[Mature] Those Wicked Things We Do

An unexpected reunion

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Thu Aug 02, 2018 7:47 am

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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Soft lips brushed her knee and her thigh, scandalously improper and entirely forbidden by her controlling father, each warm press drifting further up her body with a sensual slowness. Charity breathed a small sound of delight, even if her wavering field curled away slightly as the taller galdor passed over more intimate things to linger against the ugly pink scar under her ribs. Something about his gentle acknowledgment of the mark made her feel things that she’d not known since her mother had taken her life. She felt safe and cared for, as though if she was to fall apart someone was there to pick up the pieces and put her back together instead of sweep them under the rug.

Rhys reached the sensitive skin of her breasts, lingering and exploring as her hand brushed against the warmth restrained by his uniform. She groaned, violet gaze fluttering against the urge to let her eyes drift closed. Their lips met, and the blonde man eagerly assisted the mixed blood as she fought against his pants with a wide grin. Stroking the soft, yet firm warmth in her hand, Charity chanced a look over the easily tanned skin of the Seventen, a deep blush dressing her features.

“You did always wear green exceptionally well.” She said with a nervous laugh as Rhys moved to remove his pants with a mischievousness she remembered so easily, painfully aware that after far too many teenage fantasies and awkward might-have-beens, here before her was the completely undressed Valentin. Her own quick undressing might have been more shy, more hesitant, were it not for the artificial courage that burned in her veins.

“Clocks—“ Was all she got out in admiration of everything before her eyes, as once again the plantation son moved to kiss her, deeply and with obvious excitement. The platinum haired pianist welcomed him, her hand shifting against sensitive skin with a sound of encouragement, violet gaze unable to stay open when his breath tickled her ear with wicked words.

“You haven’t forgotten?”

The monite was familiar, a flash of their past, of things that had been so wonderfully eye opening. Of Bethas snowy days and shared minds. He’d not forgotten, and neither had she. It was a memory forever encapsulated in her mind, a beautiful rose hidden amongst the thorns of her memories. Charity smiled, before she felt a sudden surge of panic, realising too late what he was doing as the mona between them shifted with warm nostalgic tones.

“Rhys, wait—“ The woman gasped too late, goosebumps rolling across her alabaster skin with a shiver. Immediately, the sense of sharing his thoughts and feelings swept over her like a sense of vertigo, bringing with it the lingering effects of his alcoholic induced intoxication on top of her own illegal high. Disorientated and slightly dizzy from the shift, the blonde let her head tilt to relax against one shoulder, her eyes shut against the curiously strong connection and enjoying the hot breath that tickled her throat.

Oh.

The brush of eager fingers searing the yet unexplored pale skin on her thigh was difficult to ignore, but Charity took a second to focus, her face reflecting a guilty sort of shame as Rhys was enveloped by the narcotic effects that lingered in her system. His voice was enough to show her it had bleed through to his own senses, and even though she couldn’t see his face pressed softly against the rapidly thrumming pulse in her throat, the blonde still frowned slightly.

“I’m...I’m sorry. I didn’t expect...” She shivered as his hand moved inches closer to her core, breathing a soft whine of pleasure as her minstrations laced through their combined senses. Pausing for a moment, the petite blonde drew back from him, leaning away to look at his face with genuine concern.

“Are...are you okay?” She drew her lip between her teeth, worried about his reaction to her inebriation and it’s effects on his inexperienced self to follow the brush of long fingers on her pale skin. The delicate creature knew the opioids intimately, and how they made everything seem euphoricly pleasant. The addiction to that feeling was her poison, and it was frightening to think that her Rhys was now swimming in that depth. It was dangerous.

It was also deviously arousing knowing that for a brief moment the Seventen would see what she saw. She should stop. This was too far. This should be the line she drew in the sand. It was one thing to so rebelliously ignore her father’s will, it was another to willingly let Rhys drown in her own sadistic habit.

Except that she knew what it felt like to drag herself so deliciously over the edge in this state, memories of crystalline blue eyes and mischievous smiles fueling her nights alone.

