The fire crackled but a few feet away, the scent of burning wood mixing with his scent of brandy and oiled leathers. The bear fur they lay on would have felt nice if not for her three perfectly tailored layers of sturdy red and cream linen, covering her from neck to fingers to toes. His arms held her tight, fingertips working to unbind her dark hair. They enjoyed something less than romance, though it meant far more to her tired soul: friendship.
She could hear the chatter of distant voices taunting her, laying down to sleep beside one with such a reputation. It is only a matter of time, they said. Just another conquest. She nestled against him, her arms crossed before her as he played with her hair. With her eyes closed, she could remember what it used to look like, remember her true self. Remember the last one to play with her hair. No, she pushed those memories away. She refused to ruin this night with tears over her past.
Her mind drifted upon currents of shadow as sleep crept over her weary body. Though enjoying her friend’s warmth, her heart held onto once-blasphemous hope for another. A cruel joke of the fates, the inner voice scoffed. She longed for one who did not notice her desire, and would surely reject her if he did. Yet she took no lovers while she held to the impossible hope. She savored it, exploring it without fear of punishment. It was a strange thing. It gave her reason to hold onto an idea long after the practical answer to the situation was to move on. She told herself she would have to let it go, but not yet. Was hope the reason she stayed with her Mother, long after she should have run away? For what did she hope? Recognition? Praise? Proof she was good enough?
A slight pressure on her forehead nearly woke her, pulling her thoughts to the contentment of the present. Her friend was right, she deserved this rest. She smiled, burying her head in his chest as his warm arms held her close. Sleep returned fully, and more.
Warmth
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orangetree
- Dungeon Master
- Posts: 897
- Joined: Thu Jun 03, 2004 9:10 pm
- Location: UK (GMT)
Re: Warmth
whoa, burning passion... I like this. look forward to more 
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Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
She finally left his apartment. He needed to travel to Waterdeep, she took the time to tend to small matters, letting her mind wander as her feet skipped through the streets of Daggerford. It was not long before she placed a freshly picked iris on his doorstep, waiting in a dark corner for his return. She passed the time with idle dreams of the shadow plane.
A few hours into the cloudy night, the flower rose from the porch step, a pleasant tenor voice musing on its source. She stepped from the corner with a smile, the rustle of velvet and silk masked their whispered greetings. She slipped through the door as he opened it, formalities trailing behind.
He closed the curtains before turning to her, appraising her in the light of his home. The heavy black outer dress fit perfectly over the grey layers. Black collar and bright grey gloves finished the outfit. “That dress looks nice,” he said. “We are going to play Let’s Make a Deal this evening,” he grinned, mischief sparkling in his eyes. He invited her to get comfortable while he changed into more comfortable clothing.
After a few moments, he returned, medium box in one hand, and a bottle of white wine in the other. She watched his practiced movement, setting the box down, pouring her wine and himself brandy. “Someone,” playfulness in his eyes, “since she started visiting, is laughing and smiling more and crying, frowning less. A great improvement do you not think?” Her face turned a soft pink as she could not help but agree. “Now,” he pulled a package from behind his chair, “it is time for Let’s Make a Deal.”
“How do we play?”
I have something here,” he indicated the covered box beside him, “that you do not know what it is. But I believe you will like very much, if we make a deal and you trust me. If we do not make the deal, I will think of something else to do with it.” She nodded her understanding. “Oh,” he grinned, “the ground rules: nothing sharp can be thrown or tossed. Anything with a blade has to stay sheathed.”
She arched a single eyebrow to him. Another test, so soon. She unstrapped the special dagger from her arm, lay it before the fire. Darts she pulled from her sleeves, laying then neatly beside the dagger. The iris in her hair she lay atop the six points. “I trust you,” her eyes turned to his. “You know my boundaries.”
