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Byronesque [Closed] - Printable Version

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Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 11-12-2014




Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 11-12-2014

    "When I think it will make you laugh," he answered honestly, "or if I think it would arouse you." Jean did, after all, think of himself as being hilarious. Even if most of his 'jokes' were things only he could ever possibly understand. The corner of his mouth tipped ever so slightly upward, and as her fingertips continued their marvelous ministrations, he rolled his tongue into something resembling a purring sound. Then he grinned wide for only the briefest of moments, before letting his face return to the more dignified expression that was his usual. "And I am certainly not above whispering vulgarities into delicate ears. That is where they tend to have the most effect, after all."

    "Ah, but I never underestimate myself. And I do not think it possible to overestimate you, valet de coeurs." He wrapped a hand around one of her wrists to take her hand from his hair. He kissed the delicate veins along her wrist, down the softer half of her forearm until he could kiss the inside of her elbow. "I admit to thinking I play better than I sing, he said, though his voice was an instrument finely tuned, "but I am capable of either, when circumstances warrant. It is less a matter of skill, I should think, than of preference."

    He took her hand in his so that he could run his thumb over the lines of her palm, run his fingers along hers before kissing each of her fingertips in turn. Not that he was not listening to her story – heavens forfend. But it seemed only fair that he should touch while she spoke, and vice versa. He did so like to be fair, when it suited him.

    "Love is a word for many things," he murmured. "It is fleeting and fickle, loyal and unyielding, involuntary and calculating and passionate and sweet. There really ought to be more words for it… but I suppose I have a unique perspective, at that. I know only that, of all the many things which I have known to be called love, none of them have ever been enough on their own. Enough to live on, enough to fight for; it is not even self-sustaining, not really."

    "There is neither shame nor duplicity in proclaiming your love for a thing while knowing that it could not keep you, that you would not be kept."



Byronesque [Closed] - Blade - 11-18-2014

Somehow she knew that answer to be real, the one about making her laugh. If it was, then she wouldn't mind indulging him over and over. Ruka found a great many things funny, but few made her lose herself in real joy. Perhaps she spent too much time wishing for the happiness of others, or, wondering about their happiness. Too busy to be bothered with her own? Or, merely afraid of the risk involved with stepping in too deep? It wasn't something actively on her mind... more in the back of it.

And then she did chuckle softly, smile smoothing her features; her eyes lit up just enough. But, it wasn't so much his comments as his reaction to her hands. "Is that because you enjoy it, my laughter? I am a curious creature, after all. I do not expect indulgence, but I do enjoy it from time to time." She was sure he knew quite a bit about indulgence--as much as her, if not more.

It was hard not to be even a little bit happy in his presence. The anticipation in wake of his actions certainly had her body humming. She watched him too as he carefully stayed her wrist, kissing it softly and then down her arm. She stilled her other hand to a delicate strum of fingers twining into his curls as she did so. Ebony lashes lowered just so and she chuckled again, but this time her mouth did not open as she smiled--half smirking.

Indeed, his actions were most pleasurable. He did not rush the course and take as his wants so dictated; rather, he sampled slowly and languidly... making each point count as if measuring the weight of what would come, but, did not have to come as quickly. It would not have bothered her if he rushed a little; there was something enthralling about a person harried with matters of the flesh. Still, it wasn't often she partook of this particular decadence without some control on her part--some dictation.

Jean would not need direction, and, she wondered silently if he assumed as much of her. Though, a direction of playful nature would not be unwelcome.

The smile she offered at his last words was one of gratification--gratification at one person understanding another's inability to explain that which was difficult to explain. "I do not pretend to understand love even as I know there are may forms." She made a little noise as she looked away from him--something of a short sigh. At the same time, the free hand on the back of his neck trailed along the skin there and down. Fingers inadvertently fell along the half open collar of his shirt. Her hand settled, partially flat, while the tips of her digits laid haphazardly on his collarbone--the dip.

"She asked that he give her the technology required to travel realms. Naturally, he was adverse in the beginning. Draconic machina was not just given to anyone--not the kind she asked for. But, after a long discussion with the Council of Sidera he was permitted to allow it. And so, in her agony, she left. She moved from realm to realm, finding peace from within--curious with the mind of a child at the stories she could glean from others." And then she looked at him again, icy blues level with the color of brighter tones and darker ones. "And thus I have ended up here for the time being, searching for something and nothing at the same time."


Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 11-22-2014

    "I enjoy making pretty people laugh," he said. "Is there anyone who does not? Assuming it is deliberate, at least. Accidentally leading others to laugh is much less enjoyable, I fear." One did not, he thought, need to have a nature of the kind that he did for that to be the case. Laughter by its nature was a contagious form of joy; he liked being made to laugh just as much. Though that may have been as much a matter of trust, trusting himself to express himself so in the presence of another. A chuckle was one thing, something low and restrained and dignified, but the sort of laugh that bared teeth was a different matter altogether.

    He'd been more free with his laughter, when he was younger, but he'd reveled in terror then. Hardly the civilized beast he was now, though perhaps there had been more honesty in it. Cruel and reckless, lacking utterly in the subtlety that was now the whole of his trade.

    What a sad little sigh that was, so neatly inviting a kiss into the space it left. It was not a deliberate invitation, so he did not answer it. Instead he replaced the hand that held hers with his left, the hand on which he did not file his nails to a more respectable appearance. Still immaculate, but these he let grow to the sharp points that was their wont, deadly things nearly white enough to match his teeth. He let the tip of his thumbnail trace the faint blue line of her blood as she spoke, a light enough touch that it was barely felt.

    That same hand abandoned its ministrations as she finished, the pad of his thumb stroking the edge of her jaw. Not quite cupping her face, not quite tangling his fingers in her hair, fingertips pressed along her neck just beneath her ear. Blood had no call for him, not being the sort of life on which he fed, but the beat of a heart and the throb of a pulse had an appeal independent of its function.

    "And have you found something?" he wondered. "Or nothing?"



Byronesque [Closed] - Blade - 11-23-2014

The smile was back, the one she had perfected over a lifetime of interactions. It was not intentional. It came when something was said that tickled her just enough to find it amusing and slanted all at once. In Jean she found too many things amusing and slanted; more than she normally found in others. There was a contrary to his character--a natural irony of statements and actions. He tried to be something even as he failed at it; he knew he failed at it and went on trying anyway. She would think it was faux attempt were he not so adorably and genuinely accidental.

He did not mean to lie, but he did so anyway.

He did not mean to be vain, but it showed regardless.

He never wanted to be visibly frustrated with the changing world around him, and yet he was.

By comparison some might call her too soft, too kind, too honest, and too easy to acclimate. She couldn't help but think of the comparison as they talked about their lives; it was inevitable that it exist in her mind, if even only for a moment. Ruka couldn't remember the last time she lied, even on accident, and, there were not many moments she was visibly frustrated with anything aside from the problems of others--the way one person hurt another.

Too soft, indeed.

Too compassionate; though, she wasn't entirely sure she would label him as selfish. However, even if she did, her content of character would not allow her to speak of it negatively. She would see it as just another part of the man he was, constantly trying to be something even as he failed at it.

"Only pretty?" she asked, because his question was the one that sparked her internal thought process. "I must admit, that's not an entirely narcissistic statement. 'Pretty' is wholly personal opinion." One she was keenly aware of. But, his statement also implied that he imagined her to be one of that category, not that she soaked it in. "Perhaps it would be better to ask what you imagine to be pretty?" Too many questions. Maybe. "I must respectfully disagree; given the right circumstances, accidental humor is quite enjoyable. For instance, I find your unexpected and visible frustrations with smart phone technology to be entirely funny, and, adorable." At this, she moved the hand from his collarbone and tapped his nose playfully.

As he ran his hand along her skin, half enticing her with a trail that raised her skin just enough to make gooseflesh, her smile widened and her eyes narrowed--long lashes dropped just so; at the smae time her eyes shifted to a cooler shade of blue. She sighed through her nose and let the curtain of her lashes dropped fully so she could lean into his hand. That smile went soft then, barely there as she relaxed into him.

"What do you imagine I've found?" To hear her say it as softly as she did, one might mistake it for something else entirely... something more emotional. In a way it was, but part of her just wanted to hear what he did see. It wasn't unusual for a man who was accustomed to figuring others out, or, at least accustomed to trying.


Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 11-27-2014

    "Not only," he said, "but it is pretty ones I like the best. Pretty men and handsome women – but it is all a euphemism, I suppose. I enjoy drawing laughter from the same people that I would enjoy causing to orgasm, for what must be very similar reasons." Though not entirely similar, as laughter did not feed him with the intensity that an orgasm would, and was thus a slightly less selfish impulse.

    "But what is it that makes a person pretty, I wonder," he said, though one might imagine someone as vain as he was to have considered the question thoroughly. "Wanting me makes a person quite pretty," he shrugged. "Vulnerability is pretty, as are people who think that they are not. People who look… just-so. Whether deliberate or not." It was very vague, but he had been alive a long time, after all. He had watched beauty standards rise and fall, ever in flux. His nose had been fashionable, and then it had not; his pallor had been fashionable, and then not, and then again. A widow's peak had once been a very desirable thing, and he had found it desirable when it was deemed such. He'd once been enticed by ankles and now he was enticed by thighs, and overall there was very little he could not find attractive in some way or another. "I hope this does not lessen the compliment for you."

    Wretched device. He regretted thoroughly its purchase, though it had led to at least one delightful interlude. Awful little thing. "Ah – but you have proven my point, you see. For it was accidental, and was therefore enjoyable to you; it is deliberate humor which is enjoyable to both parties." He wrinkled his nose when she tapped it, though not with genuine displeasure, that being a much sharper and subtler thing where he was concerned.

    As she relaxed, he used it as an opportunity to pull her closer, coax her head onto his shoulder and her body against his chest. It was suspiciously cuddly, for someone who seemed so prone to darker passions, wrapping his arms around her with a thoughtful hum. "You have found at least one spectacularly handsome man," he suggested, "which all on its own surely would have been enough to render all the trouble worth it." This was not a particularly fair answer to a genuine question, but he'd never been good at being fair.

    "Your having decided to invest in real estate before the meeting of this stunning specimen, however, suggests that you have found something else to bind your boots to this ground. Maybe only curiosity, but that is not a fire that fuels itself." He nuzzled gently at her hair, as if they were already comfortable lovers and not newly met. "Whatever you have found," he said, "it has not stopped you searching."



Byronesque [Closed] - Blade - 11-30-2014

She listened to him speak as she leaned into his hand with her eyes closed, as he spoke of his reasons regarding laughter, pretty people, and orgasm. ‘For what must be very similar reasons’ sounded vague to her, and, she wondered if he meant it that way. If he did, what deeper meaning did it have that she could not yet unearth? Silly that she should focus on the details, she knew. But, sometimes the details were everything with a man like Jean; all the little things people rarely noticed…

Her eyes opened briefly when he spoke of what makes one pretty, answering her inquiry in yet another vague half manner she was coming to understand was the very nature of the beast. Her lids only lifted halfway, eyes focusing deeply on his. She hummed in response before closing them once more and moving her head just enough to gain more touch from his hand.

“I agree it is difficult in some situations not to find one desirable when you are the object of their admiration,” she said softly. And then she smiled again, something akin to a chuckle leaving the bare space of her lips like a puff of air forcing them open. One might liken it to the sound one makes when brushing off a compliment. “Trappings aren’t necessary for a man like me, Jean. Compliments didn’t gain you invitation to me; being what you are has everything to do with that, I assure you.” If she had a deeper meaning for those words, the answer wasn’t forthcoming

“Perhaps,” she agreed of the phone incident. “But you didn’t specify to whom it would be enjoyable; only that it would be enjoyable. And in truth, it is in the flaws that I find the most beauty in others.”

When he tugged her down she let him, adjusting in his lap so that her right shoulder pressed into his chest as he wrapped his arms about her. She let her head settled on his shoulder so that her nose just barely brushed his neck while he nuzzled her hair. At this not entirely unexpected action of ‘cuddling’ she grinned well enough for teeth to show. But, it was his words that made her hum in kind, wiggling both deliberately and not as she let one arm slide barely about his waist and rest comfortably.

