[Mature] Those Wicked Things We Do

[Charity Valentin]

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE

Gods she’d said too much, the taller blonde smart enough and experienced enough to put two and two together, she still too inebriated to be careful with her words. He spoke her name, and it was weighed with so many things that weren’t his fault. The only person to blame in all of this was her clocking father. It was always her father. Mathias, her mother, Rhys...it all came back to Damen D’arthe.

As the man reached to pull her into an embrace, Charity felt as though her breath was stolen from her lungs, standing in his arms with her violet gaze slipping closed and hands by her side. She shouldn’t let his happen, couldn’t as far as her father was concerned, but as Rhys held her tightly her arms snaked around his waist with a soft sigh to embrace him in return. It was so easy to curl in under his cheek, pressing her ear to his chest and hearing his heartbeat thudding madly.

“I hadn’t. I tried to but...no Rhys. No.” She shook her head firmly at his comment that her father was right.

“He’s not right. He’s never been right. He’s a monster and an ersehole.” Speaking the words out loud was liberating, even if her field drew close with concern, as though Captain D’arthe would hear her and come crashing through the locked front door. Her eyes opened, a warmth spreading through her chest as the blue eyed Seventen spoke of his accomplishments.

For me?

“I...you...you did what father made us both do Rhys. It’s not on you. If you’d refused, if I’d refused, you know he would have just made it happen. If anything, father is exceptionally good at making things happen.” She drew back as he did, the shift of his hands over her dress too familiar to be uncomfortable. The man held her face gently, and for the moment time felt as though it paused, Charity half expecting him to capture her mouth with his. They were both adults now, and time had been woefully unkind on the blonde, but even as her heart raced in her chest the sound of overflowing water drew their attention. Immediately warm water brushed their feet, and for the first time in a long time, Charity smiled and laughed. A proper smile, amused by the distraction that they both seemed to be barely able to ignore.

Tucking her hair behind her ears as Rhys soaked the arm of his shirt to let some of the water free, the young dirt and blood stained pianist watched him stare into the water instead of meet her gaze again, smile falling slowly. She took his hand, coming closer and looking over his face even if he wouldn’t look at her.

“You were there though. Of all the people in this filthy miserable city you were there.” Charity said quietly, reaching out to turn his face gently, forcing the man who was hardly a stranger to look at her. She took in the ever rebellious almost wick style piercings, the ones that had disgusted her father much to the blondes secret delight. Her violet eyes swept over the strawberry tinted hair that never seemed to want to stay in line, ever requiring the sweep of long fingers to keep it in check, hair that she’d imagined curling her own fingers into as a lovestuck teen. That she hadn’t stopped imagining, not really.

Allowing her gaze to drop to his mouth, thumb brushing with a featherlight stroke across lips that the pianist had fantasized about in the unbound expanse of her dreams, Charity moved closer. Her breath brushed his face, mouth so close they were merely a hair’s breadth apart, before she lost her nerve.

She sighed, lips brushing his cheek and the curve of his jaw as she began to withdraw her hand reluctantly from his face. Suddenly a fire burned in her chest, afraid that once again her father’s will would play out. Turning her face slightly, the blonde pressed her lips against his softly, lingering with a gentle sort of motion as her eyes slipped shut.

Oh, by the Lady, how long she’d imagined this.

Breathing deeply through her nose, the galdor took all she could with an unhurried and tender tilt of her head. Her heart could have burst from her chest, so nervous and afraid that perhaps she’d taken it too fast and too far. Finally, the young musician released his mouth, breaking away without pulling back.

“I should bathe.” Charity breathed quietly, her voice slightly shaky and field humming like her pulse in her ears.

[Rhys Valentin]

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early

When Charity hesitated to return his hug, Rhys felt suddenly so self aware, his inhibitions lowered in the wake of too much to drink and too much adrenaline now drained from his system. Had he done the wrong thing, made the wrong move, showed the wrong kind of kindness? There was a rise of panic for a thunderous heartbeat or two, her arms not moving, a tingling sensation where his spine met the back of his skull as if he was ashamed of himself, apprehension shifting his field with uncomfortable weight—oh.

There.

Ah, this was alright.

This was more than alright.

With a sigh, her own arms finally wrapped around his waist and she pressed her dirty, bloodied self against him with a slow exhale. A dainty but lovely thing when compared to his tall, wiry self. She rest the side of her face just so against his chest and for a moment he could pretend that all was good and right in the Kingdom of Anaxas, that they weren't both a little bloodied, that they both weren't a little dirty, that they hadn't reunited under the most lascivious and uncomfortable of circumstances. But they had, and the kinds of long-buried desires and emotions that their bodies together in a warm embrace rekindled in the secret, once-cold places in his mind were tinged with regret and guilt.

How sure he'd been that he'd wanted no one but her, years ago. How much of his youth he'd wasted pursuing more than just friendship with Charity, only to have her conniving Co-Captain of a father deny them both their hearts' desires. He'd pined. He'd been angry. He'd pushed himself magically and physically to be someone worthy of that man's approval, all while swearing he'd never again get caught back up in her lovely distracting self.

Less than a house since finding her in that alley, and here he was already stupid in her unexpected company. Gods, what a hopeless fool he was. All of this would only hurt more the second time, he knew, like some old wound re-opened or some healed bone broken again.