Unable to stop the slow curious smile that graced her lips, Charity shifted slightly to settle more on her knees, bringing her free hand up to press against his cheek. The warmth tingled on her own cheek as she leaned to kiss his shoulder, other hand stroking the firm arousal slowly between them. Moving a little further, she brushed dusky lips against his chest, nibbling open mouthed kisses across heated skin with a hum. The platinum blonde shivered, her breath catching as a ghost of the sensations Rhys experienced whispered across her skin. Glancing down between them, Charity moved the hand from his face to her still damp locks, tucking her hair back with a giddy sort of rush.

What are you doing? A small voice shouted from the depths of her mind, unsure and hesitant. The pianist pressed her lips against the softer skin beside Rhys navel, and lower still. She felt butterflies curl inside, the inexperienced galdor’s nerves fighting their way to the surface, field thrumming in a loose and unfocused wave.

“It’s really not as bad as you think. The Crop. It makes things feel...better.” The petite blonde said softly, her smile unfaltering even though she was terrified of...of what? Of Rhys, or her father? Or of the wicked thrill that pulsed through her as she leant further to sweep her tongue softly across the velveteen warmth still wrapped in her fingers. A ragged sound of surprise escaped the Captains daughter as the echoed sensation stroked against her core, encouraging the pianist to explore further his excitement with her mouth. Within her chest, Charity’s heart raced wildly, enamoured with the sounds and words she could elicit from the man.


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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
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Race: Wick
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Thu Aug 09, 2018 12:49 am

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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While the connection he'd invited between them was only Perceptive in nature, the altered state of their minds made the mingling of their thoughts and sensations strange just as their familiarity with each other made that same connection stronger than expected. The mona in both their fields not just similar but rumored to have impossible memory, Rhys had, admittedly, brought the unfortunate parts of this shared moment upon himself, upon Charity, too, considering his own intoxication.

They were both at least slowly making their way toward sobriety, and yet the tall blond had never in his life experienced even the faintest sensation of an opiate in his body, of any drug, really, other than socially acceptable chan and alcohol ... and—thank Alioe—nothing actually touched his bloodstream so much as writhed inside his conscious mind with his spell. Shallow but surprising, everything simply felt more overwhelming than it actually was because it was new and because the physical sensations his hands made on pale skin distracted him, too.

"I'm okay. I think. Mostly. I mean, I should have thought—" The Sergeant of the Seventen smirked wryly, the boundaries between not only himself and Charity but also between what was a good idea and what wasn't now very blurred while his fingertips brushed upward between her legs, breath hitching in his throat with the anticipation, with her lingering touch, and with the flood of their shared interests carried like the tide on the dissociative but very pleasant effect of the opium in her system on his senses.

It was wrong, but it was also enlightening, his insatiable, calculating mind cataloging the entire experience. Was it against his rules? Did he care? Charity D'Arthe was kissing him in the middle of his distracted, moral conundrum and he smiled against her lips before she began to travel lower over his body. He'd promised himself that if he ever did see the delicate pianist again, he'd ignore all the rules.

Now, well, now he was making good on that promise.

"—I've never—"

Rhys leaned back to look at the pale blond, to get his bearings on the world. He let the spell linger instead of ending it, smiling at her as he naively thought he could anticipate her intentions, swept up in distraction even as his mind struggled to convince him otherwise,

"The Crop? King's Crop? Charity, opiates? Look, it's my jo—wait—oh, Gods." Her words had struck a chord in his more rational mind for the briefest of moments, but her lips that blazed a trail down the lean, muscled planes of his body burned away any ability for him to continue his questioning. Rhys whimpered, his sense of touch so heightened that the brush of her tongue made him tense, inhaling sharply, and for a wild, rapid heartbeat or two, he thought to tell her not to.

But no. Why should he?

What if tomorrow, when sun spilled into his bright apartment and they looked back at the strange evening that brought them together again after nearly eight years, what if tomorrow they parted ways again?

The tall blond couldn't help himself, couldn't deny the desire and hope he'd kindled for so long, and now he was quite sure he wasn't even in a decision-making state of mind. So he leaned back on his palms instead, hands sliding away from the delicate pianist once her body shifted and her mouth enveloped him warmly, shuddering with pleasure. His uniform had garnered him plenty of attention over the past two years since leaving Numbrey (and perhaps even before that), but never the attention he'd wanted until now.

Until her.

