She didn’t miss the way his grip tightened on hers when she loosened hers. It wasn’t startling, but for a moment—brief as it was—she felt as if an inner chord had tugged inside of her chest. Perhaps she had been wrong; though, she did not regret what she had said to him. Despite what she didn’t reveal to her people, the little things she held inside that she’d spoken aloud to Niyol, directness was always a comfort—a comfort to most Traygons. After all, she’d spend the first five years of her life speaking to others only in thoughts, listening only in thoughts before she’d fully grasped how to articulate words properly and wholly beyond the fumblings of a child. And when she’d turned fifteen she’d been sent to temple to learn telepathic healing. Hours in a single day were spent learning how to aid, to mend, to clear others of their doubts and find their true fears—deepest desires. Frightening, at first, but a task she’d taken to all the same. One day, perhaps, she would instruct her younger sister so that she might reach her full potential. So some had whispered, at any rate.
As he spoke, she brushed away such thinking from her head. Miss Redwind... Not Lady Calandra, Not High Priestess Calandra, not Your Holiness—she hated that one. It sounded so... ridiculous that she smiled right through his speech—his list. What she found funny about it, she was not certain. But it was all the same.
“I would imagine so,” she replied of his comment about ‘fucking her up the ass’. Her eyes remained on his as he led her through the dance, noting that he seemed more confident in simply telling her exactly what he wanted from her. And she did not speak until he was finished, though that did not stop her from contemplating every word with something of a poker face. It was more that she was dissecting it all, reworking it in her mind as she tried to imagine them accomplishing such a list.
Her brow knit curiously.
Did he think she would find offense in his honest words? Words that were entirely natural to think? It was normal, she supposed. What was unusual for others felt perfectly natural to her species. Another woman might have hit him, not really imagining that just because he didn’t say it didn’t mean he didn’t think it. And she’d much rather just hear his thoughts.
But there was a problem, wasn’t there? It had been in the back of her mind as she’d wondered, while speaking with him, if he’d wanted something akin to what he’d revealed so openly. Her people did not mate for pleasure alone, usually. Bonded pairs for centuries was how it tended to go. The pain of losing one another so great it sometimes made the remaining mate commit suicide. They could not live in a world with half of themselves cut away, not when they’d become so accustomed to listening... to joining their bodies as they joined their minds—reaching a sort of climatic symphony few others could comprehend. No one looked down on you for doing so, for acting out of what was commonly accepted; you weren’t judged or cast out. But it was the way it went.
Usually.
“I think I much prefer you when you when you speak your mind, given that I cannot hear your thoughts.” Not unless he let her, that is. Not that she imagined he would. Outsiders were very guarded about their minds. As she told him this she moved to lay her head on his shoulder, removed her hand from it and wrapped it about his waist. Her fingers spliced through the spaces in his as he held her hand. The action felt more comforting than sexual, but Calandra enjoyed touch.
It did not feel wrong to contemplate lying with him. Maybe that was the deciding factor of it all, given that her people had never been very clear about it. His words, however nasty to others, did not bother her. They were not shocking because of where she had grown up and how she had grown up. Truly, they were raw and untethered. And there was not much she did not know about them, application withstanding.
She was curious about him, a man so very unlike and like her people.
She was smiling again and inhaled once—deeply, as she took comfort in the solidity of him. “My people rarely wear clothes,” she couldn’t help but offer up, not sure if she was trying to tease him. “Very little much of the time,” she murmured idly. “This gown is customary for festivals.”
And then she pulled back to look at him, but not far enough that would separate their closeness. Her nose barely brushed his in the process. “Would you let me comb yours? Run my fingers through it after I have removed it from its ties, cascading strands of abyssal ink....” A pause as she narrowed her eyes on him, cool blues almost trying to see right into him before she continued, “I have never bathed a man, but I find the urge growing the longer I dance with you, Maca. To run water and soap along your skin with my fingers, to scrub the ache from your bones if you need me to. To see the expression you make as I do so...”
Yes, it would be nice to let go for a little while. Perhaps that was the purpose in all of this, in being here. To be someone else for a little while.
“To be clear, though, I was never very worried about you,” she whispered.
As he spoke, she brushed away such thinking from her head. Miss Redwind... Not Lady Calandra, Not High Priestess Calandra, not Your Holiness—she hated that one. It sounded so... ridiculous that she smiled right through his speech—his list. What she found funny about it, she was not certain. But it was all the same.
“I would imagine so,” she replied of his comment about ‘fucking her up the ass’. Her eyes remained on his as he led her through the dance, noting that he seemed more confident in simply telling her exactly what he wanted from her. And she did not speak until he was finished, though that did not stop her from contemplating every word with something of a poker face. It was more that she was dissecting it all, reworking it in her mind as she tried to imagine them accomplishing such a list.
Her brow knit curiously.
Did he think she would find offense in his honest words? Words that were entirely natural to think? It was normal, she supposed. What was unusual for others felt perfectly natural to her species. Another woman might have hit him, not really imagining that just because he didn’t say it didn’t mean he didn’t think it. And she’d much rather just hear his thoughts.
But there was a problem, wasn’t there? It had been in the back of her mind as she’d wondered, while speaking with him, if he’d wanted something akin to what he’d revealed so openly. Her people did not mate for pleasure alone, usually. Bonded pairs for centuries was how it tended to go. The pain of losing one another so great it sometimes made the remaining mate commit suicide. They could not live in a world with half of themselves cut away, not when they’d become so accustomed to listening... to joining their bodies as they joined their minds—reaching a sort of climatic symphony few others could comprehend. No one looked down on you for doing so, for acting out of what was commonly accepted; you weren’t judged or cast out. But it was the way it went.
Usually.
“I think I much prefer you when you when you speak your mind, given that I cannot hear your thoughts.” Not unless he let her, that is. Not that she imagined he would. Outsiders were very guarded about their minds. As she told him this she moved to lay her head on his shoulder, removed her hand from it and wrapped it about his waist. Her fingers spliced through the spaces in his as he held her hand. The action felt more comforting than sexual, but Calandra enjoyed touch.
It did not feel wrong to contemplate lying with him. Maybe that was the deciding factor of it all, given that her people had never been very clear about it. His words, however nasty to others, did not bother her. They were not shocking because of where she had grown up and how she had grown up. Truly, they were raw and untethered. And there was not much she did not know about them, application withstanding.
She was curious about him, a man so very unlike and like her people.
She was smiling again and inhaled once—deeply, as she took comfort in the solidity of him. “My people rarely wear clothes,” she couldn’t help but offer up, not sure if she was trying to tease him. “Very little much of the time,” she murmured idly. “This gown is customary for festivals.”
And then she pulled back to look at him, but not far enough that would separate their closeness. Her nose barely brushed his in the process. “Would you let me comb yours? Run my fingers through it after I have removed it from its ties, cascading strands of abyssal ink....” A pause as she narrowed her eyes on him, cool blues almost trying to see right into him before she continued, “I have never bathed a man, but I find the urge growing the longer I dance with you, Maca. To run water and soap along your skin with my fingers, to scrub the ache from your bones if you need me to. To see the expression you make as I do so...”
Yes, it would be nice to let go for a little while. Perhaps that was the purpose in all of this, in being here. To be someone else for a little while.
“To be clear, though, I was never very worried about you,” she whispered.
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
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