Rhys couldn't argue with her words about Damen D'Arthe, but he also couldn't help himself, staring longingly at her for a moment, so close to her face—the water overflowing the tub gave them a momentary pause, and Charity's laughter was delicious, even as he was cursing and reaching to stop the overflow soon after. He'd missed the sound, and his chest tightened in awareness of how much she'd seemed to get lost in since their separation. Dripping and chagrined, her amused smile reminded him of all their good times together and he couldn't help but pull her to him again as he knelt in a puddle instead of fetching towels, but he was acutely aware of the sorts of inappropriate thoughts that swam through his intoxicated mind,

"I was there, and I'm clocking glad—I—"

Her hand turned his face back to hers and then she just looked at him, stealing his words, the delicate pianist so close that her breath tickled his hair. Her thumb brushed over his lips and he inhaled sharply, body tensing with expectation mingled with immediate self-doubt. He shouldn't. They shouldn't. Childish fear and long-harbored defiance burned in the cavity of his chest for that short moment he held her violet gaze, unable to hide from her the wild feelings that rushed through him and churned in his meager field.

His eyes fluttered shut when she kissed his cheek, instinctively leaning for more until her lips met his and he finally exhaled, half a sigh, half a sob. On too many accounts, this was wrong, but the young Valentin couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, his hands curled into her dirtied dress, utterly unconcerned of how soaked half of his shirt was and surprised by how she lingered. He returned her kiss in kind, years of purposefully built walls melting away. When the petite blonde leaned back just enough to speak again, his eyes were slow to open,

"Bathe. Yes. You should." He whispered in echo of her words, though it was difficult to hear his own voice above the cacophony of noise that his thoughts had become and the rush of his pulse as it coursed through his veins heatedly, "Blessed Lady, Charity, I—yes. That. Not this. Yes. I've wanted to do this for only the gods know how long now. I shouldn't—we—tocks—"

Rhys chuckled in the narrow space between them, the Perceptive mona in his field hiding nothing, desire and nostalgia and fear all strong and tangible. Kissing her again without hesitation, tossing his concern of inappropriateness aside in the moment, the tall blond didn't linger so much as savor, pulling away with a grin, blushing furiously,

"—I'm going to fetch towels. For you. And the floor. Not for me, of course. I mean, I'm—uh—I'll give you your privacy, clocking half in the bath though I appear to be at this point already." The young Valentin was slow to release her, smiling and suddenly full of utter stupidity, despite a gnawing sense of fear and guilt. The delicate pianist was far more intoxicated than he was and he had no desire to be even less of a man than either of those bastards in the alley were, thinking they could take advantage of the young woman. Were the needful, near-forgotten emotions that stirred inside of him at the brush of his lips any different? Surely, they were.

He stood, one hand brushing her arm as he turned to replace the drain's plug to keep most of the comfortably hot water for Charity to enjoy, dizzy and full of a tumultuous but exciting mix of thoughts and feelings. Fingers trailing away, he left her in the bathroom alone for a moment while he fussed around in the small closet in his short hallway, rummaging for all of his extra towels, which were few but hopefully enough. Returning to hover in the threshold of his bathroom, he leaned against the door frame with the shyest of grins and offered her the pile of fluffy, absorbent fabric, blue-eyed gaze wandering as if he hadn't looked at her this whole time, biting his lip before attempting to carry on normal conversation when he really clocking couldn't anymore, distracting himself from her distraction,

"Let me see what I can do with your dress. I've repaired a few uniforms in my time. Uh, well, unfortunately, all I've got for you is a shirt of mine for the moment. I don't keep a lot of ladies' clothing around on purpose. I'm not used to these sorts of unexpected emergencies."

[Charity Valentin]

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE

She’d kissed Rhys Valentin.

After too many years, too many imagined scenarios and happy endings, she had finally kissed him. Oh, and it was wonderful, like spring breezes or St Grumble feasts. Still close to his face, Charity watched his lips as the blonde spoke, captivated by them even as she held her breath in mild concern. Had she done the wrong thing? Gods, don’t let her have ruined this with—

I shouldn’t—we—tocks—

“No I should have—my father would—“

The Seventen returned her kiss with a boldness that thrilled her from toes to the top of her head, drawing a short sound of welcome surprise from the woman. Their fields mingled, interlaced with Perceptive mona that sang with all the spoken and unspoken things they felt. The delicate pianist couldn’t help but picture another time, another place, when they were younger and had first shared each others thoughts. Alioe, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Rhys pulled away, grinning like an idiot and stammering through his words, a terribly accurate representation of the teenager she’d left so long ago. Charity couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped from her, keeping contact with his hand and fingers till physically impossible, her violet eyes following him across the small bathroom and watching as he left to find the towels as promised. Reaching for the buttons that held her dress closed, the anaxi galdor paused, her grin fading slowly into a soft smile. Her gaze stared at the water, through it, beyond it and into the depths of her thoughts. It was a dangerous game and stupid thing they’d just done, and perhaps in the morning when they were both sober it would be less exciting and more concerning. Perhaps in the morning maybe they would both regret that kiss.

Never.

Charity bit her lip, loosening the buttons with her dreamy smile. Even sober, the shorter blonde knew she would never regret it. Her father could come down with fire and brimstone and it would still be worth it. The sound of Rhys pausing in the doorway caught her ear, and the pianist turned to look over her shoulder at him, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. She wasn’t sober, and neither was he, but Charity knew more than anything that her feelings and thoughts about the taller man were unchanged. He was her first crush, her childhood sweetheart even if it wasn’t allowed. After all the violent and unwelcome hands on her person tonight, the blonde wanted to feel safe. To feel cared about, to be more than just property or someone’s idea of an easy bit of fun.

She wanted Rhys Valentin.

“I didn’t take you for a seamstress Rhys.” Charity said softly, pausing the release of her buttons and taking the towel from him, toying with a corner as she continued to smile at him. It was almost impossible not to be delighted at his comment about not keeping a lot of ladies clothing, some irrational part of the musician thrilled that there was no other woman around regularly enough to leave clothing behind. Clocking hell, she hadn’t even thought about that before kissing the man. Was there a potential Missus Valentin that perhaps had been lost in the excitement? No, surely not. Rhys absolutely would have stopped her. He was a good man, a Seventen, an honest man.