Rhys was incapable of denying the delicate creature, and he instead leaned his head back with a broken sort of sigh, watching her with a hooded gaze. His sea glass-colored eyes slowly swept over the pale landscape of Charity's lovely, naked form bent just so in his lap, in his bed, in his room with both the strangest, persistent feeling of detachment as well the most intensified pleasure he'd ever experienced. His noises of enjoyment caught in the cavity of his chest, against his tongue, and lodged themselves behind his teeth, mostly escaping as hisses and whines. She would feel the faint echoes of what her explorations felt like, rippling through his overstimulated mind, and in the intense heat of their sudden reunion, he would hardly endure for long.

"Please." He would eventually hiss, body taut and expectant as each motion of her tongue and pressure of her lips dragged him toward madness instead of mere release, so many thoughts and so many feelings crowding them both. She would feel the sharp edge she tugged him toward and he shuddered, curling the fingers of one hand into his unmade bedsheets and lifting the other to tangle needfully into her platinum hair. His eyes closed tightly and he whined, "Clock the circle, don't stop."
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Tue Aug 14, 2018 5:50 pm

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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She wasn’t deaf to his comments, hearing the Seventen come to his senses for a moment at the mention of the King’s Crop. Her heart stammered in her chest, frightened that his nice words earlier were all just that, lip service. Almost selfishly she distracted the man with her initial enthusiasm. It was a victory to hear him drown in her movements.

Oh, but then those wicked sounds that spilt from his parted lips. The petite blonde felt the taller man relax and lean back on his hands, giving her freedom and space to do as she wished. Charity explored slowly, lips and tongue finding all the new and exciting places that dragged Rhys closer to that inevitable conclusion of their shared delights. Her own body softly echoed the wonderful sensations, driving the mixed blood to see how far she could go, pulling back for a moment to sigh a gentle moan and catch her breath.

Clock the circle, don’t stop.

Charity chanced a quick look up at the man she’d pined over for too many years, the expression on his handsome features a welcome and intoxicating view. Chuckling quietly, she eagerly returned to chase the release that she could sense so closely nipping at his heels, groaning as his hand tangled in her platinum locks.

She felt it, the sharp finale that came closer with each movement, just an echo to tease her devilishly. Charity hummed against him, hand moving in time with her mouth, mind lost in the strange mingling of her very real inebriation and his perceived intoxication. This was everything she’d fantasised, and more. With barely as much as a few kisses and warm hands on pale skin, Rhys had awoken something in the woman. Forbidden and dangerous, her father could never know of tonight’s events.

And what of tomorrow?

The blonde moved faster, defying the morning light and denying what the day might bring, focusing on the sensations that pulsed through her like a ripple on a pond and the tightening of the taller galdor’s field. Had she any sobriety, this might not have happened, none of it would have happened. By Alioe, she would not let Rhys slip from her again. Clock her father, clock him to the depths of the afterworld.

Rebelliously, she wanted more.

Breaking away from the warmth captured between her dusky lips, Charity lifted slightly to look at the man again, memorising the look of pleasurable ecstasy on his face, her hand still moving firmly.

“Oh yes...” She almost pleaded, entirely sure she wanted to see his face as he met the glorious end, but unsure if she wanted it to end like this. Her field pulsed gently with expectation and delicious enjoyment. Visually, the sight of the Seventen so enamoured was enough to draw another groan from the blonde. Gods, her own mind couldn’t have conjured such an arousing sight. Charity drew her lip between her teeth with a slight smile, forgetting herself for one unrestrained moment and shifting in a tangle of long pale legs and desperate hands to straddle his lap, guiding them together with a broken cry.

“Tocking...hell—Rhys...” The pianist stammered in surprise, not expecting the sensations that jolted through her body from where they joined in heated pleasure, watching his face even as she sank slowly down with a whimper.

There was no going back now.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, the petite pianist closed her eyes and buried her face between his shoulder and neck, parted lips brushing his collarbone with a gasp. She paused, taking the time to let herself become accustomed to the new unfamiliar sensations in unexplored places.

What have you done? A dark voice muttered from the guilty depths of her mind.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to...I had to...oh Gods...” Charity whispered, pressing herself closer and hugging the man tightly as tears burned her eyes. It felt so delightfully right, and so long awaited, the blonde wanted to savour it. She had wanted for too long, and daylight was chasing their time away. The pale creature drew back, looking at his face with a small smile.