“I can find those anywhere, you should know,” she said of him being a handsome man in her custody, “Creatures society dubs as beautiful who all have something to say and much to say of what they have to say; many who don’t mind sharing my bed… sometimes together, sometimes singularly.” As she spoke the hand that settled around him moved to tug at the shirt he wore, pulling it from his waistband in that section and away with a jump of red fabric. Once free, she moved that hand to press fingers and a palm into bare skin, caressing as a thumb rolled downward.

“What I inevitably search for can never be found,” she admitted. “Though, perhaps some part of me imagines it might be here even as I know it will not be.” At this she exhaled, pursing her lips and blowing just beyond the curls cascading along his neck and to the skin. “Based on your estimation I will risk the possibility of receiving a half-frank answer and ask you: Why is it you stay?”


Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 12-07-2014

    Curiosity, perhaps dissatisfaction. Every answer he gave only gave her more questions; either because of the answers he gave, or because she was insatiable in that way. He was a grey area unto himself, ill-suited to intellectual satisfaction. But there was no sense of irritation in her, so he did not think it would be too much a problem.

    It may have been a decent opportunity to clarify why exactly attraction so often became mutual, the feedback loop that occurred. He kept silent, still, because the clarification did not feel necessary. She had a notion of the nature of him, and that served him well enough. "I am a series of compliments made flesh," he countered, "but if you have managed to find something else of value in me, you may have as much of it as you desire."

    He wrinkled his nose when she pointed out the flaw in his wording, huffed in indignation only somewhat feigned. "You cannot think me any great beauty then," he said slyly, because he could think of little as amusing as claiming himself to be flawless.

    Not that he didn't make a valiant effort in that direction.

    He hummed as she moved in his lap, hips adjusting to fit her better and grinding against her in the process. Fingers were gentle against his skin, but persistent all the same, a combination he quite liked. If she kept it up, his lap was likely to become a significantly less comfortable seat. "Ah – then I am just another pretty face," he said, adopting petulance as he slid fabric away from her shoulder, drew circles around it with the points of his nails. "Am I at least the prettiest? Lie to me, if you must, I will be inconsolable otherwise."

    He shut his eyes as her breath made its way across his skin, though he still listened. "Why do I stay?" he repeated, mildly surprised at the question. Though perhaps he should not have been. "In Valesport, do you mean, or in general? Though I suppose it makes little difference to the answer." He opened his eyes, and looked thoughtful, but in a moment he had closed them again. "I have never seen any reason not to," he said with a shrug. "I travel when I am forced, and not before; there is nothing I want badly enough to seek it. I have no wanderlust in me. I could watch the sun rise over distant lands, I suppose. But I would quickly find myself distracted, and I would make my home there before long. Which sounds dreadfully inconvenient, when all my things are here. This place does not have a hold on my heart, nor does any other; it is a matter of convenience, and only that. It is not an answer that will be much use to you, I fear."



Byronesque [Closed] - Blade - 01-12-2015

It was a vain statement; at face value it was a comment one brushed off for being too easy, too topped in cream and dipped in strawberry sauce; it was the kind of thing a man with the right face told a woman who wanted to be assured that she had chosen correctly for her partner in a rendezvous of satin and skin. Truly, she would have imagined it to be coming from someone else; however, she was quickly learning--as she had been most of the night--that Jean was anything but easily tucked in a labeled box. Certainly not the kind of box many people would put him in.

“Perhaps," she allowed quietly as she continued to rub circles into his side with her thumb while her fingers moved to tuck themselves into waistband of his trousers. “Perhaps you only imagine yourself to be a ‘series of compliments made flesh’ because you are so accustomed to others seeing you that way.

“Maybe…” she went on, “Maybe you have more in common with the books you allow to overtake your home. Tombs filled with words people enjoyed and then forgot, left to the shelf as time passes—as modern words replace the verses of Chaucer, as shinier things replace the dusty ones, as all people are contented to merely admire of the lovely covers that keep the stories that are from an age they no longer understand or connect with.

“Beautiful covers filling spaces that would otherwise be empty… they like it on their shelf, but rarely crack the binding.” At this she sunk into his embrace further, sighing as if allowing the air to escape would let her to fill every comfortable crevice his body provided.

She laughed well enough to have her whole body shake in his lap when he told her he didn't think she imagined him great beauty. She found herself, hugging him then, squeezing briefly as one might when they were reassuring a confidant or a child--a lover--in a playful manner. It, with a combination of his vanity through words, and, the truth of her sight, was that which made her react so. "On the contrary," she said between short and bursting guffaws. "I find you unimaginably beautiful, Jean.

