DragonQuest VIII, Jessica/Angelo: shocking him out of post-Neos depression - "I don't want your pity
It wasn't that he was brooding - after all these months of travel, Jessica was used to that - it was how he was brooding. No quiet rebuff or assurance he was fine when one of them approached, nor even a pointed silence. Rather, it was as if he truly didn't realize they were there, so sunk was he in his own misery.
She didn't understand it any more than she understood his fanatic loyalty to the brother who hated him, but they needed Angelo back to himself if they were going to face Rhapthorne...and, whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was worried about him. So when the ship reached Arcadia, and Angelo merely vanished into his room at the inn, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
It was a simple matter to get into his room once the inn had gone quiet for the night - she hadn't traveled with Yangus all this time for nothing - and the spill of moonlight through the unshuttered window was more than sufficient for her to make her way to the bed. Angelo wasn't even sleeping normally, curled in on himself instead of wrapped around his pillow or a fold of blanket, his hair tangled across his shoulders and in his face.
Jessica resisted the temptation to brush that unruly hair back; she didn't want to wake him yet, not until she was ready. Instead, she slipped under the blanket and let her hands caress his body through the thin nightshirt he wore, until he sighed and uncurled, wrapping his arms around her. She slid her hand down, palm pressed against the curve of his erection, and kissed him awake.
"Jessica?" He blinked, drew back as if he didn't quite trust his vision, and his voice went from sleep blurred to sharp in the space of a few heartbeats. "I don't want your pity."
"I know." Jessica smirked, let her fingers squeeze slightly. "I thought you wanted my pussy."
Angelo gaped, far too shocked to resist when she kissed him again. She moved her hand, giving in to the temptation to run her fingers through his hair, and he finally made a sound - not a protest, not the way he was rubbing against her - when she rolled him onto his back and straddled him.
He was quick, then, to reach up and divest her of the light robe which was her only covering, hands moving - soft, warm, almost reverent - over her bare skin. Jessica shivered, nipples peaking at his ministrations, and tugged his night shirt up so she could rub herself against his flesh; his expression shifted from startled to puzzled, and finally settled on the sly little grin she knew.
Warning enough to be ready, and she saw the shock return when she deftly avoided the roll of his hips which should have upset her balance and allowed him to take control. The look he gave her this time was more speculative; she rather thought he'd have saluted, if his hands hadn't been otherwise occupied.
He had certainly never lied about his skill in these matters, and he was fully focused on her, not the phantoms which had haunted him since Neos. Jessica relaxed, lost herself in the deft touch of his fingers between her thighs, his lips on her breasts, the flex of his muscles beneath her hands, and wondered why it had taken such desperate circumstances to drive her to his bed.
She moaned, pleasure coiling deep in her belly, and vowed that was not a mistake she'd make again.