[M] How Old Exactly?

Celebrating Tristaan's birthday in all the best ways.

The capital city of Anaxas and the seat of the government.
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Sarinah Lissden
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Location: Vienda
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: Passively invested
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Tue Nov 27, 2018 6:14 am

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Roalis 29th, 2718
​​VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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Musicssss
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The warmth of scarred, tanned skin against the curve of her back and thighs only served to drive the dancer further along the decadent journey the talented passive was more than willing to take her on, another torturous sound of delight dragging from her parted lips as the grey eyed man pressed into her with shallow encouraging thrusts. It was both wickedly arousing, and frustratingly lacking, a teasing promise of more things to come.

Fingers curling against the porcelain coated edge of the tub, the intoxicated witch breathed heavily, hair trailing into the steaming water over her shoulder as she indulgently enjoyed the sensation of her careful plan unravelling. Right clocking now, it didn’t matter, the wanton groan from the man practically searing through her very being. Her field contracted with a jitter, the alcohol affecting its stability, and a gasp was all the warning the brunette could voice before she toppled from great heights into the depths of her release with a tensing of her body and a wave of vibrant violet if one could sense the color of fields.

It was overwhelming, consuming, intense; the fall whilst inebriated. Everything felt more, she responded more, reacted more. Sarinah cried out, her voice breaking against the sensations that took over her, wanting more even before it was over. Still grasping the side of the bathtub, her mahogany eyes opened and her head lifted as warm lips brushed the bare skin of her back, cheeks red and an incredulous smile breaking across her face at the clearly delighted passive that stood behind her in the mirror.

“Y’proud of y’self then, hama?” The lithe dancer said with a breathless laugh, straightening on shaky legs as Tristaan let her free, running her hands through steam damped locks with a dizzying sort of sensation. She felt light headed, but not faint, running on alcohol and endorphins. Turning around to face the far to smug Crow, the Yelloweye reached to draw him into a deep passionate kiss, hands curling around the line of his jaw with a lingering tenderness, drawing away only at the last minute with a desperate gasp for air.

“Clocking Crows, y’can’t help but show off, oes? All y’clever tricks n’such. We’ll, us Eye’s have a trick or two of our own, ye chen?” Muttering with a smile against the delicious curve of his mouth, Sarinah laughed again, stealing kisses as she stepped backwards into the tub, dragging the passive in with her. Giggling as she steadied them both with a slight wobble, the witch instructed the inked man to sit, before somewhat gracefully lowering herself into the water with a sigh and leaning back on the cooler side to look at Tristaan down her nose with a smile. Her long muscular legs brushed against his, toes skimming gently against the warmth between them with a slow wolfish grin.

“So, I figured, if we’re in th’ bath, we should at least use the bath, oes?” Lifting herself from the curve of the rest, the dancer reached for the blistleberry and honey scented soap cake and soft washcloth so perfectly perched on the counter beside them. Working up a decent lather, she shifted onto her knees, moving closer to begin washing the man with slow thorough strokes. She started at his shoulders, dragging the suds over hard muscles and scarred skin as she moved across his chest. Her eyes drifted to the bright tattoo on his bicep as her hand swept over it, smiling and leaning to kiss the passive brand that she could just pick out between the Crow and the Yelloweye roses before continuing to wash his arms and hands.

“Do y’ remember that first night, at th’ Queen? Y’were a mung lugger, taking that human on. I thought f’sure y’were dead. But then y’came out on top. I think Wesley just about fell down th’stairs gettin’ t’ye.” Slipping the washcloth lower, she stroked it across the tanned skin of his abdomen, washing his torso even if the water had already begun to dilute the soap in the cloth. Her gaze drifted lower still, as though concentrating on the task at hand, as she continued to talk.

“I took y’olio erse out back, ‘coz frankly I didn’t know what else Scarlett intended me t’do with y’, but I weren’t lettin’ y’go so soon. Not that mess. Remember, I took y’to bathe there. All stammered awkwardness an’ scared o’what y’might be thinkin’ I was there for.” Washing the suds from his arms and chest, Sarinah shifted the cloth to his thighs, continuing to wash the passive, dark gaze never once lifting to meet his as she worked.

“Gods, I was scared. Nervous. Excited. I wasn’t sure even half o’what I was feelin’ at th’time, but I remember thinkin’ as I was standin’ facin’ that doorway all th’ things I imagined I could be doin’…” Her hand moved, dragging upwards, wrapping around his length with wash cloth still in hand, lifting her gaze to finally meet his.

