The smile Aurelio held upon his lips like sword and shield turned all edge after Ivone had spoken. "How dull," he said, his voice lightening, "that you have so much free time to spend in here. Is this all you do for entertainment?"
He was pleasant enough. The edge, however, was sharp enough to bleed.
The Black Widow and the Peacock: First Date
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
And bleed she did. The smile dropped and the hand that had rested gently on the work table, the one on which her wedding ring resided and sparkled, clenched into a fist. Various materials resided on the work table - crushed plant materials, potting soil, softened bee's wax, and essential oils created from the plant materials, the basket of rose hips, and the small pruning shears she used. The look on her face hardened and a fire of fury lit in her eyes. She looked ready to commit murder.
Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! He dared all right. He dared to come into her house and abuse her? Suddenly, out of nowhere, she smiled. It was not a sweet smile, by any means, and the fire was still in her gaze. She moved as quickly as he had, and in response, she mushed both hands full of dirt, wax, and plant bits into his face and down his chest, followed by a hard shove. She wanted to wipe that smile from his face and she was going to do it literally.
"I thought about taking up murder as a hobby. Would you like to be the first?!"
Her hands clenched into fists.
Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! He dared all right. He dared to come into her house and abuse her? Suddenly, out of nowhere, she smiled. It was not a sweet smile, by any means, and the fire was still in her gaze. She moved as quickly as he had, and in response, she mushed both hands full of dirt, wax, and plant bits into his face and down his chest, followed by a hard shove. She wanted to wipe that smile from his face and she was going to do it literally.
"I thought about taking up murder as a hobby. Would you like to be the first?!"
Her hands clenched into fists.
"Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
The silence that followed Ivone's words was, as such things went, loaded. She had moved him back two steps, an impressive feat given the relative difference between their builds. Aurelio had control over his expression, but given the way he stilled he was not fully master of his reaction. He chuckled, and it grated against Ivone's emotional outburst; it was a patronizing sound.
"And what are you hiding to be capable of such a thing, little dove?" His words were quiet, and measured. A hint of curiosity provided inflection. He was yet calculated, even standing before her dirtied and mussed. He played the gentleman. He was good at it.
"And what are you hiding to be capable of such a thing, little dove?" His words were quiet, and measured. A hint of curiosity provided inflection. He was yet calculated, even standing before her dirtied and mussed. He played the gentleman. He was good at it.
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
Ivone's chest rose and fell with heavy, shaky breaths. The quiet that fell between them was fraught with tension, a tension cut by a chuckle.
"And what are you hiding to be capable of such a thing, little dove?" Little dove... little one... poor little Ivone...
She covered the two steps easily enough and shoved against him again, "You know nothing about me!" She ground the words out intensely and softly. "You... I thought you were better, but you're no better than the rest of them!"
She was furious at him for being one of the one percent. Furious at him, too, because he didn't know of her losses and how painful they had been and were still are.
"And what are you hiding to be capable of such a thing, little dove?" Little dove... little one... poor little Ivone...
She covered the two steps easily enough and shoved against him again, "You know nothing about me!" She ground the words out intensely and softly. "You... I thought you were better, but you're no better than the rest of them!"
She was furious at him for being one of the one percent. Furious at him, too, because he didn't know of her losses and how painful they had been and were still are.
"Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
"Ohhhh?" Aurelio caught Ivone's wrist. He held it in a firm grip, and then caught the other. He neither drew her in nor pushed her away; he kept his arms extended and looked at her with hooded intent. "Is this the fury of a woman who intends to commit murder? I rather thought it to be a temper tantrum."
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
Ivone twisted her wrists, trying to get them free, but Aurelio held her fast and at arm’s length. Ivone ceased to struggle and looked away from him. He wasn't fueling the fire, but he wasn't dousing it either. Whatever intent he kept hooded in his gaze was indecipherable to her.
"A tantrum? I suppose you should know." Whether she had done her homework on him and heard the gossip or she was just like others annoyed with him was not contextually available.
A smile flashed, though it lacked mirth. This smile was more the self-aware variety. Ivone looked back at him and now her expression was up to him to decipher. After the fiery rage and anger came the emptiness, the flatness, and the colder, undeniable murderous truth. Ivone opened her hands and stared at them. They were dirt covered and small.
“My resolve should never be in question, Aurelio Merynir. Were I a man, like you, I am sure no one would doubt it.” Her voice was soft, but not because she was cowed.
"A tantrum? I suppose you should know." Whether she had done her homework on him and heard the gossip or she was just like others annoyed with him was not contextually available.
A smile flashed, though it lacked mirth. This smile was more the self-aware variety. Ivone looked back at him and now her expression was up to him to decipher. After the fiery rage and anger came the emptiness, the flatness, and the colder, undeniable murderous truth. Ivone opened her hands and stared at them. They were dirt covered and small.
“My resolve should never be in question, Aurelio Merynir. Were I a man, like you, I am sure no one would doubt it.” Her voice was soft, but not because she was cowed.
"Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
"Should I, then?" Aurelio looked down at the woman he held with ease, and something in his eyes hardened. His lips firmed. He narrowed his eyes, the blue in them dimmed by shadow and circumstance.
"Was it not you who fled a casual conversation? Does someone else control your tongue and movements? Nay, do not blame your gender for your own faults, lest Priscilla Malatrast take her grave before her time in outrage at the thought. It is not your sex that gives me pause, Ivone, but your own behavior."
There was a seriousness in his voice that had not been there before. He tilted his head to the side, some distaste curling his lips down before his expression softened, though his eyes remained flinty. His hands were steady, warm, and calloused with work. He stood straight and unashamed, undaunted by both his position and hers. He had his pride, this man, but even despite his mercurial affectations he still took the time to look at her. He saw her.
He tugged sharp at her wrists, transferring one of her hands to one of his so that he held both in a single hand; his hands were so large compared to hers. It was true, she was a small woman and the diminutive were often overlooked, but not always. Danger did not necessarily have to come from above.
Aurelio reached out with his free hand to take her chin and draw it up towards him even as he leaned down towards her. He softened his voice to match hers, couched in layers upon layers of meaning: "Shall I teach you how to be a spider, little dove?"
"Was it not you who fled a casual conversation? Does someone else control your tongue and movements? Nay, do not blame your gender for your own faults, lest Priscilla Malatrast take her grave before her time in outrage at the thought. It is not your sex that gives me pause, Ivone, but your own behavior."
There was a seriousness in his voice that had not been there before. He tilted his head to the side, some distaste curling his lips down before his expression softened, though his eyes remained flinty. His hands were steady, warm, and calloused with work. He stood straight and unashamed, undaunted by both his position and hers. He had his pride, this man, but even despite his mercurial affectations he still took the time to look at her. He saw her.
He tugged sharp at her wrists, transferring one of her hands to one of his so that he held both in a single hand; his hands were so large compared to hers. It was true, she was a small woman and the diminutive were often overlooked, but not always. Danger did not necessarily have to come from above.
Aurelio reached out with his free hand to take her chin and draw it up towards him even as he leaned down towards her. He softened his voice to match hers, couched in layers upon layers of meaning: "Shall I teach you how to be a spider, little dove?"
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
Ivone continued to look at her hands. She wanted to apologize, she really did, because she did feel the fool for running away and for losing her temper with him and smearing dirt on his cheeks and chest. “It’s only been six months,” was on her tongue, but if he had bothered to learn about her at all between then and now then he knew that already. Besides that, what did he know of grief and loss? Her face was etched with them. Her features muted by that grief and loss as he lectured her.
He tugged her toward him with ease, closing the distance between them. She watched as his one hand easily captured both her wrists. Her point about her smallness and petite-frame was well made by the gesture.
How carefully he lifted her chin! She had been touched more this day than she had in the last six months. Indeed, she hadn’t been touched by anyone since... then. To be fair, she hadn't allowed it. The sensation lurched around in the miasma of emotions she felt. Her eyes fluttered closed as she allowed herself to really feel the gesture. There, the sense of calloused fingers against the softer skin of her chin. There, the warmth of his skin. Ivone savored his nearness. The words, not his shadow, caused her eyes to open once more.
"Shall I teach you how to be a spider, little dove?"
He lit a match and started a forest fire, a fire echoed by the intensity of the look she gave him. She was focused on him and nothing else existed in the world. She trembled in his grasp, but her voice was steady and soft.
“Yes.”
He tugged her toward him with ease, closing the distance between them. She watched as his one hand easily captured both her wrists. Her point about her smallness and petite-frame was well made by the gesture.
How carefully he lifted her chin! She had been touched more this day than she had in the last six months. Indeed, she hadn’t been touched by anyone since... then. To be fair, she hadn't allowed it. The sensation lurched around in the miasma of emotions she felt. Her eyes fluttered closed as she allowed herself to really feel the gesture. There, the sense of calloused fingers against the softer skin of her chin. There, the warmth of his skin. Ivone savored his nearness. The words, not his shadow, caused her eyes to open once more.
"Shall I teach you how to be a spider, little dove?"
He lit a match and started a forest fire, a fire echoed by the intensity of the look she gave him. She was focused on him and nothing else existed in the world. She trembled in his grasp, but her voice was steady and soft.
“Yes.”
"Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
Eyes locked, Aurelio bent a little further. They could no longer be mistaken for casual conversation, not even concern between peers. Appropriate personal space had been bypassed. They were nearly close enough to share breath. He tilted her chin upwards by another fraction. It exposed her throat to him.
"Then tell me," he said, his voice containing a new texture, half whisper though it was, "what you want."
"Then tell me," he said, his voice containing a new texture, half whisper though it was, "what you want."
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
The forest fire went from licking the edges to white-hot that easily. Her whole body felt hot. Her muscles felt liquid.
