East of Eden (Closed)

[Vixo]

To see that mask bleed away just a bit was heartening; silly though it may be, it reawakened the idea that he didn't need to feel so alone in this place. While whether he thought she looked nice in her clothing mightn't be relevant to anything, that she responded as any woman might to such a comment opened up the possibility of having someone to talk to, at the very least. What about, he could say; he just knew he'd suffocate if he went too long only keeping up the pinnacle of professionalism at every moment, in every day. A hum of acknowledgment was all he could give her, just the same, something accompanied by a warm look in his eyes. . .though he wouldn't find the courage to encourage this mask's slipping still more.

"Her, her name is Rosalind," he offered, nodding faintly. "I should hope she'll be alright, she was never difficult with me." He was quite dismissive of the matter; it was difficult enough to know the mind of a person, how was he supposed to figure that of a cat?

"Hmm, I can't be sure," he admitted of the paper, glancing across what he'd mentioned already. "The bookshelves might be all, aside from some thigs I'll be bringing myself--the piano, for instance, and perhaps a chair. . .I haven't decided on a pose yet." His gaze lowered as he admitted that, worrying he wasn't thinking enough of his task here. This wasn't a vacation!

 

[satindesire]

"Rosalind." Chloe repeated, drawing the name out thoughtfully. "Beautiful. I'm sure everything will be fine, good owners usually raise pets that have a good temperance." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then raised a finger in the classic "I've got an idea" sign.

"Ah, I almost forgot. The piano, yes, you said you wanted to bring it. Now...I don't know if Madeline had time to give you a walk through of this wing, but we already have a piano and harpsichord here, at the end of the hall. It's perfectly tuned and well cared for, if a bit on the dusty side. You're welcome to play it instead, if you change your mind about bringing yours, but the studio or your bedchamber should have plenty of room for it if you want your own."

Her easy tone suggested that either way, she wouldn't mind.

"I've commissioned several carts that have been padded so that any fragile items, like your piano, wouldn't be damaged en-route, but I was wondering if you needed anything else more specialized in the means of travel?"

 

[Vixo]

"Yes, yes, I'm not worried," he murmured absently, distracted by the matter at hand, as it turned out; a strange wave of missing his pet washed over him, not far removed from guilt that the dear lay at home while he was miles out of her reach. He had to worry for something, didn't he? It wasn't as though he had anything more substantial to miss him, and of course none could be sure whether the animal cared for the absence of her owner or not anyhow. So long as she had enough food and water to survive, what did she care?

"Hm? Oh, that's a gracious offer--but I think I'll bring my own, anyhow. It might be good for posing. . ." His voice trailed off thoughtfully, trying to build up an image of the Lady in his mind, but finding it difficult. He imagined she'd be wearing a dress for the sitting, and mightn't yet place her in it, having only seen her riding clothes for the time being.

With nothing he could think to add to the list, he found his fingers tapping idly on the paper before it occurred to him to hold it out, offering it to Chloe again. "I should be all right. The padded wagons will have plenty of room for my things."

 

[satindesire]

Alais was not one to dismiss good fortune when it came to pass, taking advantage of what small measure crossing her path. But she was questioning her luck that unfortunate evening while out riding, once the moon had risen.

Chasmine.

The White Bride stood before her in the orchard, a silvery blot in the dark skeletal branches of the winter-barren trees...ageless through the centuries Alais had known her. Chasmine was older than she, Ancient even to her dated standards, and not a line or pore visible on her smooth and elegant face.

Fear. It was not a common emotion to the Black Widow, certainly not her favorite. Few things she truly feared, things she could not control…even the finite terrors of curses, fire, starvation, madness and sunlight could be measured and avoided. Chasmine was the death at the door for her that would never be defeated.

She reigned the house to stillness and dismounted, a hint of scorn in her macabre bow.

She had seen Chasmine in her diaphanous robes, blood-drenched in the fierce gale of a thunderstorm wielding the deadliest magicks the world had seen on the field of war. How strangely changed she had been, her long moon-colored ringlets whipped to a medusalike frenzy, lightning and fire illuminating her fearsome, terrifying beauty! The corpses of her broken enemies lying shattered at her feet…!

And…she had seen Chasmine bent over the clutching contractions of a birthing woman and seen her gingerly draw a squalling newborn out with the gentlest of loving hands.

She had seen the Bride soothe the crushing pain of badly injured soldiers, healing horrific and even fatal wounds with the kind of skill that could only be guessed and wondered at.

