( another slow sip from his cup, drawing out the moment. letting her have the room to speak, because he suspects she hasn't had much opportunity to do that lately.
finally: ) So being a wife obviously means something different to him. ( not an unforgivable sin, but — ) But it seems like you're doing all the sacrificing and getting next to nothing back. No wonder you're unsatisfied.
Very much. I have insulted him and hurt him deeply with my actions. Such that he cannot be with me in any form, and trust me.
[ She can't help but move closer - more than anything it made her feel so lonely, so empty, and she brushes her shoulder against his as she settles in beside him. ]
I could not make it understand - that what I am... it needs more, that I crave those moments, of endless connection to be part of the whole, how it keeps the part of me unearthly in balance. My monster has taught me well, how endless my desires, how they could as easily kill. But he found nothing holy in that communion, in my way of being.
( his hand rests on her knee as he turns his head to meet her gaze, holding it steadily. )
Where do you think your responsibilities lie? ( the most pressing question. she turned to him for comfort and understanding, worried about what she'd do in her despair — and, judging by that tree outside, those concerns were more than justified. )
Because I think you already know the answer; you just need someone else to give you permission to accept it.
( as gilia cries, his hand sweeps from her knee to her shoulder, tucking her closer. )
I'm sorry he couldn't do that for you, Gilia. ( she'll be better off without him in the long run, but that doesn't mitigate the pain of this moment. nor does it make it any less unfair that this is probably not the last time she'll weep like this. )
[ Its a stupid idea - but she cannot bear this emptiness all over again, this hurt, clawing out of her stomach like bilge water rot.
But she lifts her head and finds his mouth, driving into him in a too sharp kiss that is tearful and desperate. The sharp taste of drink and all her hurt heart. A slant of her body into his that is badly planned out and off angle as she just tries to breath against his lips. Center herself. Or center it on him, for better or worse. ]
brows drawing down in surprise as he registers what she's done. her mouth tastes like salt, like liquor, and he can feel the desperation in every breath she takes against his lips.
was this the plan all along? does it even matter?
when they pull away for breath, he slips a hand around the nape of her neck, keeping her still. )
[ There is every chance he rejects her - they had bedded each other only once, after all, and she had been blindfolded, who was to say he even wanted anything else? Not to mention - a drunken, tearful mess might not be what he preferred in lovers, reasonably.
But he doesn't pull away and the tension seeps out of her, even as the second guessing creeps in. Her hands slip over his shoulders, her body relaxing. ]
Upstairs. [ She keeps her eyes lowered. ] I don't want to frighten you. I'm not... I'm not in control, right now.
( gilia, please. as if that's any way to discourage him. )
I think I'll manage. ( he's bedded much stranger things than her since coming here — had enjoyed it too, but that's really beside the point. she's the one in need of a distraction, and this can't be worse than spending an evening drinking away her sorrows. )
So — ( he sets aside his cup, still half-full. ) why don't you show me the way?
[ How readily she gives that reassurance, how gladly she takes it, and that's another sign of her selfishness too.
Pulling up to be sure, her gaze flicks between his as she swallows to find her words. He could leave, she reminds herself. He is no slight man, not inclined to do other than what he wills. He would not stay, would not embrace her, if he did not want too. ]
If... if you're sure... uhm... [ She worries her lips together in a thin line before she gathers up the skirts of her dress out of her way to stand up on shakey legs, less to do with drink and more with nerves. ] This way.
[ She offers a hand to him, beckoning him to follow. There is only one set of stairs after all, at the back of the room, the whole house truly only two rooms in total, not much to get lost in. ]
[ Her fingers curl and grip, smooth and savour, the sounds softly smothered of pleased happiness, the sensation of communion so savoured. Everything grounding to be so painfully real, and here, and consuming. ]
Take it away, please. [ She breathes it, prayer like, into his lips. ] I hurt, I am so tired of hurting. I miss feeling whole.
[ Beyond the open doorway of the upstairs room, is a huge bed built into the walls to make an alcove of the space. A small heating fireplace sits on one wall, with a pile of blankets and furs in front of it. But she directs him soundly to that bed, and that warm space that seems to take up most of the space - given that it is made for someone taller even, than she is. ]
That's the plan. ( simple but earnest. there's not much he can do for her now, not when she'd already done the hardest thing, but he if he can soothe that ache even a little then he will. of course he will — how can he not?
they half walk, half stumble to the bed. gilia falling back into the pile of blankets and he follows soon after, covering her body with his own. )
No more thinking of him. ( his mouth brushes over the jut of her clavicle, the soft line of her jaw. ) Only me, only this.
