soiltouched

[soiltouched]

"You okay? Caught you staring off into space again."

"Oh. Sorry...my thoughts took me, uh...back."

A shiver runs down her spine at the ghost of the memory that she's just revisited, but she anchors her thoughts around the red-haired male before her, and her lips curve into a thankful smile. His voice threading through the memory until she's fully present in her own body again---it's like a hand reached out to the drowning and fallen. Keeping her head above water is difficult enough as it is on some days, but somehow he manages to keep her afloat, to say the very least.

Her fingers find his hand, intertwining with his own, and she pulls him closer, the other hand placed upon his chest to drink in the warmth of him. To remind herself that he is here, and she is here, and they are not in imminent danger. She's safe. A sigh of relief escapes her lips as her body slowly releases the tension of trauma, and her nervous system soon follows. When her vision is no longer clouded with the strain of the past, she fixes her eyes on him.

"Thank you...for checking in. It helps, sometimes. When I can't will myself back to the here and now."

[soiltouched]

❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜ / briar on sunsetstained

"You won't. I promise."

It's not entirely convincing; the way her voice trembles as she speaks, the way her fingers intertwine, applying just enough pressure to remind her that she is still here and still alive...or...alive again? Since the Cauldron, it's all been entirely too hazy, and reality slips from her grasp more often than she'd care to admit. But amidst the chaos, there is an inner knowing that yes, they will be alright.

Fear grips her, to be smack in the middle of enemy territory and at their mercy, but something about the other girl gives her the strength to will it to subside, in favour of keeping composure. Of reassuring her.

"I know at least a handful of people who will not stand by idly while we're in here. We. You and I, Briar, we are in this together. And we're getting out together."

[soiltouched]

Gaze still fixed to the floor, the motion of his feet as he turned back towards her was a blur through teary vision, and she blinked to get a clearer view. Yet in spite of that, she didn't dare look him in the eye---not yet. The hurt was palpable as it hung in the air between them, and she couldn't quite muster up the courage to look up and see it reflected in his expression. He lifted his hand, then, and for once her instinct was not to shy away from him, but more one of curiosity. By the time he'd produced the handkerchief and was dabbing it at her cheek, she found herself leaning into his touch. For the very first time since they made their acquaintance in that awful, awful moment, she leaned into him, inclined towards him. Felt drawn to him. It was something else, really, but she was still every bit as frightened that to give in to this feeling, would mean a burst of the carefully crafted dam that held back everything she'd been trying so very hard to forget. And she wasn't certain she'd be able to weather the flood of it.

Tentatively, she raised a hand until it met with the one placed upon her cheek, covering it as if to savor the feel of his touch. As soon as she realized what she was doing, however, she dropped her hand entirely, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. She couldn't go from one extreme to another with him. It wouldn't be fair to him, and it would be far too confusing for her. But now that he was in close vicinity to her, she noticed for the first time how intoxicating his scent was. Like a warm hearth fire on a cold autumn day, or the comfort of a home she'd long since been looking for. It enveloped her for the briefest of moments, and she expressed a near-breathless sigh. When she shook off the lingering effect of it, she finally gathered the courage to look him in the eye---just as teardrops came falling from it. She, in turn, raised a hand to his face, fingers tentatively seeking out his cheek and coming to a rest there. Where it felt like it should have been much sooner.

"I wish we could have met under different circumstances. You're a good man, Lucien. Despite everything, I still think that. It's just...so much has been forced upon me, I could never just rush into another courtship. And this...this whole mating bond thing? It feels horribly forced, I'm sorry."

There was hesitation. This wasn't pretty to talk about, it was raw, a wound still very much open...and she really didn't like confrontation. Never had, probably never would. But leaving these things unspoken between them was simply no longer an option.

"None of what has happened has been your fault. But you were there, you're linked to the memories---and I need time to untangle you from them. To get to know you, all over again. And...you don't really know me, either. "

She hadn't spoken up about the gloves he had gifted her; everyone had simply assumed she had rejected them as she had the mating bond, and no one had question said assumption. No one had ever questioned why Elain, with all her pretty dresses and well-kept appearance, enjoyed gardening, of all things. Enjoyed having her hands firmly planted in the soil. Perhaps she'd tell him, if he cared to ask. Some day.

