12-22-2017, 08:54 PM
Warrick is new to her. Before she left her brothers, Wound spent all of her time in their company. They watched over her protectively, hellbent on keeping their darling little sister safe. Although she admires them for their courageous security, she cannot help but silently curse them. She is ill-equipped for the reality of the social world. There is nothing she knows of kingdoms aside from what she has learned in Tephra. Alongside her political immaturity comes the main point of this day particularly — her lack of knowledge in the face of men.
The stars had offered her courage during the nighttime swim, when their friendship was first foraged. Now, with his dark nose brushing against the tenderness of her throat, she feels exposed as the sun beams down on them. Wound wishes for the cloak of darkness, as though it might be able to conceal her undoing. His touch is equal parts unhinging and anchoring.
As his laughter dances against the sensitivity of her skin, she inhales a shaky breath.
He is different from her brothers, brazen and strong, and his touch only reminds her of that even more. Wound’s thoughts grow hazy as the warmth of his exhale dissipates along her throat. The restlessness (the ache in her underbelly, the unease in her joints, the heat of her skin) is felt at a greater magnitude suddenly, and an unintentional sigh drifts softly past her lips.
His gentle voice and the retraction of his body from hers shakes her back into reality. The slender woman tosses her head once, both to clear her mind and throw her silvery-brunette locks from her eyesight. A smooth smile flutters over her mouth like the delicate wings of a butterfly. “How could I forget you, Warrick?” For a moment, amusement drifts in Wound’s coffee eyes.
“I wanted to personally congratulate you.” The sunny pride that blazed in her gaze during the kingdom meeting returns, though slightly softer in the quiet of their solitude. “Tephra will be blessed by your leadership, I’m sure… Although the crown must be a heavy weight to carry.” Her chest swells with a breath caught in an effort to pursue bravery. “I doubt only one soul can carry it alone.”
Despite herself, Wound’s eyes flick over the planes of his face and along his muscular chest. Her thoughts are unbidden and shameful for their situation but the curse of the season has wrapped its greedy fingers around her. Another shaky breath drips from her mouth before the silver woman forces her eyes to snap back to Warrick’s gaze, silently scolding herself for her lustfulness.
@[Warrick]
The stars had offered her courage during the nighttime swim, when their friendship was first foraged. Now, with his dark nose brushing against the tenderness of her throat, she feels exposed as the sun beams down on them. Wound wishes for the cloak of darkness, as though it might be able to conceal her undoing. His touch is equal parts unhinging and anchoring.
As his laughter dances against the sensitivity of her skin, she inhales a shaky breath.
He is different from her brothers, brazen and strong, and his touch only reminds her of that even more. Wound’s thoughts grow hazy as the warmth of his exhale dissipates along her throat. The restlessness (the ache in her underbelly, the unease in her joints, the heat of her skin) is felt at a greater magnitude suddenly, and an unintentional sigh drifts softly past her lips.
His gentle voice and the retraction of his body from hers shakes her back into reality. The slender woman tosses her head once, both to clear her mind and throw her silvery-brunette locks from her eyesight. A smooth smile flutters over her mouth like the delicate wings of a butterfly. “How could I forget you, Warrick?” For a moment, amusement drifts in Wound’s coffee eyes.
“I wanted to personally congratulate you.” The sunny pride that blazed in her gaze during the kingdom meeting returns, though slightly softer in the quiet of their solitude. “Tephra will be blessed by your leadership, I’m sure… Although the crown must be a heavy weight to carry.” Her chest swells with a breath caught in an effort to pursue bravery. “I doubt only one soul can carry it alone.”
Despite herself, Wound’s eyes flick over the planes of his face and along his muscular chest. Her thoughts are unbidden and shameful for their situation but the curse of the season has wrapped its greedy fingers around her. Another shaky breath drips from her mouth before the silver woman forces her eyes to snap back to Warrick’s gaze, silently scolding herself for her lustfulness.
@[Warrick]