She needed so many things. Like ... Protection. And Comfort. And Warmth. And Companionship. She needed someone who would hold her, stroke her hair, and let her cry. Someone who held her as she slept and made her feel safe. Someone who would show her the way to tear it all down. Someone to give purpose to the rage and emptiness; purpose to her vengeance. Someone to fill the void inside her chest and to silence the thoughts in her head. Someone to interfere with her self-imposed exile.
They were close enough to kiss. She didn’t need kisses, though. They would not be turned away if offered, but what she needed more than anything was…
“Strength," was spoken with a soft brush of lips against the palm of his hand.
Aurelio had slacked the hold on her wrists enough that she easily twisted them free. Her arms wrapped around his ribcage and she pressed her face against his chest. Ivone didn’t care about the dirt. She hugged him, tightly, and clung to him. She breathed in the scent of him mingled with the dirt she'd smeared there. If proper personal space had been breached, she destroyed it with a simple gesture.
Ivone could feel the leather of his boots against her shins. She could feel the soft fabric of his well-tailored pants against her thighs. She could feel the buttons of his vest against her stomach and chest. Her hands were splayed. She could feel the muscle in his back. They were surprisingly firm, as surprisingly firm as the muscle in his chest. The calluses on his hands and muscles gave away secrets his fine dress and sardonic expressions sought to hide: Aurelio worked hard for what he had.
He kept thinking she was a Descendant, that she cared about the Malatrast name, but she wasn’t and she didn’t. Ivone was a Synevive and her family had worked hard for what they had, too. Their crowning achievement had been a daughter dutiful enough to withstand grueling hours of education and beautiful enough to net a Descendant for a husband.
He was so warm and she had been cold for too long.
Ivone closed her eyes tight and burrowed against Aurelio, pressing her cheek close enough that she could hear his heart beating. Her hands clenched in the fabric of the vest, inadvertently leaving Ivone- sized handprints on his back. Her heart was beating, too, careening around in her chest, but it eventually matched the pace of his as she pressed against him. If she was going to be a spider, then she would wrap him up tight and never let him go.
She needed so many things. Like ... Protection. And Comfort. And Warmth. And Companionship. She needed someone who would hold her, stroke her hair, and let her cry. Someone who held her as she slept and made her feel safe. Someone who would show her the way to tear it all down. Someone to give purpose to the rage and emptiness; purpose to her vengeance. Someone to fill the void inside her chest and to silence the thoughts in her head. Someone to interfere with her self-imposed exile.
They were close enough to kiss. She didn’t need kisses, though. They would not be turned away if offered, but what she needed more than anything was…
“Strength," was spoken with a soft brush of lips against the palm of his hand.
Aurelio had slacked the hold on her wrists enough that she easily twisted them free. Her arms wrapped around his ribcage and she pressed her face against his chest. Ivone didn’t care about the dirt. She hugged him, tightly, and clung to him. She breathed in the scent of him mingled with the dirt she'd smeared there. If proper personal space had been breached, she destroyed it with a simple gesture.
Ivone could feel the leather of his boots against her shins. She could feel the soft fabric of his well-tailored pants against her thighs. She could feel the buttons of his vest against her stomach and chest. Her hands were splayed. She could feel the muscle in his back. They were surprisingly firm, as surprisingly firm as the muscle in his chest. The calluses on his hands and muscles gave away secrets his fine dress and sardonic expressions sought to hide: Aurelio worked hard for what he had.
He kept thinking she was a Descendant, that she cared about the Malatrast name, but she wasn’t and she didn’t. Ivone was a Synevive and her family had worked hard for what they had, too. Their crowning achievement had been a daughter dutiful enough to withstand grueling hours of education and beautiful enough to net a Descendant for a husband.
He was so warm and she had been cold for too long.
Ivone closed her eyes tight and burrowed against Aurelio, pressing her cheek close enough that she could hear his heart beating. Her hands clenched in the fabric of the vest, inadvertently leaving Ivone- sized handprints on his back. Her heart was beating, too, careening around in her chest, but it eventually matched the pace of his as she pressed against him. If she was going to be a spider, then she would wrap him up tight and never let him go.
"Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
"My strength," he murmured, eyes drifting nearly shut as he looked down at her. She was pressed quite intimately to him for a man she'd only really met once -- this only their second meeting -- and she clung to him like a babe to its mother's tit. She was as good as half naked, and even through his clothes the softness of her could be measured. It had an affect. There was no way it couldn't.
"In return, if I give you all that you need, you will pledge yourself to me and my cause. Else I'm afraid I must take my leave."
His hands had dropped down to his sides. He made no response to her bold approach, but for his lowered head; his breath rustled the hair atop her head. It was warm, and might smell faintly of wine. "But if you give yourself to me, I will see you fulfilled."
His weight shifted onto his left leg. His right knee drifted inwards, finding its way between her lower thighs. He planted his foot between her own, his pretty words fouled by vulgar action.
"In return, if I give you all that you need, you will pledge yourself to me and my cause. Else I'm afraid I must take my leave."