“…all th’ things I could help with.” The dancer purred as she moved her hand, eyes watching his face carefully, greedily feeding off his expressions or sounds as she teased the man under the water and though the cloth barrier. Her breathing was shallow, cheeks flushed and lips parted as she watched him.

“I didn’t understand at th’ time, but I wanted so much t’feel y’hands on me. I wanted so much t’see what it would be like t’kiss ye. Hamaye before I even knew ye, m’hero, ye chen? I could barely sleep, y’were so close I could hear y’breathin an’ it was like some sweet torture.” She groaned softly, the teasing pleasure giving her as much as it gave him, dropping the cloth in the shallow waters to replace it with the bare skin of her hand. Shifting, the brunette witch leaned over to kiss his throat and jaw, breathing against the curve of his ear and letting her free hand brush over his tanned chest.

“I wanted y’so much, then. At the docks. In th’ warehouse. At th’ Black Rickshaw. Oh, it wasn’t right, I know. Everythin’ was a mess, an’ it wasn’t right, but that night was perfect. F’me at least. Epaemo f’th’ mess, all of it, but ent epaemo f’all th’ benny things that have come from it.” Leaning back, Sarinah paused her movements, intoxicated seriousness sweeping her face for a moment as she looked into the depths of his steely eyes.

“I ent scared when it’s y’an’ I, ye chen? I ent scared of any of it. As long as it’s y’an’ I.”
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word count: 1178

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Tristaanian Greymoore
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Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Tue Nov 27, 2018 12:26 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
She played along, teasing him as she caught her breath and he grinned at her, grey eyes a flash of bright amusement in the mirror before Sarinah turned to press her palms greedily against his stubbled face and steal away any coy comments with her lips. His laugh rumbled softly in the scarred cavity of his chest, calloused hands roaming over olive skin to pause comfortably on her backside and keep their flushed, unsteady bodies so unbearably close together before she laughed back at him and slipped from his gentle grasp. The lovely witch reached for him as she stepped into the delectably hot water—a rare treat neither of them really wanted to waste no matter how hungry for more intimacies their playful taunting had made them both.

Not entirely convinced he wanted to wait for anything else, desire singing in his veins and thrumming through is pulse, Tristaan sat with a slow, satisfied hiss and a smirk, "Oes. This ent anythin' t' waste." He watched her, lower lip between his teeth while she worked up a lather with every intention of washing him. He paused only to sink beneath the heat and slide closer, dunking his whole self before surfacing to meet her in the middle with a softer smile. He ran his hands up roughly over the lithe dancer's wet skin before rubbing his palms over his face and through his hair, sitting up and pretending to be patient while Sarinah took her time with soap and quiet words.

She spoke without looking at him, Tristaan following her hands, following as her fingers trailed over the tattoos on his bicep before her lips brushed over the dark, faded mark that defined his meager existence nestled among the bright, fresh symbols that declared his the life he'd chosen instead,

"I were pina guttered, oes." The dark-haired passive followed the gentle motions of her washing, the seriousness of her admissions bringing him into a hazy sort of focus despite the eagerness that crawled up his spine and tingled under his scarred skin at every sweep of her hands, "Dze, that ersehat weren't so tough. I coulda' taken on a couple more—y' didn't deserve that sorta treatment. N'one does."

Tristaan moved as needed to give her access to the entire landscape of his lithely muscled body, her words touching places scented soaps could not. His smile faltered when she drifted up his thighs, the rough sensations of cloth instead of skin unexpected but not unpleasant. He growled at her teasing, aware of how achingly impatient she'd already made him, how her reminiscing and her body made his chest ache with need and his insides warm with wanting. He shuddered with the brush of fingers, tilting his head when she leaned closer and closing his eyes at the lightness of her lips on his warm, flushed skin.

The dark-haired passive whined a sigh, wanting to respond with the same depth of thought and feeling while his calloused palms roamed over a lovely body heated by pleasure and hot water, "Gods, y' gotta chen jus' how much you were worth th' hurtin' an' th' mess. Y'ent jus' lovely on th' outside, no matter what folks like Scarlett an' Hawke wanna profit on. You're lovely on th' inside an' it ent right t' squander that. There ent a thing in life that's as bad as 't looks when I've got you, hama. Ent been many folks who bothered t' take th' time t' see past what I am—whether it's folks only seein' me as gollyspawn 'r folks only seein' me as their garbage, either way most see 't, I'm nothin'—"

Swallowing his pent up urgency with his words, Tristaan shifted on his knees as she leaned away, resisting the urge to greedily reach for her and satisfy them both without another word in the comfortable decadence of the tub. He exhaled through his teeth instead, aware of the swift rhythm of the scarred organ behind his ribs that had been bruised and broken so willingly for the lovely witch in front of him.