Sometimes, Lucien believed, it was a curse to be Fae. Even moreso, one in his situation. While he could not, at that immediate moment, bring himself to turn to face her, his mechanical eye whirred unbidden, pointing backward. A curiously complex piece of machinery and magic, and one which he loathed for its ability to allow him to see whatever was in its direction, even if pointed backward through his head.

At the sight of his mate's heart breaking under the hammer blow of his selfish, impulsive need to escape.

As long as it was just the sound, he could have fooled himself. Willed himself to believe that the soft splash of teardrops on the floor was, instead, just a ruffling of the carpet underfoot. Anything other than the horrid, gut-wrenching truth. Anything that could have keptn the will together that he'd forged to save himself the heartache. And for once, he needed to do something decisive, even if this was to be their last meeting. If that was what Fate had for them, then he would not go into the night leaving her distraught.

He'd been responsible for enough of her tears, he refused to cause a single one more.

He turned, and that in itself was already more than he'd thought he would be able to give. But she was trying- for the first time, she was trying and he refused to let her try in vain. His hand came up, slow. In her view the entire time, so that if she decided she didn't want his touch, she could stop him, or push him away. And, should she let him, he would draw a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at her tears.

"I've given you time already, so what is a little more, right? I am willing to wait for you to be ready to even dare approaching what is between us, but... These visits. Where you shy away into the corners of the room. Where my presence feels more like burden than boon. I cannot keep doing this. Not for myself, I would die a thousand deaths and it would not come close to beginning to atone for my wrongs. But I cannot keep doing this to you."

From his right eye, tears, glistening as they carve a path down his cheeks, coming to pool on the ground with hers. The two spots seeming to reach for one another as though some mysterious force drew them in.

"I've done so much evil to you. To your family. I know what they think about me. Monster. That I don't deserve you, and nothing could be more true. So please, it is not I that deserves better. It is that I could never deserve you and I will not be the one to keep you from being happy in your home, with the ones you love, Elain."

[soiltouched]

[soiltouched]

Being confrontational is so far removed from how Elain is used to communicating, that she flinches at her own ferocity, and half preparing for the backlash that is no doubt to come from Rhys. But it doesn't. Instead, she watches with growing surprise as his features shift into something much more apologetic than she's ever seen him display. Perhaps fatherhood has softened him. Or perhaps he's finally learning that he, too, has hurt those he holds dear and should probably try to make amends there. They all have flaws, but looking them in the eye and dealing with them? That's a whole different story.

Her eyes remain narrowed at his words, and she searches for an ulterior motive, but softens ever so slightly when she cannot find any. With a man so adept at producing and keeping secrets of his own, it might still pop up later, but he deserves a chance, at least. Just as she and Azriel do. She utters a long breath from between slightly parted lips, her demeanor much calmer now that she's spoken her truth to him and heard him out.

"If Lucien evokes battle between him and Azriel for a choice I was also involved in, then he is not the honorable man I would have thought him to be."

Now that the previously unspoken truth is out, Elain turns her attention to the flowers, and she can't help the slightest hint of a smile from tugging at her lips.

"Where did you get those? I've not seen anything like these before."

Continued from here with @soiltouched

"Have you come to apologize?" Elain demands with more ferocity in her tone than Rhys has ever experienced from her. He would have been surprised had his own mate not already lectured him about this topic last night. As hard as it had been to hear it, once he actually listened to Feyre's impassioned defense of her older sister, Rhys couldn't do anything except admit that he'd made the wrong call.

He should have admitted it when he saw the look on Azriel's face last week, but he'd been too stubborn then. After he apologizes to Elain, he knows he has another, harder conversation with his brother waiting for him. For now, Elain deserves his full attention, and Rhys simply nods in response to her question, standing there with a pot of Illyrian star lilies held carefully in his hands. He keeps his eyes on hers, but the starlight that usually twinkles therein is guttered.

He isn't sure what brings the lump to his throat: the way Elain's bottom lip is quivering or the way she talks about his brother, as though she's one of the few people who really sees Azriel. When she falls silent, he swallows down that lump and responds simply: "I'm sorry, Elain. I should not have interfered. You deserve to choose who you spend your life with. As does Azriel."

