[ He's right, of course. But it's hard for her to own up to it, even once he's outright said it. It takes a long moment for her reply to come through. ]
[ For a moment, she just looks at the message he sent, a smile curving her lips as she shakes her head. It's not that easy - partly because she doesn't know the contents of his card, and partly because... well, she might be forward, but she's not quite that forward, at least not with someone she still doesn't know that well. ]
Let's talk about that when I get there, okay? I'm on my way.
[ When she gets to the location that he sent her, she looks quite different to when she met him on her arrival in the Nameless City: a different dress, for one, and her hair down for another, the usual pink ribbon left back at her own place, loose curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. But perhaps the most marked difference is how tired she looks, the hints of dark circles under her eyes, the weak energy in her smile. All things considered, it hasn't been an easy month.
She knocks on the door, calls out to announce herself before opening it. ]
Hi, Somnus.
[ She's not here to talk, though, not here to tell him about the worries weighing heavily on her chest, and so she strengthens her smile, holds her wrist out to him with the app open for him to inspect. Not as many checked squares as she'd like... and for a moment there's a worry that he'll be disappointed in her. ]
I thought it might be easier to compare cards, you know? Make sure that whatever we do will earn us both a square.
[ Just as the last time they had met in person, he first regards her with a keen gaze. The dress is new, and her hair, let loose into longer, softer curls, is different. However her appearance gives her away, for her fatigue is more obvious than anything in her messages could convey. Something ails her, indeed... ]
Hail, Aerith.
[ He, in turn, appears as he has always been: severe and somber at once, stoic and standing tall as a statue. There is no fatigue written upon his expression. He wears one of his white cotton tunics with a length, midnight-navy palla draped over his shoulder. That the islanders have seemed to adopt this toga-like fashion in the previous month has made his stay here far easier.
Approaching her, Somnus opens his own card to her. His eyes sweep over her device for all but a few seconds, and then lift up to her face as she continues to look at his required Acts.
Close as they are, the wear beneath her eyes seems ever more apparent. A quiet pause delays his words, almost thoughtful in execution. ]
[ There are a few things they have in common, she thinks as she looks at his card, and a few that would work together even if they're not entirely the same. She's just about to voice it when he speaks, and she looks up at him again, and as tired as she is, the frustration is no doubt clear across her face. Everyone wants to treat her like a princess, like she's something fragile, like she needs to be protected. But that's not— ]
No.
[ Her voice is on her lips before she even means to speak, and for a moment even she's surprised at herself. Her gaze drops, her hands curling into fists, and she takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady the wave of emotions that wants to burst free. ]
I'm fine, I promise. Gentle—
[ —would hurt too much. She's not sure how she can express that though, explain that despite every safeguard she placed on her heart, she's let it break again, and so she just lifts her head, a stubborn tilt of her chin, determination in her eyes. ]
[ Weeks ago she had once taken his calloused hands into hers. Today, he is the one to reach out instead, cupping beneath the both of hers. Here he uncurls her tightened fists with his fingers, his thumbs pressing into her palms. Whatever turmoil is expressed by her hands, he holds fast, steadying and saying nothing. This is neither the overture nor the prelude to the Act, for it is the last of the gentleness between them.
He leans forward, lowering his voice; with that lean comes a hint of a more overbearing presence, a slight push, a half-step forward, then another, a shuffle to move her to the wall of his abode, a strength and natural authority he had not used on her before now, commanding in silence. He drops one of her hands, raising his to rest a loose fist upon the wall beside her head. ] So be it.
[ Somnus can muster the strength to perform as needed, to distract as needed, but he doubts he will be able to alleviate the burden upon her heart. The sorrow in her eyes is different from the confession of her fate from before. This is heavier, somehow. Yet if this is what she wishes, then he will oblige without question. (His own card has that need to be fulfilled, too.)
Thus his other hand raises to her jaw, finger first hooking beneath her chin before his hand outright clutches it, forcing her face to his. His eyes cannot remain upon the sorrow in hers long, lest he lose his resolve for force. His lips dust against hers. The hint of her taste is familiar, he realizes. ] Bid mercy, should you not withstand.
[ He won't need to look at her sorrow for long; her eyes widen when he guides her back to the wall, a soft sound parting her lips before his mouth takes hers. The soft warning isn't ignored or unappreciated, but goes without a response, her fingers reaching, curling into the soft material of the toga that lies over his heartbeat. Her body responds immediately to the press of his, hips and back arching off the wall and into him, breath thick in her throat.