He was her Rhys. No one was more trusted, not even Xi.

“So I…uh…” She chuckled again, waiting for the galdor to either turn around or leave the bathroom with a warmth rising on her cheeks, unsure of whether a kiss automatically became permission to watch a lady bathe. Once he made a choice, the blonde mixed blood proceeded to remove her dress and under garments. Leaving the torn and dirtied garment folded beside the towel and the shirt, Charity climbed gingerly into the hot water with a wince, settling down with a sigh and letting her head fall back as the warmth seeped into her bones. Her violet gaze stared at the ceiling, head swimming slightly as the Kings Crop still buzzed at the edges of her mind. It had already started to wain slightly with the healing and time, now more of a cottony heady feel than the exuberant numbness that came on when first consumed. Closing her eyes, the pianist sank under the surface, the eerie silence that pressed around her under water strangely comforting. Pushing her hands through her hair, Charity allowed the water to wash away the grime of the city street and the bloodstains on her skin.

Breaking the surface, she rested her elbows on bent knees, hands over her face. Unbidden, the tears came again, and quietly the blonde cried to herself. How could anyone sink as low as Benjamin, honestly she couldn’t fathom it. Rage burned in her chest, and for the briefest of moments Charity imagined telling her father. Oh, the vengeance on the bastard would be glorious, her father would do things that no one would ever know.

But then her blood ran cold. He’d find out the rest, and Good Lady, that terrified her more than being assaulted in the street by the kenser dropping dressed up as a man.

Moving to wash, the pale creature scrubbed at her skin where Benjamin’s fingers had touched. Where his friend’s hands had gripped. Her skin glowed a soft pink from the heat and the ferocity, splashing her face to wash away tears of anger and hate and fear. Washing away make up and dirt, Charity glanced at the doorway, suddenly desperate for the warmth of Rhys’ arms around her, desperate to retreat to that forbidden safe haven that she had missed for so long. Releasing the bathwater, she stood and stepped carefully from the tub, drying her skin and hair on the soft blue towel before reaching for the shirt. Tenderly, the blonde pianist held it close to her face, breathing deeply with another soft smile. It smelt like him, of his hair and his skin, not unpleasant or unwashed. Just…just him. Slipping into the shirt she buttoned it closed, sleeves reaching nearly to her finger tips and long legs disappearing under the fabric with a few inches between modesty and inappropriateness. Folding the towel and placing it beside her ruined dress and fine lace undergarments, Charity pattered on barefeet from the bathroom, looking for the Seventen with a blush.

“Rhys?” She said quietly, her voice heavy with all the thoughts that were maybe wrong but so very right, violet gaze searching for him as she walked. Her field sought his, all the needful things mingled in its embrace.

[Rhys Valentin]

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early

"I want to be clear, Charity." Rhys took the moment she reached for his towels, valiantly attempting to keep his gaze as proper as possible, "I don't clocking care what your father would think or what he would do. He only out-ranks me by one snap, I have a Captain that finds me an important member of his team, and a record of advancement that can't be glossed over simply because of one man's daughter."

It felt as though he'd practiced those words, as if the firm, rebellious sentiment had burned permanent scars into the soft places of his mind. He smiled, nearly eight years of hard work not in vain as far as he was concerned. Damen D'Arthe, like too many of his peers, had dismissed him as a meager sorcerer, but what they'd created in their wake was a determined, capable creature who cared little for others' opinions if it wasn't praise for his prowess or surprise for his accomplishments. Not to say that the young Valentin was conceited—he'd been crushed by two years' worth of training and another two years of service into a humble confidence—but he was aware that he could do more than was often expected of him. And he did.

The grueling regimen of physical and mental conditioning, while far fluffier than what was required of the Anaxi Armed Forces, had often been tempered with daydreams and purposeful musings.

And here, in his bathroom, perhaps not quite exactly as he'd planned, was the motivational object he'd worked so very hard to attain. Charity D'Arthe: alone in his home. Suspiciously high on what he could only surmise were opiates. Barely rescued from assault. Dirty and broken and sad. Perhaps his thrill at their reunion bordered on the obsessive or unhealthy. Or perhaps he just wasn't sober enough to properly filter his own thoughts.

He'd waited too long to find her again—that much was obvious, given all she'd confessed in tears—and it stung a little. He'd let fear and doubt keep him from seeking the out sooner, woefully to her detriment as she'd all but admitted her own escapism was far less pleasant and hardly as legal as his own very purposeful choices. But, at the same time, there was still the warm, ruddy glow of light in the glimpse of darkness he could read on her face—a darkness he remembered teasing the edges of all those years ago while both students of Perceptive conversation.

She'd kept a candle burning for him all this time, too. It was, admittedly, very thrilling to realize that he wasn't alone in his longing.

The delicate pianist's lips were everything he'd fantasized about, just as he'd imagined and more, though he worried he would come to regret such a willingness to indulge their childhood whims now as supposedly more educated, rational adults. Still, there was no denying the necessity, nor the enjoyment.

"Seamstress—me? Close your head, Charity D'Arthe. Any willing man can sew, though I can't say I, personally, can sew well. Just ... enough to get by without a household servant around." His laughter was loud and amused and he pulled a mockery of an offended expression, taunting her further as if making promises for the morning that would eventually arrive, enticing her to stay without actually saying it, "I'll have you know I even cook my own clocking meals around here, if you can imagine—"

His riposte came with a distracted, lopsided grin. Blue eyes couldn't help but stray from her teasing face to where her fingers had been even as he handed her the towels, aware that he was admitting to bachelorhood and far from shy about it. Not that he'd spent the years entirely alone, no, for his uniform had proven itself an interesting attraction. No one had compared, no one had lasted, and obviously, Rhys had simply never been satisfied by any poor imitation of who he actually pined for. No one had proven themselves capable of replacing the delicate pianist's place in his heart.

