RHYS HOME | AFTERNOON
“We have to trust in justice, in bringing these awful things to light. You told me that, and I believe it Rhys. I believe you. Don’t let them do this, don’t let them drag you into the depths, its what they do. It’s what they want. Hatchers in the mist, waiting with reaving claws and gnashing teeth to eat our souls and break our spirits. Don’t let them.” She whispered suddenly, a fiery anger stoking somewhere in the core of her being, anger where fear and loss had too often lived. It was brief, bright and tangible, before fading away just as quickly. The now brunette felt a small thrill of surprise at the feeling, backing away from the unfamiliarity of it for now.
Swatting the man away with an air of frustration that they weren’t adulting like she’d planned, Charity brought her hands up against his chest gently as the persistent wick pulled her towards him, sliding her down on the lounge slightly. They were tucked closely together, the taller blonde between her knees leaning over the pianist and pleading his case for her to consider. Indeed, what else did she want him to say? What else was there?
“Rhys I—” She said, voice thick with emotion at the hopelessness in his words, guilt wracking her very being. What had she wrought on the man, after everything he had to deal with himself. She was selfish, Gale had said as much, and the petite creature knew it to be true. Her eyes held his, refusing to break away as the Seventen moved his hands through the robe, up through the layers to encourage it away from her body. The captain’s daughter frowned, the anger that had come from within simmering gently.
“—we can’t just—” Charity tried again, reaching for the robe with intentions of keeping it on her person, her words halted by his desperation.
I’m failing.
Looking over the tearful, sincere, hurting face before her, the brunette didn’t resist as he leaned in again to kiss her, pouring his fears and raw rage into the lingering and passionate press. Against her will, the delicate creature’s body responded to his touch, field unable to hide the strange mix of arousal and anger within her. Catching her breath as the blonde not-galdor pulled away, her fingers curled tightly into the robe, Charity felt her last bit of resolve burn away at the question in his tone. He needed this, more than words or godsbedamned tea.
She needed this.
“Fuck!” The dark haired galdor snapped softly, before tugging the robe from her shoulders and wriggling to get her arms free. Pushing it under her, Charity tilted her head to capture his lips whilst her hands tore almost aggressively at the fastenings of his pants. It wasn’t the slow, lingering touch that they so often fell into when entwined in each others embrace. It was urgent, and demanding. Angry at herself for being so broken, angry at her father for his cruel control. Angry at Xi for betraying her and Benjamin for his predatory intentions. Angry at her mother for leaving her alone, and Rhys’ father for his arrogance. Angry at Gale for her admissions and at Rhys himself for being so selfless. Her aura was ramscott with the red fires of her fury, and the violet unbridled need that seared her soul.
Pushing the pants down, lips still demanding so much from him, Charity grasped at his shirt to tear at the buttons, uncaring that a few popped free in her urgency. She slipped her hands to his lower back, tugging the man towards her with a frustrated sound. Breaking away from his lips, her voice hitched, tears of frustration stinging for a moment which she blinked away angrily.
"You're not failing." She said huskily, lifting her hips with a gasp, grabbing his hands and moving them to slip under the silken material to rest on the thin lace of her undergarment, holding his gaze with an intense look.
"I'm here Valentin. With you. Then, now and tomorrow. You're not alone. We're not alone." The pianist said firmly, reaching for the roughly unbuttoned shirt to shove it from his shoulders, beyond words now.