"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
He startles her in thoroughly unexpected ways. First in his response to her theft, then in response to her trickery. She has seen so much of the world, in a way few others could ever hope to. She likes to believe she is familiar with the nature of those she shares this world with; she has seen so much that it is difficult not to be.
But then, she had sought him out for just these reasons. He is unique, and she cannot resist the temptation of the odd and singular.
It does not stop her from being taken aback however.
For several long moments, she remains stiff beneath his caresses, his gentle kisses - true to her nature, icy and steadfast. His words are what undoes her however. Let me see you.
The words hold far more meaning than he could ever know. Only two others have seen the true Heartfire. Her brother (her dearest twin who would always hold a special place in her heart) and her once-love, from that long ago dream.
It is a terrible inclination, one she will no doubt regret, but still she allows the vision to melt away. In seconds blue and white replaces brown and red, wings disappearing as her own slender frame coalesces in his sight. Not her true self, but something the rest of the world had never seen.
Her chilly and overbearing demeanor had always worked well in keeping the world at bay. Until today, at least. No one has dared to touch her so boldly in a very long time. And she finds herself… enjoying it. Far too much.
Her breath hitches just a bit in her throat, her skin tightening, heating, anticipating the next touch. Her dark eyelids flutter before closing, shielding the brilliant blue of her gaze. ”This is a dangerous path you tread.” The words are spoken softly, with not nearly as much rancor contained in then as there should have been.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
She was a delicate mask with deep eyes that saw more than he'd probably ever understand. She wasn't really the sharing type, that much was clear. But then neither was he when it wasn't stolen from his memories. This one she snatched and displayed for him was both sad and beautiful, a time he'd maybe never get back. A time he missed. But that was then, and this was now.
She held herself so taut beneath his touch, but not like a string, no. Not like an instrument to be played, plucked and made to sing. She was a strike of steel to be polished and admired, respectful of the lethal edge. Beautiful and dangerous. And so he didn't feel too guilty as he continued, as he ignored the stiffness in her muscles against his lips. Somehow that rigidity was not meant for him. Or perhaps it was, he wouldn't know. He was quite adept at misreading things.
Still, he was selfish and didn't much care. She wasn't rebuffing him, lashing out or pushing him away, and that said enough for him. He kept his lips to her, pressed more heated kisses into the soft slope of strength in her neck until he was asking to see her. The real her.
Her image -or maybe his vision- blurred and shimmered, and in a brief moment Leliana had melted away again into a soft blue and laces of white. He pulled back only enough to glance at her, before his eyes were seeking the stunning blue of hers. That was where she truly hid, in the depths of crystalline blue. But her eyes drifted closed, blocked him out as she spoke again, a voice that was hers and yet much softer than she'd shown thus far. This is a dangerous path you tread.
He found that he wished he knew the secret to that, to soothing her into that beautifully gentle tone. But it was surely not one she would let him learn. He had his secrets too, could respect that. He stepped back into her again, settled his chest against hers. Without kisses this time. Because maybe it was hurting her in some way. And somehow that mattered just then. Only the shared heat and his breath in her dark hair as he nuzzled into it. Mmm, he hummed absently in agreement. Dangerous.
Yes, you've made that clear, he responded quietly. Gentle, smooth. A beast of Hell lulled in her presence as he breathed her in. But she'd already seen him here in the meadow, seemed to know things about him. I don't much fear danger. Indifferent, nonchalant; carefully lipping at the base of her mane, grooming. But I think you know that, he added in a low murmur, his words getting lost in the gentle flow of her rich hair.
She should lash out. Should drive him away just as she had so many others before him.. She should do those things and so many others. But she does not.
Instead she sees nothing but the darkness of her closed eyes, allowing herself to feel those gentle touches. She doesn't open her eyes when he withdraws (he could not see the way they have changed then, could not see the softness or heat that have invaded), though her body almost quivers at the loss, in anticipation.
She is not quite certain why he persists. Surely she is not the most alluring, and certainly not the most accommodating, woman he could be with now. Given her character, he cannot even be certain how she might react. She does not even know how she might react, given the foreign and singular nature of this moment. Still, he does not disappoint, pressing against her once more, nibbling tenderly at her arched crest as his words echo in the air around them.
No, his words do not surprise her. They are of a similar mind, the two of them. Neither fearing danger in the ways they perhaps should. She is not entirely sure why, but the admission causes the stiffness she had been holding in her frame to melt away.