Still, she was the most beautiful woman Alais had ever seen. Her svelte figure draped in a heavy kimono-style robe, a milky hand touched her brow in a sign of greeting.

Mercury eyes flicked over the do-gooder, enraged at the interruption. Bitter with memories.

Her voice displayed the mockery of sarcasm, dripped with poison, “Chasmine. To what do I owe this great honor?”

The pale woman folded her hands inside her sleeves, tucked away thus, she looked as if she were no more than a small child. Alais cowed her in size, standing nearly a foot taller than the slender Guardian, but the sheer force of power that radiated from the woman more than made up for her lack of mass.

“Alais, recently a watchman reported sighting a band of whelping Kinder risen from a nearby crypt, having claimed it as their territory. Several townsfolk have been slain trying to drive them out. Have you any hand in this disturbance?” Her face was emotionless, smooth, luminous moonstone eyes disturbingly focused.

“As much as I’d love to take credit for such obvious lack of decorum, Chasmine, you should know me better by now.” She had never had trouble masking her emotions in front of Kine and other Vampires…but the Guardian's unsettling aura frightened her. Chasmine’s eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtfully. “Yes, I gathered as much.” She drew in a breath and let out a deep sigh. “It seems the Camarilla are having some trouble keeping the Sabbat under control these days. The number of innocent Kine being slain has dramatically increased since your…banishment. I cannot tolerate my people being so carelessly used, Alais, you know there must be a Balance."

Alais felt a tremor of rage flood her body, standing goose bumps along her skin. Through clenched teeth, she hissed “Outcast...Leper...! Avoided by my own Coven to be left to rot in Torpor for the rest of my days...! You know my fate amongst the Camarilla, you know they despise me for my sins against their Elders!"

Chasmine said nothing, equally apathetic were her eyes, whose steady gaze illuminated Alais to no emotion on the Guardian's part.

"What may I assume you’re asking me for, by coming to me with this information?” Chasmine seemed to draw up inside herself, gathering force that pulsed steady and warm under her words.

"Do not misinterpret my complacency for weakness, Widow...Your touch more than any other influences the Black Hand's actions in these parts, and you WILL control the Beast in your children or suffer the Guardians their due!"

"Listen to me, woman-"

Chasmine cut her off, her eyes displaying a dangerous spark of anger as they narrowed up at Alais's face "You have been warned. It will be the last time."

In a sizzling flash of heat that charred the grass beneath her feet and caused Alais to step back for fear of being scorched, Chasmine's body was enveloped in a blinding spiral of colorless flames, then vanished.

Boiling with vitriol, Alais saddled up and kneed the beast into a dead gallop back towards the manor.

The only thing that would soothe her anger now would be to feed, slake the Beast deeply and savagely. Her young artist would just have to wait to feel the sting of her fang at his throat...he was far too untrained to dull the edge of this kind of hunger.

The horse was frothed with sweat, it's ribs heaving from exertion by the time Alais made it back to the manor. Still enraged by the audacity of the Guardian, she swept through the manor's great front double doors, the heavy handed slam nearly shaking the entire house.

"CHLOE!" She roared, brushing through the white-faced and panicky servants as they rushed into the foyer to see what was wrong.

 

[Vixo]

Were Nicholas to know a breath of this world, it couldn't be said exactly what would be thought of it. He was hardly ignorant to the existence of things beyond himself, in a manner of speaking, but to consider the complication in that hidden society would push aside many things about the creatures that he needed to be true.

Such things were furthest from his mind that day, of course, for the time after dinner was spent arranging his belongings between the two rooms in the most attractive way he could think of, something that he didn't normally concern himself with overmuch. Both a large bookshelf and upright piano were chosen to sit in the studio, rather than his room, as potential things the lady might pose against, along with a small sofa. The fact that the room was windowless threw him off a measure, as he was very used to working with natural light in his portraits. He supposed, if worse came to worse, he could simply add it in and not worry overmuch about being entirely accurate to what his eyes were showing him. It would become a matter discussed with Lady Ravencroft, anyhow; what she would like was, after all, to be of the utmost concern.