[ She nods all too obediently, all too ready to take his lead when it gives her freedom from this pain, for however long. Her head turns up, warm into kissing him, breathing him in as he does the same in turn.
Her hands are still soft, curious things. Gentle how they touch, tentative as she explores. Yes, she has laid with him, and yes it was debauched, but she is still that quiet woman even now that felt shy in the face of her own honest desire. In the face of someone so handsome and so sure of himself. To want to please him maddeningly so. She runs across his back, his shoulders, into his hair as she brushes her lips to his throat, the shell of his ear where she hid her little hitches of breath at his touch. Encouraging as much as she can, responding as much as she dared. ]
Good girl. ( murmuring against her lips, pleased by her ready compliance. he's used to fighting for obedience, finding pleasure in the challenge, but there's something to this quiet ease, too.
as her fingers roam his back through the faded flannel of his shirt, she might sense something strange — a cool, smooth texture unlike the usual bony ridges of his spine. three small, evenly spaced divots roughly the size of a fingernail mark each interval, running the length of his back. )
[ His praise is so craved, so intensely, it runs down her spine like hot oil, coating her senses. The whimper fills the space as she grips her fingers to his shoulder blades, not trusting her voice then. So curious and eager to find out all those dips and ridges, if he liked to be touched on those strange markings she can feel as she lingers. ]
O-of course.
[ Laying back flat below him so she can reach up, there is a care and reverence to even that. Her cheeks burning that somehow some one is going to snatch her hands away from something so wonderful she surely cannot deserve. Each button carefully undone, but quickly. Then hasty hands that are so eager to run all over him in the guise off pushing the shirt off his body, aiding his however needed to work in eager tandem. ]
You are so handsome - [ She sighs, struck by it not for the first time. ] - like paintings, like stories.
( her fingers clutch at his shoulders, and he leans in, capturing her mouth, tasting that soft whisper of wine still on her lips. a hand brushes over the curve of her cheek, tracing over the delicate line of her jaw, before tangling in the soft strands of her hair.
he allows himself to savor this in a way he hadn't before, when they'd been pinned under the gaze of ianthe tridentarius. this is their moment, a brief escape from all constraints and expectations. )
[ It felt so wonderful to be trapped under his broader form, and be able to truly appreciate it this time. The curved muscles that flex below his skin, the warm breath that trickles down her throat, and she rises into it. Soft drags and pulls of her hips lifting into him that are rhythmic encouragement for more, always more.
Useful too, all that squirming, her shift begins to work loose, dragging down her shoulders little by little, but caught where their bodies press together. The long skirts pooling at the top of her thighs as she lifts her knees to bracket him into her. Exposing bare brushes of skin at the edges to brush against his and tingle all the way through. ]
( he meets her movement, pressing his body closer to hers, deepening the contact between them. without breaking the kiss, he trails a hand down to her leg, sliding it along her thigh and using the leverage to lift it further. the fabric of her shift bunches around her hips, the delicate material caught between their bodies.
his other hand moves to her waist, fingers splaying across her lower back to support her and keep her close. )
[ It makes her gasp, her eyes fluttering closed, her hands on his back fisting up tightly with the contact. Grasping and pulling, fitfully, as she realises there is too much between them. She wants to touch him, everywhere, and all over, fighting against the urge to have him keep touching her. Her thighs parting readily, a whine and a buck against his hand that makes her pull on his shirt up, wanting to get her hand underneath. ]
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finally: ) So being a wife obviously means something different to him. ( not an unforgivable sin, but — ) But it seems like you're doing all the sacrificing and getting next to nothing back. No wonder you're unsatisfied.
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[ She can't help but move closer - more than anything it made her feel so lonely, so empty, and she brushes her shoulder against his as she settles in beside him. ]
I could not make it understand - that what I am... it needs more, that I crave those moments, of endless connection to be part of the whole, how it keeps the part of me unearthly in balance. My monster has taught me well, how endless my desires, how they could as easily kill. But he found nothing holy in that communion, in my way of being.
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Where do you think your responsibilities lie? ( the most pressing question. she turned to him for comfort and understanding, worried about what she'd do in her despair — and, judging by that tree outside, those concerns were more than justified. )
Because I think you already know the answer; you just need someone else to give you permission to accept it.
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With my duty, with my people, to never let any of you come to harm. That I swore with annoited oil on my brow, salt water on my lips.