There was a promise made upon her arrival, one that her words alone are threatening to break, but this isn't the time or place to worry about that. And if that's the end of the gentleness, she won't complain. Right now, she'd rather focus on the feel of him against her, the taste of him on her lips. Drowning herself in him takes away the pain and anxiety of the past month. No, he may not be able to alleviate her burden, but together they can hide it, at least for a little while. ]
We both— [ the sentence is gasped out between the press of their lips ] Bites. Bruises.
[ As if to punctuate her sentence, she nips at his lower lip. ] Good?
[ She doesn't wait for an answer, instead pressing herself back into their kiss, breath short and sharp as it mingles with his. Broken promise or not, she trusts him enough to ask him to do this with her. ]
[ She's pliant beneath him; he can feel it in the way one of his hands wraps about her waist, how she responds, arching her back more to bring her hips flush to his, the warmth, her soft sounds just as he remembers how she had felt befo--
Somnus cuts his thought short, tilting his head to focus upon her lips that respond so eagerly to his. What dread she has endured, to want to distract herself like this with someone as cold as him. Wouldn't she not have found a better partner to bed? His hands are stained. This feels dirty, somehow. ] --So be it. [ He murmurs, surprised that his voice has lowered in the short span of the kiss, taking on a harsh, restrained drawl. The nibble of her teeth upon his bottom lip prickles like liquor. But it doesn't matter, his wants in this moment.
She asks for a distraction, and he intends to overwhelm her with it. Let her not need to give anything in return, let him provide it all for her.
The break helps their endeavor: immediately, he's beginning to trail his mouth along her jaw to the side of her neck, slumping towards her pulse to begin to nurture it between his lips. Here he takes his time to build her, his tongue finding her skin sweet. His eyes close as he takes in her scent, and his teeth leave an arc of smaller nips about her skin, a prelude to something to come. Meanwhile, his hand leaves her back to dip and trace the same arc upward upon her thigh beneath her skirt. His thumb brushes inward, higher over plush skin and muscle, mapping out her legs within his mind's eye as he remains aware of all other ways in which she moves against him.
Then, he bites upon her neck. And he kisses that same spot. And he bites again, holding her up against the wall. ]
[ If she knew the things he'd done in the name of saving his world, things might be different. But then again, they might not be, either - at this point, she's seen the man behind the mask, even if he'll never admit as much to her. He understands duty, understands that sometimes to fulfill it, hard choices have to be made. And is this not much of the same, what transpires between them in this moment? This world may not be either of theirs, but they have been given a duty to it all the same. If she's busy, sad and hurting, she can't fulfill it. Nor can she do some of the things that she knows must be done when people expect her to be a perfect princess, something precious to be protected.
Somnus is different. With this - with anything - she can trust him. That's something she knows.
Aerith's head cants back against the wall when his mouth finds the side of her neck, a soft gasp uttered from her lips to the cool air. Her hips for their part continue to arch in opposition, pressing into his as his hand traces searchingly over her skin. Her hands reach, one to find the clasp that holds his toga in place, the other to smooth over his chest through the fabric. Her breath comes short and quick, and when he bites, a moan escapes her, something sharp and wanton and unlike the usual soft lilt of her voice. A sting of pain, but a jolt of pleasure. Her hips rock into his in silent invitation, that one hand giving up so soon on the clasp to tangle fingers in his hair instead, anchoring him to her even as another spark burns out from her pulse point.
This is what she's needed. Why has she waited so long to seek it? ]
[ There it is, that gasp of hers he's heard before, melodic and intimate. Despite how detached he attempts to keep his thoughts, he cannot help the satisfaction that comes with it, that he helped elicit it, as well as the instinctual hunger that it evokes from him. It's provocative in a way he didn't think it could be without the aid of enchantment.
His lips remain upon the side of her neck, painting her skin with both kisses and more marks, developing a pattern to see where she makes those sounds the most as he feels the clasp of his outside palla loosen. It rustles faintly as it falls to the ground behind him, forgotten and ignored by the way her hips press against his. His kiss-- with bared teeth-- breaks for a moment as his brow knits with the trained effort (and struggle) to compose himself against the rush of heat that travels up his body, even when there is no need to. That heat falls down his body with a rush, following with a throb of heady, steadily growing need that coils into his groin. Her second press of her hips against him makes draw a breath as he feels himself begin to harden.
Then he doubles down against her in return, his hand that's already upon her thigh grasping her soft flesh to hoist the limb higher and spread it more about his hips, parting her skirt with renewed force. Somnus' hand dips between them to stroke over her undergarment using the friction of the fabric to massage between her legs as his thumb searches to press, to rub against her trigger, searching for her to make sounds against his ear once again.