“I wanted you, tocks I dreamed about you. But this is...so much more—oh yes...” Her eyes fluttered shut, brow drawing with an agonisingly languid rock of her hips.

“—more than I imagined.” The blonde groaned, meeting his crystalline gaze again with a soft laugh.

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Rhys Valentin
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Wed Sep 05, 2018 3:39 pm

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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Sure, his uniform had earned him a few distracting favors in the past, and he'd filled the emptiness that Charity's friendship had left behind once her father banned them from each other's company with plenty of questionable and admittedly unfulfilling relationships, but nothing had quite prepared him for how everything felt right now. He'd never been anything other than guttered, never curious about the other illicit substances it was now part of his job description to ferret out of the populace and get rid of. While he was somewhat aware that the effects of opium that filled his senses when magically shared with the delicate pianist were dampened both by time and by the nature of their connection, the experience was enough. More than enough. There was pleasure and then there was something more exquisite, and this was definitely something more.

Whether it was because of his level of intoxication or because of their mingled magic or because right now, the young woman he'd longed for was not only here but naked in his bed, Rhys was quite sure he'd never experienced the kind of enjoyment he felt in this moment. Ever. There was no guilt, no shame, no fear, for he was well beyond those things, far too overwhelmed to even care about consequences or legality or what morning would bring to their minds.

"Oh, gods." He groaned helplessly, at the mercy of the glorious ministrations of her mouth, watching her wide-eyed while he felt not only the sensations that came with every sweep of her tongue over sensitive flesh but he also felt her mutual enjoyment. Part of him didn't want her to stop, feeling that glorious ache, that burning build of pressure at the base of his spine. He cursed softly and shuddered, fingers stroking gently through her hair, supporting his trembling weight on the palm of one hand. She could feel it, too, not just the power she held over him right now (if not for years even in her absence) but also how dangerously close she brought him to the end, and when she looked up at him, the blond Sergeant's grin was stupid.

She pulled away and while he vaguely understood in his haze of excitement what she was doing, he couldn't help the disappointed noise that caught in his chest, breath hitching as if he had something to say, only for her to move closer. Charity didn't give him a chance to object or move, her body pressing against his and a shift of her hips taking him inside of her. His dilated eyes widened and he could only curse some more, a string of inappropriate words hissed through grit teeth while his hands roamed her body now so close to his.

Rhys dragged his palms up over her thighs, lingering on her hips to hold her while she deepened their joining and he moaned, dizzy and amazed. He feared that just in her stillness, he'd come undone before anything even happened, so close had she dragged him already, but he closed his eyes heavily while she whispered her apologies. Smiling slowly, he let his fingers trace their way upward, wiping the edges of her eyes with his thumbs and holding her face, desperate to focus,

"I want this, too." He whispered back at her, smile softening, leaning to kiss her deeply with a ragged breath, "I have wanted you for so long, and I just thought—I'd settled on never—good Lady! This." His words faded into a guttural noise with the rock of her hips, meeting her violet hues and just making the decision to stop talking. He let his hands drift downward again, lingering over the curves of her breasts even as she moved against him, the sensation of being inside of her far more amazing than he'd fantasized for years,

"Charity," Rhys gasped, wanting to move with her, wanting to move together, suddenly greedy not for control (clearly, he had none) but just for participation. Whatever she'd invited him to follow into, he was, quite literally, all in, "Here, let me."

He wanted to shift their bodies, hands moving to guide them both and directing the delicate pianist to lay back, attempting to make the motion one in which they stayed together, settling himself between her legs and above her, picking up her rhythm with the thrusting of his own hips. He struggled to keep a hold on their connection, moving within her and chasing sensation as if to find that angle, that force of motion, that most pleased the petite blond because he knew, in turn, he would be just as pleasured.