"—oh. Right. Yes. I'll be ... here. But not right here. Nevermind. Just, yeah." He dismissed himself at her awkward non-question, keeping one towel to himself and disappearing from the bathroom with a hint of reluctance. Shutting the door behind him, he was already shrugging off his soaked, dirty shirt halfway into the hallway, unable to keep himself from imagining the vision he was willingly walking away from for all the right reasons. At least, that's what he repeated to himself as he wandered toward the kitchen, leaning against the small counter near the sink and curling fingers down to his knuckles against his scalp as if somehow the tight hint of pain would at all bring his wild, racing thoughts and even more unpredictable pulse under control.

The tall blond set his towel down on the small counter and began to fill the sink with cold water, waiting until it was full enough to dunk his whole head in and let the chill of it steal the breath he attempted to hold. Sobriety was shoved roughly at his senses, and Rhys ran his hands over his dirtied face and through his hair while his lungs burned their displeasure at how willing he was long to stay submerged before he finally came up for air. Reaching for the towel as frigid water ran down his neck and over his shoulders, he tossed his shirt in the water and turned off the spigot. Drying his face and hair, he left the towel over his head thoughtlessly, toes curling into the worn tile of the floor while he did his best to do a bit of scrubbing at the blood-stained sleeves of his uniform shirt, lifting it from the water and draining the sink while he wrung it out, acutely aware that there was a petite young galdor woman enjoying his bath without him.

Spreading the shirt on the counter to hang it to dry later, Rhys tugged the towel to his shoulders and found he had no idea what to do with himself, thoughts meandering despite the clear-headedness too much cold water brought.

Hovering uselessly in the meager kitchen, he heard the sound of the tub draining, loud as it was in the pipes of his somewhat humble for a galdor Sergeant sort of apartment. The young Valentin wasn't far away by any means, and her needful field was soon brushing his, the Perceptive mona they had in common so strangely willing to bask in shared company as if there was comfort in the familiarity. It could only be likened to the metaphorical sensations brought about in a person by a warm cup of tea, something some auralogist would surely have their own theoretical field day with had either of them professed to such a phenomenon.

His apartment far from spacious or extravagant so much as well-maintained and efficient, Rhys took the few steps beyond his well-furnished living room to peer around the hall corner as if sheepish, though he wasn't. He wasn't entirely sure exactly how he felt, but the vision of the delicate pianist, fresh from his bath and dressed just on the edge of modesty in his shirt did absolutely nothing for his tenuous hold on linear thinking and propriety,

"Still here, of course."

The tall blond smirked at her playfully, diffusing his distraction with humor, aware that he'd not even made it to his room for a shirt—he was hardly being helpful. Here. Wherever this was besides some alternative reality he'd not imagined. Rhys kept his amused expression as he stepped into the short hallway to make his way toward the bathroom she'd just occupied to investigate her dress as promised, reaching up to curl both hands tightly into either edge of the towel across his shoulders in a genuine effort to keep his hands to himself.

Still, self control was a fickle beast, and the young Valentin stopped where Charity stood, "Unfortunately for me, I'm expected back in uniform in two and a half houses, but you're welcome to sleep in my bed—" His pause was not entirely purposeful, but it was obvious he realized what he said as it came out of his mouth, grin growing stupid for a moment, shifting just a step closer as if the words compelled him to make the suggestion more tangible than it already was. His blue eyes couldn't hide the mischief he was often once too guilty for, even as he made an honest go at holding her violet gaze with seriousness (and failed), "—I, uh, I don't mind my couch. I can make sure to walk you home before then, considering the proximity of things."

It was exceedingly difficult to make conversation that somewhat construed itself into innuendo and yet to refrain from kissing the petite blonde more just to make sure he didn't let six or seven or more years slip by before it happened again—

Gods, what a clocking idiot!

—The tall blond may have even leaned a little, just so, the mona that comfortably mingled between them giving everything away before he caught himself,

"I will look at your dress, though. Yes. I should do that first. Before—before? Anything. Nothing. Something." Rhys sighed a hapless, helpless noise, bare shoulders sagging and hands slipping away from the towel he wore across them. He made to step past her toward her dress again, but didn't. Frozen in place and staring at her instead, a warmth crawling up his spine and pooling at the base of his skull. Fingers reached to fiddle with a loose button near the top of his shirt Charity wore so well, aware of the unraveling string but too lazy to repair it just yet. Expression softening at the edges, his eyes strayed away from hers out of indecision and a hint of shame, all his buried feelings unwilling to be ignored wrestled fiercely with his well-trained senses of duty and honor,

"Oh, bells, this is far less simple than I'd ever imagined. Seeing you. Again. You. Here. Anywhere. I just. I can't at all think straight. What now, Charity?" He chuckled, barely keeping himself contained, overwhelmed by the nostalgia of her presence no matter the weight of her issues. There was too much history in their childhood friendship to let her intoxication get in the way. He couldn't just let her disappear again, not ever.

"I've never actually wanted any real kind of directive in my life, if I'm honest, until this moment."

[Charity Valentin]

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE

The Captains daughter smiled as the taller Seventen looked around the corner of the hallway to look at her, his field a warm and welcome presence, Perceptive mona curling soothingly together in a way that made it difficult to sense where hers ended and his began. As he approached, Charity swallowed hard and breathed out slowly, overly aware of the fact she wore naught but his shirt to cover her modesty. Her mouth felt dry and her eyes widened for a fraction of a moment.

Good Lady, where was his shirt?