He'd do it all again if he had to.

As many times as it took.

Just to keep her safe.

"—Ent been many folks who've made me feel like I'm somethin'. There's m' Da. An' you. An' maybe a handful o' bodies 'round th' Kingdom. But ent anyone's made me feel th' way you do—I'm scared even if y' ent. Terrified 'f how I jus' ent gonna ever be enough t' keep y' safe. To keep us safe. T' live th' life I want. With you." The dark-haired passive's returned confession was just as honest but far darker, aware that she'd meant to encourage him, to make his birthday full of light and warmth, not remind him of his shortcomings. He couldn't help it, but he smiled in spite of the weight of his words, reaching for the cloth to add soap to it again and mirror her motions, washing her with the same admiring, languid slowness she'd treated him to, lingering in all the places he could without shame,

"I wanted y' too then, there 'n th' Queen, but m'haps no' quite 'n th' way I want you right now." He purred, admitting the conflict of physical desire and emotional connection, "How I longed t' crawl in that bed with you jus' t' hold you, jus' t' let you feel safe for even a house 'r two." Grey eyes sought mahogany depths as he spread suds over an expanse of olive skin he'd already learned by heart, "I don't know if I can ever give that t' you—safety—but if that really doesn't matter, if y'ent scared 'cause you're too full o' hama t' even worry 'bout bein' afraid, then all I want is t'give you everything else I can."

Letting go of the cloth back in the water, he curled his fingers with hers, bringing one of their entwined hands to his chest, ignoring the clamoring of his body now so starved and mad for her own, "I can't promise anythin' will be good 'r pretty 'r safe 'r comfortable, I can't promise there ent gonna be more hurt 'r more danger 'r more ersehats, but I can promise t' do everythin' I can t' keep you an' I together through all 'f it no matter what."

He was hardly sober enough to be so serious, but he smiled softly anyway, leaving her hand on his chest to sit back and reach for Sarinah, tugging her lighter self in the cooling water toward his lap so he could pull her closer and wrap her arms around her just like he'd said he'd wanted to all those seasons ago, adding quietly while he kissed her forehead, kissed her lips, moving to whisper against the flushed skin of her neck and gentle slope of her shoulder, "Even if I know it's not true—not yet anyway, not even here an' now—I feel free with you, hama, an' that's enough for me."
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 1262
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Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 107
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
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Tue Nov 27, 2018 4:41 pm

Roalis 29th, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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“Tristaan, ne, hama. Y’going t’make me cry, an’ I ent cryin’ t’night, ye chen?” The witch said with a soft smile, blinking away the tears that burned her eyes as his words captured her heart, watching his face as the scarred man moved to wash her olive skin in return. She brushed a finger across his forehead, moving away a damp dark half curl from his face with a gentle tilt of her head.

“Ye don’t need t’be scared, oes? We got fami now, ye chen? Fami in that circus who’d fight for us. With us.” Her words paused as the grey eyed man moved across her body, sighing and closing her eyes as he lingered and washed with purposeful movements, shivering as the pilled fabric dragged across sensitive places. The inebriated passive continued her train of thought, recalling his own feelings in the Queen, forcing the dancer to open her eyes and look at him. They’d waxed into a serious and emotional conversation, an accident, but an important one.

Eagerly twining their fingers together, she could feel his heartbeat under her hand as he pressed it against his ribs, and it brought another smile to her lips, love swelling in her chest. She recalled not that long ago feeling breaks and bruises and horrors just there, where his body had been battered and snapped and broken. It was too many times for her, literally for her, and somewhere inside Sarinah feared that the love they felt for each other would be his literal death. The thought caused her breath to catch and she shook her head.

”I don’t need y’t’ promise any of those other things hama. Just that last one, us together. Macha that, an’ I can take anythin’ else that comes, as long as we’re together. That’s my promise, ye chen?” Obliging to move, Sarinah cuddled close, sighing and wrapping her arms around his neck as the man hugged her tightly. She smiled as he kissed her forehead, her lips, and eventually his mouth brushed against her shoulder as he spoke with a warmth familiarity.