"I have missed you." The young Valentin couldn't help but repeat himself, swimming in blended thoughts and ecstatic feelings, brushing their lips together again before kissing her more, moving with an unhurried sort of enjoyment, wanting to savor every feeling and every sound. He'd never forgotten their shared devious thoughts as teens. He'd never forgotten any of his particular desires, not really. All of his inhibitions buried beneath alcohol and opium and long-held desires fulfilled. Nothing else mattered while their bodies were together, even if he wasn't sure he could really make it last.
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
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: The voices aren't real, right?
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Sun Sep 09, 2018 3:20 am

Roalis 14th, 2718
VIENDA | VERY CLOCKING EARLY...OR LATE
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The blonde galdor looked over his face and his smile, her violet gaze lingering on his crystalline one as the tall Seventen held her face and whispered his wonderful acknowledgement that he wanted this too. Her soft, intoxicated chuckle was cut short by his mouth capturing hers, swallowing any further discussion with a passionate kiss. Charity groaned against his lips, keenly aware of his hands drifting across her bared skin and lingering over the sensitive skin of her breasts. Her name gasped from Rhys’ lips sent a shiver of delight through her field, and her dilated eyes held his own as the man shifted them together to guide her back onto the soft mess of linens and pillows behind them.

Whimpering a soft, strained moan, the petite pianist curled her long legs against the more tan skin of his own and entwined her fingers in his slightly strawberry locks. Their connection waivered, she felt it, the intense combined pleasure simmering for a moment to allow her to feel for a brief few seconds the new strange uncomfortableness of their joining, before it hit her boldly with a wave of shared sensation. Charity sought his lips even as Rhys found hers, brow furrowed and hips shifting to meet each rhythmic thrust, his alcohol fuelled inebriation and own decedent feelings chasing away any discomfort.

“Oh, oh Gods.” She stammered against his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair and lashes slipping closed, her field drawing closer with a gasp as Rhys found just the right spot with his movements. The muscles in her small frame tensed as the taller galdor dragged them along the perfect sonnet to play out their sweet finale. The Captains daughter lost herself in the delightfully new and pleasurable sensations, her mind somewhere not quite sober yet not heavily inebriated, floating in a state of heightened awareness. If guilt or fear danced on the edges of her consciousness, the pale creature didn’t notice it, her father’s cruel iron hold on her buried under layers of almost unbearable ecstasy.

As they moved together, the tortured young woman forced herself to look at him, hands slipping from Rhys’ hair to hold his face tenderly with a sudden swell in her chest. The intense focus on his face, the ragged breathing, even the way the muscles in his shoulders strained as his body drove them further into the oncoming storm, all of it was so perfect. A dream made reality. How had she left him? How had she walked away from the boy that had been her everything when the world had made the least sense? He’d listened as she’d bared her soul over her mothers death and her brothers disappearance, and in the end her father had got his way. Regardless of her mental health, or her feelings. Regardless of what they could be together, Captain D’arthe had forced his will upon them both. But Charity felt like somewhere in the midst of it all, she’d had the last laugh. If her father had known for all these years, all of those stuffy older suitors that he paraded her in front of like some prize chrove had been paled by the memory of a simple farmers son, Alioe she had no idea of what he would do. Her fingers played her melodies on the piano, her ears heard the cheers of strangers, but her mind and her heart had been hollow. Empty of joy or love for so many long wasted years.

She had had the last laugh, in the end.

What if she’d just run away? What if, all those years ago she had simply ignored the man and made an escape from Anaxas with Rhys? They could have gone to Bastia, or Hox. Anywhere, two young teens helplessly head over heels for each other, held back by the ambitions and wants of her father. They could have had it all, had she just had the courage to leave.

What if they left now? Charity wasn’t a fool. Come the morning, things would be complicated. She would have to figure out clothing, and getting home, and the story for her father. Of course Xi would help there, even if she had no idea what happened Xi would hold up the story. But, what then? What next? There was no way Damen would allow his daughter to see the very Valentin he’d forbid her from as a child. Gods, he’d sooner lock her up and have Rhys deported then let that happen.

It has to be a secret. Whatever the morning brings, this must remain a secret.

“Rhys, I—“ The D’arthe began, her concentration broken as the tightening pressure in the core of her very being suddenly came to a head, eyes slamming shut and field almost bursting from its concentrated bubble. Charity cried out, a sound of surprised euphoric pleasure, her face a mask of delight teetering on pain.

Gods, if this was how it ended, then she welcomed whatever tomorrow would bring.

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Rhys Valentin
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Thu Sep 13, 2018 12:30 pm

14th of Roalis, 2718
Vienda | Really Clocking Late ... or Early
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Rhys had never quite imagined that he'd actually have an opportunity in his life to rekindle even a small hint of the fire that his friendship, that his unrequited relationship, with Charity had been in their youth. He'd put it away, far away, from his mind the year he was accepted into the Seventen and almost—with some lonely nights real exceptions—almost never looked back. Yet, how easily his resolve came undone in her company! How easily the feelings he'd convinced himself he didn't feel and the hopes he'd convinced himself he didn't still carry came flooding back into the cavity of his chest, drowning him in not nostalgia but something more, something far stronger.