“Yes, I know your boundaries,” he smiled, shifting in place. “Now,” he began, “you wear at least three layers of clothes whenever you are here, from your toes to your chin. The deal is you put on a dress that does not cover all of you so completely. For example, leaves the shoulder bare.”
She chewed the inside of her lower lip. Would he try to seduce her, despite the boundaries they set? No, she decided. He would not, for neither were free to do so. “And then?” she asked.
“Then you will follow a couple of simple directions I will give you, and hopefully you will enjoy the surprise. After that,” he lightly added, “I will rub your back, play with your hair, and we will discuss whatever comes up.”
She continued to chew her lip as she pondered. It could be fun, it could be disastrous. She still had her fists, but it was more a game of trust. “No kissing any exposed skin.”
“That would be regressing, I have already kissed your forehead and cheek,” he countered. “Say no kissing the neck or ears? And I will add no staring at anything below the neck,” he offered the package.
“That will do,” she accepted with a half smile. “A woman's body is no mystery to you. I do not think there would be cause for staring.”
“Well sometimes I do get distracted,” he grinned. She rose and turned to change, when he called soberly to her. “You understand you do not have to. Yes? I will give you the surprise no matter what.”
“I am not doing this for the surprise,” she softly answered. “I trust you, and am showing you I trust you. If you have questions,” she held up the package, “and it seems you do, ask.” They both grinned as she turned away.
She quelled the foreboding that grew with each button she opened on her black dress. Something will intrude on their fun, probably another of her issues. She sighed as she dropped her dress, and sighed again as she tied the corset of the red gown he loaned her. Yes, exposed neck, shoulders and arms, as he wished. Red meant trouble. Quick smile and as deep a breath as the corset would allow, she returned to the fireplace. Turning once with her arms out, he admired and approved.
“Very nice, My Lady,” he motioned for her to sit. She smoothly complied, tucking her ankles underneath her while watching his eyes. He handed her a full glass of sparkling wine, then pulled out a covered bowl. “Now,” he instructed, “close your eyes, and open your mouth. When you feel something in your mouth, bite.”
She gave him a wry half smile before closing her eyes. Oh yes. Danger. She opened her mouth, yet managed not to clench her fist as she waited. A tangy sweet scent accompanied the faint brandy of his fingers before something cool touched her lips. Cream and strawberry juice coated her tongue as she bit, careful to not let any drip on the dress she borrowed. She savored it, enjoying the rare pleasure on her tongue.
“Do you like?” he whispered. She opened her mouth for a second bite with a bare nod of acknowledgment, enjoying the game. She savored the second bite, swallowed, opened her mouth for a third. Rather than placing it as he did the previous bites, he slowly traced cream over her lips.
She licked the cream from her lips, turning her head down and away. “Why are you doing that,” her pained whisper asked.
“Because I am a tease at heart,” she heard the grin in his voice as he flippantly added, “It is only cream.”
“As am I, but it would not be wise to tease my senses,” she answered, scratching her lips with her teeth. The scent of strawberry warned her before the pressure on her lips returned. She bit, considering the answer to the question he surely felt. She swallowed, then whispered, “It is not that I do not like to be touched. I, too, used to tease.”
“I do not understand,” the smile gone, she could hear a frown in its place. “It was not physical, it meant nothing, I expected you simply to bite.”
“I have not been touched in years,” her voice faded, “and lips are terribly sensitive.” She turned away, glad she kept her eyes closed. Perhaps she could stem the damned tears that tried to rise.
“My Lady,” sincerity replaced the frown, “I am here for you. As your friend.”
“I will bite the berry,” she answered, “but please do not tease my lips. It is a careful line, I know. I will sleep beside you, but I will not lay with you. I,” she dropped her face as her voice faltered, “I cannot. It would not be right.”
“Did we include your lips in my promise not to kiss? If not, we had better add it quickly.”
He jested, trying to bring back the levity of the game, but once again she felt it necessary to be honest. “You should not kiss my lips, for until some things are settled, they are for another. And it is stupid, I know,” she quickly amended, “but I will not use you.”