It was difficult to keep her violet gaze away from wandering the spanse of his bared skin, a curious shivery thrill running through her as Rhys came closer. The blonde man was an officer, so it made sense that his physique should reflect as such the activity that Numbrey burned into his person and instilled in his daily routines but Alioe…the lanky teenager she’d pined over had filled out some as an adult. Her eyes held his, fingertips toying with the edges of the sleeves that all but swallowed her hands.

…but you’re welcome to sleep in my bed—

Charity laughed, her cheeks darkening as she looked away from the ridiculous grin that spread across his face, knowing that face better than anyone perhaps. He was never quite truly innocent in his actions in Brunnhold, always putting on just enough charm to convince the professors that it was a mistake Miss and he would never do it again Miss, only to go right back to the same mischief as soon as their backs were turned. The taller man shifted just a fraction closer, causing the pale blonde to glance up and meet those devious blue eyes.

If Rhys struggled to stop himself from kissing her, the petite woman suffered almost as much. She wanted to reach up and draw him close, to discover his mouth again as though afraid they would loose each other again. His field shifted, leaning more so than the tall Seventen himself, mona tingling throughout the space between them speaking louder than his voice could. But a small voice in the back of her mind shouted warnings, knowing full well what would happen if in any way at all her father found out. She ignored it though, lifting her chin slightly in anticipation, breath catching in her throat.

Gods, but…he was sighing and making to move away. Charity nodded and tucked her hair back.

“Yes, my dress. I…before...yes.” She said with a nervous laugh, watching the taller galdor reach for the button on his shirt that barely covered her, following it up to catch his eyes again. Her heart practically hammered hard enough to burst from her chest, small crease on her brow as Rhys seemed to be embarrassed by their proximity.

“What now?” Charity breathed, caught between her childhood fantasy and the narrow walls of his personal hallway in his neat and tidy abode. His suggestion about cooking and sewing earlier reminded the young woman that there was no other that would come wondering why there was another woman in the house, nor by the sounds of it that even a servant would be around. A home without help? It seemed foreign to the D’Arthe, having grown up with them in her fathers property.

“Well, I…perhaps…” The pianist let her violet gaze wander briefly across his face and lips, towards the hardly proper state of undress the Seventen was in, talented fingers reaching hesitantly to brush against the skin that was so close to her own. She pressed her lower lip between her teeth, the same small voice that was terrified of her father reminding the blonde that she wasn’t entirely in the best frame of mind.

“Perhaps it’s for the best if we just...” She said softly, drawing her hand away with obvious reluctance, fingers curling under and eyes coming back to meet his own with a frown. They really should just sleep. The drugs, the attack, adrenaline and nostalgia; all of those things were a recipe for regret. Would they wake feeling the same? Was she willing to risk both their genuine safety if her father found out?

Why though? Why did he have to find out? Perhaps in any other place, with any other person the risk was real and terrifying.

But this was Rhys. Her Rhys. Not some subpar imitation, or some horrid selection of Damen D’Arthe’s.

Making a sound of frustration in the back of her throat, Charity moved rapidly, raising on tiptoe and pushing the towel away to curl her arms around his neck and pull the taller blonde to her lips with a deeply passionate kiss. She pressed herself against his warmth with a quiet groan, tongue tickling the soft bow of his mouth and fingers disappearing into the strawberry blonde mop he called hair. Around them, her stronger field hummed with unmistakable delight, comfortably tangled with his own.

“Stay with me, don’t think Rhys, just stay with me.” The shorter woman whispered against his lips with a small gasp, something close to a sob but not quite, drawing back with a serious look crossing her face.

“Please?” Charity asked softly, her eyes searching his with a desperate neediness. Brushing his lips with hers as though barely holding herself back, she sighed an almost silent chuckle, fingers curling against the nape of his neck.

“Don’t take the couch.” The blonde pianist murmured, her entire body aching with the sudden strong overwhelming desire to be held and to be loved. Even if it was for a night, or a few houses. Taking another deep breath through her nose, Charity pressed herself to Rhys, drowning in the beautifully forbidden act. A rebellion of her own making, the mixed blood galdor teetered on her toes, eager and frustrated all at once.

“And stop being so clocking tall.” She teased with a grin, before continuing to take her selfish pleasure from his warm mouth.

[Rhys Valentin]

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early

One song is never enough

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CO8QTlAwFT0[/media]

A great deal of Special Enforcement Sergeant Valentin's training in Numbrey had been focused on risk management and recognizing one's personal limitations in order to encourage team work and self-awareness as a galdor against various forms of opposition. Historically speaking, Rhys had never fared well in any of these courses when it came to immediate circumstance versus long term planning, far too prone to stepping into dangerous situations before thinking, no matter how well-prepared he'd thought himself for the moment.

This particular moment was a fine example.

The tall blond's hesitance was reflected back at him in the indecisive discomfort of Charity's expression, in the way her pale eyebrows drew together in thoughtful confusion and in the way she drew the tempting curve of her lower lip between her teeth. Warm fingers brushed the bare skin of his side and he blinked, for little did he know the worries that writhed through his mind were nearly the same as her own.

But, honestly, so were their unspoken rebuttals. They were no longer children, no longer students, and while Rhys was very used to taking orders for a living, that part of himself that had always been the boy who did as he pleased until told otherwise hadn't really changed, he'd just been well-hidden behind a crisp green uniform and too many snaps, he'd just been weighed down with more responsibility than he probably deserved.

He certainly had no interest in confiding in anyone what he did in the privacy of his home with whoever he pleased, and the young Valentin would rather find himself sat on by a chroven than ever speak to Captain D'Arthe about anything concerning his lovely, delicate daughter.