His hands had dropped down to his sides. He made no response to her bold approach, but for his lowered head; his breath rustled the hair atop her head. It was warm, and might smell faintly of wine. "But if you give yourself to me, I will see you fulfilled."
His weight shifted onto his left leg. His right knee drifted inwards, finding its way between her lower thighs. He planted his foot between her own, his pretty words fouled by vulgar action.
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
For the moment that she held onto him and absorbed his body heat, she let go of everything. She drifted. She had barely slept the two days prior. In better lighting, the lack of sleep showed. Somehow, she’d lost awareness of a few things. The first was that she was not properly dressed. The second was that he was the exception to the rule. How could she lose sight of that?
"In return, if I give you all that you need, you will pledge yourself to me and my cause. Else I'm afraid I must take my leave." He was looking down at her, and in more ways than one. Ivone could feel Aurelio’s breath against her hair. "But if you give yourself to me, I will see you fulfilled."
Aurelio’s actions gave context to his words and dispersed any opportunity to manipulate her through gentleness. He deflected the opportunity and ran the other way. In a way, his approach was more honest than the man who held himself back for reasons of honor.
He did not lift his arms to hold her close. He did not stroke her hair. Ivone’s hold on him loosened and she stepped back, away from him. She used the back of her hand to wipe the remnants from his vest from her face. She looked at him, starting at his feet, and working her way back up to his eyes. She took her time, as if assessing his every asset and fault. She was a widow and was knowledgeable enough to know she affected him. It showed.
She suspected his version of fulfillment would only scratch the surface. Ivone reached out her hand and took Aurelio’s, leading him into the darkened house. Sunlight dappled in through curtains. The sheets made the furniture looks like ghosts. Her feet made little sound on the parquet flooring and less on the cold tile of the kitchen. She led him to the sink. Placing a bowl in the sink, she turned on the water and hopped up onto the counter. After a short amount of time, a little steam began to curl from the tap and bowl.
Sitting on the counter put them more face to face. Leaning over, she turned off the water, took up a clean kitchen cloth and began to wipe the dirt from his face, oh so carefully.
“Do you really think you’re capable of giving me all I need?” Ivone knew he couldn’t or wouldn’t, but she didn’t care. What was life worth if you played it safe? Nothing! In a single day, she'd lost a husband and a child and nearly lost her own life, too. Everything is stolen from you, no matter what you do. If you played by the rules, someone else didn’t. So, she asked herself, why should she?
"In return, if I give you all that you need, you will pledge yourself to me and my cause. Else I'm afraid I must take my leave." He was looking down at her, and in more ways than one. Ivone could feel Aurelio’s breath against her hair. "But if you give yourself to me, I will see you fulfilled."
Aurelio’s actions gave context to his words and dispersed any opportunity to manipulate her through gentleness. He deflected the opportunity and ran the other way. In a way, his approach was more honest than the man who held himself back for reasons of honor.
He did not lift his arms to hold her close. He did not stroke her hair. Ivone’s hold on him loosened and she stepped back, away from him. She used the back of her hand to wipe the remnants from his vest from her face. She looked at him, starting at his feet, and working her way back up to his eyes. She took her time, as if assessing his every asset and fault. She was a widow and was knowledgeable enough to know she affected him. It showed.
She suspected his version of fulfillment would only scratch the surface. Ivone reached out her hand and took Aurelio’s, leading him into the darkened house. Sunlight dappled in through curtains. The sheets made the furniture looks like ghosts. Her feet made little sound on the parquet flooring and less on the cold tile of the kitchen. She led him to the sink. Placing a bowl in the sink, she turned on the water and hopped up onto the counter. After a short amount of time, a little steam began to curl from the tap and bowl.
Sitting on the counter put them more face to face. Leaning over, she turned off the water, took up a clean kitchen cloth and began to wipe the dirt from his face, oh so carefully.
“Do you really think you’re capable of giving me all I need?” Ivone knew he couldn’t or wouldn’t, but she didn’t care. What was life worth if you played it safe? Nothing! In a single day, she'd lost a husband and a child and nearly lost her own life, too. Everything is stolen from you, no matter what you do. If you played by the rules, someone else didn’t. So, she asked herself, why should she?
"Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
Aurelio tugged his head back from her ministrations, leaving her hand dangling in the air. "No matter what I say, you will be taking a gamble. I leave you to your choice, and only ask if I should stay or take my leave."
Dirty and unkempt. He would leave, and in a manner far from dignified. If rumors were to be believed, it wouldn't be the worst circumstances he'd ever endured. His eyes upon hers were bold, and in them was his willingness to turn and leave her to her grief and her solitude. He had his pride, same as any man or woman raised for greatness. He did her the service of playing it straight; he could have demurred, but he did not.
He was serious.
He had his own game to play.