It was as he'd come 'round to tinkering about on his piano, listening closely to be sure it was in tune, that he felt a small tremor through even this large house and took pause, wondering what in the world it could be. While something in him did suggest keeping away from matters that could easily be none of his business, his efforts toward propriety were not so strong as to rob him of such an essential human trait as curiosity. He abandoned his instrument - thusfar perfectly in tune - in favor of the hall, then, and further, the staircase, descending with increasing nerves. Might it be ruinous to show his face, if it was his present employer in the middle of this? This worry above everything else, he did wander to the foot of the stairs, but stepped aside, not hiding himself, but doing his best to remain out of the way. The idea that a man of his stature could blend anywhere was somewhat ridiculous, and so he made no attempt to that end, and simply tried to keep his expression light, innocent--perhaps he had left something down here, or wanted to fetch a drink.

He arrived in time to see the Lady storming through her subjects, something he regarded with some surprise, though such was an emotion that he reined in as best he could, reminding himself that he did not know this woman at all--and he might be equally likely to such. . .vicious behavior, under the wrong influence. It was decided that he should take the opportunity to watch closely, to drink in details he might not pay witness to otherwise. Such had become infinitely more natural to him since his forced switch of occupations.

 

[satindesire]

Chloe broke through the crowd, as pale as the rest, grasping Alais's arms to halt her progress. Alais looked down at her, eyes flashing, the vicious bare of her teeth as feral as the large wild felines that wandered just outside of the manor walls.

"Back To Your Posts." Chloe growled at the servants, who scurried gratefully with tails tucked between their legs, leaving the trio alone in the foyer. "Master Ardel, help me get her upstairs, quickly."

Half dragging, half encouraging, Chloe pulled Alais towards the marble staircase, murmuring calming placations under her breath.

 

[Vixo]

The reaction couldn't have been more the opposite of what he'd expected; help with her!? Well, Chloe was a small girl; if the Lady was to turn violent for any reason, he'd be a more likely candidate to hold her still than she. Not that he could imagine why she was looking so vicious tonight!

He approached with caution, remaining unsure of his place in all this. His pet, Rosalind, had wandered down, at once in search of her owner and out of that sometimes unfortunate feline curiosity. Catching the glimpse of white about the floor gave him some inspiration, at least, and he lay a hand, light as anything, between her shoulders; a thing brimming with potential for comfort and guidance, but equally willing to be gone if its presence should be revealed inappropriate. "I've some things to acquaint you with upstairs, if you'll welcome the distraction, Madame Ravencroft. Perhaps I'll play something for you on the piano?" That he suspected his offerings might further irritate her was obvious in how he made them, yet he felt he had to try--what was he expected to do here!?

 

[satindesire]

"Piano?" She seemed to snap out of something, like a slap or a shake would wake a dreamer. Blinking rapidly, the fog cleared from her face, the thick rage that swirled on her expression fading to a calmer, more human profile.

"Yes, a piano, Master Ardel has brought his from his studio where he would love nothing more than to play for you." Chloe murmured softly, directing the flushed Kindred further up the marble staircase. For a moment, Chloe caught Nick's eye, mouthing a silent 'thank you' to him, her expression of deep relieved gratitude.

"Yes...yes...that sounds lovely." The Lady mumbled, lifting a hand to press into her forehead. The smell of horse sweat, leather and hay rose from her like a farmgirl's perfume, rich and heady and not altogether unpleasant.

Chloe directed Nicholas to help her forcefully manhandle the woman onto a plush settee near his piano. "Let me get you something to drink while Master Ardel entertains you. Nicholas, would you care for a glass of wine?"

 

[Vixo]

"That's exactly right, I'd be glad to do so," he nodded with Chloe, such that he wasn't even lying a little bit! There would always be a part of him longing for an audience in such matters, and he was beginning to think Alais, in her state, would come close to perfection. There was challenge in it, to see if he could choose and execute a piece that would calm her. All he knew thusfar was that he wouldn't be presenting anything he'd written himself to begin with, as none of it had the proper quality. Elder songs seemed to come from a purer place than the sort of thing he might write--to say little of the fact that his music had a way of playing second fiddle to lyric anyhow, despite what instrumental talents he may possess. A smile for Chloe flashed through his eyes but barely touched his mouth.

Having a better idea of what to do by this point, he took the Lady's shoulders in his hands and pressed her into the seat, keeping a pleasant, understanding look on his face. He wasn't going to pretend to know what had her in such a mood, nor ask of it as though it was any of his business (he could hardly hope to be at all secretive himself if he asked questions). Once she seemed in comfort, he stepped away and turned to seat himself before the piano, adjusting the bench to give him the proper room to move and reach. "I'd like that, yes. Whatever occurs to your hand first will be fine."

