Fri Jul 27, 2018 12:06 pm
14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
Somewhere between the street and this moment, Rhys was aware he'd stopped thinking, stopped considering the consequences. He couldn't blame his night of drinking with his squad, and while he probably could blame the intoxicated young blonde who'd curled her fingers into his hair and gripped his waist with her bare thighs, years of regret and heartache were swept away against her lips. He'd tried to forget her, to bury their friendship, to let go of their mutual attraction. He'd attempted to drown feelings in the attentions of others, in whoever was willing to dote on the tall blond in uniform with the winning smile, to be honest. He'd done his level best to channel his sense of loss into duty and service, becoming a mostly exemplary Seventen in the rocky process. Sometimes over the years, he'd been confident he'd succeeded, save for those days loneliness crept in or he caught a glimpse of some delicate young galdor who resembled her in a crowd. He thought he'd made all of the right decisions, found all of the right distractions, but as her sultry, violet gaze watched him toy with undoing the buttons of his shirt, he knew.
He knew this was not time he could continue to waste.
Charity shifted her body against him as he stepped away from the wall to turn toward his room, and he wavered for a heated heartbeat or two, her presence in his home more than enough to make him weak in the knees, let alone the way her hands reached for him as he shut his door to hold his face and linger against his lips needfully. He leaned against the frame with a long sigh through his nose, gripping the delicate creature comfortably as if she was weightless and allowing himself the indulgence into the warm press of her mouth.
Gods, he better not be asleep. This had better not be some too-vivid dream, leaving him half-mad with old rekindled desire when he woke.
It felt real enough.
Rhys grinned when he moved them both towards his bed and tossed the petite creature playfully onto his unmade sheets, pausing to admire the pale, nearly undressed blonde he'd longed to see just so for Alioe herself only truly knew how long. Moving to join her on his hands and knees, he smiled against her lips when her laugh became a moan, the sound making his eyes flutter heavily in excitement. He paused to take a breath and she spoke, her quiet voice delving up memories like refreshing water from a well while her delicate fingers traced over the angular shapes muscle and bone made under his skin,
"I clocking hated that class."
The young Valentin hummed honestly, a warmth left in the wake of wherever her touch wandered, leaning into her hands because he wanted more, "But you were in it, so it wasn't so bad. Gods, why wasn't there any of this? Other than it wasn’t allowed—because that shouldn't have mattered." He teased her, growling greedily for more when she nibbled at his lower lip, settling comfortably on his knees over her while she continued rambling suggestively through their school-aged shared memories. Rhys found it amusingly frustrating to be unable to continue kissing her properly because he was grinning too much about their lengthily entwined history, finally chuckling,
"I'm clocking sure my hall monitor knew about you for weeks even before that, but he never said anything, Lady bless him." Charity shifted beneath him and he sat up on his heels while she tangled one of their hands together, sharp blue gaze slowly traveling from her lips downward, watching the motion of her free hand as it traveled over his shirt she was hidden beneath and began to undo the rest of the buttons. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt his breath catch against his throat, the broad, nostalgic grin she'd enticed from him faltering with the heat of desire that smoldered at the base of his spine. Watching her was an unimagined thrill,
"Mmmyes. We should probably have kissed sooner than ... today. I was perhaps a little intimidated, you know, of that Patrol Captain you call father. That and propriety or something. Now? Well. Clock it all—I missed you. More than I thought I could, and I tried so godsbedamned hard to put you out of my mind. But I couldn’t. You were my best friend. I don't think I really let myself see I had held onto so much regret until now."
He wasn't about to make such a mistake again, that much was clear despite the husky quiet of his tone. Not now, no matter how this moment unfolded so strangely and improperly, for he didn't at all question their desire for each other, sober or not.
