#kiss once and already he's thinking of everything else involvedhkjgshkghks

[lrdvyke]

an exploratory kiss,  testing the waters between them + lansseax 🤐

It is a simple touch, a lithe hand slipping into his, masking a strength greater than his own. Without his gauntlets on, skin meets skin, cool and warm both. Vyke bends then as his fingers wrap around hers, bowing to her almost in the show of respect she deserves. It would not be beyond his station to leave it at that, but his lips ghost along her knuckles before pressing with more purpose, inhaling softly the scent that she has upon her. A delicate thing. Of gold and red lightning. Of the wind that carries her along, of the hard stone that is given over for flesh in these moments.

His lips trail; pressing to the back of her hand and then to the inside of her wrist, a pulse so faint dances. She does not pull away from him. He feels her hand tense within his grip: it spurs him on further. To lay a reverent kiss to her forearm, ghosting along the curve and the scales that have no desire to hide amongst flesh. The sleeve of her gown slides down as he lifts her arm, his other hand grasping her softly as his lips lay their affections upon the bend.

He breathes. It is more than he has gone before, but he cannot stop himself. Does she desire it too? Or is she simply testing how far he is willing to go? How far he is willing to poke their deepening friendship as if it is merely a fragile vase to behold and nothing more?

Vyke continues still. Drawn in by her, how close her breathing is to his ears. He urges his heart to quell, but it does not listen.

He pulls back, just enough to look at her fully. Her veil is gone, her eyes pierce him. The air is heavy. He feels his head lighter than it should, as if soon enough he will be carried away by the winds of the plateau. He wants her. What does she want? Vyke's hand moves away from her arm, fingers roughened by wear within silver gauntlets brush with such gentleness against the curve of her jawline, he surprises even himself.

A smile, slight, in awe. Of her, of what she makes him feel. In it, he moves close to her again. She does not lean away. Vyke throws himself to the wind anyway, lets it carry him as it often does, and brushes his lips against her own. Delicate at first, a test of sorts, even if a spike hits his nerves in want of a shiver down his spine. Her lips open, melding with his, receptive. She tastes of storms, and Vyke presses a bit more into the kiss until he covers her mouth with his own. Inhaling, telling his lungs to breathe, as his mind stutters out into only knowing her.

But it ends. It ends. He looks at her, his fingertips keep to the edge of her countenance. Down her neck. Away. ❛ I believe ... I would want nothing more than to be able to do that again. And again. Until I leave you as breathless as you leave me. ❜

@saovaene !