With little more to say, he gave the Lady a glance--one that simply related his interest in getting on with his promise--and began to play. The song was slow, carrying a sense of significance, but not absent the ocassion for flourish, which he executed with impeccable, effortless fluidity. He was a fine thing to watch at the piano, as it turned out, and to do so could well give insight into why he was so vain of his hands in the first place. It seemed they might not move with such hypnotic ease if they were encumbered with the stiffness and distraction sometimes brought by dry, cracked skin. While he was playing for her, he did not speak as he played, focused on the material. It was a focus upon mood and meaning however, for there was nothing to suggest he needed to watch where his fingers went; his gaze was fixed on the smooth, empty shelf where sheet music would normally be placed, unmoving.

Ever following her master, Rosalind approached Alais's sitting form and began to sniff at her ankles, obsessively glued to the scent of the outside which lingered on her.

PS: Picked this song, by the way.

 

[satindesire]

Gradually, throughout the song, her breathing slowed, the strength of her profile falling into an ease that spoke of the emotional storm passing. The high color that had once infused her face and throat with a dangerous cherry-red faded, leaving her as pale as the floor under the settee. Her eyes snapped open at the feeling of fur and whiskers brushing her riding boots, focusing on the small feline who had jumped up onto the settee to sniff her.

A smile flickering across her mouth, she sat up on the settee in time for Chloe to arrive back upstairs, carrying two large wine glasses on a tray, and an extra carafe. Alais accepted the first glass with a nod, holding her gloved hand out for the cat to smell.

Rosalind gingerly eased up the settee, unfamiliar with these new settings and still a little shy, sniffing eagerly at the leather that still held the scent of horse and alfalfa.

"She's lovely, isn't she?" Chloe said, speaking to Alais but smiling at Nicholas's back as he played.

"Lovely." Alais agreed, taking a deep drink from the glass and setting it aside, with a relieved sigh.

Chloe set the other glass on the top of the piano carefully, for Nick, and set the tray in front of the settee on the low day table.

The acoustics of this place couldn't be matched, it was as if they were enjoying a private show in some grand concert hall, the sound of the piano melted throughout the entire manor all the way downstairs into the farthest reaches of the outer wings, the sounds of busy servants and a full kitchen dying out as each person savored the beauty of his playing.

 

[Vixo]

In another instance, he would have taken and expressed gratitude for the wine immediately. He made no gesture toward it at the moment however, not the sort to so much as speak while playing unless there was some sort of emergency afoot. He barely paid any attention to the words exchanged between the two women either, largely unmoving until he'd played the song through.

Even as he finished, he appeared overtaken by some distraction; a faint frown touched his mouth as he wondered if this was what he'd rather be here for. It was difficult to decide what he enjoyed more. Playing was certainly a relief for him, something he took immense enjoyment in, and doing so for Alais had an appeal he wasn't entirely familiar with, but hadn't he rejected opportunities like this in the past? Swallowing, he lifted one hand to his forehead and tightened it in a sort of massage, as though bringing himself from sleep. When it fell to his knee, he turned and regarded Chloe with the brightness of recognition--he had asked for wine.

"Oh, thank you for bringing it up," he murmured absently, reaching forward to retrieve it and take his first drink. His satisfaction was obvious as it descended to warm his body, an indulgence he hadn't had for years before coming here. Arriving steadily back into the room, he turned to regard Alais, pleased to see that she not only looked much relaxed, but was presently being studied by Rosalind.

"You liked it, then?" It was a confirmation more than a question. He had plenty of faith in his ability to play; it was his ability to compose that he'd come to think lacking. "I know it can be nice to just listen after a bad day."

 

[satindesire]

Chloe winked broadly at Nick, descending the stairs to give the pair their privacy.

Alais had finished her first glass of wine already and was pouring a second, her free hand buried in the fur at Rosalind's back when Nick turned from the piano to speak to her.

The house was silent below them, eerily so, the familiar sounds of banging pots and bubbling stews, the laughter and good natured jibing of the servants, the bootfalls of the guards...all still now in the wake of his music. With Chloe gone, it was easy to think that perhaps they were the only two left in the entire manor.

"It was beautiful, you play much better than I." she said, a small but genuine smile touching her face. Her eyes were distant, dreamy, the cold mercurial mirrors languidly reliving the memory of the song that still hung in the cool air.

"Please...if it's not too much to ask, play something else. Play for me again..."