He felt the ripples of doubt, however, their shared connection curiously lingering although Rhys had lost all ability to maintain the spell through his own total lack of concentration, far too overwhelmed by their bodies together. He groaned at the curling of fingers in his hair and her gasp of encouragement, feeling the way all of Charity's delicate self responded to his particular motions, curled over her much smaller frame even as she wrapped her body with his. He grinned at her when her hands moved to hold his face, meeting her gaze as if he could somehow read deeper beyond just her surface thoughts and feelings.
​​
​​Not that he needed to in order to understand—he'd felt it all too. The young Valentin had never possessed much of a sense of direction for his life other than knowing two things: one, he was never going back to Elmonton to take over his father's plantation of dye plants and too many servants and didn't care if the estate died with the man who raised him and two, he would marry Charity D'arthe with or without her father's blessing. Estranged from Theodore Valentin, the aging plantation owner sometimes wrote him letters and he sometimes bothered to write back, Rhys had accomplished the first of his goals, especially once he'd been accepted into the Seventen. He hadn’t been home in a handful of years and had no plans to do so until it was time to sign the papers of his father’s land over to whoever wanted it for however much they wanted to pay him once his father was dead.
​​
​​He'd yet to accomplish the second, but as the petite blonde moved with him and panted needfully, he could imagine it. He'd imagined it forever, even in spite of Captain Damen D'arthe had forbade her to entertain his company. He’d fantasized about their lives together, some little flat in the Stacks or some shared home in Numbrey, and finally some nice part of town here in Vienda for much of his adult life. He’d hoped to run into her at parties, longer to have her father invite him to a Seventen event and see her there.
​​
​​When the man had told the youth no all those years ago, little did the Captain know that he'd simply added fuel to the fire of Rhys' already combustible, heated existence. The purposeless creature suddenly had a purpose, and he carefully began to hone his focus, quickly becoming one of the most promising members of the Investigative Division of the Seventen. A Sergeant just two years out of training in Numbrey, the tall blond had burned his name into the books already as a potential candidate for one of the youngest Captains in history. And he was good st what he did: personable, outgoing, enduring, and strategic. He was known for thinking outside of procedure almost as much as he was known for making friends with his informants.
​​
​​All because everyone had told him no—no, he'd never be a competent sorcerer; no, he couldn't marry his best friend; no, he'd never be anything but a lower class golly from the middle of nowhere Brayde County.
​​
​​Fuck them all.
​​
​​He'd made something of himself.
​​
​​He was still making something of himself. And right now, he was making something of this clocking perfect moment, no matter how unexpected it may have been. Gods, this was everything, and Charity’s voice all he was nearly enough to take him apart.
​​
​​The tall blond's eyes fluttered heavily and he bit his lip, the heat of pleasure singeing every nerve, racing with his pulse as a desirable sort of pressure threatened to crush him gloriously, still so in tune with the delicate pianist beneath him that he knew where he was taking them. Rhys picked up the pace of his thrusting hips with a hiss, willing himself to hold her gaze even though his grin faltered. He felt the shift in her field, so mingled with his that they seemed indistinguishable in this moment, and he felt the way her body tightened in anticipation—her legs around him and the slick warmth he moved within both,
​​
​​Charity breathed his name as if she had something important to say, but her words were stolen by the delicious cry of her release, all of her unraveling beneath him, against him, around him. It was like an inescapable tide, dragging him along and he could only surrender. Everything felt so much more amplified, the lingering effects of the King’s Crop in her system having totally heightened his sensation, and he could only whine and pant and whisper some words that might have had meaning if he was capable in some gutteral, surprised tone while his rhythm faltered and he couldn’t help but press a little deeper, a little faster for a fistful of heartbeats, his own end eliciting a breathless sob from his lips. His body curled tightly over her, unconcerned about where he ended and where the delicate pianist began, forehead pressed against her pale shoulder while he desperately attempted to pull some semblance of himself back together again.
​​
Unlike any casual dalliance he’d let his uniform get him into, this moment was very real, and he kept their bodies moving and trembling until he couldn't anymore, until he was spent of anything but breath, giggling almost stupidly when he slowed, quite convinced his heart would crawl between his ribs and escape him if he dared look at Charity's face again. But he did, and his grin was full of far more emotion than he expected, melting slowly to one side of the petite blonde and greedily wrapping his arms around her to make sure their bodies were still touching, still tangled together so tightly he could feel her heart beating against his flushed skin.