[soiltouched]

As if out of obligation, Elain reaches for the drink presented to her by the house; a well-meant gesture that completely misses its mark, but as is her habit, she decides not to speak up about it. Her fingers wrap around the cup for warmth, but it's not the kind of warmth she seeks. It's the emotional warmth her sister once provided for her, something that's been lacking between the two of them for a while now. She isn't even sure it could be willed back into existence, but the least she could do is try to melt the wall of ice that now stands between them.

Nesta's mention of the Shadowsinger has Elain pressing her lips into a thin line, and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat at the rush that courses through her at the mention of his name. She'd forget sometimes that Nesta has probably been building up a friendship with him, but it makes her glad for it. She, too, needs all the friendship she can get, even if her own words and actions have probably spoken differently. She dares a look at her sister, but doesn't bring the cup to her lips. She doesn't really want a drink to begin with, but she'll probably eventually put the cup to her mouth to humour her before the drink runs cold.

"I asked him not to mention it. Was afraid you'd...not be here when I arrived if he had."

It's a harsh truth, but she's learning to speak her truth in spite of the level of softness or harshness of it. If she doesn't speak up for herself, she's learned, hardly anyone will. Especially with her sisters so far removed from her and entangled in their own lives and problems now.

She sits in silence for a long moment, eyes averted to stare at the contents of her cup, mulling over what to say next. The general conclusion is that whatever she says, it's going to be difficult. So she decides to just...get to the point.

"I'm not...I don't need a drink to warm me up. I need us to be better to each other. I need you back in my life, Nesta. I hate that we've drifted apart so much."

a frown tugs her lips, yet she fights it. something about her younger sister’s words strike a strange and ancient chord within her – as if they’re beckoning her to a time she’d prefer not to visit. nesta is willing to bet that it had been cold even with her. affection has always evaded the eldest archeron, but for a long time it had been easier to express as much of it as she possessed to elain. more recently she hasn’t been able to express even that. she smooths her palms over leather clad thighs, as if she’s wearing a skirt, and beckons her inside. 

being out on the balcony won’t help with the cold she speaks of and with the wind whipping through her own loose tendrils of hair she’s certain they won’t be able to hold a conversation for long. the house seems to understand her thought process, and with a simple nod of her head, the room they enter begins to warm. she pulls out a chair for her sister - the way a respectful human man would - and moves to the other side of the table. the moment she takes a seat two cups of hot chocolate appear. before nesta can thank the house, a large slice of cake follows with two forks tucked neatly beside it. 

silver hues find chestnuts and she becomes painfully aware that she doesn’t know what to say. there was a time when they could fill any silence with talk of beautiful dresses and new shoes, but they couldn’t be further from the girls they were before. they aren’t even girls anymore. nesta has come to terms with that now – her newly found status as high fae. with each passing day she finds a new aspect of it to enjoy… but it’s hard to tell if elain feels similarly. discomfort fills her chest and makes it’s way to her extremities with the realisation that she barely knows the female who she’d always considered the one part of herself worthy of loving. 

" drink, " a pointed glance to the hot chocolate, although she makes no attempt to reach for her own. " if you’re cold, drink. " the house tends to warm with it’s magic by default despite the fact that the sound of crackling wood no longer disturbs her as it used to. but it will provide something warmer if needed; whether a roaring fire or a cozy blanket. in truth, she doesn't think it is needed. elain's words still echo within her, rattle around in her ribcage. her sister must believe that her presence will warm her... somehow. " azriel didn’t tell me that he was bringing you here today. " but what would she have done if he did? clean up in preparation? begin to make her way down the stairwell? no, she supposes it is time they talk.

[soiltouched]

To feel a man previously so full of fire, so full of life still under her touch, as though she'd already killed something vulnerable inside him, it ate her up on the inside, her thoughts threatening to devour her whole if she didn't pay close enough attention to them. Didn't voice them. How different the situation would have been if she had met Lucien in any other situation, anything but the most traumatic moment of her life. So much was expected from her, and at the same time, so very little; no one had quite known how to approach her, and so, they had mostly just let her be. But being left alone with thoughts that could consume a person, thoughts louder than the devotion Lucien had attempted to declare to her, it was...not a good situation, to say the very least.