 

[Vixo]

That literal privacy was needed here wasn't apparent to him. There was a certain connection he was believing forged here, one given strength by a lack of agreement between them. He was offering these songs to her not as a man under her employ, but as one with concern for her good mood. They were gifts that he offered without any direct prompt to do so, ideas implanted from his own heart. It felt necessary to prove that he still had anything to offer outside of what he would be paid to do--that he could give someone what they actually needed. The silence and touch of wine would only enhance these warm feelings, light though the latter was. He bowed his head back to the drink as she complimented his talents, unsure of how best to respond to that--it wasn't as though he'd heard her play to be able to agree.

"No, it's never too much," he responded strangely--what, exactly, was this sentiment rooted in?--before turning back to the instrument and replacing his nearly empty glass there. A few moments were taken to consider the song, to feed the memories into the muscles of wrist and finger, before he began to play again, this time with eyes tipping shut. It was a song of a similarly slow and nightly sound, a close ear might surmise of the same composer. His love for the piano shone clear as crystal in the way his fingers swept across its keyboard, indulgent, almost as though he'd feel music running up through his nerves even if the strings were silent. When playing, serenity overtook his face, normally tense with some worry or another.

As the song completed, there was always a sense of disappointment about him, paired with the knowledge that he couldn't possibly play at every moment. It felt as though he were abandoning someone, not something, at the finish of the song. He was beginning to realize that playing the piano had become what painting had once been to him, a private thing that was accompanied with a sense of vulnerability as other people were allowed to pay witness to it. Why was he taking such delight in doing it around her, then?

He took up the wine glass once more and drank it down. "I can't recall the last time I played for someone. . ." Or had someone to play for! That was the weight of it, really. He was all too eager to share, but the opportunities had dwindled to nothing. "It feels. . ." His mouth paused, the word lost; he substituted, "strange." To think of the changes that had happened over his years here, the overt and these subtle things, it unsettled him, as though he were barely conscious of himself, controlled too much by forces he didn't fully grasp, that felt outside (though they probably weren't). He rose and picked up the decanter, pouring himself a second glass without a word.

 

[satindesire]

Sometime during the song, lost as he was in it, she had risen from the settee and stood behind him, just a minutiae closer than one's personal space would say was polite. The weight of the music was oppressively heavy, impossibly realistic, it rose thick like a miasma in the air and vibrated with the memory of each key...a strange echo like a voice singing from far away.

Like something around him was responding to the music. Something hungry for the humanity of it.

A single bootfall closer, the sudden sharpness of her nails, talon like, snaked through the thickness of his hair, almost as if she were claiming territory. Exploring it's warmth and texture. Her body pressed against his seated back, chill beneath the riding gear as if freshly arrived from some wintry place, but so female in it's softness that one could almost forget the strange bone-deep cold it radiated.

Her voice was rife with some emotion, impossible to pin down from sheer complexity. Longing, passion, aggressive clawing need. There was an emptiness to fill and her voice taunted him, challenged him to fill it.

"Play....again. Again."

 

[Vixo]

Indeed, he would notice nothing of her movement, even as she drew so unexpectedly close. As many things at all related to this in his life, he was unsure how to react; it wasn't until the tiny pain of her nails that he recognized her presence, the song unaffected. . .he'd performed through much worse in his youth.

His silence afterward felt more indulgent, considering the fingers laced in his hair, drinking in the warmth from his scalp. No objection was made, the songs like a drug, more than the single glass of wine could have done to him. Nicholas thought nothing of the chill impression, blaming it on his own nerves. How long had it been since a woman was so close? A woman, not that. . .he drew in a steadying breath. Gooseflesh ran across him in secret, the modesty of his clothes betraying nothing but human warmth. Naturally, this would be the product of nerves, not cold. Right?

"Do you mean for me to keep it up all night?" It wasn't quite a question, wasn't quite a joke, delivered with a slightly wine-flavored fluidity and accompanied with an obvious eagerness to oblige her as he began another song. His posture was kept straight, this time not in the interest of impressing his audience with proper form, but being sure the distance - the lack thereof - between them wouldn't grow. An appropriate enjoyment, perhaps not, but by God if he didn't need the intimacy of it! A different place was occupied now, one being created between the presence of Alais and the sound of the music he played. . .a unique place, for more often there was room in this sanctuary only for him.

 

[satindesire]

He could hear the smile in her purred reply "Master Ardel, all night would be the very least I would expect."