His teeth might mark her, but he will not leave her with only pain, or even mostly pain. Pleasure distracts far better, and it is that distraction from her woes he intends to provide. ]
[ The sound he makes in response to the press of her hips makes a shiver of pleasure tremble its way down her spine, another sound of pleasure echo on her lips, and with the outer fabric (she doesn't know its name) fallen to the floor behind him, her hands smooth over the inner part of the toga instead, over his chest, exploring the definition of his muscles through the cloth.
When his hand lifts her leg higher, she uses their angle to coil it around behind him, allowing him the room to do as he wants - and acquiescing almost immediately to his unspoken want as his thumb presses against her, a pleased moan into the shell of his ear, another roll of her hips as she feels him begin to respond to the movements.
Whatever problem was on her mind, it's already forgotten under the feel of his lips and teeth against her skin, the feel of his thumb pressing and rubbing against her making her knees weak. And she wants more, wants until it's more of a need, something desperate and hungry that only he can give to her. Like this, the movements of her hips just push her further into his seeking thumb, her breath emerging in a soft gasp each time. It's in a kind of response that she slips her own hand further down his chest, anchoring it against the growing hardness under the fabric of his toga, palm and fingers rubbing him through the material.
It doesn't feel like long before she lifts her head from where it's pressed against the wall, eyes clouded over with lust, her other hand reaching up to run fingers into his hair. ]
[ More, she bids; more, he gives. Like the levies of a dam giving way to a storm, her words are the last bit of permission he needs, galvanizing him to surge forward. Passion helps, as does the heated, feral instinct of lust he too often finds himself falling into within this realm, provoked by her hand upon him and her breaths ringing within his mind. The echo of her voice leave no room for doubt in his mind: he needs to fuck this woman until she cries out, signaling that she has naught else within her mind, no pain...
...No lonesomeness that has brought a smile he's never seen sadder upon anyone who's ever lived before.
Somnus throws her to his bed, not at all gracefully, but clumsily in passion encouraged by roughness, tumbling with her once until he's atop of her, a knee wrestling between her legs to part them for him, and one powerful hand brings her arms up above her body, pinning her wrists to the mattress. For one fleeting moment, he's reminded of how lithe a woman she is beneath him, a delicateness that begs protection, not--... this.
But he adheres to duty, and they have one to the Augur, to their worlds; and he, to her, for fulfilling this with him. Rough is what they are called for. ] Stay yourself. [ His hips fall flush against hers, and his breath staggers as the pressure twists like a knife against his gut, paradoxically strained and pleasurable. Beyond his control, he presses his erection against her again, allowing a single pant as his body trembles, and he dives forward to consume her lips with a hungry mouth, tongue invasive and intending to consume and steal what breath she has.
His other hand falls over her body, rippling over her dress and pulling apart the top few buttons impatiently, parting the fabric to grasp at her breast. Gone is the gentleness from when they had been under the influence of love. In its place is the experience of knowing where she likes to be touched, and how, only rougher, flicking and massaging over her nipples as he continues to drag her taste into his mouth. Only after does his palm descend to find its way to her thigh, then hiking up her skirt again to drag his nails over creamy skin, molding flesh with a strong, demanding grip against her.
"More," she said.
He means to overwhelm her, by kiss or bite or pressure or touch; and now, he adds one more factor. Somnus' pulls down at her undergarment, swiping up with the pads of his fingers against the lips he feels between her legs, finding exactly how he wishes to position his hand against all he needs to touch. Upon her neck, he bites her. Below, he invades her sex with two fingers, slowly then quickly, over and over. ]
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no subject
Is she actually hurt? ]
something ails you
[ And if it's keeping her from helping this world, well. Now he has a reason to be interested. ]
no subject
I guess so?
But I'll be okay, I promise.
no subject
very well
this world requires ywhj
your aid.
do not neglect
no subject
[ The first text comes quickly, but the second takes longer, held back by a momentary shyness. ]
If you ever want to work on a square together, let me know, okay?
no subject
always i am willing
[ She did say she needed time, however.... but how long. ]
when shall i summon you?
no subject
[ It might be good for her to get out of her own head, anyway. ]
no subject
you are welcomed now
no subject
Um... where should we meet?
no subject
is suitable
[ Insert approximate location here. It might help her get out of wherever she’s isolating herself, anyway... ]
do tell which Act you wish to receive
no subject
Let's talk about that when I get there, okay? I'm on my way.
[ When she gets to the location that he sent her, she looks quite different to when she met him on her arrival in the Nameless City: a different dress, for one, and her hair down for another, the usual pink ribbon left back at her own place, loose curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. But perhaps the most marked difference is how tired she looks, the hints of dark circles under her eyes, the weak energy in her smile. All things considered, it hasn't been an easy month.