“It’s true enough f’now, oes? Maybe…” The raven haired woman paused, shifting her arm so she could rest her hand on his chest.

“Maybe we dust from the circus soon, after the show? Maybe I can handle a little spoke life f’a while.” The dancer chuckled, leaning her head on his shoulder, looking at his face as she spoke. She reached to brush her thumb against the gentle curve of his lower lip, dark gaze drinking in his features.

“We could get a kint, see th’ south of Anaxas. Maybe we could take a boat to Mugroba, or travel down t’Hesse? Dze, I don’t know.” Stretching the full length of her body against the man, she groaned languidly.

“M’too drunk f’thinkin’ right, but if we’re travellin’, if we’re away from Anaxas, ent we really truly free then?” Sitting up, the brunette witch pushed her hands through his damp hair, marvelling at how handsome her wonderful Crow was before kissing him gently and searching his eyes.

“Look at us two. Can’t even get drunk f’a birthday without gettin’ into th’ heavy words an’ such. Two hopeless tekka we are.” She laughed, biting her lip for a moment and just taking a moment to pause. To look at him, to see all of him laid out in the lines of his twenty something face. Twenty four, as they had deemed him this night by a bottle of fine wine.

She could wake up to that face everyday for the rest of her life, no matter how long that might be for.

“Take me to bed, hama.” Sarinah said softly, wanting no more sad or emotionally draining conversation on his birthday. They had the morning for more words, and right now, the witch knew she wanted to be closer to the man. As close as they could be with tangled bodies and tussled sheets.

word count: 711
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Tristaanian Greymoore
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Mon Dec 03, 2018 3:43 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
Tristaan smiled wistfully when his lovely witch admitted to considering the Circus their fami, his expression hiding the bitterness that such a realization stirred deep within his alcohol-fueled emotions. They were good people and each of them had indeed found a place in the dark-haired passive's heart, but he couldn't bear the thought of bringing them into the kind of danger the Bad Brothers mercilessly would bring with them once they were found out. Would they fight for them should the Brothers finally find them? Would he even let them try? They were performers, not warriors by any means, and the very thought of allowing Taegan or Winslow to be harmed for his sake was far more sobering than he wanted in this moment, Sarinah's body against his in the heated bath.

Gods, how she'd already made him ache for more of her, and he realized with the press of her hand against his chest that sharing these sorts of depths of feelings was both alluring and uncomfortable at the same time. The realities they touched the surface of were precisely why he'd avoided such entanglements, why he'd told himself he couldn't have nice things like the olive-skinned witch in his life.

Part of him was still so terrified he was making a horrible mistake. It was too late now, however, for the other part of him was just as convinced that he could no longer exist without Sarinah's company.

"Dust? Spoke life?" The dark-haired passive was grinning at her, grey eyes full of a teasing mischief, "Have I won y'over with m' charmin' ways, then?" He hummed, hands wandering with renewed purpose even as she spoke of a freedom he'd never known, not for twenty four years, a freedom he'd convinced himself he'd never truly ever experience. He could pretend, but the reality?

Never.

"I've never considered leavin' Anaxas—"

She searched his face and he couldn't hide that truth from her in his expression, grey eyes meeting the warm, mahogany depths of her gaze. Freedom for him was a beautiful illusion, something he could see but never touch, but the lovely witch was surely as close as he could ever truly get to what he longed for out of his short, magic-less life.

"Oes. I'll take you."

Tristaan grinned, welcoming the wicked opportunity to return to a far less serious lack of conversation, shifting beneath Sarinah to make motions to leave the tub. He kissed her first, far less gently than she had just a moment ago, reaching for the plug to drain water from the tub while he lingered against her lips. Moving to stand, he offered his hand with the most devious of expressions,

"On th' bed? Works for me."

Clearly amused by his own witty play on her far simpler words, he made only minimal efforts to dry them both with the same towel, more as an excuse to keep their bodies close and allow his hands to wander than to at all show concern over dripping water everywhere in a room that wasn't theirs save for the night. He'd drag her without another word from the steamy warmth of the bathroom and all the weight of their words slowly disappearing with so much soapy water, enthused to lead her to soft sheets and let his lips wander over the flushed, warm landscape of her olive skin, encouraging her to make herself comfortable while he prolonged his needy enthusiasm by taking his agonizingly sweet time doing just that.