Bawdy, sweet with sexual innuendo.

She moved to bend now, the pressure of her plush, cushioned lips brushing his ear "Please, don't stop." Cool breath, feathered across his cheek. Wine-scented.

Her arms around him now, clinging, sliding lower to his waist as she sat and leaned against him, her cheek on his lower back.

All the impression of her dominance in her voice, teasing at some hidden portions of his brain, squeezing at his will, trying hard to pry hungry fingers in the centers of his thoughts.

With each note, a drop of humanity, a tiny portion of his soul was encouraged to surface. This she drank in with relish and savored each forbidden taste. If she could, she'd force him into greater and greater works of artistic beauty...to play...to sing...to paint...to create...his talent focused like light through colored glass. With each work she would gain more warmth, more substance, draining him dry until he was an empty shell.

It started like this, each artist she temped here with the promise of wealth, the hint of secrecy to tease the curiosity, a challenge to taunt the arrogant. Each work of beauty that surrounded him squeezed out of them like juice from a fruit, each item more perfect than the last until they were spent and empty of creativity.

Each person, cast aside finally when the soul was dry of purpose.

With each intoxicating plea, would he fall deeper into her trap? The spell she wove, would he see it in time? Could he escape the intimacy and love her affection offered, would he see the calculations behind her languid eyes? Or would he be yet another to fall victim to the predatory cravings?

 

[Vixo]

He would never think his creativity something one could prey upon. While the experience of its product was something he was eager to share--be it, as with his paintings and most tangible physical creations, with the public, or simply with her, if only because she was open to it--he couldn't imagine any of it would ever be taken away from him. The objects were gone, yes, but they would always exist in their purest form within him, and those were things that no one ever got into.

In matters of intimacy he was entirely more vulnerable, something which he really was quite terrible at hiding. Her closeness was at once delicious and unbearable. There was a part of him that felt they would be interrupted at any moment, that one of those men kept about for protection would open the door, find her at his side, and tear him out into the cold! Strange how the truth was surely the complete opposite. He couldn't possibly know now that their privacy was entirely what was intended, not for them to discuss poses and wardrobe, but for moments like this.

That hypnotic bond which kept him silent as he played was beginning to loosen, in no small part because of the Lady's nearness. His heart itself felt stiff in his chest, its every beat pronounced to him, following the slow rhythm of the song only by coincidence. "I'm happy to have something to give," he said strangely, not even sure himself why that was, or why this was being considered so significant. And why to her? Was it her beauty? Her presence? He knew it couldn't simply be for giving, he knew himself an intensely selfish man at heart. . .he had to expect some return, but wouldn't dare let the expectation concentrate itself, wouldn't speak it even in his head. Pity his hands were occupied, though; such a pity.

 

[satindesire]

She had drawn song after song from him, each measure of his giving spirit fully accepted and relished like a fine wine. He was a deep well, deeper than the deepest she had seen, his abilities almost limitless. She could feed from him for months, possibly years, taking his blood, soul, semen, sin...whatever substance she could drain from him for her own nefarious reasons.

Whatever her intentions were, he had not yet seen the darkness beneath the affection, the intimacies her embrace promised were almost as if a balm to his starving heart. He needed to be touched, loved. He needed to be needed, she could smell it on him, taste it on her tongue. Drunk with giddiness at the perfection of her luck, she roughly stood, swaying with the heat that glowed in her cheeks. She was warmer now, alight with the promise of the feast ahead.

"Nicholas." She murmured, stepping back and offering her gloved hand. The promise of so much more almost dripping from her eyes.

 

[Vixo]

By the time he was to rise from the trance of music, it was with a bit of exhaustion; not, of course, from playing, for that much he had done for hours without being coaxed toward it, but the simple need for sleep. He'd gotten comparatively little of it the night before, and the hour only grew darker. Still, he wouldn't miss this welcome for the world!

There had been nothing for him these last many years, any potential for affection coming to him in the form of women--of girls, really, as they were never out of their teenage years--he knew much better than to entertain, for they were clearly infatuated with the thought of an artistic soul as a companion. . .that is, their thoughts were in songs and letters, not in the man behind them. And what thoughts would he have of them? He could never name any of substance. . .what of this woman, then? Was she any different? Of course she was, he had to reason; of course, or else he wouldn't turn so readily toward her.

He was determined, anyhow, to ignore these routine worries, for she was an adult, and if he was mistaken in his affections--well, so be it. This was one situation where he need not worry of reputation, for no one would know he'd been painting her in the first place, much less what might go on behind the closed doors of her home.