“You have lost me,” confusion thick in his voice, “I like you and enjoy your company, and while I could think of few things I would enjoy more than laying with you, neither of us are in the position to do so now with clear hearts.” He returned the berry to her lips, “Now, enjoy your prize.” She did bite, and did enjoy it. The next one she savored as he reminded her, “Though you do understand you are not getting out of here that easily,” he laughed as he put another berry before her teeth.
She swallowed with a smile playing at the corners of her strawberry-stained lips, “Am I running? I’ve not yet opened my eyes.”
“Very true,” he conceded, preparing another cream-dipped berry. “Now, whom do those lips belong to?”
“I fear to say, for surely it cannot be.”
“Oh, it cannot be that bad,” he laughed as he pushed another berry against her mouth. She whispered a name against the cream, biting as he choked on his brandy. She lowered her head, ears turning a bright pink. “Oh my,” he coughed. Her ears burned as the rest of her once pale skin matched the strawberries. He set the bowl and his brandy to the side.
“It cannot be, I know,” she spoke after long interval, refusing to open her eyes. He took her hand in his, pulling slightly before pushing on her opposite shoulder, indicating for her to sit with her back to him. The sticks holding her hair slid out, letting it fall in a black twisted rope down her back. He rubbed his hands together before placing them on her shoulders, working the tension away as they continued to talk into the morning. By noon she slept soundly in his brandy-scented embrace.
A few hours into the cloudy night, the flower rose from the porch step, a pleasant tenor voice musing on its source. She stepped from the corner with a smile, the rustle of velvet and silk masked their whispered greetings. She slipped through the door as he opened it, formalities trailing behind.
He closed the curtains before turning to her, appraising her in the light of his home. The heavy black outer dress fit perfectly over the grey layers. Black collar and bright grey gloves finished the outfit. “That dress looks nice,” he said. “We are going to play Let’s Make a Deal this evening,” he grinned, mischief sparkling in his eyes. He invited her to get comfortable while he changed into more comfortable clothing.
After a few moments, he returned, medium box in one hand, and a bottle of white wine in the other. She watched his practiced movement, setting the box down, pouring her wine and himself brandy. “Someone,” playfulness in his eyes, “since she started visiting, is laughing and smiling more and crying, frowning less. A great improvement do you not think?” Her face turned a soft pink as she could not help but agree. “Now,” he pulled a package from behind his chair, “it is time for Let’s Make a Deal.”
“How do we play?”
I have something here,” he indicated the covered box beside him, “that you do not know what it is. But I believe you will like very much, if we make a deal and you trust me. If we do not make the deal, I will think of something else to do with it.” She nodded her understanding. “Oh,” he grinned, “the ground rules: nothing sharp can be thrown or tossed. Anything with a blade has to stay sheathed.”
She arched a single eyebrow to him. Another test, so soon. She unstrapped the special dagger from her arm, lay it before the fire. Darts she pulled from her sleeves, laying then neatly beside the dagger. The iris in her hair she lay atop the six points. “I trust you,” her eyes turned to his. “You know my boundaries.”
“Yes, I know your boundaries,” he smiled, shifting in place. “Now,” he began, “you wear at least three layers of clothes whenever you are here, from your toes to your chin. The deal is you put on a dress that does not cover all of you so completely. For example, leaves the shoulder bare.”
She chewed the inside of her lower lip. Would he try to seduce her, despite the boundaries they set? No, she decided. He would not, for neither were free to do so. “And then?” she asked.
“Then you will follow a couple of simple directions I will give you, and hopefully you will enjoy the surprise. After that,” he lightly added, “I will rub your back, play with your hair, and we will discuss whatever comes up.”
She continued to chew her lip as she pondered. It could be fun, it could be disastrous. She still had her fists, but it was more a game of trust. “No kissing any exposed skin.”
