#melidoria

Favourite romantic gestures during sex/orgasm?

I don’t know that ‘during sex’ is necessarily a romantic time for either of them.  Typically, given the way their relationship started and the way it’s been tracking, I think “He/She called out the correct name during orgasm” is pretty romantic!  Though I think a lot of eye contact would be nice and I can see her trying things like lighting a bunch of candles or him finding rose petals to sprinkle on the bed beforehand or something.  I like to think they broke in their Draenor encampment with him carrying her across the threshold.

Slung over his shoulder.

The woman moved in from the doorway, padding quietly through the stalls.  There was the sound of a latch being drawn and then hoofsteps on the hay-strewn floor.  When she returned to the door, she was leading a brilliant winged stallion that seemed to be made of stars that glowed luminously from within.  She was stroking the side of its neck lovingly but the hose paid no mind and simply tossed its mane, staring about with vaguely stupid eyes.

“What,” the man said, “Is that?”

“Isn’t he beautiful?” She was beaming with pride.  “Daddy got him for me, he’s from a special breeder in Thunder Bluf and-”

“No.”

“What?  Why not?”  She looked dangerously close to stamping a foot.

“We’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“I can keep a low profile.”

“It’s made of glitter.”

She saw that there was no arguing and led the horse back to the stable, whispering words of comfort and assurance that she would come back for it one day.  The next mount she led out was also followed by the sound of hooves and the man relaxed, assuming that she’d brougn some form of sensible steed.

Instead, she led a Zhevra from the plains: its black and white striped body had been brushed to a gleam and its large horn was polished to a shine.  It wore a fine saddle and she smiled with pride at her choice.

The man sighed.  “No.”

“Wh- Why not?  It’s not sparkly AT ALL.”

“It’s got a horn, it’s going to stick out.”

“We’re going to an alien world, who knows what they’ll have over there?”

“NO.”

She grumbled as she led it back this time.  She was gone for longer and when she came back, she was riding astride a gleaming bird made of fire that burned with enough light to illuminate the entire stable from the floor to the towering rafters.  She tugged its reins and it did a loop in the stable, leaving a vast glowing trail of searing orange and violent pink.  It hovered with flapping wings and she peered down at the man from her position above him.

He sighed.  “Take the Zhevra.”

And so that was the beast that she led out of the stable before closing the door behind them.  She tore a portal in space and the man took the bags through it, grumbling as he led the Zhevra by the reins.  The woman looked back at the fine estate where her father and stepmother and husband-to-be were all sound asleep.  She thought of the note she’d left in her room after packing her bags and how it didn’t seem to be enough - not nearly.

The first letter reads:

Astoreth,

I’m sorry this has to come to you in writing. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, and I would’ve liked to do this in person. I am all too aware of our history’s rocky shore and of the distance you put in the word ‘uncle’. Nevertheless, you are among the most important people in the world to me; you deserve better than a missive.

Unfortunately, there isn’t a choice. You’ll get over it. You’re cast in fires hotter than a social faux pas can dim. You’ll know, when you read this, there is no disrespect intended. I have never been shy about disrespect.

Anyway, I am not interested in drawing this out:

When dawn creeps over the mountains in the south of the Eastern Kingdom, I will have been through the red portal for hours. There is no expectation of return. My choices are limited in this matter. I wish I could tell you more. Only know that there is someone very important to me watching my back, and we will do our damnedest to leave a mark on whatever lies beyond. (She says she knew you in school, which is cause for some concern.)

Take care of your sister. Your farstrider. Your family.

I trust you will make sure the tabard is given to Stavier. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the only one worthy of wearing one.

On Cearalaith’s birthday, make sure she gets the enclosed letter. I haven’t missed a year yet. You know she can’t be aware of its origin.

Despite my better judgement: I love you, niece. Take care.

  Sincerely,

Balor Redgaze

  There second letter is, as it always is, a simple poem:

Never fading, shining crown,

Little lamb of golden fleece,

Crown of sunlight weighs her brow,

But little lamb will never cease,

Never cease and never dim,

Little lamb of golden fleece,

Always brilliant, always prim,

Always singing songs of peace,

She stands in the path of fear,

Little lamb of golden wool,

She keeps the sunlight ever near,

And keeps the sunlight-coffers full,

She keeps the darkness well away,

Little lamb of golden wool,

And every evil well at bay,

By following the golden rule:

Be true to self, my golden ewe,

No one else can say what’s true,

When all along your own heart knew,