He had tried, at least, and Elain was ever grateful for that. But while onlookers might think she was doing well again, she was still far from it. On the mend, she would say. Keeping her hands busy so her thoughts wouldn't get too far away from her. So she wouldn't have to sit in silence and be shattered by it. All of the hands of help offered around her, and she had no idea where to start. How to even begin to explain how much she had been affected by the events of her life. And Lucien's role in them. But it was probably about time she started trying, at least.

Big, brown eyes fixed upon his features...and found that he couldn't even bear to look at her anymore. The sadness in her eyes almost spilled over; she could feel the tears threatening to break through, but managed to keep them at bay with sheer force of will. His question hit its mark. If she was more confrontational, perhaps she would have fought in return, would have defended herself. But rather than that, her shoulders drooped ever so slightly, and she nodded in resignation. He was right. Had she strung him along? She honestly didn't know. Not willingly, at least. Not consciously. But then, she'd not done many things consciously as of late, apart from her gardening and baking. Those were the only activities where she could fully find herself back in her body, feel the soil upon her hands, take in the earthy scent mixed with the sweet smell of flowers in bloom, or the hearty scent of freshly baked bread. She mused upon his question for a moment before answering it.

"Because I need more time, Lucien. I'm not well. I can't give you what you seek...not yet. But the thought of never seeing you again---I can't."

And then came her turn to avert her eyes, thick, heavy teardrops rolling down rose-tinted cheeks that had become paler at the notion of him leaving, at the heaviness of it all. She wiped at them with intent to have them gone before he could see them, but they were unrelenting. And so, she simply dropped her hands to her sides, allowing the teardrops to water the ground beneath her feet.

"I fully understand if you cannot or will not give me that time. I've barely given you any...and I'm sorry. You deserve better."

@soiltouched from here.

"Sit with me for a while?"

The warmth that had suddenly graced his hand, and the way her voice hitched with the slightest hint of need. Not a primal need, not the base instinct that drove those affected by the bond, but a need of the heart. The soul. As though she needed the closure. As though she had been the one spurned.

It was often said that the males of the Autumn Court were at a disadvantage when it came to mating. The fire within burned so brightly that, without, it became impossible to hide. As liberating and free as it could be, the genie was also tough to recapture in the bottle. That he'd shown his hand so soon, that he'd let himself speak the words aloud while hell was descending upon them. That what happened that dasy had rent a permanent chasm between them, it was the torment he deserved for the monster he'd become, the monster she'd believed him to be.

He knew he was not entitled to her time, did not deserve her attention. She was an innocent in everything, drawn into the horrors of war and torment by Tamlin's obsession and Lucien's inability to bring himself to stand for what he knew was right. He may not have been the one who held the sword, but so, too, was he simply an observer as it was swung, not bothering to stay the arm. For every sin that Hybern had piled upon the Archerons, Lucien would pay the price thrice over for them to be able to find peace.

And after Solstice, after detecting the faintest traces of the Shadowsinger in her scent, he knew then, that in order for them to find peace- for her to find peace, he could not be in her life.

And yet, when she touched him, when she spoke to him, he froze. Words he'd never dared to dream would come from her lips spilled unbidden, their brief song a symphony for his shattered heart. But the notes weren't clear and calm, there was a sourness to them, something that was discordant within the halls of his soul. His first statement, his declaration of intent, had come as clear as the ringing of a bell atop the loneliest mountain peak. But after several moments, his reply came in a much more hushed and strained voice, as if trying to restrain his Autumnal fire from blazing forth. He could not even bring himself to turn and face her, couldn't bear to see if her expression matched her tone.

If he saw her wanting, he would crumble.

"Why now? Why only at the end?"

[soiltouched]

“I can’t come back.”

"I can't..."

It hurts, worse than any kind of way she's hurt before, and inexplicably so; after all, hasn't she been the one to consistently reject any and all advances from Lucien? She can't fault him for not wanting to stick around until she might one day change her mind, if ever. It wouldn't be fair. Even with the decades, likely centuries he's already lived, he still has a whole life ahead of him, provided that it doesn't get taken away from him by one war or another. The latter thought causes another pang of grief to flow through her, and she is left breathless for a moment, trying to regain her bearings, her sense of self.