"And," she continued, enjoying the way he slipped the fabric from her shoulder, the way his body made motion against hers, and the way his humming vibrated gently through part of her, "I never lie, especially not if one asks the right questions." Still smiling, she pressed her face into his neck so that the bridge of her nose fit along skin and curls. Once more, she inhaled; once more, she relished the motion of their intercourse.

As he spoke she considered his facial expressions; those she could feel. The way his eyes opened and closed, the way he questions himself out loud, he way he shrugged, and the hesitance in his reply. It all coiled in her head, mixing and meshing as she tried to make something of the simplicity of it.

Did she feel the same? Was it why she remained in some places longer than others? Or was there a reasonable explanation? His reply wasn't the least bit romantic, implying that it was a genuinely honest answer. She could conclude that without a doubt.

"Hm..." she said, the noise short. "One's presence in my life is rarely contingent on their usefulness to me, I would hope." At this, she pressed a gentle kiss to his neck, lips half blanketed in a barrier of his raven-colored wisps.


Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 01-27-2015

    It had the tone and the taste of flattery, everything she said, though the words themselves were not necessarily flattering. Or perhaps it was only him, that he did not find it a flattering thought to be left on a shelf and forgotten. It was not inaccurate, as these things went. "I do have a very pretty cover," he murmured, "and I cannot say I have been cracked in recent memory." He shifted his hips and the curve of his back so that her fingers would fit more comfortably against his skin.

    "Perhaps less Chaucer," he said, "and more Shakespeare." Jean grinned, feeling quite clever to have thought of it. An appropriate enough metaphor, when once he had been scandalous and vulgar, when the world had changed around him to decide his trappings rendered him a gentleman. He sometimes wondered if it would amuse the man as much as it did Jean, to spout filth and have it confused with poetry. As much the vile creature as he had ever been, but now his manners marked him as otherwise. It worked out wonderfully in his favor, of course, because the world at large had become much less friendly toward vile creatures.

    Though even now, some who ought to have known better could not help but be drawn to the monstrous. A wolf in sheep's clothing, however ill-fitting, had a certain appeal.

    He would have been as pleased at Ruka's amusement even if it had been more subtle. Her laughter was welcome, dark sweetness alongside the validation that he was – in fact – hilarious. And a woman vibrating in his lap was not a bad side effect, as these things went. "Then it is a good thing I am here," he said, his grin nearly splitting his face, "so that you need not imagine." He nipped harmlessly at the skin of her shoulder, then kissed the same spot. "But you are much more virtuous than I am, valet de coeurs, when I have not even truths to tell."

    A few, but memory was a fickle thing, and self-delusion much stronger and more common. He would not pretend to be immune.

    "No?" he said. "But I am sure that if you tried, you could find for me a use or two. I am not incapable of being used, after all." He pressed his lips to her shoulder again, brushed them higher until he could kiss her pulse.



Byronesque [Closed] - Blade - 02-18-2015

“I am not very sure whether you would want to be or not,” she replied openly, almost immediately, to his first response on book bindings. And she knew it to be true, in some candid way; Jean did not easily bend to the idea of someone knowing him. His very nature, at least what she gleamed in the fragmented lines between his words, begat that he would not allow much as easily as she did.

She wasn’t sure it sparked a challenge in her. It felt… crude to call it as much. It Jean earnestly did not want to be known, he would not be. But, perhaps it was in all that she didn’t know about him that made her want to know. Each time he answered a question she pondered deeper. Each time a piece of something crept forth, she wanted more.

“I am not so sure about Shakespeare… I would argue Amy Lowell. But then, that it just one’s man opinion of you, is it not?”

She gasped softly as he nibbled at her shoulder, humming at the end in a way that almost asked for more.

“Virtuous?” she whispered darkly along his neck, “I would argue otherwise.” Someone dear to her certainly would, but the time for thinking of such things was not now; certainly not when she had such virile and delectable company.

“And how would you have me use you, Jean? Or would it be better to ask, how would you use me, seigneur de cœur?” At this she sat up just enough to look him in the eye, one brow curving upward between strands of white-blond.


Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 02-19-2015

    "You may have a point," he said with a crooked grin. To be known physically, he had no objections to that except the logistical. Very difficult to act the catamite when the very act made him ever-more likely to involuntarily injure the person who had thought to make him theirs. With most, he would not even bother trying. To be known in ways other than the physical, that was trickier. Was there really much to know? He was a trap, a being of hunger and of impulses with all his affectations seeking to serve that fact.

    Perhaps someone who knew him better, who was not him, could do a better job of explaining him to another. Even then, he could think of no one. Elijah knew many things about him, but he had never felt a true understanding there. Not the way a man of flesh and blood might know him. Alisdair had once seemed to understand him, but that had ended… poorly.

    If that was how things went when he was known and known well, better all in all to avoid that sort of thing.

    "Flatterer," he accused. "But if you insist on not comparing me to vulgar drunkards, who am I to complain?" That gasp, that spike in sweetness, was a lovely reward for his explorations. He brought his mouth closer to her neck, along her skin until he could kiss beneath her ear. "Do you not have virtues?" he asked. "Are you not honest, clever, handsome? Possessed of many virtues, I would argue – though arguing is not how I would prefer to grapple with you, I admit."

    Jean smiled, and his smile was as affectionate as a smile like his could be. "I would have you use me in whichever way brought you the most pleasure," he said. "Assuming, of course, that your tastes do not necessitate too much unpleasantness for myself." He grinned, and ran sharp nails through her hair and along her scalp. "And I would use you much the same, uncreative though it may seem. I would draw pleasure out of you to the best of my ability, again and again until you could bear it no more, until you had tired of it or of me." He brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek. "Or to put it more crudely, if you prefer: I would like for you to have copious orgasms, in whatever manner will bring about the most of them."



Byronesque [Closed] - Blade - 02-25-2015

If Ruka were in the murky depths of his mind, unraveling ribbons of information, feelings, and memories, she would probably tell him she indeed had a very valid point. As it was, such an intrusion was not permissible at the moment. She didn’t linger on it, didn’t ask, merely took note of his verbal allowance that she was likely right; which, as far as she was concerned, made her right. Jean felt to her as though he never fully admitted to anything unless it gained him something he wanted; even then, she was sure, there would be only such much admittance.

She laughed as his accusation, grinning all the more. “You should know the way we see ourselves is not the way we want others to see us—the way we are seen regardless of want or not-wanting.

“We all look at the painting, the sculpture, the poem and find something different in the context. For people it can be a matter of masks or layers—some are deeply buried while others are merely facets of the same personality for each group one associates with.”

She was still grinning when he spoke of her virtues in her ear, the soft caress of his mouth igniting a spark of warmth as it ghosted a trail along her neck. At the same time she shifted just so in his lap, moving enough without jostling the position of his head so that she could straddle his lap—blue silk of her robe spilling and gathering around their thighs and legs like a cascade of decedent sweet softness. Elegant nimble fingers danced a path up his crimsoned-covered chest, tapping a button here and there—sometimes tugging with a nail—as her other, the left, saw fit to merely rest on the conclave between his thigh and hip bone.

“I am not entirely certain that handsome or clever qualify as virtues to anyone but yourself,” she told him softly, a smile in her voice. “Are we arguing?” she asked next, that dancing hand moving up and around his neck. She squeezed with her other hand, thumb pressing into the sensitive conclave. “I was rather enjoying our discussion about poets and personal flaws. You have a tendency to dress things up to be sweeter than they are; I think it clashes quietly beautifully with how I tend to enjoy removing those trappings.” Was that a double entendre? Perhaps.

Her eyes shut when he slid the scrape of his nails through her scalp; she exhaled a whisper of some foreign word, something entirely not Latin or known to this realm as he did so. As the same time her back arched just enough to press her hips into his.

“And what if my desire is to give onto you as much as you would to me?” At this her cool blues opened, the brilliant color perhaps more ice than cobalt. Her hands both moved to gently grasp his neck at her body relaxed, as she came forward and shut her eyes once more. Thumbs swept along the undersides of his ears as she gently pressed her lips to his brow.

“Or what if that desire is to simply give?” she whispered over his skin, words brushing a warmth.