“That would be regressing, I have already kissed your forehead and cheek,” he countered. “Say no kissing the neck or ears? And I will add no staring at anything below the neck,” he offered the package.
“That will do,” she accepted with a half smile. “A woman's body is no mystery to you. I do not think there would be cause for staring.”
“Well sometimes I do get distracted,” he grinned. She rose and turned to change, when he called soberly to her. “You understand you do not have to. Yes? I will give you the surprise no matter what.”
“I am not doing this for the surprise,” she softly answered. “I trust you, and am showing you I trust you. If you have questions,” she held up the package, “and it seems you do, ask.” They both grinned as she turned away.
She quelled the foreboding that grew with each button she opened on her black dress. Something will intrude on their fun, probably another of her issues. She sighed as she dropped her dress, and sighed again as she tied the corset of the red gown he loaned her. Yes, exposed neck, shoulders and arms, as he wished. Red meant trouble. Quick smile and as deep a breath as the corset would allow, she returned to the fireplace. Turning once with her arms out, he admired and approved.
“Very nice, My Lady,” he motioned for her to sit. She smoothly complied, tucking her ankles underneath her while watching his eyes. He handed her a full glass of sparkling wine, then pulled out a covered bowl. “Now,” he instructed, “close your eyes, and open your mouth. When you feel something in your mouth, bite.”
She gave him a wry half smile before closing her eyes. Oh yes. Danger. She opened her mouth, yet managed not to clench her fist as she waited. A tangy sweet scent accompanied the faint brandy of his fingers before something cool touched her lips. Cream and strawberry juice coated her tongue as she bit, careful to not let any drip on the dress she borrowed. She savored it, enjoying the rare pleasure on her tongue.
“Do you like?” he whispered. She opened her mouth for a second bite with a bare nod of acknowledgment, enjoying the game. She savored the second bite, swallowed, opened her mouth for a third. Rather than placing it as he did the previous bites, he slowly traced cream over her lips.
She licked the cream from her lips, turning her head down and away. “Why are you doing that,” her pained whisper asked.
“Because I am a tease at heart,” she heard the grin in his voice as he flippantly added, “It is only cream.”
“As am I, but it would not be wise to tease my senses,” she answered, scratching her lips with her teeth. The scent of strawberry warned her before the pressure on her lips returned. She bit, considering the answer to the question he surely felt. She swallowed, then whispered, “It is not that I do not like to be touched. I, too, used to tease.”
“I do not understand,” the smile gone, she could hear a frown in its place. “It was not physical, it meant nothing, I expected you simply to bite.”
“I have not been touched in years,” her voice faded, “and lips are terribly sensitive.” She turned away, glad she kept her eyes closed. Perhaps she could stem the damned tears that tried to rise.
“My Lady,” sincerity replaced the frown, “I am here for you. As your friend.”
“I will bite the berry,” she answered, “but please do not tease my lips. It is a careful line, I know. I will sleep beside you, but I will not lay with you. I,” she dropped her face as her voice faltered, “I cannot. It would not be right.”
“Did we include your lips in my promise not to kiss? If not, we had better add it quickly.”
He jested, trying to bring back the levity of the game, but once again she felt it necessary to be honest. “You should not kiss my lips, for until some things are settled, they are for another. And it is stupid, I know,” she quickly amended, “but I will not use you.”
“You have lost me,” confusion thick in his voice, “I like you and enjoy your company, and while I could think of few things I would enjoy more than laying with you, neither of us are in the position to do so now with clear hearts.” He returned the berry to her lips, “Now, enjoy your prize.” She did bite, and did enjoy it. The next one she savored as he reminded her, “Though you do understand you are not getting out of here that easily,” he laughed as he put another berry before her teeth.
She swallowed with a smile playing at the corners of her strawberry-stained lips, “Am I running? I’ve not yet opened my eyes.”