For all she sees now, with her Cauldron-given gifts, she has trouble making sense of any of this. She's been fighting to keep a shred of whatever level of humanity she still possessed after she'd been Made, fighting the intrinsic aspects of the new life she's been thrust into---and hurting Lucien in the process. That same hurt reverberates through her, unexpectedly, as he announces his departure, or rather, the permanence of it. Her eyebrows knit together, and she averts her eyes so as to not show how deeply this affects her. To give into it, to admit---it would be as good as admitting to the Mating Bond. Feyre may have rolled into it with seemingly very little protest, and even Nesta seems to have succumbed, but Elain?

The mark of the iron band on her finger, the roots of all the stories she's been told since early childhood, about the monstrosities that are these Fae...they run deep. And for that moment of silence, she wishes she could give him a chance without betraying everything that little fairytale-loving girl inside her ever was. And so, she opts to watch. Watch him walk away, observe herself from somewhere outside of her body, as though she's looking in on someone else's life in shambles. Then, a sharp tug wills her back into her own body, and she does what she's previously thought utterly unthinkable.

Just as he's about to pivot and leave the Night Court forever, she takes a step forward, reaching for his hand, reaching for him. Her fingers find his and intertwine, like a whole network of roots finding their grounding, dividing strength so it's a little more effort for him to pull away from her grip than it would be if she were simply holding him by the wrist or even hand.

"Don't go."

She doesn't know why she speaks those two words, or where they came from. All she knows is he deserves a conversation with her, at least. Some insight. Anything.

"Sit with me for a while?"

[soiltouched]

@darkslautr

Thoughts, memories and visions all habitually blurred in the early hours of the morning, when the rest of the world was still fast asleep. Her prophetic mind would run amok, showing her things that had yet to pass, but equally triggering scenarios born of anxiety, of a deeper worry about her loved ones--things that, in her waking hours, she would be able to keep at bay by keeping herself busy. A slumberous state was a whole different challenge for her, though.

On this day, however, being up hours before everyone else played to her advantage, for once. Keeping her hands busy also served to distract the mind, but today, she works with purpose. Baking, plucking, tending. By the time she finished, the once pristine fabrics of her dress were covered in a mixture of flour and dirt, streaks of cinnamon down the sides from where she realized her busy mind had forgotten to put on an apron and just...rolled with it. Washing could be done later. This could not wait.

The scent of that same cinnamon filled the kitchen as she arranged freshly baked rolls on a tray, along with a cup of herbal tea and a bouquet of wildflowers that were very clearly home-grown, nurtured by her own hands until she'd plucked them, just for this occasion. The bouquet consisted of various shades of blue, and at the center, a single, dethorned rose of a color not unlike the Shadowsinger's siphons. It made her slightly anxious to think of the silly amount of effort and thought she'd put into this, and how he might possibly receive it, but she pushed past that as she picked up the tray and made for the stairs.

Like everyone else in Velaris, he was still fast asleep when she made the bold move to push past the threshold of his bedroom, and she made certain to keep the noise to a minimum as she placed the tray on his bedside table. She hovered there for a moment, uncertain of what to do next, then sucked in a deep breath and, upon its release, lowered herself to a seating position on a vacant spot on the bed, next to him. A single hand reached for the dark tresses of hair that fell partially on his face, pushing them back to uncover his features---far outdoing anyone she'd ever laid eyes upon in terms of beauty, but also the depth of him. The thought alone sent an involuntary shiver coursing down her spine. Then, she leaned in to place the gentlest kiss on the cheekbone she'd just uncovered.

"Happy birthday, Azriel."

[soiltouched]

The way he takes what he wants, what she's readily presenting to him, it draws an involuntary, audible gasp from her. Her nipples, hardened by the thought of what he might do to her before he even exposes them, are now almost painful to the touch---painfully yearning for him, like the rest of her; body, mind and soul alike. Their kiss, sensual, soft and slow, contrasts every other movement of their bodies, intense, hungry. That contrast only grows when he presses his length against her. As soon as he does, she answers with a tilting of her hips, where she connects with him at the tip, and a bend of the knee, causing a drawn-out moment of friction between the apex of her thighs and his hardness, starting at the tip, and slowly dragging down to the base, where she rests, defiantly, eyes full of a fire only one man has seen before him. And no males, at that.