The petite blonde knew all the same answers, and Rhys would have grinned at her purposeful movements had he not been on the receiving end of all of her decisions. He willingly bent to meet her as her hands slid over his shoulders to tug him toward her lips. Eager to meet the reckless enthusiasm of her kiss, he let his fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt that draped so temptingly over her. His breath caught roughly at the tease of her tongue and tangible desires that were awash in her familiar aura, dragging him far away from questioning anything else about their unexpected reunion and what to do with their time together.

Charity gave him just a moment to remember to breathe and he all-but giggled against her lips, far too thrilled at the invitation to explore long-held, carefully kindled youthful fantasies to believe that honoring her request was at all taking advantage of her intoxication so much as wish fulfillment for them both, regardless of circumstances,

"Oh gods, yes. Thank you." He managed to string some words together breathlessly in answer to her quiet question.

The tall blond could feel the warmth of her pale skin beneath the worn fabric of his old shirt as she pressed closer, the girl he'd had a crush on for so long now as much of an adult as he was, and he laughed, muffled though it was against her lips when she pretended to complain.

Rhys shifted his footing as he once again returned her kiss, leaning to accommodate her delicate stature. His hands moved from simply clinging to the familiar seams of his shirt, roaming over soft curves in order to find a suitable grip, his movements making his plan obvious. Charity was hardly a heavy creature, and without a care in all of Vita that this was his meager hallway instead of his bedroom, he lifted her easily off her feet with another stifled sound of amusement, teeth gently tugging at her lower lip and sharp blue gaze seeking to meet her violet hues,

"Tall? I can somewhat fix that. Here—"

It was as he moved to crush them both against the papered wall of his short hallway, Charity in the middle between himself and his apartment, that his palms in their roaming to encourage the petite blonde to wrap her legs around him discovered the warm skin of her backside and he realized it was only just his shirt between her pale flesh and himself. He let his words fade, any common sense he'd managed to cling to was swept away with the rush of excitement that filled him.

He groaned—a too long pent up noise of arousal and surprise—hefting her skillfully to a comfortable position, letting the wall and angle of his hips support her so his hands could roam roughly upward and curl fingers into her still-wet, platinum hair. He leaned to kiss her again with the same languid sense of indulgence as she did until he realized he'd been holding his breath again in his enthusiasm and was forced to lean away from her lips, grinning with flushed stupidity and inhaling sharply before he tilted his head toward her ear, nibbling roughly his way toward her neck.

"—better?" Rhys teased, whispering against pale skin without bothering to conceal his thrilled amusement in both his decisions and their predicament, aware that his room wasn't but a fistful of steps away and yet hardly in a hurry. The warmth of her legs against the skin of his torso and the wicked realization of just how little clothing was between them (and how all of it was his, anyway) became both maddening and intimidating, his heart already a rabid creature in his chest, hungry to crash its way through his bare chest, swimming in a newer, stronger sort of intoxication he felt swept away by with their bodies suddenly so willingly pressed close together.

The tall blond was vaguely aware of the scandalousness of their choices, but it was mostly a social construct they chose to rebel against, for as far as the young Valentin was concerned, this moment was simply too long in waiting.

Carefully slipping a hand between them, his palm purposefully brushed over the soft curves hidden under fabric, lingering with a both an admiration and a curiosity he didn't hide from her, while his other hand returned to her backside to hold her. He was both unable and unwilling to deny the effects their sudden, shared moment had on his own body, positioned as they were. Reaching for buttons to undo from the collar of his old, worn shirt downward, his mischievous blue gaze drifted from her face to watch himself deftly move fabric aside, biting his lip in anticipation of the landscape of pale, flushed skin he couldn't remember not wanting to see.

It was just as he'd undone the third button that a long, deep chirp and the forceful, needy bump of a large, furred creature against the back of his calves interrupted his movements, Jynx appearing like some jealous lover to remind the two that the one-eyed osta was more than capable of roaming the hallway whenever she pleased.

"Godsdamnit. I don't ask that clocking much of you, do I? Fine. We'll move, darling. Out of your way of course." Rhys laughed coarsely, hands moving to hold Charity more supportively so that he could lean them both away from the wall and carry her, just so, toward his room, fully intending to close the door behind them and toss her playfully onto his bed, eager to crawl after her.

[Charity Valentin]

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE

The delicate blonde smiled as he laughed against her mouth, gasping with surprise as warm welcome hands roamed her curves to lift her up, allowing the young pianist an angle she’d not seen in a long clocking time and never through her own eyes. Rhys was tall, taller than most men of her race and age, but then he’d always been like that. A head above most others, the blond saw the world in a different light. She’d see the world through his eyes once, too long ago in fact. This time though, it was more than just innocent youths with an impossible crush. This time, they were very adult and very alone. Charity curled her lengthy legs around his waist, painfully aware that there was almost nothing between her modesty and his noticeable wanting. Her breath came out in a sharp exhale as Rhys pressed them both against the hallway wall, comfortably supported by his body and shivering at the sound that escaped the taller man. Gods, she wanted to hear more. Her violet gaze met his even as his hands curled into her hair, her own fingers tugging gently against his strawberry blonde mop with a desperate willingness as her lips were caught by his own. Softly, the Seventen’s mouth brushed the tender skin on her neck, causing the woman to shudder just a little with goosebumps dancing across her arms.

“Much better.” She purred quietly at his teasing, eyes slipping shut and leaning her head against the papered wall behind her as a curious hand explored the curves of her body in their limited space. Charity let her violet eyes open again, glancing down to where his fingers slowly undid the buttons on the shirt one at a time, almost as curious and eager as Rhys to see what happened when they were completely undone.