He turned, and took her hand with little hesitation, though when he stood, it was without assistance from it. Her eyes were much more lucid than his, he noted, were without the deeper pools of sapphire--things he noticed almost dully, from his half-asleep gaze in a mirror, readying to shave. Since coming into this occupation, he found he studied features more than was strictly normal; even his own, though he'd yet to be asked to paint a man's portrait.

The hand now hidden in his own was given a squeeze, his thumb pressing against her wrist. . .the warmth there was reassuring, for it wasn't as though he had no doubt in the purity of this! He barely knew her, she could easily be of ill intent, yet--no, of course not. It wouldn't do to cast every good thing that came his way in a sickly light. So heavy was the promise of intimacy that he couldn't dream of his customary horrors; he reached his other arm across her back and drew their bodies together, their joined hands pressed between them. Here, however, he was still, having a loose handful of her hair, but daring little more, hardly content with simply breathing in that heavy perfume she'd taken in with her, yet. . .?

 

[satindesire]

Cool leather, the sharp scratch of nails not quite softened by the skin. His hand wedged beneath her breasts, fingers wound with hers as they met belly to belly.

For some time they stood locked thus, thighs atangle, breath mingling close, lips not quite touching. She was strikingly tall, unfemininely so, but he was still so much taller that he dwarfed her in height and she had to raise her chin to look him full in the face. The soft suede of her fitted kidskin breeches and the glossy crisp leather of her boots, the silken texture of her loose wanton hair, a delight of textures open for him to explore.

She was content for long moments to stand held, trapped in the virile strength that lay untapped beneath the modest cloak of his propriety. Breathing in his scent, the richness of intoxicating male pheromones that seemed to leech out of his very pores. There was a deep-running undercurrent of sexuality she sensed beneath his stoic exterior, tucked away for fear of it's consequences.

The idea of teasing that lust to the surface was almost meaty enough to sink her teeth into.

Finally, she closed the gap, boots creaking as she raised on tiptoe to cover his lips with her own.

A shudder ran through her, tactile and heavy, stiffening her limbs in his embrace. So gentle the first contact, a brush of a butterfly's wing. Kiss after kiss, light and airy, tasting and exploring the tender softness of his mouth. But soon, curiosity turned to hunger, and she claimed his mouth possessively, fingers in his hair and the fullness of her heavy breasts against his chest...the strength of the need that coursed wantonly through her was obvious.

 

[Vixo]

The opportunity, to hold, to have, had come to him without warning, leaving him unprepared for the intensity of his need, now stirred. It could be a vicious thing, this itch in his palms, this vacancy that could be filled only by the woman he was presently attempting to fill it with. In lesser women, it was even a violent urge, their slight frames inviting him not only to carnal acts, but to feel that their bones, so delicate he could swear they were of a little bird, would crumble easily beneath him, and oh, he'd come close, but through the grace of his constraint, through the kindness in his heart, they would be spared, would feel only the satisfaction he could offer.

Alais was so obviously, entirely different, however, that this was hardly the shape his desires took, couldn't possibly be, for while she had that feminine softness to enjoy, so too was that body strong, sturdy. This he was assessing as he held them together, his hand pressing across her hip, rubbing the soft material with a particular relish. No, this was not a woman to be taken apart; she was a woman to indulge himself in, to admire.

His own gaze was growing heavy with desire, the way he regarded the scent of her subtly changing, so that every breath inhaled was one to dizzy him with thoughts of what he might soon behold, might soon take into his possession. So caught up was he in the excitement of the thought, however, that he might never have actually kissed her himself!

The longing was too much as her lips considered his, such a wonderfully soft mouth lighting across his own; it was all he could do not to groan as she insisted herself further upon him, something that could only inspire the same in him. His hand between them was now freed to lock around her waist, the fit of their bodies entirely more appropriate than he was accustomed to, women always having been woefully shorter than he.

His long fingers pressed through the silky smoothness of her hair, anchoring themselves in her scalp. That Nicholas was famished for the kiss of a woman--for more than that--was apparent in how he handled her, drinking heavily of her mouth, crushing her lips beneath his, hardly as delicate in action as they were in form. His fist drew tight in her hair, pulling, their mouths falling apart as he caught his breath--though they did sit still on her chin, loath to relinquish the soonest opportunity to kiss her again.