It's almost instantly reciprocated by his movements, and a near-breathless moan rolls from her lips, onto his. She would, he could absolutely make her beg him at this point. It isn't just a matter of wanting anymore at this point, not even the dull throbbing need that had taken over earlier---it's a yearning beyond anything she's ever felt, and she realizes then that it's not likely she'll feel it again with anyone else. The way her body responds to his as though this had been its purpose all along, the way he seems to find all of her buttons so expertly---case in point, he finds a spot just under her ear that makes her shudder under his touch in all the right ways.

"Azriel, please..."

It's all she can muster, really. Her senses are overwhelmed with him, the sight, the feel, the scent...it's so much, and he's not even inside her yet. And the latter is all she can think of, it's on the forefront of her mind, so much so it's dizzying. As she finds her other leg now wrapped around the Shadowsinger in a manner not unlike what she'd already been considering, she immediately tenses her muscles. Not in protest, oh no. She draws him in closer, impossibly closer, until the only way to be more intimate is to be deep, deep inside her.

Resting on the edge of the bed, she watches him with such fascination, she doesn't think her eyes could possibly widen further...and then instantly proves herself wrong as he unclasps his leathers. She wills herself to keep her eyes on the upper part of his body first, allowing herself a long, thorough look at the rolling muscles unveiled from beneath the fabrics he's just removed. Then, his wings, fascinating as they are. Mother above, how she wants to explore every inch of those wings, given the chance. And then---good grief. She sucks in a sharp breath, teeth raking across her lip at the sight of him, of his cock, her chest heaving upward, hardened nipples jutting out as if begging for skin-to-skin contact. But it's not what she yearns for most now.

He's so...big, so magnificent. And she wants all of him. She's not sure how, or if she can, but the thought of being filled so completely by him---it sends all of her rational thoughts crashing into nothingness. She pushes herself up to a straighter position, inching ever closer to him, and just...doesn't resist the urge that springs to mind. The urge to run her tongue along his tip, just to get a taste of him where her desire's been focused for some time now. Her tongue darts out, swirls, and her eyes, locked firmly onto his, darken as she savours the taste of him. Then, her expression changes, legs shifting to accommodate him between them. She's fully exposed now...yet doesn't feel the least bit vulnerable with him. Or at least not unsafe about it. He'll carry her in all her vulnerability, and that knowledge only deepens her desire for him further.

"I want---I need you inside me. Please."

every sense coming from her tells him that she wants. and wants. and beckons him closer. he can feel her entire essence and being call out to him, a beacon in the night. his shadows have now skittered away, hiding in the cracks and corners of the room. her scent is heavenly and the way her breasts push closer with every breath and arch of her back has him eagerly kissing more of the sensitive flesh.

he feels urgency from her, demand. it makes him grin against the fabric of her dress before he pulls up to find her eyes and the gloss that covers them there. azriel can scent her, even more so as she hooks a bold leg around his thigh, pulling him in closer. the way he pins her against the wall has her lifted and pressed up against him. azriel grinds forward, pinning her there once more and his scarred hands slide up her sides. those same fingers curl into the top of her hem. he yanks, pulling the fabric down and revealing her breasts.

" i'll buy you a new one. " azriel's cool voice echoes through the space, his attention now elsewhere. his calloused thumbs slide over both of her hardened nipples, his body leaning in to connect their lips. the kiss is slow, sensual, and he parts their lips in a lazy motion. his tongue meets hers, his hips pushing forward once. he wants her to feel how absolutely hard he is for her. . . how everything he wants and feels is for her. it has always been for her.

when he deepens the kiss, azriel grips both her nipples between rough fingertips. " i usually prefer to hear it . . " he murmurs against her lips, then moves to kiss up her jawline to her pointed ear. " but i want to feel how badly you want to fuck me. " azriel's free hand moves down, hooking around under her thigh to pull her leg up farther. azriel ends up lifting her off the floor entirely, pulling her other leg around his side.