Was he afraid if he let go she'd disappear? Maybe a little, but that could have been the strange, magically induced intoxication whispering to him in his afterglow confusion, fear and guilt still shadows in the back of his mind even as he shuddered involuntarily,

"So, this happened." Rhys couldn't help but finally comment, his tongue between his teeth in obviously satisfied amusement, not bothering to hide the shock in his tone. Incapable of hiding anything from Charity D'arthe, he chuckled.
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Charity Valentin
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Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
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: The voices aren't real, right?
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Fri Sep 14, 2018 6:27 pm

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

The word was more of a feeling than a thought, rushing through her veins and tingling to her very toes as Rhys continued to thrust her into the pleasurable and lingering release that burned through her being, the sound of his voice broken by his own delight. Finally, after so many years of longing and childish fantasies, finally Charity D’Arthe had Rhys Valentin exactly as she’d imagined. It was perfect, even in his intoxication and her high, it was beautifully perfect. His hips pushed harder and faster into her as a breathless sound accompanied the taller man’s tip over the edge, drawing another broken gasp from her lips as she shuddered through the decedent sensations sweeping her body.

The Seventen took them as far as he could along the final notes of their sonnet, until he couldn’t, their fields humming together in strange unison. The Captain’s daughter whimpered, spent, as they lay together in the still aftermath of their crescendo. Charity panted heavily to catch her breath as her hands shifted to curl into her own hair, a ridiculous grin gracing her features. The taller galdori’s giggle was infectious, causing the pianist to chuckle breathlessly, violet eyes opening to watch the shift in his delightfully handsome face, flushed with the effects of their recklessly bad decisions. Her legs were like jelly, quivering and weak against his hips, and as Rhys slipped so effortlessly to her side without losing their connection the young woman tucked herself in against the comforting warmth of his frame. She looked over his high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes, a fine sheen of sweat glowing on pale heated skin as they looked at each other, her smile softening as her heart all but melted at the look on the blonde’s face.

She’d missed him. She’d missed him and she’d needed him.

As Rhys voice broke through the contemplative quiet, Charity blinked and let her gaze drift to his devilishly amused grin, cheeks darkening with more of a blush than a flush. Her well manicured fingernails moving to trace featherlight patterns over his bare chest and shoulders, the sated galdor laughed softly at his chuckle, the Kings Crop a mild buzz over the rest of her feelings.

“Yes. Yes it did.” She said quietly, heart still thumping wildly and field drape around them both like a warm blanket. Her blush crept further down her face, touching her throat and chest, eyes avoiding his in a moment of vulnerability.

“I always wished it would. All those times you lay on that stupid dorm bed, so close we were practically..well…practically like we are now, doing nothing but study…I just wanted to shove those clocking books on the floor and…” Her smile was shyer, more private.

“I wanted you to be my…first. I just didn’t expect it would take nearly eleven years.” Charity practically giggled the words, burying her crimson face in his chest. Shifting so she could cuddle closer, legs still entwined with his and arms tucked against his chest, the blonde stifled a yawn and closed her eyes as a sated sleepiness began to tug at her.

“The worst thing is, I keep waiting for this to be some wonderful dream. Maybe you didn’t come rescue me in that alley. Maybe I’m still there, and this is just my happy place. I almost don’t want to fall asleep, in case I wake up.” Pressing her lips to his skin, the petite woman hummed as she drifted on the edge of consciousness.

“If this is a dream, then I dream that father is gone and we can live happily ever after. I could learn to cook and we could…” Her brow drew together slightly, longing for all the wonderful fantasies her younger mind had concocted, and her older mind had refined.

“Don’t be a dream Rhys, okay?” Charity mumbled, slowly drifting off in the arms of the boy who had been her best friend and the man who had become her lover, breathing becoming deeper and more even.

Don’t be a dream.

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