faernn:
Something stirs inside her, even as senses take everything in. It’s a war: the urge to rake nails at his skin and demand he tear silks off with a matched zeal — and a softer thing, sweeter and new, that blooms where his lips tenderly meet her skin.
She only knows one way to do this. It never occurred to her to temper her heat into drawn out warmth instead of raging flames. But the feeling he’s long been inspiring in her only seems to embolden now that they’re together, the barriers between their bodies caved in. It throws her off. Kendrial works to smooth out the wrinkle formed between her brows, thankful, for once, that he is a surface elf. It makes him much less able to see her flush.
She wants to get back to what they’re doing, but she can’t shake the niggling thoughts in her mind. The reverence imbuing his touch, the depths of his eyes, has made her wonder just what this means to him. It makes her wonder if this is some special case.
It’s only now that Kendrial realizes she’s frozen, unsettled gaze tracing over his face. “Is it always like this?” Words slip before she thinks to stop them. Yet the question does little to explain her true qualm, one she’s never needed to voice before. Doesn’t have words for, in her own tongue. A hand lifts, finger tracing the length of his arm with the same softness as he’s showing her, a far better explanation than she can say. “— For you, I mean.”
Had he given thought before to how this might be, it would not quite include the gentleness of strings or the glow of moonlight. Perhaps it would more have been a roll beneath a rosebush, quick and fun, heady with the perfume and the sense of danger from thorns. He had forgotten that the best partners in this melody were ones that could have both, one flowing into the other or each in their time, as a whim struck.
But then, it had been a very long time, though not quite as Elves reckoned such things. He could be forgiven for having let the memories fade, for the sake of his peace. They came back now, but different, still tangled with affection, but some of the bonds frayed enough to wrap around this dark elf, so confident and so unsure on his lap.
Her question tumbled, fluttered, a bird in a house unable to find the open window to freedom, and he stilled as she stroked down his arm, pleasure alighting through his skin at her touch, and that she thought to. “No,” he said quietly, hearing what hummed beneath her words, a thing difficult even for him and his kind to say. “It is not always like this. It can mean nothing but pleasure. It can mean a pledge of two souls to each other. But most often, as now, it is something between the two.”
He still had her hair twined around his fingers, and stroked, hooking it beneath her ear before drawing her down for another kiss that mingled heat and subtler affection.
Something between the two. For her, it’s never been anything but pleasure — and before her exile to these awful lands, she’d never had reason to question that. No drow associated sex with sentimentality. They were completely unrelated subjects, forget that the latter just didn’t exist. Yet now, here she is, a fluttering buried deep in her gut that she can’t place and certainly can’t understand.
It only stands to reason that it’s from him. Why here, why now? Why should a touch she’s felt countless times before hold more meaning if he’s the one doing it? It’s frustrating. Kendrial might be more angry if only she weren’t so distracted right now, caught in a dizzying web of feelings that she certainly doesn’t need right now.
In any case, those sentiments can wait until after she’s satisfied. As if fueled by this confirmation, Kendrial meets his kiss with renewed vigor, cleansing such tedious thoughts from her mind. It may be the only time she has him; far be it for her to waste the experience contemplating emotional ties.
The silks have shaken off her skin, pooled at her waist, leaving skin bare and prickling despite the warmth of their shared body heat. Her hands have wandered of their own accord as she deepens the kiss, fingers dancing beneath his shirt, traipsing over one hip. There’s a smile at her mouth as she pulls back a bit, just enough to speak, breath quick and unsteady as it ghosts past her lips. “If you’d rather your clothing remain in tact, I suggest you rid yourself of it.”