Dirty and unkempt. He would leave, and in a manner far from dignified. If rumors were to be believed, it wouldn't be the worst circumstances he'd ever endured. His eyes upon hers were bold, and in them was his willingness to turn and leave her to her grief and her solitude. He had his pride, same as any man or woman raised for greatness. He did her the service of playing it straight; he could have demurred, but he did not.
He was serious.
He had his own game to play.
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
(joint post between Ivone and Aurelio)
Ivone sat on the counter, hand remaining in mid-air, cloth poised. At his response, she just smiled. The smile was a mix of sadness and amusement. It was a knowing smile. Leaning over, she dipped the end of the cloth in the warm water, then reached for the vee of his vest. She grasped the fabric and tugged him back toward her.
"Stay." She didn't make the pledge, because what he wanted to accomplish and what she wanted to accomplish might diverge in the near future. He was making promises with caveats and those weren't really promises at all. But, it was enough for now.
One of Aurelio's eyebrows veered upwards. At Ivone's sole word, the other followed. He kept the expression for a few seconds, showing his surprise, his approval: the circling thoughts below. Then it smoothed, and he stepped forward, leaned into her without allowing their bodies to touch. He placed his hands in his pockets, his head drawing alongside hers. "Whatever passes between us, it will be empty."
The words were hushed. Harsh. Truthful. He wasn't making excuses, but perhaps there was something to his honesty.
Ivone tilted her head to the side and finished cleaning the dirt from his face. The words were harsh and truthful. Another woman might have believed this inaccessibility was just another one of his fronts, but not Ivone. So, she thought, you already break your part of the bargain. The breaking was not unexpected. Some emotion clouded her gaze, though the smile that turned her lips was a wry one. She wiped the dirt from her hands and dropped the cloth to the counter.
He seemed to think she was blind. She turned her head a little, so her lips were near his ear.
"I appreciate your honesty."
"In return, tell me what you want." His words were a murmur, his breath brushing against the curve of her ear, gently stirring her hair.
His breath raised a prickle along her skin. Ivone leaned closer to share her secret. The distance between them was still there, but barely.
"I want to tear it all down." Her voice, though soft, was vibrant with emotion.
"Who?"
"The Judges. The Battlemages. I have a debt to repay." The reply was still soft, oh, so soft.
Aurelio turned his head. His hair was tied back, but shorter pieces had pulled loose, and these brushed against her skin as he turned his face slightly. He pressed his lips to the skin beneath her ear, a brief but firm kiss. "Good. This hobby of yours -- have you practice with it?" The words were all business, but the brush of his lips against her earlobe was anything but.
Ivone leaned into the brush of lips on skin. Her hands, which had dropped to rest on the edge of the counter, clenched around the edge. Heat, banked temporarily, crept through her again. Her gaze wasn't focused on a particular thing, She saw her kitchen, the copper pans, the cooking herbs hung from the rafters. "Three years." She almost began to provide more detail, then realized he probably didn't care.
Another kiss. He drew his right hand free from his pocket, and brushed what hair of hers separated them away and behind her ear. His fingers lingered there, behind her ear, and trailed down the back of her neck. They barely grazed her skin. "What did you learn?"
Aurelio stood in front of her. The space between them was minimal, but still the only touches they shared were the ones he'd given: a kiss, a brush of fingers. The barely there touch made her shiver. She tilted her head a little further, giving more access to her skin as she thought about what he was trying to learn. The kisses and touches were a distraction.
"How to blend the materials together to make lotions, soaps, candles, and the like. Which scents worked best with which. Which plants to use and which plants not to use..."
No kiss. "Ah, that's not the hobby I was asking after." His fingers trailed off her neck and into her hair, twirling into the strands there. "I meant the murder."
Strangely enough, the twirling of her hair was more intimate than the kisses. That thought came later, though, the first thought was amusement. Correct answers rewarded with kisses and special touches?
"I see." Ivone managed to stave off the chuckle, but not the amused glint in her eye. He made her feel like a child's yo-yo. "The plants not to use have certain properties that cause one to fall ill. Did I mention the tea? Rose hip tea has an excellent nose. Amazing what the scent can hide..."
His breath hit her earlobe before his lips did. His lower lip slid around to the other side, and he sucked it gently into his mouth. She would feel the edge of this teeth before he withdrew, his hand a receptacle for her hair as he moved it up to the back of her head. His fingers ghosted along her scalp. "How would you like to deliver an appropriate mixture to a Judge?"
Ivone inhaled a sharp breath and closed her eyes. She grit her teeth and clenched her hands again. She even squirmed a little.
"Ahh," she exhaled out, moving her head this way and that to make the most of the touch on her scalp, "As a gift... through a bath salt? or maybe a tea?" He asked how she would like to, not if she would be willing to. Granted, the latter should have been obvious based on her earlier reply. "The question is how to do it without having fingers pointed in the direction of the deliverer."
"That," he said, his hand spreading wide so he held the back of her head in his palm, "is much too obvious. First," he kissed a trail along her jaw, "you'll need to earn his trust."