Eager to wash their conversation away, it was easy to let his lips tease over her body, his goal of crawling up the bed after her until he'd kissed his way back to her mouth detoured first by the enticing path he could blaze along her inner thigh, calloused palm roughly drifting up the opposite leg in order to allow him to linger in his purposeful delay. While she'd stopped just short of bringing him over the edge with the exquisitely pleasurable use of her tongue, the dark-haired passive had no such qualms, clearly considering it an important part of his own celebration to unravel her as completely as possible before even considering his own need, loud as it was with the pulse that roared in his ears and the heart that raced in his narrow chest with every whimper and writhe he could drag from Sarinah until he'd driven her just mad enough.

They'd danced and drank and laughed and talked, and if there was a birthday he'd want to remember, this was perhaps the only one so far.

It only took twenty four or so of them to get right.

He just couldn't waste any more birthdays.

Tempted to taunt her further but also impatient to bring their bodies together, he'd eventually give her a moment to breathe, sitting up and grinning at her with his hands on her still-trembling knees, the fancy, far too comfortable bed a playground for their bodies to tangle in.
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 908
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Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 107
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
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: Passively invested
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Tue Dec 04, 2018 6:13 am

Roalis 29th, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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TThe brunette witch chuckled, a half laugh half hum against the warmth of his chest, shrugging and unsettling the cooling water with little waves.

“Dze, y’might have grown on me hama. Might’ve made this whole spoke thing a bit more enticing than when I was barely more than a bochi.” She teased, sighing softly as wet hands wandered her olive skin gently, with an ease of familiarity and love. As she looked over his face, the passive admitted to not considering leaving Anaxas, and for a brief sober moment the witch wondered what had taken her so long to think of it. They were fools, the both of them, tied to a country they didn’t need to stay in. A country that held nothing but anger and hurt.

But could they really leave? It was a big commitment, a huge step off the edge into the unknown. Surely though, it was better than looking over your shoulder all the time.

Her warm smile turned into a shocked grin, slapping the man’s bicep gently as he turned a sweet honest moment of lovely words into something dripping with innuendo, but she didn’t object as they shifted to leave the tub. As the water began to escape the tub, Sarinah paused where she was, languishing in the far more urgent press of his lips, catching her breath with a soft laugh when the passive finally let her breathe. Looking up through thick lashes, she grinned as she took his hand to stand, stepping carefully out of the porcelain lined bath and giggling as Tristaan dried them both in a way that most definitely was not best practice. Still dripping from raven locks, the dancer stumbled after him to fall with a laugh into the deliciously soft linens, her amusement turning into a heated whimper as the scarred man’s mouth brushed against the warm flush of her skin.

Using her elbows and heels to back further up the bed, Sarinah sank into the feathery pillows with her lower lip caught between her teeth as the grey eyed man took a lavish detour on his way to her mouth. Still sensitive from their bathroom activities, the lithe wick let out a breathless laugh as Tristaan moved to once again drive her to the sweet blissful edge of insanity. The fingers of one hand curled into his hair, the other wrapping tightly around the fancy bars of the headboard, laughter turning rapidly into unrestrained groans and tek curses. Her field pulsed and flexed, writing as much as the woman it encompassed, filled with a sweep of warm magenta and vibrant violet. His name was torn from her lips with a gasp, the taught muscles of her body locked tightly in abject ecstasy, the rapid release a welcome relief.

Panting, shaky and pretty clocking drunk, Sarinah pushed her hands through her damp hair and laughed again, eyes closed and mouth caught in a half smile of sated delight. The room spun, her head pounding with her pulse and the blood rushing wildly in her veins. In her chest, her heart hammered as though at any moment it might burst from its confinement.

“By the Gods tekka. I need…just a moment…vrunta..” She grinned, panting breathlessly, before opening her eyes to look at the man sitting between her legs, legs that barely wanted to stay up, threatening to collapse like so much heavy lead with a careless liquid state of relaxation. She held them as best she could as she tilted her head to the side to look down at the inked passive better from her vantage point, a hand resting on her forehead as she found her third wind.

“Twenty four looks awfully good on you, hama.” The dark eyed woman said with a grin, before she arched to reach for his face and pull the dark haired man down to her with a chuckle and a passionate kiss, dragging her teeth across his lower lip and rolling her hips in an intoxicated attempt to bring them together. She made a sound of frustration as the action only served to brush against the firm warmth of his eager arousal with far too much teasing.

