[M] Restoration

Charity finds that hard work can repair even the most damaged things

The capital city of Anaxas and the seat of the government.
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 103
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
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Thu May 02, 2019 9:23 am

28th Ophus, 2718
PAINTED LADY| MID AFTERNOON
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The joking protest that came from the tall wick was ignored, delicate hand firm in her needful reaching, groaning at the sound that escaped from the man. Her other hand shifted as soon as he released it, slipping fingertips around the waist band of his pants and trying to help his one-handed attempt at removing them, her soft whines turning into gasps of pleasure as knowing fingers found the warm needful places that were aching to be touched.

His name fell from her lips, not in fear but in desperation, so close to finding her end before they’d barely begun. If she wanted to stop, this time it was just to calm herself a little, to find some sort of pacing for them both. Except she didn’t want to stop, not this time. Rhys' begging was almost too much, dragging an aching feeling from the depth of her chest. They'd been so far apart, when only a few feet from each other, and he'd been afraid of her. Afraid of being hurt, and rejected. She shook her head, trying to tell him she didn't want to stop, realizing that it wasn't enough.

“No I…I…” Charity finally stammered, both hands moving rapidly to rest on the back of his neck, eyes pressed closed and mouth brushing against his with breathy cries. There was a lack of care for who could hear them, nails biting into slightly tanned skin as she inhaled and exhaled sharply, writhing against the sensations building in her core. Her field was warm, thick with Perceptive mona and weaving in between his glamour closely. There was no spell work, but the connection they had—they’d always had—conveyed her emotions and feelings almost like they had cast something in tandem. Giving up on trying to pull together a sentence, the galdor's speech degraded into snippets of sense.

“Don’t stop. Don’t want you to stop—oh Gods! Her breath caught, trapped in her lungs as her body tensed, field contracting sharply. The blonde froze, the vicious memories of the attack pushed firmly aside as her whole being remembered what it was like before. Charity let a broken, almost guttural sound escape her throat as the release that had been so wantonly needed crashed over her like a tidal wave, her aura a pulse of almost hot sensation across the wick’s glamour. Her head slipped down, forehead pressing against his shoulder as she arched into the pleasure that stole her breath, free leg trembling and struggling to keep her supported. Each cry was partnered with a gasp for air, the galdor somewhere between erotic delight that bordered on painful.

“Good lady—” She keened between a handful of unladylike words, hands slipping to tug on his shoulders or arms, anywhere to get the man to stand so they could remove the offending fabric that kept them apart. Leaning back slightly, Charity let the table edge support her weight, pawing at hems and seams and such whilst panting to catch her breath.

“Off. Now.” The musician whimpered with an almost sob, desperately needing to be closer to the taller blonde, eyes wet with tears she had no idea had come. How much the woman had wanted to be intimate with her husband, and how angry she was at herself for being so despondent. Now the floodgates were broken she wanted all of him at once, almost overly eager in her need. Muffling another sob, the blonde creature pulled his mouth towards her again, kissing and touching everything within reach. Lifting on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck, the flushed pianist pressed herself against as much of the taller man as she could and lost herself against his lips.

How she had missed him.

word count: 666

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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 182
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 8
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: It's Inspector to you, thanks.
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Thu May 02, 2019 3:45 pm

28th of Ophus, 2718
HOME in the Painted Ladies | AFTERNOON
She wasn't looking for an escape, she wasn't wanting to stop him, to stop any of this. Not this time. Even as his body tensed in anticipation of some kind of panicked rejection, Charity shook her head at him, her own petite form coiling tightly into his touch instead of away from it. He held himself together, the rhythm of her own explorations faltering as she drew her hands away and he whined. She leaned closer, assuring him in breathless syllables that this, all of this, was something she didn't want to run away from. Not this time. He felt it all, too, their relationship deeper than legal officialness in their magically tangled lives.

Far too familiar with each other, Rhys allowed himself a smile in spite of his own impatience. He closed his eyes at the sharp sensation of nails against the back of his neck, grateful as her fingers drifted from their teasing. His free hand moved to the delicate pianist's hip in some preemptive, knowing form of support with that tender timing of a far too aware lover, expression melting into a far more wicked grin when she finally unraveled in glorious fashion. The overwhelming warmth of her field and the rocking pleasure of her body was empowering, encouraging, and he might have cursed softly, sounds of approval and longing, syllables of satisfaction and surprise unable to be expressed in any proper fashion other than unsavory words and some crooked grin.

