Vergil's presence and support of her fantasy, as she speaks it, steels it within her mind, so that should she turn the fantasy into a reality, should she partake in the fantasy they discuss, she might recall how he feels now and feel it around her then. It nudges and presses at the corner of her mind in a warm blissful way that she doesn't look too closely at. Not now as pleasure runs through her and she focuses on his words and hers. Not now as she groans at the all too true promise that he makes her wait, that he drives her to call out his name and, yes she admits, even beg.

There's longer yet, Mizu resists begging far longer than she withholds being demanding. The words Vergil speaks turns it nearly into one of their games, where she must last as long as she can. Her chest heaves, and Mizu presses into his hand and tail with complete trust that he has her and supports her. Her body grows more tense, her toes curling, and she rocks toward her own hand, toward Vergil's.

"I want you," Mizu tells him, "Like metal wants to be forged. It'd be so easy to grant myself relief, but I..." She shudders as she moves her fingers in circles to drive her want further. "Don't. I don't want it to end. I want you."

Her words flow with little thought to them. Mizu's too distracted to paint much of an image with her words. It's longing, freely given.