She knocks on the door, calls out to announce herself before opening it. ]
Hi, Somnus.
[ She's not here to talk, though, not here to tell him about the worries weighing heavily on her chest, and so she strengthens her smile, holds her wrist out to him with the app open for him to inspect. Not as many checked squares as she'd like... and for a moment there's a worry that he'll be disappointed in her. ]
I thought it might be easier to compare cards, you know? Make sure that whatever we do will earn us both a square.
no subject
Hail, Aerith.
[ He, in turn, appears as he has always been: severe and somber at once, stoic and standing tall as a statue. There is no fatigue written upon his expression. He wears one of his white cotton tunics with a length, midnight-navy palla draped over his shoulder. That the islanders have seemed to adopt this toga-like fashion in the previous month has made his stay here far easier.
Approaching her, Somnus opens his own card to her. His eyes sweep over her device for all but a few seconds, and then lift up to her face as she continues to look at his required Acts.
Close as they are, the wear beneath her eyes seems ever more apparent. A quiet pause delays his words, almost thoughtful in execution. ]
Perhaps something gentler upon your body.
no subject
No.
[ Her voice is on her lips before she even means to speak, and for a moment even she's surprised at herself. Her gaze drops, her hands curling into fists, and she takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady the wave of emotions that wants to burst free. ]
I'm fine, I promise. Gentle—
[ —would hurt too much. She's not sure how she can express that though, explain that despite every safeguard she placed on her heart, she's let it break again, and so she just lifts her head, a stubborn tilt of her chin, determination in her eyes. ]
That's not what I need.
no subject
He leans forward, lowering his voice; with that lean comes a hint of a more overbearing presence, a slight push, a half-step forward, then another, a shuffle to move her to the wall of his abode, a strength and natural authority he had not used on her before now, commanding in silence. He drops one of her hands, raising his to rest a loose fist upon the wall beside her head. ] So be it.
[ Somnus can muster the strength to perform as needed, to distract as needed, but he doubts he will be able to alleviate the burden upon her heart. The sorrow in her eyes is different from the confession of her fate from before. This is heavier, somehow. Yet if this is what she wishes, then he will oblige without question. (His own card has that need to be fulfilled, too.)
Thus his other hand raises to her jaw, finger first hooking beneath her chin before his hand outright clutches it, forcing her face to his. His eyes cannot remain upon the sorrow in hers long, lest he lose his resolve for force. His lips dust against hers. The hint of her taste is familiar, he realizes. ] Bid mercy, should you not withstand.
[ With that, he takes her mouth. ]
no subject
There was a promise made upon her arrival, one that her words alone are threatening to break, but this isn't the time or place to worry about that. And if that's the end of the gentleness, she won't complain. Right now, she'd rather focus on the feel of him against her, the taste of him on her lips. Drowning herself in him takes away the pain and anxiety of the past month. No, he may not be able to alleviate her burden, but together they can hide it, at least for a little while. ]
We both— [ the sentence is gasped out between the press of their lips ] Bites. Bruises.
[ As if to punctuate her sentence, she nips at his lower lip. ] Good?
[ She doesn't wait for an answer, instead pressing herself back into their kiss, breath short and sharp as it mingles with his. Broken promise or not, she trusts him enough to ask him to do this with her. ]
no subject
Somnus cuts his thought short, tilting his head to focus upon her lips that respond so eagerly to his. What dread she has endured, to want to distract herself like this with someone as cold as him. Wouldn't she not have found a better partner to bed? His hands are stained. This feels dirty, somehow. ] --So be it. [ He murmurs, surprised that his voice has lowered in the short span of the kiss, taking on a harsh, restrained drawl. The nibble of her teeth upon his bottom lip prickles like liquor. But it doesn't matter, his wants in this moment.
She asks for a distraction, and he intends to overwhelm her with it. Let her not need to give anything in return, let him provide it all for her.
The break helps their endeavor: immediately, he's beginning to trail his mouth along her jaw to the side of her neck, slumping towards her pulse to begin to nurture it between his lips. Here he takes his time to build her, his tongue finding her skin sweet. His eyes close as he takes in her scent, and his teeth leave an arc of smaller nips about her skin, a prelude to something to come. Meanwhile, his hand leaves her back to dip and trace the same arc upward upon her thigh beneath her skirt. His thumb brushes inward, higher over plush skin and muscle, mapping out her legs within his mind's eye as he remains aware of all other ways in which she moves against him.