His boyhood fantasies had been filled with theoretical guestimations of what vision awaited him beneath the delicate pianist's clothes, what pale landscape of soft skin was ready for his admiring explorations. By the Circle, his thoughts had been limited by his lack of experience as a youth, and even though he now knew more than enough about what to expect now, the anticipation was still excruciatingly lovely because Charity was, for lack of a better word, an unspoken but ultimate ideal for the young Valentin. The one that got away, that needful crush he'd never truly gotten over ... And here she was, undressing just for him with scintillating slowness in his bed.
This was everything he'd waited for, everything he compared strangers to, and yet this was his first opportunity to really see all of the petite blonde he'd ever wanted to see. She would feel it, the aroused weight of his field laden with an allured sort of impatience. Just like hers seemed to hum with the warmth of her desire, the Perceptive mona they shared in common seemed to ebb and flow with the wanting he'd kept flickering like a candle in the depths of his existence.
Untangling his fingers from hers, he reached eagerly to take over, blue eyes meeting her violet hues as if to ask permission before his attentions drifted downward. Unbuttoning the shirt without hurry just to savor it all as if making up for lost time, his breath was shallow through parted lips as he traveled lower, each newly undone button revealing a little hint of what waited beneath, from a peek at gentle curves to the slowly downward sloping path toward her navel, letting the worn fabric fall away with unconcealed enthusiasm.
The tall blond touched what he could see, featherlight fingers tracing over her collarbones and drawing playful lines downward, letting his shirt she wore so well fall further off her shoulders so he could let his hands roam more freely, looking away for a moment to grin wickedly at her as his warm palms lingered over her breasts and his thumbs teased over sensitive peaks.
He reluctantly returned to undoing more buttons but paused again after two more, his pulse roaring in his ears and the trousers of his uniform so confining in his excitement that he whined, but the hint of a faded scar caught his attention against the otherwise pale, flushed landscape of her skin. Not that the mark was in anyway a deterrent so much as a reminder—she'd told him, sort of, that she'd been attacked once they'd been separated as friends. Instead of undoing the last few buttons, he parted the two sides of his shirt with a splay of his fingers, tracing lightly over the scar with his other hand and remembering her tearful words from earlier in their unexpectedly shared evening,
"Oh. This—this is from what happened? Charity, I wish I'd have known. No one told me anything. I would have—I don't know ... done something. Anything."
His blue eyes met hers again in question and apology with his lame, helpless sort of response, fingertips tracing again over the silvery pink mark with a gentle lightness, aware of the kind of severe injury it must have been to leave a galdor with a scar, far from ignorant about the kind of pointed weapon that would have left behind that kind memento behind. What would he have done as a student? What would he have done as a Seventen Recruit? Nothing. What would he have done now? Crossed a line, that's what.
Looking away for a moment, his crystalline gaze sweeping the low light of his room, unfocused and full of far too many thoughts, he slowly brought his attention back to Charity's face, tongue between his teeth for a heartbeat or two before he was able to speak again with any resemblance of clarity,
“You are far lovelier than I imagined to myself over all these years. My childish fantasies pale in comparison to reality.” Rhys whispered shyly, even while he took his clocking time with the rest of the buttons, enjoying each one he undid until the last one, eyes widening at all that was revealed to him, exhaling roughly with a breathless laugh,
"Begads, finally." Unable to help himself, their belike fields so entwined that intention hardly needed to be communicated out loud so much as felt, perceived with the comforts of familiarity, the young Valentin curled his fingers tightly into the green fabric on his thighs and sat for just a moment in dumb, admiring stillness. He blinked slowly, jaw clenching, wrestling with the reckless abandon of his excitement and the dull ache of his genuine care for the delicate pianist he'd just lustfully exposed as if unwrapping some private, long-awaited gift, "Good Lady, I—uh—yes."
Rhys waved a hand helplessly, almost comically as if his ambiguous spoken affirmation was simply a statement on how everything in front of him was too much, too perfect, grinning with a boyish stupidity before he leaned forward again, choosing to take a slow route back to her lips by traveling over her body with his own.