“Very true,” he conceded, preparing another cream-dipped berry. “Now, whom do those lips belong to?”
“I fear to say, for surely it cannot be.”
“Oh, it cannot be that bad,” he laughed as he pushed another berry against her mouth. She whispered a name against the cream, biting as he choked on his brandy. She lowered her head, ears turning a bright pink. “Oh my,” he coughed. Her ears burned as the rest of her once pale skin matched the strawberries. He set the bowl and his brandy to the side.
“It cannot be, I know,” she spoke after long interval, refusing to open her eyes. He took her hand in his, pulling slightly before pushing on her opposite shoulder, indicating for her to sit with her back to him. The sticks holding her hair slid out, letting it fall in a black twisted rope down her back. He rubbed his hands together before placing them on her shoulders, working the tension away as they continued to talk into the morning. By noon she slept soundly in his brandy-scented embrace.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
She sat at a plain black desk, grey parchment before her, new quill and full inkwell at the corner. Warm tendrils of deepest black caressed her cheek, soothing encouragement for the letter she must write.
Dear Mother, the black raven’s quill in her black hand scritched across the parchment.
I would pray that you are well, but we both know the futility of that sentiment. You are who you are. Soft shadows continued to comb her hair back, hiding its luminescence.
I love you, Mother. I always have. I love your strength, the comfort you used to bring me when I was small. It did not matter what the others would do to me, because I had you to tell me there was a reason for it all and you still loved me. I endured because I always had my Mother and no one could take her away.
I was very happy the day you helped me out of the trouble with that devil, and chose me to speak for you! I felt honored. I sought out siblings so they could teach me. I wanted to make you proud of me, I did not want to disappoint you, Mother. The quill moved faster as she wrote, spilling her heart on the grey paper as her Lord’s touch calmed the storm within. He accepted her, broken as she was. He lifted her tears before they could mar the letter, pressed his dark lips to her crown. She may never be a voice for her Lord, but he held her close and took her for one of His.
But I did. And I took your punishments, Mother, as a good daughter was supposed to. And I tried so hard to be good, to obey my older brothers and sisters even when I did not understand. I would believe their lies and false promises, because I wanted you to be proud of me. I took their abuse, because they said it came from you.
But only now do I understand that I am not good enough for you. I never was. I sometimes wonder if you really hate me. I think you do.
Goodbye, Mother.
T~~~~
The shadows converged before she signed her name, pulling the quill free as her Lord embraced her. He gifted her with dreamless sleep in her friend’s arms. Yes, she did deserve this rest.
Dear Mother, the black raven’s quill in her black hand scritched across the parchment.
I would pray that you are well, but we both know the futility of that sentiment. You are who you are. Soft shadows continued to comb her hair back, hiding its luminescence.
I love you, Mother. I always have. I love your strength, the comfort you used to bring me when I was small. It did not matter what the others would do to me, because I had you to tell me there was a reason for it all and you still loved me. I endured because I always had my Mother and no one could take her away.
I was very happy the day you helped me out of the trouble with that devil, and chose me to speak for you! I felt honored. I sought out siblings so they could teach me. I wanted to make you proud of me, I did not want to disappoint you, Mother. The quill moved faster as she wrote, spilling her heart on the grey paper as her Lord’s touch calmed the storm within. He accepted her, broken as she was. He lifted her tears before they could mar the letter, pressed his dark lips to her crown. She may never be a voice for her Lord, but he held her close and took her for one of His.
But I did. And I took your punishments, Mother, as a good daughter was supposed to. And I tried so hard to be good, to obey my older brothers and sisters even when I did not understand. I would believe their lies and false promises, because I wanted you to be proud of me. I took their abuse, because they said it came from you.
But only now do I understand that I am not good enough for you. I never was. I sometimes wonder if you really hate me. I think you do.
Goodbye, Mother.