He didn't really have much of a chance to comment, her trembling hands reaching for him with some wordless needfulness that he'd perhaps set more ablaze with his touch. Demanding again, the tall blond hummed in obedience, smirking when she tugged him to stand and all but fumbling like some clumsy, half-mad idiot with her while they both attempted not to get in each other's way just to remove the last of his clothing without tripping over a chair or whatever other garments had been carelessly tossed to the floor.

The not-galdor gripped the table with one hand hard enough to rattle cutlery and plates, quick enough to shift the delicately balanced slices of pie, bent in need of balance while he kicked the legs of his trousers from their stubborn cling about his ankles, leaned forward just so he could kiss salty tears from Charity's cheek before whispering in her ear,

"I told myself it was so clocking selfish to miss you." Teeth against skin, his hands moved to curl gently into the pale curves of her hips and lift her from just leaning to actually perching on the table, "But I did."

They'd both let caution and resentment have so much power in their lives over the past few months, fear and worry consuming them in such different ways. Gods, how he just wanted to wash it behind them now, here in their kitchen. There was far too much ahead of them, after all, to keep anything between them any longer.

Everywhere her hands wandered burned with sensation and he sighed as her arms snaked over his shoulders to pull him back toward her lips. She sobbed, freer now than she'd been in weeks, and all he could feel was the heat of their bodies radiating in such proximity in the relatively cool emptiness of the kitchen. His palms trailed upward over her flushed curves, fingers light over her arms, guiding them downward, wordlessly begging the delicate pianist to continue taking the lead instead of just assuming he had permission to do as he pleased. He still yearned for the invitation, every nerve thrumming with so much desire to the rapid rhythm of his pulse.

They'd talked and they'd talked. They'd touched, sure, but she'd pushed him away and he hated that it'd stung far more than it should have. She'd had every right to require her time and space for healing from a different form of traumatic harm, and he'd tried so hard to be patient while broken bones knit and bruises faded. In the end, he was far more of a creature made for touch than he'd been aware of, this putting together of everything that had been shattered having created an insatiable need for intimacy.

Rhys couldn't help but groan against her hungry lips, tugged so close that his hips moved needfully to press them closer still but he hesitated even now, "Please, no more waiting." He begged again as if he hadn't begged enough, tilting his head to meet her dilated violet hues, panting the words, admitting his weakness, vulnerable in his longing for this very physical form of reconnection, this bodily restoration of what was otherwise already theirs.

It felt so very weak indeed, but gods he was so far beyond being sorry for how much he needed her now or ever. He'd move with her permission, however, wanting her guidance in bringing their bodies together on her terms instead of his, but he'd finally stutter and sob a few incoherent words of what could only be some kind of gratitude once she did, holding Charity's gaze as best he could and carefully attempting not to completely fall apart at the first slow, gentle thrust of his hips.

Or the second. Or the third—godsdamnit.

Just right away at all, honestly. The difficulty of his otherwise respectable endurance was written all over his face, teeth digging into the scar of his lower lip as if to hide the stupid grin threatening to consume his handsome face,

"I'm sorry in advance—" He teased, voice wavering and arms trembling while he made obvious attempts not to rattle the table again and not to come undone while just speaking so deviously. His eyes fluttered heavily, scrambling to keep some semblance of focus when every other fiber of his being was already halfway over the edge already.

Honesty everywhere. Saying whatever came to mind here as if Rhys felt suddenly a little freer, too. Maybe he did, a bit of his more usual devious humor creeping into his tone.

"—if I'm not up to par in this moment. Perhaps I'm a little out of practice."
word count: 1092
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 103
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
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Tue May 07, 2019 6:37 pm

28th Ophus, 2718
PAINTED LADY| MID AFTERNOON
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Warm lips kissed her cheek, and the pianist sighed, opening her violet eyes, looking at the tilted form of the Seventen as he moved to help remove the last offending garment, her desperation worn on her delicate features and unbidden tears. Her breath caught as he lifted her gently to perch on the wooden tabletop, the cautious rattling of their crockery as his hand gripped the edge almost a strange echo of these past few weeks. Tentitively balanced, groaning with frustration and on the edge of destruction.