There she sat, the perfect, little porcelain doll dressed in nothing but a man's shirt. Her cheeks were pink and her hair mussed from his attention. Her legs were bare and closed, pressed tight together. She was looking down; long eye lashes visible against the pale curve of her cheek. Her lips were a soft color and parted slightly. She inhaled and exhaled a breath. The buttons of the shirt fell in the space between her breasts. So delicate, yet stronger than she looked. Ivone turned her gaze to Aurelio's, violet-blue eyes framed in lashes darker than her hair. She looked so... pure.
A dainty hand pressed against his chest and slowly slid up to his shoulder. The other hand carefully freed the first button of his vest from its home.
"I can do that."
He kissed her. Left hand still in its pocket, right gently clasping her head, he pressed forward. He did not waver from what he was doing -- lips carefully locking first around her upper lip, and then her lower -- but neither did he trap her. Ivone had her choice in this: he would not make it for her.
At first, he kissed her and she let him. It was a steady kiss, but not a demanding one. The hand on his shoulder slipped further around his neck, her other hand on the other side. Nimble fingers deftly slipped the tie from his hair, allowing it to fall as loose as hers. It was silky soft under her fingers. In an almost mimic of his gesture, she let her fingers delve into his hair until she cupped the back of his head with both hands.
Ivone used her tongue to trace the shape of his lips and taste the wine on his breath. She sucked on his bottom lip. Her lips traveled to his chin, which she nipped with perfectly straight, white teeth. Her hands clenched in his hair and tugged down to allow her teeth better access for little bites on the underside of his jaw and his throat. She paused then to breath in the scent of his skin and smiled against his throat. Either he'd push her away or let her have her way. The former would be frustrating and the latter didn't allow thought.
He turned his head with the movement, giving her access to his neck even as he pressed his lips to her jaw. He released her head, his hand following her neck and smoothing down her back. With a touch almost casual, he paused at the edge of the shirt and then hooked his fingers under it. The shirt wrinkled as he drew it up her back, fingers splaying against her naked skin. He made a noise, his breath hot against her jaw and the side of her face; his fingers explored aimlessly, leaving trails of sensation behind them.
Ivone's vision compressed as she nearly closed her eyes, the smile still curving her lips as he acquiesced to the demand. Bringing her hands down, she released the first button on his shirt and dipped her tongue in the hollows of his collar bone, before delivering more bites and nips. Nibbles and bites followed the release of three more buttons until his shirt was opened to the top of his vest. Ivone's tongue traveled back up its path, and around to give equal attention and bites the opposite side of his neck. His skin was so fair, she was sure to leave marks - and she fully intended to.
His hands felt hot against her skin and he made some noise. The noise was an encouragement, a trigger. She wanted to be closer and too many things were in between them. Ivone used her legs. She parted them and wrapped them around his hips, tucking her feet against his thighs to pull him that much closer.
Just like that, his left hand found its way over her thigh and to her hip. He pulled her body to where she'd pulled his against the edge of the counter. There was no longer any space between them. The sound of his breathing had roughened, quickened as he tilted his head back; she had her way with his neck, and he had his way with her shirt. Tried to -- it buckled against his own, pinned between them and the underside of her breasts. Impatience. It had sparked between them, and he bowed before it as his fingers flexed against her hip. He tugged sharp at her shirt, pulling her back, away from him.
Aurelio's stare was all demand, his skin flushed with heat. Both of his hands had moved to grip the bottom of her shirt, and in a single movement he had yanked it up. It caught on her arms, masking her face from him. He grunted, annoyed. He tugged at it. He was not looking at the shirt.
Ivone's hand were on the opening she'd made of his shirt. That damnable, buttoned vest, while an excellent cut for his build, was in her way. She wanted to touch his skin with her hands. When Aurelio jerked her backwards with the pull of the shirt, she moved easily. He could toss her around as if she were a feather. The strength of the pull and jerk of her arms resulted in at least two of the buttons on his vest popping off. Only one vest button and an eternity of shirt buttons… Her grip had been that tight. She lost sight of him in a wash of white, and shimmied and struggled, working to get the shirt off with him. Buttons again! Her breasts bounced with the movement. Ivone dropped her arms, bunching the fabric in her hands and holding it out at him.
"Just cut it off!" She said, voice thick with desire. The kitchen knives were right there, within reach.
Ivone sat on the counter, hand remaining in mid-air, cloth poised. At his response, she just smiled. The smile was a mix of sadness and amusement. It was a knowing smile. Leaning over, she dipped the end of the cloth in the warm water, then reached for the vee of his vest. She grasped the fabric and tugged him back toward her.
"Stay." She didn't make the pledge, because what he wanted to accomplish and what she wanted to accomplish might diverge in the near future. He was making promises with caveats and those weren't really promises at all. But, it was enough for now.
One of Aurelio's eyebrows veered upwards. At Ivone's sole word, the other followed. He kept the expression for a few seconds, showing his surprise, his approval: the circling thoughts below. Then it smoothed, and he stepped forward, leaned into her without allowing their bodies to touch. He placed his hands in his pockets, his head drawing alongside hers. "Whatever passes between us, it will be empty."
