#sparkhe

—–    @sparkhe said :         ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after .

he cannot quite recall the last moment essek had felt truly safe and secure ; enough so to fall asleep in the presence of the man who had stolen his heart so completely . safe enough to fall into his bed and let him gingerly undress him and ravish him until essek could no longer recall any of the stresses from the past week . all he knew now was the heavenly mattress ( a far-cry from the futon inside his safehouse ) , the soft and warm sheets , and the feeling of gilmore's body pressed against his own .

he does not realize he had fallen asleep instead of a trance until he awoke the next morning . the morning sunlight began to stream through the crack in the curtains and gently tracing the floor , the faint light rousing essek from a deep slumber . he comes back to his body and shifts , relishing in the delicious ache in his thighs and hips , the sting of love bites dotting his collarbones , and the presence of a warm body pressed to his back . an arm around his slender waist squeezes and tucks him closer ; a tilt of his head and the blinking of his eyes , to see gilmore watching him with a tenderness that makes essek's heart ache .

heart in his throat , he shifts until he has rolled onto his back , body tilted and turned towards gilmore , a drowsy yet content smile curled in his lips . he watches his lover carefully , eyes surveying the contours of his face , though relaxed all the while . without thought , he succumbs to the first impulse he felt from the moment they locked eyes - he leans in and seals their lips together sweetly , reaching out to grasp gilmore's bare shoulder for balance . and he remains for as long as they both have air to breathe , panting softly as they pull away just enough that their lips brushed against one another still . it is all essek can do to keep himself from laughing too hard ; only a sweet , breathy chuckle airs between them .

" good morning . "

it’s been long enough to ache   -   the better part of a month as vax’ildan cycles through his homesteads, and shaun would never begrudge him that but it prickles in his chest,   a little,   a thing with thorns and great shifting branches that wants to be jealousy but isn’t, quite.   (   vax,   like him,   loves with boundless enthusiasm.   it’s a quality to adore.   it does not play well with the draconic covetousness that bleeds into shaun this way very,   very occasionally.   )

a kiss,   then,   a cure for what ails:   deep,   impassioned,   the kind novels spring up around.   his hand threads into vax’s hair and he hums,   warmed over with the perfumed air of a fiancé returned.     “   welcome home,   my dear.   i trust your adventures have been wondrous as ever?     "

vax’ildan would never say that gilmore’s kisses don’t dazzle him, for they have never failed to leave him without a goofy smile on his face. but after long enough, he has at least grown accustomed to the sensation enough to manage proper functioning afterward. but not with this one. this one digs deep inside, the feeling as though they have been separated for ages rather than the reality, and leaves vax breathless and careening closer for another.

 SHE   IS   INCANDESCENT     in   her   righteous   anger,   the   ever   consuming   brightness   of   her   sacred   flame,   the   self   contained   primordial   rage   of   a   tiny   sun.   his   pain   is   her   pain,   just   like   his   joy   is   her   joy,   feedback   loop   between   them,   the   way   they   see   each   other   and   through   each   other   like   looking   through   glass.   here   she   stands,   weaver   of   fates,   maker   of   gods,   hands   balled   into   fists,   tears   of   frustration   gathering   but   refusing   to   fall.

 ❝     he   has   no   right,     ❞         something   in   her   voice   trembles,   like   a   chord   strummed   wrong,   a   discordant   sound.   reaches   for   @sparkhe,   takes   his   hand   in   hers,   the   entirety   of   her   world   narrowed   down   to   this.         ❝     he   ...   he   can’t   just   ...     ❞         where’s   your   fairy   tale   now,   daughter   of   waves   ??   what   use   is   the   belief   that   love   trumps   all   when   it   doesn’t,   when   it’s   your   best   friend,   half   of   your   soul,   cut   by   its   barbed   blade   ??   she   grits   her   teeth,   sniffles,   narrows   her   eyes.         ❝     you   don’t   use   the   people   you   love   like   that.     ❞

          the arcanist was watched over by that paladin, so there wasn’t much point in looking for information on this barrier from her. but if she could catch @sparkhe​ alone... preferably without that pesky tiefling nearby... maybe he would be more talkative, perhaps to a member of vox machina...? the half-elf rogue seemed to be the best option, being both unknowing about how the magic she sought worked and more likely to ask the right questions. plus, well, raishan had noticed how the sorcerer looked at him.

          humans, they were so easy sometimes, it was almost boring.

∗ 3o﹕ sajan wraps  a  blanket  around  imogen’s  shoulders .

dearest @sparkhe​ —

forgive the non - magical means of communication ,  but in magical skills i am . . . lacking ,  to say the least .  i am glad to be well enough to sit up long enough to write to you .  my body is starting to play nicely at last ,  though i think i will keep my distance from arrows for a time .

how are you ?  i worry that things may have been difficult ,  lately ,  with what you have experienced .  ( of course ,  you are under no obligation to tell me anything ,  though i hope that i can be someone that you can speak of almost anything to ,  should you desire to . )  how is emon ,  as well ?  i hope to be able to visit at some point in the future ,  though with my healing and with the amount of work that i know awaits me after i’m cleared to return to council that may be several years in the future ,  at least .

i hope you are well ,  or at least as well as is possible .

once, he never would have dreamed to travelling to a new, large city without company. now, armed with only his studies stored safely in a pocket dimension and a non-magical with anxiety severe enough that she can’t be separated from him that’s scratching the hell out of his chest trying to escape from his shirt.

 THERE   IS   SOMETHING   SACCHARINE     to   the   taste   of   her   excitement,   something   ⸻   dare   she   say   ⸻   almost   magical.   okay,   sure,   she’s   borrowed   molly’s   cards   again   and   one   of   essek’s   books   filled   with   big   words,   hoarding   little   things   like   a   magpie.   the   sweater   is   gilmore’s,   stolen   on   a   rainy   day   she   came   to   their   doorstep   soaked   to   the   bone   and   just   never   gave   back,   left   a   painting   of   the   last   parade         (     her   first   !!     )         in   its   place,   all   abstract   shapes   and   vibrant   colours   like   the   neon   reflecting   in   wet   asphalt.