Three buttons down, the man made a sound, stopping his torturously slow undressing of her person as the osta interrupted them. Clearly on purpose so it seemed. Glancing at the one eyed creature, the blonde chuckled, shaking her head and holding herself closer to the taller blonde as he drew away from the wall and headed towards his bedroom. As he kicked the door shut, Charity took his face in her hands and kissed him, a properly satisfying kiss that left her breathless and urgently wanting more.

Landing on the bed with a soft sound of surprise, the blonde pianist sat up to meet him as he crawled in after her, seeking his mouth again with a chuckle and a moan.

“I remember the last time I was in your bed. We were studying uh...the ten basic principles of Quantitive conversation.” Charity let her hand move from the relative safety of the bedsheets to run tentatively over the smooth hardened expanse of his torso with a sigh.

“Only there was definitely none of this. And far more clothing.” She grinned against his mouth, nipping his lower lip in an amateurish mimicry of his own actions, sensitive peaks of her breasts visible against the fabric of his shirt, final scraps of modesty held back by just a few buttons.

“Tocks, and that one time I had to sneak out the window because the hall monitor came knocking.” Drawing back, the petite woman glanced down, taking his fingers in hers with a small smile.

“I wanted to kiss you so badly, Good Lady I wanted you. I just...it’s...you know...” Her lower lip found its way between pristine white teeth again with a slightly guilty expression, as though she knew they shouldn’t. They really clocking shouldn’t.

But they really clocking would.

Reaching for the remaining buttons of the shirt, Charity undid one, watching Rhys as she did so with a slight nervous smile. The narcotics in her system helped take the edge off her inhibitions, and the blonde popped another, sitting on the bed with the fabric precariously covering the paler curves of her breasts and the warmth between her legs. Ever betraying her thoughts and feelings to the Seventen before her, Charity’s field buzzed warmly, mingled with perceptive mona that echoed her inner monologue.

[Rhys Valentin]

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.

[Charity Valentin]

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE

Charity giggled against his mouth, unable to resist drawing back slightly to meet the blondes eyes with a cocked eyebrow.

“Rhys Valentin! Quantitive conversation was the best class. Professor Higgins was absolutely the most riveting teacher in all of Brunnhold. No, in all of Vita!” She grinned with playful delight, falling easily into old habits with the man, her tone laced with sarcasm and mirth. They sat now face to face, the taller Seventen on his knees and she comfortably leaning back on one arm, too bemused by nostalgia to continue the kisses that were far from their former selves.

“You know why there wasn’t any of this.” The petite pianist said quietly, her smile a little more apologetic than amused for a moment, sitting up slightly to allow her supporting hand to run over the buttons of her—his—shirt. Another comment, and another laugh, the painful reasons for their separation washed away with giddy delight. As her fingers moved slowly, Rhys mentioned her father, along with his hurt and regret. Her hand stopped, fiddling with the button and eyes drifting from his face to the uncovered plane of his chest.

“We should have. Alioe, he would have lost it, you know? That ugly vein in his temple would have probably exploded or something. Maybe he would have had a heart attack from the rage. That would have been clocking good.” Reaching out to rest her free hand on his thigh, Charity looked up again with eyes that spoke of regret and heartfelt emotion.

“You were mine too. Xi hated you for it, clocking hell she despised you. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t talk to her like I could talk to you, she just didn’t get it. My father, my brother, my mother...you. Everything was just a case of rose tinted glasses for her. It still is, but I think maybe I’ve been wearing them too this time.” Searching his face, her head mildly foggy and heartbeat rushing in her ears, the pale woman could feel his field heavily between them. It saturated the air around them with want and urgency, drawing her in with a soft slow inhale and gentle sigh. The tide of the mona they so closely shared throbbed on the currents of their field, practically making their experiences one. Charity held his crystalline eyes with an unspoken acceptance, before following his gaze to the remaining buttons of her attire. Her hand moved to rest behind her, the other still on his thigh, holding herself in check as the fabric slipped from her shoulders to expose pale sensitive flesh. As the galdors fingers brushed her skin with almost minuscule sensations, the woman let her violet eyes flutter closed, lower lip drawing between her teeth and brow furrowed slightly. Rhys’ palms brushed against the softer skin of her breasts, his thumbs grazing firm peaks and drawing a gasp from the blonde.

The unexpected brush of his fingers against the cruel scar under her ribs caught Charity off guard, and she opened her eyes to look at him, moving her hand from his thigh to rest on the fingers touching the pink marred skin. Leaning slightly, the pale galdor arched back a little so she could look at the scar, sweeping their hands over it together to cover it.

“Yes. That’s my eighteenth birthday present, a knife they think, not sharp but still sharp enough. All for a few concords.” Her eyes lifted again, watching the apologetic blonde look away, before coming back to her face. What could he have done really? Xi had convinced her to go out that night, and introduced the mixed blood to all the alcoholic beverages she could find. Would she have said no had Rhys still been there?

Maybe....

The Seventen continued to release the last fastenings of her shirt, his lovely words and delightful laugh setting her heart racing in her chest, causing the pianist to smile again with a blush. Her hand moved from the old wound under her ribs to reach for her hair, tucking it away from her flushed face with a shy chuckle, both charmed and embarrassed under his exclamations.

“Close your head, Rhys.” She giggled, biting her lip again whilst grinning at the man. She felt like a teenager again under his adoring gaze and stammered words, laughing a little at his moony grin, before the taller Anaxi moved forward and began a slow torturous path back to her mouth. Charity sighed brokenly, her heavily dilated gaze drifting shut again. Gods, her skin felt like it was burning! Moaning softly, her fingertips dragged their way up the green fabric of his pants to brush against the warmth of his torso, bumping against his obvious arousal with a small gasp of surprise and hesitance.

Oh...