“Come here balach, or I’ll take over, ye chen?” Sarinah demanded in mock protest, threatening to roll them with a press of her trembling legs against his hip and another nip of her teeth against his mouth.

word count: 773
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Tristaanian Greymoore
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Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Tue Dec 04, 2018 12:20 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
Every shift in her field and tremble of muscle was its own delight, Tristaan indulging his senses in taste and sound as his tongue found just the right place to drive the lovely witch as wild as she'd already driven him and then some. He couldn't help but groan at the breathless syllables of his name from her lips, intoxicated now by more than just all the alcohol in his system when her grip tightened in his hair and her body tightened with her glorious unraveling. Dizzy and full of aroused adrenaline, the dark-haired passive had thoroughly enjoyed himself and the delectable offerings of Sarinah's body.

Trailing hands roughly from her knees to her thighs, the woman before him was still recovering, grinning but thoroughly melted into the comfortable mattress and comfortable sheets as if she belonged there. He leaned heavily against her as if so overwhelmed by their playful, inebriated enjoyments that he had no idea what to do with himself until her hands reached for his face.

He laughed against her lips, amused that anyone could find the marks that fourteen or so years had left behind not only on the tanned expanse of skin stretched over the muscles and bone of a small-statured galdor-bred frame but inside the hidden places of his heart anything but good. Sarinah did, however. She'd seen it all, physically and metaphorically, and she'd already decided that Tristaan was what she wanted, what she needed, and that was a strange, inexplicably freeing state of blissful understanding to be in.

Now wasn't entirely the time to question whether or not he'd actually loved before, but his mind drifted along intoxicated rabbit trails for a rapid heartbeat or two, pulse ringing in his ears and curiosities tugging his thoughts places he didn't entirely want to go. He'd loved friends and called strangers family before, but he'd never felt quite the way the lovely witch made him feel, the depths of her acceptance of himself after all she'd experienced, especially his diablerie, made even the relentless care of Guaril pale in comparison.

He'd run so purposefully from the tender care of the Red Crow, afraid of hurting them, afraid of the depths of their desire for relationship with him as a person instead of just as a passive.

The urge to flee had long since disappeared, burned away by Sarinah's persistent presence. Now, as terrifying as it was, he needed her. The darker, wounded parts of his mind whispered of the danger, reminded him of the pain he'd endure one day because of their inexplicable love. The lighter, hopeful parts of his mind reminded him that he was finally living instead of just staying alive.

And it was beautiful despite the fear.

She deepened their kiss and the dark-haired passive's laughter became a needful whine, feeling the shift of her body beneath him, the taunting angling of her hips to draw all of him closer, inviting him to join their bodies together. Her sound of frustration drew another giggle, both of them full of wanting and too much alcohol.

"Will y' now? You say that like it's a threat when it's not. Boemo, hama." Came the humored growl of a response, breath hitching with a sharp inhale at the enticing pressure of teeth and the motion of her legs. Tristaan hardly resisted, hands and lithe body moving to change their positions and enjoy tangling the sheets that clung to their still damp skin. Quick to curl calloused fingers into her hips and pull her to him, he couldn't help but rock beneath her, begging for a dangerously delicious pace as his hands released her to move freely while they wandered up over the olive-skin of the dancer he invited to have her way with him.
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 700
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 107
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Post Templates
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
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Thu Dec 06, 2018 7:03 am

Roalis 29th, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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Giggling with dizzy delirium, Sarinah rolled with the man, fighting away the sheet as it curled around her person and threatened to encase them both in a linen cocoon. Shoving the linen aside, she settled on his lap with a grin, the alcohol playing havok on her balance for a precarious moment before Tristaan gripped her hips and pulled her to him. Gasping at the welcome warmth as they came together, the brunette followed the rock of his hips with another of her own, settling deeply against the passive with a groan.

Letting her eyes flutter closed with pleasurable delight, the witch moved with a wicked slowness, smiling even as she drew her lip between her teeth with a teasing chuckle. Oes, it felt benny, it all felt so clocking benny, and she wanted to dive right into a hard and fast pace, but the sound of erotic torture was just too wonderful not to drag out of the scarred man. Grinding, rolling her body against him, Sarinah opened her eyes with a sultry smouldering look as she leaned forward to rest her hands on the headboard above him. Mischievous desire burned in the depths of her mahogany gaze as she looked over all of him that she could currently see.