She becomes suddenly much more pliant, softer in the way that women should be. She finally opens her eyes, her dark, velvety muzzle drifting to his shoulder as she does so. She traces the ridge of bone there, a tenderness in her touch that had not existed previously.
”No,” she whispers softly, breath feathering against his skin. ”But given the circumstances, it is only fair you be warned.”
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
No, she was not a mask. Nothing as pretty and pointless as that.
She was a dagger to his throat, expertly carved and gleaming, delicately ornate. Decorative, yet so deadly. It was a precarious situation, not knowing what might trigger that blade to drive forward into him, exciting. But he didn’t fear it. He held her, admired that lethal radiance with intimacy perhaps only a fool would grasp for, without a care for himself. Because he wasn’t afraid to bleed, no matter how she might prick him. But it was like she gripped that blade tight; let him touch it but not hold it, would not relinquish her grasp on that beautiful hilt.
And then she did. And then her body softened and gently placed that beautiful weapon in his hand. He cradled her lethal edge, responded to her release with a sweet, whispering breath from parted lips across her bare shoulder just as she touched his own. He was so sensitive, could feel the faintest contact as she gently lined his armor. A low, throaty hum vibrated between them against her breast, enjoying that tenderness perhaps a little too much. Enjoying, too, the brush of her skin beneath his lips.
No, but given the circumstances, it is only fair you be warned.
A warning; he could appreciate that. He kept his lips at her shoulder, slowly traced indistinct patterns into the dip of her neck. If only time could stop, just for a while. If only he could try to find if she’d be a good memory to keep when he pushed everything else away. Something to soothe him when the rage took over, consumed him with its blackness and hate. Maybe something to pull him back from it, if just a little; rein in the beast to something more controlled. But she was not a tool to be used, even if it was just a memory of her.
Mmm.. I don’t give warnings, myself, he said gently. Slowly, carefully, he pinched her flesh between his teeth, just enough to shock her nerves. Then he kissed the sting away. But I think you know that, he repeated softly. Yes, if only time could stop, just for a while. With a reluctant sigh, he began to pull back, black muzzle dragging leisurely along her neck, drawing over the attractive contours of muscle.
I am needed elsewhere just now, a hint of regret as he hovered at her soft cheek. He placed the dagger of her carefully back into her hands with quiet reverence, as though she may even harm herself with it were she not careful. It was not his to keep, was not a gift. Only a peek, she allowed him. He detached himself completely then, hating that sudden lack of skin-to-skin as he searched her eyes.
Will you allow me to leave this time? His mouth quirked slightly just at that spot of blue in the corner of it, a shine of amusement coming forward from the dark depths of his black eyes. And will you find me again? Less of a question as to her plans, and more of a.. tentative request. There might be things here yet unfinished.
Oh yes, she did know that. She had seen the results, his lack of warning. But she is not so easily made victim. He had readily discovered the hardness and sharpness of her edges, just as she had discovered his. Just as she had discovered the softness that dwelled too closely beneath that terrible surface of his. She is not so easily hidden from.
She likes to think she has no softness beneath the finely crafted exterior of her flinty surface. She likes to think that there are none who could reach that deep. But he had proven her wrong. Proven that there is a woman who wants, who longs for what she cannot have, beneath the icy face of the once-queen.
That does not mean she would not try to take it however. He had shown her what she is missing, and she is ultimately a selfish creature.
But she lets him go. She lets him go because whatever else her faults, she would not force this one thing that should be given freely.
She feels the retreat of his touch, the retreat of his gentle caresses and heated frame. She had become so lost in the lazy patterns he traced upon her skin that for a moment, the loss disorients her. But it does not last. Cannot last.
Her eyes, so recently soft and a bit hazy, filled with an unfamiliar heat, sharpen and cool. Becoming once more the vibrant, distinctive stare that is so uniquely Heartfire. She does not speak, not even to mitigate the loss of that closeness she had not felt in so terribly long.
Instead she lets him move away, leaving him with all of his faculties.
When he asks her if she will let him leave, she only smiles, the faintest curve of her lips, corners kicking up ever so slightly. And when he asks if she will find him again, she almost doesn’t answer. Almost gives him only the cool stare that is so familiarly hers. She cannot find it in herself to be quite that cruel however, not to the man who had so very recently shown her just what she is missing in this life. ”Perhaps.” The word is soft, almost a whisper, but there is promise in her tone.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