his other hand moves the layers of her dress, past all barriers, to find her soaking wet. he glances down, her exposed breasts against the leather over his chest. there's a smirk upon his lips there just before he buries his face into her neck to just smell her. fuck, she smells more amazing than he'd anticipated. her jasmine scent combined with the heady scent of her arousal. . . he swore his eyes rolled back in his head at the thought of being buried inside of her. it was honestly all he could think about.

he wanted her in every single fucking way he could get her. . but perhaps he'd make this first time sweet. well, as sweet as an over five hundred year old horny illyrian could. or maybe he'd just fuck her against the wall.

no, he needed to take her to her bed.

azriel turned then, carrying her to the bed and gently laying her down at the edge. he unhooked the top of his leathers, the metal clasp coming together with a soft 'clink' before the leather snapped and was thrown in a pile a few steps away. his wings flared once, then snapped back in as he unhooked his pants. azriel locked eyes with her face as his cock was freed from the constraints, a soft hum coming from the shadowsinger.

[soiltouched]

❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜ ... from lucien on sauveterres potentially?

She's so far away now, so sunken into her own thoughts, her own reliving of her encounter with the Cauldron, and her mind is full of fog. Everything feels dampened and heightened at the same time, and she can't make sense of it. Images of her own make and memory and of others, blur and blend until she can no longer make out what belongs to her and what is external. Amidst it all, a voice reaches out to her, but her ears are full of cotton, like a layer over all of her senses, perhaps to further heighten the one she gained.

Lucien. Mate? She can't. She won't. Every single atom in her body holds on to what was, what could have been, despite the rejection. She's always held on to the good parts of her old life, and if these last shreds of her humanity are what still makes this new situation remotely bearable for her, then why shouldn't she hold on to them? Lucien would nullify those shreds, and she's terrified of it. Not of him as a person, nor the concept of having to be with him, but the implications of a mating bond and what it would do to the last remaining strands of being human that are still woven into her existence.

Finally, his words reach their mark, and she looks up at him with glazed-over eyes, there but not quite there. The dark circles under her eyes serve a better purpose to answer his question than her words do, but she still tries. If only to be polite.

"Hmm? Oh...I don't really know. How---how long have you been here?"

[soiltouched]

Azriel: *serious* has anyone told you that you’re annoying?

Elain: *sad* no…

Azriel: *kisses the top of her head* good because I’m not in the mood to fight anyone right now

[soiltouched]

Time comes to a halt, every atom in the room slowing, or at least that's what it feels like when her action hits its mark with more precision than she could have possibly hoped for. His mouth is on her neck in an instant, and she emits a breathless sigh of fulfilled anticipation. He's not touched her like that before, not with such ferocity, but it's everything she's imagined, and so much more. She feels it beyond just the physical sensation, beyond the bodily desire, as though her soul has reached out to the Universe, the Cauldron, the Mother---whomever would listen...and she's been given him in answer. Even if this is to be a fleeting moment, even in the rare case he'd want nothing more from her once desires have been quenched...she will cherish this. Here, now, and possibly for a very long time. Caught between his towering form and the wall, his enemies would no doubt wither on the spot, yet she feels safe. Safe to open up, safe to present her deepest, most vulnerable self to him, with a profound knowing that she'll be in capable hands.

He does not wait for her permission this time, but it is granted very clearly in the way she arches into his touch, in the gleam in her eyes as she observes the sensitive path his mouth trails along her skin...and in the way her legs part to accommodate a proximity they've not explored before. She sucks in a sharp breath as he marks her otherwise immaculate skin, her teeth raking over her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. When he thumbs over her already hardened nipple through the fabric of her dress, she's had quite enough of the tentative nature of their exploration. She wants---no, needs more of him. That burning desire has simmered within her for quite a while now, flaring up every so often until she'd put it back to sleep. No more. No more making herself small for the sake of being demure, no more putting her desires aside so as to avoid conflict. In this instant, the world around them could crumble to dust, and she would still be every bit as content to be in his arms. The world would turn without her, regardless of her choices. And there and then, she chooses him.