Byronesque [Closed] - Tindome - 05-03-2015

    "Death of the author?" he suggested. "Not that I could. But I suppose in this context, I am the creation, not the creator. Though whether they are alive or dead is a much trickier metaphysical business." A silly twist of metaphor, but he did so enjoy being compared to a work of art. In truth, he took the credit for that himself. Would he be even half so lovely if he did not dress with such care, if he did not put so much work into the loveliness of his locks? Perhaps. Handsome enough, in a feral sort of a way. Any artistry in his appearance, nonetheless, was his own doing; he was artist and work all in one.

    Such lovely sweetness, such a delightful caress. And the heat of her as she straddled his lap, the heat of soft flesh that he would have made his in time. Skin against silk against skin, his hands traced down her shoulders to stroke along her arms without interfering with her ability to move. The distant threat of holding her still evoked without malice or obvious intent, the barest ghost of a suggestion.

    "I confess that not many may consider me virtuous," he said, because he considered himself the best possible example of one handsome and clever, "but there are few who would deny themselves the pleasures of those virtues - in my case or in yours." He hummed as fingers pressed themselves against flesh. "I would not call it an argument, this little tête-à-tête. But I have a sweet tooth, and so my tastes are not yours." He grinned, and wolfish was not quite the word, because even wolves did not have so many teeth so very sharp. "Do you think that you would like me, still, without these trappings of mine?"

    When her hips arched his moved in return, a subtle tilt, a bow of his back. "It is in my nature," he said, "to take. To take, and to take, and to take, endless and unceasing and greedy. Whatever I give is little enough, compared to what I might take in return. That is the way of me, as it ever has been. If it pleases you to give freely, then I will not turn you down; but that which is my preference is more easily taken than given, easier taken by giving."

    He sighed as her lips pressed against his skin. "Ah, too complicated, non? Ignore me, lovely thing, for I will speak in endless meaningless circles if you are too kind."



Byronesque [Closed] - Blade - 06-12-2015

She wasn’t entirely sure about the suggestion. She, in her own way, was a writer herself, penning down stories and details given to her by others. She knew a collectively placed group of words erected into a sentence meant to do nothing more than confuse when she heard them. They sounded as much, or, perhaps she wasn’t paying as close attention as she needed to be. With Jean, it was obviously difficult to tell. And, that was where much of the fun lay, she supposed.

She liked the feel of his hands on her, and, likewise, she did not mind the slowness of their motions—his and hers. As he spoke of his virtues, or the lack there of, she smiled against his skin. “Is that so?” she asked of the statement, still rubbing the undersides of his ears. “And what virtues do you possess, Jean?” she asked softly, mostly because she was curious about the way he saw himself. The more he spoke, seeming to enjoy as much, the more she saw of the man. Though, for all dear Ruka knew, he could be painting a series of lies for her pleasure. And still, she did not mind, even hoping that the glimpses were real in some part.

His question did not catch her off guard, but it did make her pause the motion of her thumbs long enough to go noticed as she briefly considered. If she were feeling coy, perhaps girlish, she might say, ‘Who said I like you now?’. But, the question begged something more, and, if she were coy it would upset the flow of their conversation thus. The mood would be different. While Ruka enjoyed playfulness, it was not suited for their chat just then.

“I do not know,” she said honestly as she pulled back just as he curved into her. Ice blues looked down at him as he bowed into her, watching him a ping of satisfaction filled her. She wanted to say more, but then he went on about taking, revealing more of himself and in turn dropping a few of the trappings he spoke of.

And so she smiled again—softly once more. Her hands moved to cup his cheeks; digits slipped into his hair above his ears, nails scraping. Touching him, it seemed, was becoming a pastime of hers.

“I know the more you speak, the more trappings seem to fall from you—forgotten on the floor beneath us. And the more that falls as you speak, the more I wish to hear. So, perhaps, I would like you most—more so than I do now, darling—were you to discard them entirely.” At this, she kissed the corner of his mouth, lashes dropping just barely over her eyes. Whispers of silver fell from her temple and slipped along her skin—his—kissing in turn. The hands on his face moved downward, fingers removing one button at a time on his shirt—slowly—as she murmured, “Did you not have another promised story, seigneur des coeurs? Will you not speak it as I give?”