"I need for little, valet de coeurs," he said without shame, "but want? There is little I do not. I am very greedy, after all, and compliments are no different." He adjusted his hips and the shift of his spine as she moved in order to assist her, allowing her to lay him as bare as she desired. Dark curls a neat triangle trailing downward against skin so pale as to be white, sharp lines where muscle and bone looked carved from the marble of him. Collar and hip bones and valleys between, though hardly the dramatic musculature of some; a dancer and an acrobat, slender and sinewy and long of limb.
"If you find any," he said, the faintest touch of disgust, "do me the kindness of cutting them away, and leave me free of them." His knees spread to make room for hers, shoulder shrugged to let his shirt fall away beneath her hands. "You have not yet seen half of what my tongue is capable of," he reminded her, "but I will be pleased to know your feelings when you have."
He would know her feelings regardless of whether she shared them, of course. It was different, still, to have her say them aloud, to have not only the original emotion but the emotions borne of expressing it. His favorite game, in fact, to force the confession of things he already knew.
"I am not one to ask for promises," he said, any more than he was one to ask for possession or for affection. "For my features, I shall delight in your honesty; for all else I may well prefer lies." Again he shifted his hips to assist her, more than a little evocative as it meant pressing the length of him briefly against silk until he was free of it.
"You overestimate my memory," he said, sharp nails raking gently through her hair. "I may recall a poem or two, but I doubt they will be so delightfully specific." It was rare that he remembered a poem longer than a hundred years or so; when he did, it was usually something vague, something he could recite under a variety of circumstances to please whoever he happened to be with.
"Ἕλθε, Κύπρι," he began slowly, recalling the words as he recited them. "Χπρυσίασιν ἐν κυλίκεσσιν ἄβραισ συμμεμιγμένον θαλίαισι νέκταρ οἰνοχόεισα." It was, as poetry went, just about the opposite of what she had asked for; and further, he was the least appropriate person to be reciting it. Still, he liked it, the simplicity and the musicality of it. Their not being meant for his tongue had never kept him from pretty things.
"If you find any," he said, the faintest touch of disgust, "do me the kindness of cutting them away, and leave me free of them." His knees spread to make room for hers, shoulder shrugged to let his shirt fall away beneath her hands. "You have not yet seen half of what my tongue is capable of," he reminded her, "but I will be pleased to know your feelings when you have."
He would know her feelings regardless of whether she shared them, of course. It was different, still, to have her say them aloud, to have not only the original emotion but the emotions borne of expressing it. His favorite game, in fact, to force the confession of things he already knew.
"I am not one to ask for promises," he said, any more than he was one to ask for possession or for affection. "For my features, I shall delight in your honesty; for all else I may well prefer lies." Again he shifted his hips to assist her, more than a little evocative as it meant pressing the length of him briefly against silk until he was free of it.
"You overestimate my memory," he said, sharp nails raking gently through her hair. "I may recall a poem or two, but I doubt they will be so delightfully specific." It was rare that he remembered a poem longer than a hundred years or so; when he did, it was usually something vague, something he could recite under a variety of circumstances to please whoever he happened to be with.
"Ἕλθε, Κύπρι," he began slowly, recalling the words as he recited them. "Χπρυσίασιν ἐν κυλίκεσσιν ἄβραισ συμμεμιγμένον θαλίαισι νέκταρ οἰνοχόεισα." It was, as poetry went, just about the opposite of what she had asked for; and further, he was the least appropriate person to be reciting it. Still, he liked it, the simplicity and the musicality of it. Their not being meant for his tongue had never kept him from pretty things.
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Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 11-12-2014, 02:40 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 11-12-2014, 02:41 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 11-18-2014, 02:01 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 11-22-2014, 04:10 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 11-23-2014, 12:23 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 11-27-2014, 02:30 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 11-30-2014, 03:02 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 12-07-2014, 08:47 PM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 01-12-2015, 11:28 PM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 01-27-2015, 03:13 PM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 02-18-2015, 05:08 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 02-19-2015, 02:35 PM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 02-25-2015, 02:26 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 05-03-2015, 11:57 PM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 06-12-2015, 03:40 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 08-06-2015, 02:20 PM
Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 08-13-2015, 09:22 AM
Byronesque [Closed] - by tindome - 09-07-2015, 08:33 PM
RE: Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 11-23-2015, 10:21 PM
RE: Byronesque [Closed] - by Tindome - 02-27-2016, 09:35 PM
RE: Byronesque [Closed] - by Blade - 07-11-2016, 11:44 PM
RE: Byronesque [Closed] - by Tindome - 03-16-2017, 08:26 AM