“Oes, this is definitely m’favourite view.” She purred suddenly, rocking hard and slow with a long drawn out moan. It was too lovely not to do again, and again, and again. Slipping into a rhythmic movement, the dancer’s eyes closed again as she focused on her movements, lost in the sensations that dragged her back into the depths she had only just emerged from. Panting short, sharp sounds of enjoyment with each firm movement, the olive skinned woman gripped the hardwood under her hands tightly, using the immobile piece to give her more leverage with her movements.

Around them, her field hummed with a weary sort of build up, contracting almost reluctantly as the wick found herself tensing again over the man she loved. Releasing the headboard, Sarinah moved suddenly to lean down further and kiss the passive, her hands stroking down his face and shoulders, along his arms and down to lace with his own tightly. Holding his hands tightly, she sat up again, carnal breathless sounds practically dragged from her throat with bliss.

Again, she cursed in the deep tek learned off her da, releasing his hands suddenly to rest hers against his thighs and almost sobbing with pent wanton delight. After two wonderful dives into the depths of her own release, the witch needed more time to get where she needed to be. Oh, but the journey was sweet sweet torture. Arching her head back, the brunette gave as much as she could, wild and unrestrained in her private dance just for him. Rolling her head to rest on her shoulder, the witch opened her dark eyes to look down at his own steel gaze, lips parted as her breathing became more shallow and punctuated with sounds of need.

“Tristaan, I don’t think…I ent…I…oh!” Sarinah stammered through her words as well as her thoughts, unable to find the perfect spot but also not unhappy with the electrifying almost painful sensations building in her core. Leaning in again, her body pressed against his, the dancer brushed his throat with her ruby lips and panted barely eligible words against his ear. Her hands cradled his face as she pressed eager kisses along his jaw, whining a sound of frustration and enjoyment.

word count: 619
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Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 126
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Passive
: I'm just here for the Sho.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
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Writer: Muse
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Fri Dec 07, 2018 9:07 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
Tristaan could only whine, the slow movements of the lovely witch so torturous that for a moment, his eyes closed tightly, a fire clawing up his spine even as every nerve ending impatiently clamored for an end. It was with great effort that he met Sarinah's burning gaze, calloused fingers curling tightly into the comfortable curve of her hips even as he thought to say something in coy response to her compliment, only for the rough rock of her body to steal his ability to think,

"Hamaye." He barreled through the syllables with a throaty growl, the tension of needful release a strange pleasure all its own as he watched her move, traveling over flushed, olive skin and lost in the heated sensations of the excruciating pace she'd set. For several moments, he was mindless, panting and grunting, unable to focus, so much pent up desire tingling through his body, pooling at the base of his spine like magma, burning from the inside out.

Her hands dragged him back into sharp focus with a gasp, fingers tangling with his as she leaned over him, and he could feel how her body tensed expectantly, how her field tightened and how she trembled around him even as her body continued to dance for him, their togetherness a glorious celebration, inebriated and free. He tilted his head to deepen their kiss with a brush of his teeth and a trembling breath, teetering on such a taut edge that he was sure he would lose himself in a heartbeat or two, and had his hands not been held so tightly by hers, he would have reached up to hold her captive against his mouth for even longer.

When she did untangle her hands from his and lean back, growing still for a moment too long and eliciting a noise of disappointment, the dark-haired passive closed his eyes. For a second or two, he felt as though he was nowhere and everywhere, feeling everything and nothing all at once, overwhelmed by desire, intoxicated by more than just alcohol, and pressed so deliciously close to a glorious end that he shuddered with the movement of his lovely witch to lean closer, her skin against his almost too much.

Too much. In all the right ways. Consumed.

He hummed at her words, half a chuckle, half a moan, feeling the trembling expectation of her body not only by the strangely comfortable familiarity of her field, but from inside of her. His hands moved swiftly and thoughtlessly to guide her body, filled as he was with a needful impatience, quick to roll them both in some other direction across the bed without warning and with a playful lack of gentleness. He ignored the threatening tangle of sheets and ignored pillows, roughly inviting Sarinah's legs around his waist and not waiting for even a heartbeat before he mirrored her previously firm motions with thrusts of his own.

