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If Cam had been there, she would have flicked her eyes up at Pyrrha accusingly as the miserable taste of cheap nicotine lingered on her tongue. She would have stored it in the back of her mind, something to return to later as soon as the two had laid back on the sofa, sweaty and spent- waited two beats after they caught their breaths and then said something accusatory the other woman for being so throwaway about their budget.
But for now he is the one in control of her body, and Pyrrha’s fingers probing his (her, can’t forget he’s the warden of this temple now that he’s dead) mouth is making him feel heavy and hot. He’s long since closed his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels a little ashamed for giving in so easily when he knows if Cam was here, she would still have had enough good sense to be running through that weeks budget and calculating what they would need to cut back on to make up for Pyrrha’s cigarette habit-
But she is not here, and its just Palamedes at her complete mercy. And she’s nudging her calloused and knuckled fingers into his mouth as he eagerly wraps his lips (her lips- not delicate, but he loves their sharp angles all the same) around them, not sucking but holding, exploring. He runs his tongue against her callouses, not just the ones on the pads of her fingers but built up around the spots where she makes rough contact daily. She hasn’t reacted, not yet, and selfishly he wants her to- so he scrapes teeth against her rough skin and smiles around her fingers when she exhales quietly.
“Seeing your smug smile on her face is ruining it for me.” She says in a low complaining grumble, and his smile widens until she shoves her fingers deeper into his mouth and he chokes in surprise. His hands tighten where they sit on his thighs when her other hand grabs the back of his neck and squeezes gently. All he can do is try to loosen his throat and take her fingers. It hurts, he can’t think, and he can feel his body reacting- an almost painful pulse of excitement thudding in his stomach. When a finger presses down on his tongue he’s helpless to do anything else but shiver and pant. He feels spit pooling on his lower lip and drip onto the loose sleep shirt Cam always wears (not far gone enough to forget her, he feels a pang of embarrassment and apologizes).
He’s spared from the shame of the moment when Pyrrha pulls her fingers out; he snaps his eyes open, feeling empty and dazed. She shows no indication of being affected except for the tense set of her shoulders and the glint in her eye as she tells him to open.
He can feel his excitement pooling between his legs, a completely new sensation that pings in his brain and magnifies every single sensation he is experiencing- but he still can’t resist. He points at his mouth, at his legs, nudges his glasses up (which aren’t there. Of course. Still getting used to it), and raises an eyebrow. Which?
It turns out to be worth it, because he has the pleasure of seeing a ghost of a smile flit across her features. (He’s spent most of his surfaced time studying and committing them to memory. Of course he did the same thing with Nona, pondering her expressions on Harrowhark’s sharp face in a scholarly way. But its difficult to tear his gaze away from the woman who inhabits the rough, taut body of her lyctor. In his previous life, one where he knew so godamn little, he would have said the imposition would have been incongruous- maybe thought of it as grafting a soul on a body that it didn’t belong to, something ugly and odd. But seeing Pyrrha’s eyes, her smile, her ease, her cadence and habits built up over a myriad… Its not a crude drawing over a painting. She’s something really divine.)
“I make it easy to tell who’s who.” He says, and enjoys hearing his smile in Camilla’s wry tone.
“The women Gideon railed would have said the same thing.” Pyrrha replies, and leans forward to grab at his thighs.