this?"
Marta croons, leaning heavily against him — he holds her up easily, confidently, and that's just as good as anything else. He's exciting.
Ratatosk's fingers close tighter around her own, and he draws her hand back and the vibrator with it, then presses it back in firmly. Marta rocks her hips to encourage him, and he repeats the motion, and again, settling into a rhythm—quick, insistent, almost-but-not-quite too rough; it's just like him. Marta shivers, moans, squirms against him, on him—and she barely has the attention to spare, but she can't help but notice that he's still not moving much, behind her. He rocks his body in time with the movements of her hips, keeps them pressed tight together, but that's all.
His arm around her waist slides up, his hand cupping her breast for a moment; he brushes his thumb across her nipple, then pinches, twists. Marta squeals, arching her back, and he uses the motion to press the vibrator all the way inside her, as deep as it will go. He spreads his palm out across the back of her hand, making her hold the vibrator inside herself like that, then reaches up and presses the pads of his fingers against her clit. He keeps her pinned like that—his fingers on her chest, between her legs—pinching and teasing and stroking until she feels like she can't stand it any longer; Ratatosk doesn't let up, though, insistently wringing pleasure from her until she's shivering with it, mewling and panting and coming, surrounded and filled and overwhelmed by him.
She loses her balance, then, tips forward onto her elbows and takes him with her; his weight hitting her back drives them both down onto the mattress, and Marta winces as that shifts the vibrator awkwardly inside her.
His hands close around her hips. "I want—" he starts, voice low and rough. "I mean, you're— can I—?"
"Yes—" Marta answers, half whimper, and rocks back to meet him. "Ah, Ratatosk, I want you to—"
The way his breath stutters in surprise makes Marta think he might have misheard her again—I want you too—but that's still right, so she just keeps moving, keeps encouraging him—yes yes yes—until he's shuddering to a stop with a low growl she swears she can feel, his chest pressed to her back.
They stay that way for a few dozen more heartbeats, until Marta starts to get uncomfortable; Ratatosk is heavy, draped over her like that, and the vibrator is starting to get uncomfortable inside her. She squirms, letting it slip free, and that makes Ratatosk start against her, drawing up halfway.
"...M-Marta?" He asks, and she looks back over her shoulder to see him watching her, eyes wide and questioning.
"Oh, Emil..." she says, awkwardly—she's never sure how much Emil remembers when Ratatosk takes over, if he remembers anything at all. "Can I get up?"
"Oh! Y-Yes, sorry." Emil says, pulling back carefully. Marta sinks down gratefully onto the mattress after he does, then rolls over and holds her arms open.
Emil crawls into her arms, wraps his around her. He's quiet for a while.
"I... had a nice time," he says, softly. "I'm pretty sure." He's smiling when Marta looks up at him, though, so she smiles back.
"Only pretty sure, huh?" She teases, poking him gently in the ribs.
He squirms, laughing a little. "Well... I do remember it feeling really good, but... nothing specific." He ducks his head against her. "Sorry. I hope, um, I hope I made you feel good too."
Marta reaches up to pet his cheek, then leans in to kiss him, softly. "Absolutely." She assures him, smiling, and he smiles back. "You were wonderful."
For a second, something confident and arrogant flickers across Emil's face, before being chased off by the warily hopeful expression he wears so often. "I'm really glad."
Marta nods, pressing Emil onto his back then curling up against his side. He wraps his arms around her again and holds her close. She thinks Ratatosk can hear her too; he's always seemed more in control. "I really do love everything about you Emil, absolutely everything." She traces a heart on his chest, sleepily.
His arms tighten around her, and maybe it's just sleepiness, but his voice is low and quiet when he answers, "Thank you."