He set a far faster, more forceful pace, grey eyes bright and eager with his breathless grin, watching her watch him as he drove them hard toward that end they both felt taunting them so keenly, Tristaan quite aware that he was nearly mad, the excruciating, almost painful fire roaring in his veins. Supporting himself on one arm, he other gripped her backside firmly, angling their bodies just so. This was no longer a languid moment of enjoying each other's company so much as a passionate expression of depth of feelings, want and arousal an exquisite weight that urged Tristaan with a joyous kind of abandon, very willingly lost in the throes of their mutual enjoyment.

Quickly reduced to ragged breaths, his handsome face a grin-plastered expression of thinly veiled pleasure, he unraveled loudly, losing all of himself in some guttural mixture of laughter and relief, cheek against her shoulder as he involuntarily curled inward above her, whispering sweet, breathless words of his love against her olive skin. In typical fashion for how the dark-haired passive moved through every aspect of his life, he pressed on until he couldn't, quite lost in the grip of the lovely witch's release beneath him, savoring their moment of not knowing of where one of them ended and the other began, still smiling.

When every nerve and muscle finally objected to any more motion, when his lungs begged him for a chance to breathe, when the lithe dancer beneath him writhed and whined, he finally slowed and leaned to trace kisses from her shoulder to her neck and finally gently to her lips, drinking deeply in the languid slowing of time that washed warmly in the aftermath of such intimate excitement. There was still plenty of evening left to enjoy this all over again, but Tristaan wasn't in any hurry.
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 852
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Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 107
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
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Sat Dec 08, 2018 3:52 am

Roalis 29th, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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The room spun with a flurry of eagerly rough hands and tangled linens, Sarinah finding herself underneath the steel eyed passive once again, lost in the folds of the sheets and mess of the pillows as her long muscular legs wrapped around his waist with fierce encouragement before Tristaan picked up their firm strokes without a break. The witch let a sharp cry of pleasure escape, one hand curled into his bicep, the other gripping the bed sheets for dear life as the scarred man pushed for a more furious pace. Her dark eyes looked up at him, brow furrowed and lips parted as she succumbed to the overwhelmingly rapid build up within her core. As the lithe passive shifted to hold her at just the right angle, the brunette closed her eyes tightly as her sense of control was driven away by the hard, deep thrusts that drove them so wickedly to the edge. She knew she was crying out, though it barely registered to her own ears, nails digging into inked skin and tussled linens even harder.

Gods, there was no half way with the man, head spinning with alcohol and love Sarinah found a small part of her marvelling at his skill and his dedication to her own pleasure even as he sought his own. It was fuel for her already intense arousal, and she rocked to meet him as best she could with mewls of intense pleasure.

Turning her face aside, the dancer’s field contracted, tensing in a ethereal mimic of her body. Her teeth grit together and the tendons in her neck strained just visibly under the olive spanse of skin as her muscles protested the inevitable third wash of ecstasy that rushed to shove her into the abyss. Tristaan’s gravelly sound of unrestrained release was a compliment to the softer feminine gasps of her euphoria. Her body arched of its own accord as her aura throbbed and with a shuddering groan, the wick shattered apart so wonderfully as the passive dragged every glorious stroke he could from the moment. Whimpering, squirming with the torturous sensations on now far too sensitive skin, Sarinah almost sobbed in weary relief as the tattooed son-of-a-galdor finally slowed the pace. She took short, breathless pants of air as he teased smiling lips across her shoulder and neck, before stealing soft kisses from parted lips.

A surreal sense of calm and languid bliss settled in her field, enveloping them both with a tingling warmth. The brunette lay still, unmoving for what felt like an eternity, before opening her eyes and looking into the face of her lover. His ridiculous smile made her laugh softly, unsure if she was ever actually going to be able to move. There was more, Sarinah knew there would be more, but for the moment she could enjoy the love she saw reflected in his flushed face. Letting her legs relax, if not entirely unwind from his waist, the brunette dancer brought her hand from the sheets to stroke the damp loose curl of hair from his forehead and kissed his lips gently.

“Happy birthday Tristaan.” She whispered, uncaring how long they spent tangled around each others bodies in the large soft bed, tussled hopelessly beneath their bodies. Smiling drunkenly, more of a smirk then a grin, the wick propped her head under her curled hand and raised an eyebrow as she looked up at the man.

“Can I ask f’the same on my birthday hama? Because if this is how birthdays r’meant t’go, I could do this all the time.” Sarinah hummed a lazy laugh, biting her lip as the moments prior repeated in her mind, letting her eyes slip shut with a private giggle.

word count: 658
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