T~~~~
The shadows converged before she signed her name, pulling the quill free as her Lord embraced her. He gifted her with dreamless sleep in her friend’s arms. Yes, she did deserve this rest.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
She woke as night fell, though time held little meaning on this bear rug before the fire, his arms holding her close. She could get accustomed to waking that way. He breathed evenly, but was not asleep. The arms around her waist tightened briefly. Yes, she enjoyed his warmth.
“I am growing to like this too much,” he whispered into her hair.
“So am I,” she smiled as she turned in his arms to face him. The skirts twisted to pin her legs in place. She searched his eyes, speaking softly, “My boundaries, are as much for me as they are for you. I do not wish to ruin this. My last friendship was with my husband, and you now know the scars it left.”
He nodded, brushing dark strands of hair out of her eyes, “I can feel them.”
“I respect you,” she smiled at the care he took not to touch her face. “I like you. I like you a lot. And I am terribly sorry I cannot give what you seek. But what I give, I do not take back.”
“What do you believe I seek?”
“I am not sure yet, but you are disappointed and somewhat saddened around me now. Even if the perfect mate came along, I would still come to visit you. To drink, talk, and fall asleep in your arms. You have my friendship, my repect, my interest in you; those will not go away unless you betray me. And I do not feel that you will.”
“You are interested in me as a dear friend. Correct,” he squeezed her close. “You must know I do not like to lose. Yes?” She nodded her understanding, waiting for him to finish. “I have always prided myself on my ability to look at how things truly are and adjust accordingly. I have always treated women with respect and as equals. Treated them as I would wish to be treated. I can no longer ignore the truth: that is a losing system of beliefs.”
“Your trust is abused,” she whispered into his chest.
“I just talked,” the ire in his voice rose as he continued, “to a friend who is selling all of her worldly possessions and wanting to borrow money from me to buy someone a gift that has said maybe one decent word to her. The rest of their relationship has been purely abuse, heaped upon my friend. I was close to this woman, I cared for her a lot, treated her with respect, as a lady. Obviously me or the other person was doing something wrong. She is at his beck and call. I am her friend to borrow money from to buy him presents.” He breathed deeply, calming as his eyes turned to hers, “I would pray that you are never like them. Nor do I believe you would be.”
“I am not the slave who likes to be whipped,” she answered. “But I will endure a lot, for a friend.”
“As to you my dear,” his smile fell, “I realized something the other night. You mentioned your crush, and then I held you and we slept. I was holding you and looking into the fire thinking. Not sleeping. I realized that I liked you where you were,” he held her tight again for emphasis. “That I really did not care for the idea of another holding you. I realized that I am tired of losing.”
Her voice squeaked past the thickness in her throat, “So what does this mean?”
“You cannot lose if you do not chase. So,” he sighed, “I will be your friend, I will listen to you and offer my advise whenever you wish, I will help you anyway I can. I treasure each true friend I have.”
“I never wished to tempt you,” she whispered.
“Nor did you with your body. You, the friend, I have found has tempted me tremendously.”
“Does this have to end?” she whispered, hiding her tears in his shirt. Gods, she cried too much.
“Every night? Yes,” he combed his fingers through her hair. “You grow on me more each time. I am sorry, but I will not chase were there is not hope.”
“I will go then,” she murmured into his shirt.
“I think that would be best.”
“Know that I do not wish to,” she hugged him as tight as her arms allowed.
“Nor do I wish you to,” his hand moved down to rub her back, a sad sigh escaping as he felt her belt under the corset.
“I can,” she spoke slowly, still trying to banish the tears that rose, “wander north. I guess.” He asked why, holding tighter for a moment. “If it must stop, and I should go,” she sighed, “I best go far.”
“I am still your friend as you wish us to be,” he slowly loosened his hold, “we are just keeping it as you wished for, so I do not do anything to ruin it. One day I will try to kiss those lips, and you will stab me. Then were will we be? Me bleeding and you angry.” She tried to speak, but no sound escaped. “Then I will be angry for being the fool again. You are making a home here. I will be here helping you, as you need me.” He fell silent, she turned to stare at the fire. She would go, but not yet. Not yet.
