... I shall tell you something I have not told the others, or at least, they do not realise when I say this. When I do this, when I show that part of myself, it is my soul you embrace. My very essence that holds you, and the most absolute whole of me that touches you. It is the soul of your love that you seek to know the feel of.
And am I not your wife? Is that not the truest thing for us to seek with one another?
[Which winds it down for now, at least until he gets home.
So she hums. Best to leave him with something pleasant to think about for the day. He did work so dreadfully hard after all. ]
As we are then... perhaps I ought to tell you this too. I like to wear one of those little devices sometimes. The ones that vibrate? As I go about my day.
And it has a second controller, one that operates from even a great distance.
[ That's not what she was looking for. Hrm. Time to try again. ]
Whose to say I have not been, all day, with the thought of you? It is a poor approximation of how you make me feel, but I must admit, when I am aching and having to hold my legs together tightly as I sing, people seem to enjoy how earnest my performances are.
[ How painful a few hours could become when waiting for a treasure you long for so very much, savour and yet could not help but to be impatient. Anduin never seemed to tire of her passion for him, at least - and a poet might say that absence made the heart grow fonder. But if she spent too long on flowing words and agonies she might not survive. Instead, she busies herself to make sure that nothing and no one would bother them for at least a few hours. She would toy with making herself beautiful for him before he arrived, but she had learned now, after that night at the fire, it was the simpler things he seemed to like. The linen dress and her hair tumbled free.
It was not like she planned to wear it very long, after all.
Because he does not get more than a minute, when he comes home, that she tumbles into him. Fingers in his hair, arm around his shoulder as she pulls him down into a kiss. Not the polite affection that usually came from morning or evening, no, hot against his lips with every scrape of her own, pulling at his clothes even before the door is shut behind him. Her body pressed tightly into his to find all the ways they fit together so nicely, hip to hip, breath to breath, how soft curves fit against his broad chest.
Fit to consume, and not sated until she has had every little bit. ]
Of course, Gilia was often there to welcome him home, but not often so ardently. He barely has time enough to shed his coat before she's in his arms, drawing him into a kiss--
And so he abandons thought for anything else that might need to be done, in the moment. What else could be so important? Instead he lets a hand fall to her waist, feeling warm skin beneath the nearly-sheer linen, drawing her in tightly before tilting into that kiss. ]
[ Give her a day, that is all she asks, give her this. Tomorrow she will lower her eyes and she will murmur her praise, she will say her prayers and never reach for anything first. But let her have him in these moments where she feels - that she does not have to be demure and kind, she just has to want. To savour how the fabric pulls across her lower back, as he draws her in. His hands are firm with their callouses that echoes in welcome with the soft sound against his mouth where they scratch in a way that is him, just him.
A tripping dance as she begins to hastily pull at buttons, getting them undone enough she can push his collar open and expose the tops of his shoulders, smoothing and touching like a map of all her favourite places. The thump where briefly she lands against a wall, it feels from the solidness at her shoulders. Drawing him over her as she cranes her neck back on her shoulders, stopping to breath because she must, yet how inconsequential it feels to taste the supple pull of his mouth. Ragged rise and fall, her eyes hazy with their warmth. ]
[ Her fingers span the rise and fall of muscle, of scars, of warm skin. His fingers dance across the folds of fabric, drawing them higher on her hips as the weight of their movement together presses her back into the wall. She breathes, bares her throat, and his lips find the thrum of her pulse before nuzzling beneath the curve of her ear.
His blood sings with how much he loves her, how he adores her. Wants her. Always. Thoughts that have to be set away during the long hours of the day when his focus has to remain razor-sharp. How could he dwell on anything else with the thought of her in his arms dancing through his head?. ]
[ She draws him in, fingers knotting in his hair with the sharp gasp when his mouth sets so hotly to her skin. That dig to keep him, always keep him, never let him go. A familiar, desiring madness that his proximity always gave her.
She watches him through lowered lashes, breathing hitching to an uneven beat, yet her heart felt so steady, steady in loving him, that he loved her too. Freer, now, that they had talked.
To give the simple command: ] Take me to bed. I want to devour you.
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I'm not certain if a good man would ask for this.
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... I shall tell you something I have not told the others, or at least, they do not realise when I say this. When I do this, when I show that part of myself, it is my soul you embrace. My very essence that holds you, and the most absolute whole of me that touches you. It is the soul of your love that you seek to know the feel of.
And am I not your wife? Is that not the truest thing for us to seek with one another?
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We can either fight that part of ourselves and try to hide it, or embrace it, and learn to give it a point of release.
The rain brings yours. Perhaps I will find mine.
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[ An amused huff. ]
I'd like this, for us. If you would as well.
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[Which winds it down for now, at least until he gets home.
So she hums. Best to leave him with something pleasant to think about for the day. He did work so dreadfully hard after all. ]
As we are then... perhaps I ought to tell you this too. I like to wear one of those little devices sometimes. The ones that vibrate? As I go about my day.
And it has a second controller, one that operates from even a great distance.
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Then you will be very pleased this evening. I have been wearing it all day.
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I am sure I have no idea what you mean, my love?
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[ He chuckles softly. ]
But I'm happy to do so, if you wish.
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Whose to say I have not been, all day, with the thought of you? It is a poor approximation of how you make me feel, but I must admit, when I am aching and having to hold my legs together tightly as I sing, people seem to enjoy how earnest my performances are.
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The end of the day rarely comes soon enough.
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I'll be home soon.
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It was not like she planned to wear it very long, after all.
Because he does not get more than a minute, when he comes home, that she tumbles into him. Fingers in his hair, arm around his shoulder as she pulls him down into a kiss. Not the polite affection that usually came from morning or evening, no, hot against his lips with every scrape of her own, pulling at his clothes even before the door is shut behind him. Her body pressed tightly into his to find all the ways they fit together so nicely, hip to hip, breath to breath, how soft curves fit against his broad chest.
Fit to consume, and not sated until she has had every little bit. ]
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Of course, Gilia was often there to welcome him home, but not often so ardently. He barely has time enough to shed his coat before she's in his arms, drawing him into a kiss--
And so he abandons thought for anything else that might need to be done, in the moment. What else could be so important? Instead he lets a hand fall to her waist, feeling warm skin beneath the nearly-sheer linen, drawing her in tightly before tilting into that kiss. ]
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A tripping dance as she begins to hastily pull at buttons, getting them undone enough she can push his collar open and expose the tops of his shoulders, smoothing and touching like a map of all her favourite places. The thump where briefly she lands against a wall, it feels from the solidness at her shoulders. Drawing him over her as she cranes her neck back on her shoulders, stopping to breath because she must, yet how inconsequential it feels to taste the supple pull of his mouth. Ragged rise and fall, her eyes hazy with their warmth. ]
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His blood sings with how much he loves her, how he adores her. Wants her. Always. Thoughts that have to be set away during the long hours of the day when his focus has to remain razor-sharp. How could he dwell on anything else with the thought of her in his arms dancing through his head?. ]
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She watches him through lowered lashes, breathing hitching to an uneven beat, yet her heart felt so steady, steady in loving him, that he loved her too. Freer, now, that they had talked.
To give the simple command: ] Take me to bed. I want to devour you.
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