Then, he bites upon her neck. And he kisses that same spot. And he bites again, holding her up against the wall. ]
no subject
Somnus is different. With this - with anything - she can trust him. That's something she knows.
Aerith's head cants back against the wall when his mouth finds the side of her neck, a soft gasp uttered from her lips to the cool air. Her hips for their part continue to arch in opposition, pressing into his as his hand traces searchingly over her skin. Her hands reach, one to find the clasp that holds his toga in place, the other to smooth over his chest through the fabric. Her breath comes short and quick, and when he bites, a moan escapes her, something sharp and wanton and unlike the usual soft lilt of her voice. A sting of pain, but a jolt of pleasure. Her hips rock into his in silent invitation, that one hand giving up so soon on the clasp to tangle fingers in his hair instead, anchoring him to her even as another spark burns out from her pulse point.
This is what she's needed. Why has she waited so long to seek it? ]
no subject
His lips remain upon the side of her neck, painting her skin with both kisses and more marks, developing a pattern to see where she makes those sounds the most as he feels the clasp of his outside palla loosen. It rustles faintly as it falls to the ground behind him, forgotten and ignored by the way her hips press against his. His kiss-- with bared teeth-- breaks for a moment as his brow knits with the trained effort (and struggle) to compose himself against the rush of heat that travels up his body, even when there is no need to. That heat falls down his body with a rush, following with a throb of heady, steadily growing need that coils into his groin. Her second press of her hips against him makes draw a breath as he feels himself begin to harden.
Then he doubles down against her in return, his hand that's already upon her thigh grasping her soft flesh to hoist the limb higher and spread it more about his hips, parting her skirt with renewed force. Somnus' hand dips between them to stroke over her undergarment using the friction of the fabric to massage between her legs as his thumb searches to press, to rub against her trigger, searching for her to make sounds against his ear once again.
His teeth might mark her, but he will not leave her with only pain, or even mostly pain. Pleasure distracts far better, and it is that distraction from her woes he intends to provide. ]
no subject
When his hand lifts her leg higher, she uses their angle to coil it around behind him, allowing him the room to do as he wants - and acquiescing almost immediately to his unspoken want as his thumb presses against her, a pleased moan into the shell of his ear, another roll of her hips as she feels him begin to respond to the movements.
Whatever problem was on her mind, it's already forgotten under the feel of his lips and teeth against her skin, the feel of his thumb pressing and rubbing against her making her knees weak. And she wants more, wants until it's more of a need, something desperate and hungry that only he can give to her. Like this, the movements of her hips just push her further into his seeking thumb, her breath emerging in a soft gasp each time. It's in a kind of response that she slips her own hand further down his chest, anchoring it against the growing hardness under the fabric of his toga, palm and fingers rubbing him through the material.
It doesn't feel like long before she lifts her head from where it's pressed against the wall, eyes clouded over with lust, her other hand reaching up to run fingers into his hair. ]
Somnus... I want more.
no subject
...No lonesomeness that has brought a smile he's never seen sadder upon anyone who's ever lived before.
Somnus throws her to his bed, not at all gracefully, but clumsily in passion encouraged by roughness, tumbling with her once until he's atop of her, a knee wrestling between her legs to part them for him, and one powerful hand brings her arms up above her body, pinning her wrists to the mattress. For one fleeting moment, he's reminded of how lithe a woman she is beneath him, a delicateness that begs protection, not--... this.
But he adheres to duty, and they have one to the Augur, to their worlds; and he, to her, for fulfilling this with him. Rough is what they are called for. ] Stay yourself. [ His hips fall flush against hers, and his breath staggers as the pressure twists like a knife against his gut, paradoxically strained and pleasurable. Beyond his control, he presses his erection against her again, allowing a single pant as his body trembles, and he dives forward to consume her lips with a hungry mouth, tongue invasive and intending to consume and steal what breath she has.
His other hand falls over her body, rippling over her dress and pulling apart the top few buttons impatiently, parting the fabric to grasp at her breast. Gone is the gentleness from when they had been under the influence of love. In its place is the experience of knowing where she likes to be touched, and how, only rougher, flicking and massaging over her nipples as he continues to drag her taste into his mouth. Only after does his palm descend to find its way to her thigh, then hiking up her skirt again to drag his nails over creamy skin, molding flesh with a strong, demanding grip against her.
"More," she said.
He means to overwhelm her, by kiss or bite or pressure or touch; and now, he adds one more factor. Somnus' pulls down at her undergarment, swiping up with the pads of his fingers against the lips he feels between her legs, finding exactly how he wishes to position his hand against all he needs to touch. Upon her neck, he bites her. Below, he invades her sex with two fingers, slowly then quickly, over and over. ]