“I am growing to like this too much,” he whispered into her hair.
“So am I,” she smiled as she turned in his arms to face him. The skirts twisted to pin her legs in place. She searched his eyes, speaking softly, “My boundaries, are as much for me as they are for you. I do not wish to ruin this. My last friendship was with my husband, and you now know the scars it left.”
He nodded, brushing dark strands of hair out of her eyes, “I can feel them.”
“I respect you,” she smiled at the care he took not to touch her face. “I like you. I like you a lot. And I am terribly sorry I cannot give what you seek. But what I give, I do not take back.”
“What do you believe I seek?”
“I am not sure yet, but you are disappointed and somewhat saddened around me now. Even if the perfect mate came along, I would still come to visit you. To drink, talk, and fall asleep in your arms. You have my friendship, my repect, my interest in you; those will not go away unless you betray me. And I do not feel that you will.”
“You are interested in me as a dear friend. Correct,” he squeezed her close. “You must know I do not like to lose. Yes?” She nodded her understanding, waiting for him to finish. “I have always prided myself on my ability to look at how things truly are and adjust accordingly. I have always treated women with respect and as equals. Treated them as I would wish to be treated. I can no longer ignore the truth: that is a losing system of beliefs.”
“Your trust is abused,” she whispered into his chest.
“I just talked,” the ire in his voice rose as he continued, “to a friend who is selling all of her worldly possessions and wanting to borrow money from me to buy someone a gift that has said maybe one decent word to her. The rest of their relationship has been purely abuse, heaped upon my friend. I was close to this woman, I cared for her a lot, treated her with respect, as a lady. Obviously me or the other person was doing something wrong. She is at his beck and call. I am her friend to borrow money from to buy him presents.” He breathed deeply, calming as his eyes turned to hers, “I would pray that you are never like them. Nor do I believe you would be.”
“I am not the slave who likes to be whipped,” she answered. “But I will endure a lot, for a friend.”
“As to you my dear,” his smile fell, “I realized something the other night. You mentioned your crush, and then I held you and we slept. I was holding you and looking into the fire thinking. Not sleeping. I realized that I liked you where you were,” he held her tight again for emphasis. “That I really did not care for the idea of another holding you. I realized that I am tired of losing.”
Her voice squeaked past the thickness in her throat, “So what does this mean?”
“You cannot lose if you do not chase. So,” he sighed, “I will be your friend, I will listen to you and offer my advise whenever you wish, I will help you anyway I can. I treasure each true friend I have.”
“I never wished to tempt you,” she whispered.
“Nor did you with your body. You, the friend, I have found has tempted me tremendously.”
“Does this have to end?” she whispered, hiding her tears in his shirt. Gods, she cried too much.
“Every night? Yes,” he combed his fingers through her hair. “You grow on me more each time. I am sorry, but I will not chase were there is not hope.”
“I will go then,” she murmured into his shirt.
“I think that would be best.”
“Know that I do not wish to,” she hugged him as tight as her arms allowed.
“Nor do I wish you to,” his hand moved down to rub her back, a sad sigh escaping as he felt her belt under the corset.
“I can,” she spoke slowly, still trying to banish the tears that rose, “wander north. I guess.” He asked why, holding tighter for a moment. “If it must stop, and I should go,” she sighed, “I best go far.”
“I am still your friend as you wish us to be,” he slowly loosened his hold, “we are just keeping it as you wished for, so I do not do anything to ruin it. One day I will try to kiss those lips, and you will stab me. Then were will we be? Me bleeding and you angry.” She tried to speak, but no sound escaped. “Then I will be angry for being the fool again. You are making a home here. I will be here helping you, as you need me.” He fell silent, she turned to stare at the fire. She would go, but not yet. Not yet.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.