Peaking from under thick lashes, the delicate blonde glanced between them, purposefully brushing him again with a questioning look with parted lips and shallow breaths. Her hand curled against the fabric with a surge of confidence, worrying her lip again with a wicked smile.

Oh yes.

Charity leaned further forward to capture his mouth with a hum, stroking gently through the restrictive pants with an eager movement before attempting to undo the fastenings that held them on, failing miserably. Making a soft whine of frustration, the pale pianist shifted, twisting to slip her arms from the oversized shirt before grasping at the clasp and zip with both hands.

“Clocking Seventen and your clocking uniforms.” She muttered against his mouth, before grinning in triumph as her musicians fingers managed to open the fastenings. Delicately, she curled her fingernails over the tender skin just beneath the material, opening her eyes to catch his own.

This was definitely not how their studies had ever gone.

[Rhys Valentin]

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early

"Well, to be fair, I don't actually mind Quantitative conversation because it's useful, sure, but that class was clocking torture." Rhys couldn't help but be serious on the matter, only to dissolve into laughter as Charity spoke of just how Captain D'Arthe would have most likely reacted to the pair had they taken their friendship before graduation toward something as intimate as was quickly unraveling between them in the present. He rolled his eyes, biting his lip to keep from commenting on how the man was indirectly a superior officer and it wasn't his place to wish ill on him, no matter how many times he had in the past.

Her delicate hand was on his thigh and her violet gaze wandered from his face and he exhaled through his teeth, attempting to reign in the differences between their youth and their current situation. He couldn't, not clearly enough, or at least not willing enough to do so properly, too many buried desires and abandoned feelings rising to the surface like flotsam after a shipwreck,

"You had to, in some ways, I'm sure." Rhys whispered as if in apology to her mention of rose-tinted glasses, his voice wavering with unspoken things even as his fingers moved to undo buttons. While his hands didn't tremble, a strong sense of doing something forbidden crawled its way up his spine and seeped coldly into the heat that coursed through his veins. The worry didn't stop him, however, and he pushed it away like he gently moved the fabric of his shirt from so much pale skin. The young Valentin's breath caught and his hands explored with a hesitant gentleness, pausing when her hand covered one of his own over her scar,

"Birthday present? Clock the Circle, Charity." His expression was full of regret, though it was brief, the rest of her teasing him from behind just two more buttons. His pulse was so loud, drowning out the whispers of caution, drowning out the memories of the Captain's very direct threats to his person all those years ago.

He leaned to first kiss her knee, then her thigh, moving toward her face slowly, eyes fluttering at the vicinity his purposeful journey put him to the warmth between her legs even as his lips traveled heatedly upward further still. He lingered over her scar and took his time once he reached her breasts, only to pause, teeth brushing her collarbone when her fingers that drifted toward his own bare chest found themselves distracted instead. The petite blonde touched him a second time, and he couldn't help but make a needful noise while his heartbeat felt as though it thrummed with new life against the pressure of her palm.

Rhys would have said something coy and inviting had Charity not kissed him instead, inviting his own hands to move roughly over the lovely skin of her shoulders to assist her in shrugging off his shirt before trailing back down over her arms to direct her fingers toward the fastenings in order to help her free him,

"I look really clocking good in this uniform, thank you, Miss D'Arthe." The Sergeant growled playfully, though his words became breathless at the purposeful motion of her hands, an aroused urgency pooling at the base of his spine, "But I don't look all that bad with it off, either."

His lack of modesty was admitted with the most devious of grins, aware that he'd allowed their nostalgia to get away from the both of them, to slip into something else entirely, and very sure he didn't care in the least whether there would be consequences or not. Rhys had wasted his clocking time being afraid of the same consequences for far too long already. Sitting up again to meet her violet gaze that fluttered so alluringly in her curiosity, the tall blond hooked his thumbs in hem of both his green trousers and the light fabric under them, not bothering to move her hands as he wriggled himself out of them, leaning into her touch even as he twisted his body to get out of the last of his clothing with a laugh that rivaled her triumphant grin in eagerness.

"There." He panted roughly, waiting for his heart to crawl out from under his sternum or out of his mouth, his expression bright and full of adoring stupidity. His words, however, were thick with the deviousness he had always been well-known for, even though this was a private moment and emotions were nearly tangible in his tone, "My view is clocking worth the wait—Charity, is yours?"

Not entirely giving her time to answer, he leaned to kiss her again with depth and excitement, shifting to whisper in her ear first Estuan, then a few lines of familiar Monite,

"All the enjoyable things we've imagined over the years, I will admit ... I haven't forgotten." Rhys teased her, the shift in Perceptive mona between them like a chilly Bethas breeze responding to his words, leaving goosebumps and a shudder in their wake when he spoke his spell quietly, requesting a blending of their senses, not as a way of navigating around blindness, but for much more intimate reasons. The familiar momentary disorientation would wash over them even as his lips teased her neck and fingers tickled up her inner thigh with a purpose not unlike her own exploratory touch, humming his surprise once their thoughts and feelings were allowed to mingle as freely as their belike fields.

Perhaps he hadn't entirely expected the consequences of his spell, forgetting not just the last of his alcohol-induced buzz but also her own intoxication, and his hum became a groan at the wash of both her desires and thoughts but also how her less than legal choices earlier in the evening had affected her,

"Oh."

The Sergeant should have been horrified, perhaps, or at least quickly ended the spell before his mind could completely react to the lingering twilight of euphoria that crept from within her through their stronger than expected connection he'd invited of the mona and been generously granted, but neither of those things happened. Too curious, too inquisitive, too sunk below the waves of his nostalgic wanting, Rhys closed his eyes for a moment and let everything settle—her hands moving, her pulse against his lips, his fingertips traveling, their fantasies meeting not as clueless teenagers but as much more capable adults.