The words were hushed. Harsh. Truthful. He wasn't making excuses, but perhaps there was something to his honesty.
Ivone tilted her head to the side and finished cleaning the dirt from his face. The words were harsh and truthful. Another woman might have believed this inaccessibility was just another one of his fronts, but not Ivone. So, she thought, you already break your part of the bargain. The breaking was not unexpected. Some emotion clouded her gaze, though the smile that turned her lips was a wry one. She wiped the dirt from her hands and dropped the cloth to the counter.
He seemed to think she was blind. She turned her head a little, so her lips were near his ear.
"I appreciate your honesty."
"In return, tell me what you want." His words were a murmur, his breath brushing against the curve of her ear, gently stirring her hair.
His breath raised a prickle along her skin. Ivone leaned closer to share her secret. The distance between them was still there, but barely.
"I want to tear it all down." Her voice, though soft, was vibrant with emotion.
"Who?"
"The Judges. The Battlemages. I have a debt to repay." The reply was still soft, oh, so soft.
Aurelio turned his head. His hair was tied back, but shorter pieces had pulled loose, and these brushed against her skin as he turned his face slightly. He pressed his lips to the skin beneath her ear, a brief but firm kiss. "Good. This hobby of yours -- have you practice with it?" The words were all business, but the brush of his lips against her earlobe was anything but.
Ivone leaned into the brush of lips on skin. Her hands, which had dropped to rest on the edge of the counter, clenched around the edge. Heat, banked temporarily, crept through her again. Her gaze wasn't focused on a particular thing, She saw her kitchen, the copper pans, the cooking herbs hung from the rafters. "Three years." She almost began to provide more detail, then realized he probably didn't care.
Another kiss. He drew his right hand free from his pocket, and brushed what hair of hers separated them away and behind her ear. His fingers lingered there, behind her ear, and trailed down the back of her neck. They barely grazed her skin. "What did you learn?"
Aurelio stood in front of her. The space between them was minimal, but still the only touches they shared were the ones he'd given: a kiss, a brush of fingers. The barely there touch made her shiver. She tilted her head a little further, giving more access to her skin as she thought about what he was trying to learn. The kisses and touches were a distraction.
"How to blend the materials together to make lotions, soaps, candles, and the like. Which scents worked best with which. Which plants to use and which plants not to use..."
No kiss. "Ah, that's not the hobby I was asking after." His fingers trailed off her neck and into her hair, twirling into the strands there. "I meant the murder."
Strangely enough, the twirling of her hair was more intimate than the kisses. That thought came later, though, the first thought was amusement. Correct answers rewarded with kisses and special touches?
"I see." Ivone managed to stave off the chuckle, but not the amused glint in her eye. He made her feel like a child's yo-yo. "The plants not to use have certain properties that cause one to fall ill. Did I mention the tea? Rose hip tea has an excellent nose. Amazing what the scent can hide..."
His breath hit her earlobe before his lips did. His lower lip slid around to the other side, and he sucked it gently into his mouth. She would feel the edge of this teeth before he withdrew, his hand a receptacle for her hair as he moved it up to the back of her head. His fingers ghosted along her scalp. "How would you like to deliver an appropriate mixture to a Judge?"
Ivone inhaled a sharp breath and closed her eyes. She grit her teeth and clenched her hands again. She even squirmed a little.
"Ahh," she exhaled out, moving her head this way and that to make the most of the touch on her scalp, "As a gift... through a bath salt? or maybe a tea?" He asked how she would like to, not if she would be willing to. Granted, the latter should have been obvious based on her earlier reply. "The question is how to do it without having fingers pointed in the direction of the deliverer."
"That," he said, his hand spreading wide so he held the back of her head in his palm, "is much too obvious. First," he kissed a trail along her jaw, "you'll need to earn his trust."
There she sat, the perfect, little porcelain doll dressed in nothing but a man's shirt. Her cheeks were pink and her hair mussed from his attention. Her legs were bare and closed, pressed tight together. She was looking down; long eye lashes visible against the pale curve of her cheek. Her lips were a soft color and parted slightly. She inhaled and exhaled a breath. The buttons of the shirt fell in the space between her breasts. So delicate, yet stronger than she looked. Ivone turned her gaze to Aurelio's, violet-blue eyes framed in lashes darker than her hair. She looked so... pure.
A dainty hand pressed against his chest and slowly slid up to his shoulder. The other hand carefully freed the first button of his vest from its home.
"I can do that."
He kissed her. Left hand still in its pocket, right gently clasping her head, he pressed forward. He did not waver from what he was doing -- lips carefully locking first around her upper lip, and then her lower -- but neither did he trap her. Ivone had her choice in this: he would not make it for her.