 

[satindesire]

A delicious give and take, both longing, breathing harsh in the stillness of the music hall. She was wedged against him like trying to merge flesh from sheer pressure and want, each pore soaking in the need so shamelessly displayed with each punishing kiss that promised an edge of pain with each meeting of lips to lips.

The sudden separation she took had her body chilled from the want for contact, and she led him wordlessly by the hand as she ran towards the great wooden double doors of her bedchambers. Laughing, pulling him against her, their bodies met in a crash against the doors and she roughly took his mouth again. Claiming. Drinking him in as if starved for love, mindlessly panting his name as she jammed her hands roughly under his shirt to stroke his back.

 

[Vixo]

To be wanted so viciously was more intoxicating than the wine might ever have aspired to. Her appetite dizzied his easily and consumed his capacity for worry, normally so brimming with potential. The rush of physical sensation saw so many normal blocks washed away, and had he more arms he would've surely torn their clothes off seconds before. As it was he could make no decisions about what he wanted, knowing only that he wanted, leaving his hands groping hopelessly through clothes and bunching the back of her shirt in his fist as though it would come from her so simply.

Were she more playful and to take flight then, he would surely have run after her, the feeling of nakedness in the absence of her body unbearable. To keep up with her was as nothing in this fever of passion, but he still remarked a grunt of surprise to be slammed up against the shut doors that way, the pain enlivening him further. For a moment it was even difficult to act, unused to women treating him this way--his few past partners were utterly meek in comparison. But the feeling of her fingers pressing across the risen flesh of a scar across his back put a queer shudder through him, not without dread, but piquing his arousal further, something he'd find unbelievable if he had the means to think of it now. He breathed, yes, to give his mouth to her, but felt some shame in it--was he just going to melt against the door!? The moan that hummed through her mouth from him might have suggested it, but he didn't fail to act. His own hands pressed through the gaps between buttons in her shirt, mistakenly popping one from its thread but managing to loose others in the proper way, searching out flesh to have for himself, looking for the familiar fixtures of women's undergarments. Were her body not so wildly voluptuous, he might have figured it wasn't quite so hot as it ought to be in this situation. . .but the skin's soft invitation was one he couldn't possibly decline and, gasping, he pulled from her mouth to set his lips to her wonderful, strong jaw, kissing so obsessively that he might have been memorizing it with his mouth.

 

[satindesire]

Head thrown back, arching her body into his like a bow string, a lamb to the slaughter. Sacrificial, offering herself to his ministrations. Breath was ragged, harsh, hands behind her back in a blind grope for the door handle.

Found and depressed, it tumbled them in a heap into her bedchambers, swinging shut with a bang.

Black marble walls opened to a vast vaulted ceiling, darkly varnished wooden furniture melted seamlessly into the glossy stone. A bit of gold here, to denote a handle, a cup, an incense brazier, glittering brightly with the reflection of the fireplace in a roaring blaze that warmed the smoky air.

The massive four poster bed was surrounded with multiple layers of dark gauzy fabrics, flowering vines, strung pearls and gemstones, the bedclothes velvet embroidered in gold, suede pillows and furs. The dimly lit room gave hints to suits of ancient armor, bearskin rugs, large paintings in elaborate carved frames on the walls. The windows were shuttered on the inside, the crimson velvet drapes gathered to the side in tasseled rope.

 

[Vixo]

His searching hands found none of the customary latches or strings that would free her heavy breasts of the modesty imposed upon them, something that was a matter of some small frustration; he'd have to get her shirt off entirely before he could hope to have a proper feel of her. What he could slip his palm against felt heavenly, though he abandoned it as the door fell open and dropped them inside, in order to hold her up as he steadied his feet.

Distracted somewhat by the change of scenery, he lifted his mouth from her jaw to sweep a light kiss about her forehead, his eyes taking a short moment to drink in the darkly ornamented room. More pronounced now that he'd taken that pause, he set about loosening his own shirt, slipping the buttons from his cuffs--that arrangement worked well to hide the marks on his wrists from eyes not intended for them, but it was incredibly awkward to take off in such a situation! He found it dampened his sense of urgency, though his desire hardly went away. Now he found himself considering it!

He looked into her strange eyes, things he was deciding didn't look so solid as he previously thought, but drained, in their way, and wondered what he was doing.

Chasing away these worries, he took that jaw, now so familiar, into his hand, in disregard for her acts of dominance, and leaned to kiss again, this time slower, softer, more considering.