“It wasn’t selfish. I missed you too, I missed you—“ The quiet sob stole her voice, hands brushing tanned shoulders and fingers slipping into sawdust kissed strawberry hair as she drew him in for a kiss.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry I’m crying. I’m sorry.” She whispered, eyelids slipping shut as Rhys ran his hands across pale skin and flushed curves, body still trembling from her quick and powerful release. Field and glamour, so belike that it was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, wrapped around the couple like a warm embrace. Hers, ramscott from her pure bloodline, his not as much so but far stronger then any wick. Charity would have never guessed his heritage, not in a thousand years. A wick in Brunnhold, it was so against all the galdori stood for, but who had even known? How many more could there be? More-so, why not? They’d been told wick’s couldn’t cast galdori spellwork, impure and diluted, yet her husband did just that and the mona listened. It listened willingly

Opening her eyes again, the petite blonde followed the gentle guidance of his hands, knowing without words that the eager man still needed her to lead this moment. He needed her to be the one to allow this to happen, and for that tender care, Charity was grateful. Curling long legs around his waist, the broken musician guided her lover closer, sitting straighter so she could look at him.

“No more waiting.” She whispered, unafraid of the man she loved for so many years, had married finally in spite of her horrific father.

As they came together, Charity couldn’t help the long drawn groan that escaped her, shifting an arm to curl it around his neck, tilting her hips just so as the taller wick pressed on with caution—or perhaps just savoring the moment. Her gold flecked gaze roamed his face, free hand resting on the curve of his jaw, lips stealing kisses as they moved together. As Rhys did his level best not to let the time apart over come him, the platinum creature finally let a small smile grace her lips, brushing her thumb over the scar he worried between his teeth.

“Shut up.” She said softly, breath stolen by the pleasurable sensations rolling through her body and up her spine. The pianist wrapped her legs tighter around him, forcing the Seventen closer with a sharp sound of delight. Tucking her head against his shoulder, she nipped at the tanned skin she found there, glancing behind them as the table protested Rhys’ movements.

“Then let me help with that.” The blonde whispered, pushing the taller man away with her lower lip between her teeth, ignoring any protests that might arise as they drew apart. She slipped off the table, pushing till the back of his legs hit the chair, letting him fall with a dangerous creak from the older furniture. There was no waiting, or slow teasing build up, the lithe galdor straddling his lap and bringing them back together with a gasp. She curled her legs around him, ankles almost tucking behind the back legs of the chair, arms around his neck.

Charity rocked against him, picking up the pace they had been enjoying previously, arching her hips to find the perfect angle with a ragged sound. Her lips brushed his ear, speaking soft words of encouragement and whining his name with delicious pent up delight.

“Oh yes…” She hissed, brow furrowed and eyes closing as she moved faster, searching desperately for the end she knew he needed, that which she had already so delightfully fallen headfirst into. Her field had begun to draw closer again, humming with feelings of love and desire.

word count: 758
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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 182
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 8
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: It's Inspector to you, thanks.
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Writer: Muse
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Wed May 08, 2019 9:26 am

28th of Ophus, 2718
HOME in the Painted Ladies | AFTERNOON
Rhys was defenseless against the tears and the sobbing, face contorting to resist all the emotions that writhed inside of him, that churned between them after so many long, difficult months—months he'd been convinced should have just killed him, months of pain and healing, months of distance and closeness, months of fear and anger, months so starved for connection and resolution that he’d forgotten just how everything felt when it was simple and right and good. Instead, he inhaled raggedly, moving their bodies to the table, shaking his head at her apologies and refusing to entertain their necessity. He let a sob of his own escape unbidden as her hands moved and her body welcomed his, unable to properly return her gentle kisses because he was so desperate not to lose himself in the moment before he'd even really gotten to enjoy it.

He whined, her finger brushing over the new line permanently creased into his lip and her legs gripping him tighter, closer, as if there was anywhere else for him to go. Cursing softly, he couldn't even laugh at himself, practically dancing along the edge of so much sensation,

"Clocking hell, Charity—"

Eyes wide, body so bent on betraying his best intentions at endurance in any form, he barely heard her next words above the rush of his pulse, but her hands were firm against his chest and she moved with decisive confidence. He didn't protest, hardly confused by her statement, perhaps far more grateful for the sudden change, for the forceful request that he so willingly acquiesced to.