At first, he kissed her and she let him. It was a steady kiss, but not a demanding one. The hand on his shoulder slipped further around his neck, her other hand on the other side. Nimble fingers deftly slipped the tie from his hair, allowing it to fall as loose as hers. It was silky soft under her fingers. In an almost mimic of his gesture, she let her fingers delve into his hair until she cupped the back of his head with both hands.
Ivone used her tongue to trace the shape of his lips and taste the wine on his breath. She sucked on his bottom lip. Her lips traveled to his chin, which she nipped with perfectly straight, white teeth. Her hands clenched in his hair and tugged down to allow her teeth better access for little bites on the underside of his jaw and his throat. She paused then to breath in the scent of his skin and smiled against his throat. Either he'd push her away or let her have her way. The former would be frustrating and the latter didn't allow thought.
He turned his head with the movement, giving her access to his neck even as he pressed his lips to her jaw. He released her head, his hand following her neck and smoothing down her back. With a touch almost casual, he paused at the edge of the shirt and then hooked his fingers under it. The shirt wrinkled as he drew it up her back, fingers splaying against her naked skin. He made a noise, his breath hot against her jaw and the side of her face; his fingers explored aimlessly, leaving trails of sensation behind them.
Ivone's vision compressed as she nearly closed her eyes, the smile still curving her lips as he acquiesced to the demand. Bringing her hands down, she released the first button on his shirt and dipped her tongue in the hollows of his collar bone, before delivering more bites and nips. Nibbles and bites followed the release of three more buttons until his shirt was opened to the top of his vest. Ivone's tongue traveled back up its path, and around to give equal attention and bites the opposite side of his neck. His skin was so fair, she was sure to leave marks - and she fully intended to.
His hands felt hot against her skin and he made some noise. The noise was an encouragement, a trigger. She wanted to be closer and too many things were in between them. Ivone used her legs. She parted them and wrapped them around his hips, tucking her feet against his thighs to pull him that much closer.
Just like that, his left hand found its way over her thigh and to her hip. He pulled her body to where she'd pulled his against the edge of the counter. There was no longer any space between them. The sound of his breathing had roughened, quickened as he tilted his head back; she had her way with his neck, and he had his way with her shirt. Tried to -- it buckled against his own, pinned between them and the underside of her breasts. Impatience. It had sparked between them, and he bowed before it as his fingers flexed against her hip. He tugged sharp at her shirt, pulling her back, away from him.
Aurelio's stare was all demand, his skin flushed with heat. Both of his hands had moved to grip the bottom of her shirt, and in a single movement he had yanked it up. It caught on her arms, masking her face from him. He grunted, annoyed. He tugged at it. He was not looking at the shirt.
Ivone's hand were on the opening she'd made of his shirt. That damnable, buttoned vest, while an excellent cut for his build, was in her way. She wanted to touch his skin with her hands. When Aurelio jerked her backwards with the pull of the shirt, she moved easily. He could toss her around as if she were a feather. The strength of the pull and jerk of her arms resulted in at least two of the buttons on his vest popping off. Only one vest button and an eternity of shirt buttons… Her grip had been that tight. She lost sight of him in a wash of white, and shimmied and struggled, working to get the shirt off with him. Buttons again! Her breasts bounced with the movement. Ivone dropped her arms, bunching the fabric in her hands and holding it out at him.
"Just cut it off!" She said, voice thick with desire. The kitchen knives were right there, within reach.
"Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting."
Thread Tracker
Re: The Black Widow and the Peacock
For a moment, Aurelio went still. He looked from Ivone to the knives, and back to her. His lips parted, but on the verge of speech he reached for a knife and brandished it, turning it so its sharp edge faced away from her. Even so, it was not a tool meant for cutting cloth. He wrestled with it against the bunching fabric until he had cleared an edge, and then twirled the knife into an icepick grip. He tore the shirt, arms bunching, until it reached the upper seam. The shirt was made of good quality material, sewn carefully. It took another application of the knife (Ivone's body peeking through, pleasant distraction) before it parted.
They were both lost to lust. He could have ripped the buttons, rather than cutting. Even parted, one half with the buttons danging dejectedly to the side of her body, it still covered her arms. Not that he cared; he pulled the shirt off from her shoulders and partway down her arms, studying her with the direct intent an artist might show his subject.
He was handsy with her, bold. He touched what he saw and made no apologies for it. They were tangled in each others' personal space, and he ate greedily from her skin. Kisses were placed from neck to left breast, one hand braced on her lower back, and the other flirting with her right nipple.
He wanted to hear her moan.
They were both lost to lust. He could have ripped the buttons, rather than cutting. Even parted, one half with the buttons danging dejectedly to the side of her body, it still covered her arms. Not that he cared; he pulled the shirt off from her shoulders and partway down her arms, studying her with the direct intent an artist might show his subject.
He was handsy with her, bold. He touched what he saw and made no apologies for it. They were tangled in each others' personal space, and he ate greedily from her skin. Kisses were placed from neck to left breast, one hand braced on her lower back, and the other flirting with her right nipple.
He wanted to hear her moan.