One of her legs snakes around his waist in what's possibly her boldest move yet -after putting the knife to her throat, which has also been a first for her. The things he ignites in her...- and she draws him in closer, until his hips are resting against the insides of her thighs, pressed fully against where she yearns for him most. The raised leg remains in place, then, and she briefly considers pushing off to wrap the other around his waist as well, just to mirror the amount of closeness she desires in this instant...but she decides against it, instead focusing inquisitive brown eyes on hazel ones to gauge a reaction. She would. She would wrap herself around him, would envelop him fully, and expect the same of him, but she's cautious. She's been burned before, and whilst it was by no fault of his own, the depth of rejection she felt then still lingers fresh in her mind, despite the amount of time that's passed.

She cannot possibly fathom that a creature as magnificent as the man before her, would be interested in someone as whimsical as little Elain Archeron. And then, almost instantly, as if through muscle memory, her inner voice kicks in. Her healed inner voice. He is magnificent, but so are you. She can see it in his eyes, then, the way he looks at her, and in his touch, the way he applies just the right amount of pressure, moves at exactly the right speed. He's adapting to her, and she realizes then that they're both malleable to a point where they will melt into one another. That's all she really wants, though perhaps a bit of an ask. To melt into him, to fuse until she can no longer tell where her body ends and his begins.

As if to strengthen her realization, she leans down, combing the fingers of one hand through his hair, the other that's still grasping the blade hanging loosely over his shoulder now...before grasping strands of hair between her fingers and coaxing him up, up until their lips meet and she crashes into him with a force she's not demonstrated before, desperate for more of him, to taste, to feel, to marvel at.

HAZY, FLICKERING LIKE A CANDLE FLAME. her intentions ebb and flow into something like static inside of his mind. it flows into his chest, a backward current. she is causing erosion, the feeling chipping at his ribcage. she wants and needs and he can smell it. he can feel it in every part of his bones - she wants. azriel can feel the vibrations she gives into the space.

and he finds that he, too, wants and needs. they have danced this dance so many times - a few touches here and there but nothing concrete. they've been close, he has touched her lips only briefly with his own. a polite, small touch that sparked feelings and more between them. it was the touch of her neck that did him in, but he has not blatantly touched her again. azriel wanted to hear it from her pink, kissable lips ; that she wanted more from him. he was not going to take and take, even if all he wanted to do was give.

suddenly that static clears and he watches and feels in real time - she takes the dagger to her own neck. something screams inside of him, as if wanting to block her from any pain. except it's her own hand doing the damage, so he forces himself to still and orders his shadows to stand down. they flick in curiosity and flare from the amount of thrill that travels down his body. his chest cries out, the river flowing wide and rampant. his hazel eye widen only slightly as they keep gazes firmly locked. what is she doing?

kissed. right there. where the bead comes and begins to trickle. he has never, never had someone do such a bold act in front of him. never had anyone - oh, all thoughts in his mind still and the shadows around him freeze in the air. it's as if all sound has been sucked out of the room, along with the oxygen.

he's been holding back this dam for so long . . . it bursts free in that moment, the surge wide and raging. azriel is the same, moving entirely inhumanly as he captures her neck with his mouth. a broad tongue licks over the blood, taking the liquid with it. the mark is already healing, as his did, and all of it has nothing to do with the blood and everything to do with the fact that she has done something shocking and bold. . . something exciting. something he knows she has never done before. there was no way her human man gave her any sort of pleasure like he was going to. absolutely, entirely, no way.

his large frame pushes hers against the wall and pins her there, his lips working over her throat now. she didn't give him permission there, but he's a long way from home. elain may not call him back without another shocking moment. his scarred fingers work to curl into her hair up from behind her back, his other hand sliding against her clothed breast. his lips work across her collarbone, still following an invisible path that only he knows. his mouth then works at the top of her breast, where the lining of her dress meets her skin. azriel sucks a mark into her skin, his thumb finding her nipple through the fabric. if she wants to back out, now would be the time to do so before he's lost with the current once more.

[soiltouched]

Want to have the best sleepover of your life?

Yes.

[soiltouched]

I can you see you in my future...on top of me.

I---

[soiltouched]

It feels like it’s going to be one of those nights where neither of us get any sleep.

what---

[soiltouched]

Your lips look lonely. Would they like to meet mine?

azriel