Rhys fell more than sat, rushed to obey the immediacy of it all, just glad there was a chair there to catch him since he was no longer a creature of thought so much as feeling, hands reaching to practically snatch at his delicate pianist in any way he could to assist her, to tug her to him. He totally ignored the objection of stupid old furniture for the heated longing that sang through every last nerve. Charity wasted no time, and the tall blond just made a noise of affirmation, hissing and muttering a few more breathless obscenities while she shifted her hips and found some semblance of a comfortable, optimal position of their bodies together.

He was reduced to helpless sounds then, so utterly at the delicate galdor's swift-paced mercies that his fingers curled into pale skin and his whole self rocked needfully with the excruciating rhythm she set in heedless lack of concern at the groaning wood of their shared seat.

Rhys didn't really require much effort, to be fair, wound so tightly as it was, glamour coiling, voice wavering. This was such a necessary reconnection, a longed-for closeness, a far less magical form of healing their already spoken of hurts. His eyes closed, whimpering and panting becoming more of unashamed moan, drawn out and low. He quickly dissolved into a writhing mess, unsure of what to do with himself other than to willingly, completely fall apart, just barely able to whisper her name and stutter a few sincere words of affection, of praise, not telling her to stop just because he greedily wanted all he could stand of this moment and then some.

Eventually, he'd gasp and whine, reaching for her face and pressing her forehead to his, wincing with more pleasure than pain to open his eyes and meet her violet gaze, very aware of sweat trailing between his shoulder blades and pooling beneath his thighs,

"Hey. Lovely wife. I think we needed this more than pie. I also think I’ll be taking all my meals in the dining room from now on—" Rhys teased, smiling lopsidedly, unwilling to move and desperate enough to catch his breath that he ignored the ache of tender ribs. Settling into as comfortable an embrace as their unconventional location allowed, the young Valentin paused for a few lingering kisses while his pulse slowed and their bodies trembled. Quite convinced the house-fixings were very done for the day, Rhys wanted little more than to drag the petite blond upstairs for a very long bath and more of these sort of personal repairs instead,

"—and saving the kitchen for far sweeter things."
word count: 757
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 103
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
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Sat May 11, 2019 7:34 pm

28th Ophus, 2718
PAINTED LADY| MID AFTERNOON
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Drawing back from the tanned skin of his neck, Charity moved with rhythmic determination, watching the expressions on her husbands face with needful concentration. She wanted to see his pleasure, written there in his features, as the long pent release he’d so desperately needed came crashing in. As the taller man’s eyes slipped shut, and his short gasps of delight turned into a low sound of wanton euphoria, the petite blonde drew her lip between her teeth and shifted one hand to curl around his jaw as her tempo increased. Her movements faltered, the whisper of her name on his scarred lips enough to tip the galdor relentlessly into her own encore. Manicured fingernails pressed against stubbled skin lightly, and muscles trembled with exertion and release as the pianist reveled in the moment.

Huffing for air, Charity opened her eyes as Rhys drew them closer, laughing breathlessly at his equally winded demeanor. She hummed quietly as he pressed a few delicate, lingering kisses on her lips, unwilling to move just yet. Unsure if her legs would even support her.

“I think I agree.” She whispered, looking over his features with a smile of contentment. Her delicate hands brushed over his shoulders to rest comfortably on the back of the chair.

She had missed him. Missed this.

“Thankyou Rhys. For being patient, and loving, and caring.” Charity said quietly, kissing him again and sitting back slightly, sweeping strawberry locks from his face. Her violet gaze drank in all of him, all of them so closely entwined in the aftermath of their shared healing. The blonde didn’t feel safe in Vienda, she didn’t think she ever would after all that had happened. But at least she could feel safe here, for now, with her husband. The memories of Ben’s assault would linger, would be a constant foul stain in the back of her mind, but much like the many that Damen and Xi had left, the pianist would hide them away.

“You know, there’s a lot more rooms in this place. We could make a few more…uh…sweet memories. If you wanted.” Her smile turned into a sly smirk, fingertips toying with the damp locks at the nape of his neck and field flexing gently. She wanted to wash away as much of the past seasons as she could, now that the wall of fear that had constrained her was broken down into nothing more than rubble and dust.

There would be no more restorations this day, at least, not on the house. Not if Charity could help it.

word count: 464
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