[ Then she buries her face into his shoulder and hides the weeping there, shuddering shoulders. ]
I just wanted to be happy, Ari, I wanted to be happy.
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I'm sorry he couldn't do that for you, Gilia. ( she'll be better off without him in the long run, but that doesn't mitigate the pain of this moment. nor does it make it any less unfair that this is probably not the last time she'll weep like this. )
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But she lifts her head and finds his mouth, driving into him in a too sharp kiss that is tearful and desperate. The sharp taste of drink and all her hurt heart. A slant of her body into his that is badly planned out and off angle as she just tries to breath against his lips. Center herself. Or center it on him, for better or worse. ]
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brows drawing down in surprise as he registers what she's done. her mouth tastes like salt, like liquor, and he can feel the desperation in every breath she takes against his lips.
was this the plan all along? does it even matter?
when they pull away for breath, he slips a hand around the nape of her neck, keeping her still. )
Where's your bedroom?
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But he doesn't pull away and the tension seeps out of her, even as the second guessing creeps in. Her hands slip over his shoulders, her body relaxing. ]
Upstairs. [ She keeps her eyes lowered. ] I don't want to frighten you. I'm not... I'm not in control, right now.
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I think I'll manage. ( he's bedded much stranger things than her since coming here — had enjoyed it too, but that's really beside the point. she's the one in need of a distraction, and this can't be worse than spending an evening drinking away her sorrows. )
So — ( he sets aside his cup, still half-full. ) why don't you show me the way?
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Pulling up to be sure, her gaze flicks between his as she swallows to find her words. He could leave, she reminds herself. He is no slight man, not inclined to do other than what he wills. He would not stay, would not embrace her, if he did not want too. ]
If... if you're sure... uhm... [ She worries her lips together in a thin line before she gathers up the skirts of her dress out of her way to stand up on shakey legs, less to do with drink and more with nerves. ] This way.
[ She offers a hand to him, beckoning him to follow. There is only one set of stairs after all, at the back of the room, the whole house truly only two rooms in total, not much to get lost in. ]
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any hesitation she'd had earlier is gone, but he stays close.
presses her against the stairs' last curve and kisses her again. swallows down the soft, startled noise she makes. )
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Take it away, please. [ She breathes it, prayer like, into his lips. ] I hurt, I am so tired of hurting. I miss feeling whole.
[ Beyond the open doorway of the upstairs room, is a huge bed built into the walls to make an alcove of the space. A small heating fireplace sits on one wall, with a pile of blankets and furs in front of it. But she directs him soundly to that bed, and that warm space that seems to take up most of the space - given that it is made for someone taller even, than she is. ]
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they half walk, half stumble to the bed. gilia falling back into the pile of blankets and he follows soon after, covering her body with his own. )
No more thinking of him. ( his mouth brushes over the jut of her clavicle, the soft line of her jaw. ) Only me, only this.
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Her hands are still soft, curious things. Gentle how they touch, tentative as she explores. Yes, she has laid with him, and yes it was debauched, but she is still that quiet woman even now that felt shy in the face of her own honest desire. In the face of someone so handsome and so sure of himself. To want to please him maddeningly so. She runs across his back, his shoulders, into his hair as she brushes her lips to his throat, the shell of his ear where she hid her little hitches of breath at his touch. Encouraging as much as she can, responding as much as she dared. ]
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as her fingers roam his back through the faded flannel of his shirt, she might sense something strange — a cool, smooth texture unlike the usual bony ridges of his spine. three small, evenly spaced divots roughly the size of a fingernail mark each interval, running the length of his back. )
Now, help me get out of this shirt.
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O-of course.
[ Laying back flat below him so she can reach up, there is a care and reverence to even that. Her cheeks burning that somehow some one is going to snatch her hands away from something so wonderful she surely cannot deserve. Each button carefully undone, but quickly. Then hasty hands that are so eager to run all over him in the guise off pushing the shirt off his body, aiding his however needed to work in eager tandem. ]
You are so handsome - [ She sighs, struck by it not for the first time. ] - like paintings, like stories.
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he allows himself to savor this in a way he hadn't before, when they'd been pinned under the gaze of ianthe tridentarius. this is their moment, a brief escape from all constraints and expectations. )
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Useful too, all that squirming, her shift begins to work loose, dragging down her shoulders little by little, but caught where their bodies press together. The long skirts pooling at the top of her thighs as she lifts her knees to bracket him into her. Exposing bare brushes of skin at the edges to brush against his and tingle all the way through. ]
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his other hand moves to her waist, fingers splaying across her lower back to support her and keep her close. )
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