[Of course, he is malleable, obedient under her touch. He doesn't make much movement himself because he (doesn't deserve it, he shouldn't be selfish, he-) doesn't want to assume for her. He doesn't want to misstep.]
[She settles against him, and he grasps her lightly over her hips.]
You know...is the dress being short as it is also a preparation for summer?
It isn't. I'll be wearing stuff closer to my knees, since that's what I'm comfortable with -- this is just for you.
[ since it shows much of her legs, her thighs, especially when she sits and it rides up just a little. she's curious about what he likes, since she knows vaguely what others enjoy; she's learning what she likes in the same way, through the way their reactions make her feel. if she wants to show off more or less. ]
You're remarkably self-controlled though, Vergilius, I was convinced from my novels that it might distract you even a bit. I guess that's your work experience coming into play.
[ but trust, she isn't disappointed -- just amused, though she should have expected such. for now, it feels... as if she's letting her lead, and while she doesn't mind it, there's something about it that bothers her too. ]
[Just for him, huh. There's a brief shift in expression - almost vaguely bashful - before it goes back to his regular neutral little line of his lips. The tip of his ears betray him, though, tinted red.]
[This is new. This is all new. He really can't fathom it.]
...It is distracting me. [He admits, a bit quietly. Experimentally, a hand moves down from her hip, over her upper thigh, before settling on bare skin.] That's rather...naughty of you.
[ it is, huh. but he doesn't wear it at all. only when she states her reasoning does it click, does he react, and it's charming in its own way. goosebumps meet his bared palm as he touches her and she unconsciously spreads her thighs a little in response, chest rising with a soft inhale. ]
Isn't it? [ cheeky. ] I'm trying something new.
[ teasing him isn't new. but teasing him like this is. being bad isn't so bad though, there's still a sort of comfort in the control she has. the control she can let go as she's comfortable with it. ]
-- Mean, [ comes after a moment, flushing at the mere brush of his thumb. warmth is already swelling between them.
she's soft, but she adores the roughness of his hands, the scrape pleasant in a way she can't explain. how she asks? isn't that an ask enough? but this is good, too. ] I'd like a massage, Mister Vergilius. If you'd be so kind.
[ as if he's anything but kind, to her. in his own ways. ]
I have to be mean. You're so mean to me. It's only fair.
[He is obviously saying it lightly. If he really took offense to anything she did, he'd say so, or be his ever intimidating self.]
[The request goes heard, of course. He leans in, lips brushing up against her cheek as he murmurs against the flush of her cheeks. Red on red. She's so vibrant compared to his dull skin.]
Miss Malkuth. Of course. Where...would you like me to start?
[ she likes his playful meanness. it's a sweet sort, makes her bite back a grin, the words and the brush of a kiss, humming thoughtfully. ]
I don't know if I want you to work your way up or down... [ there's pros to both.
she knows, because she's imagined them. ] How about you guess... where I might need it the most, and go from there? See how well you know me.
[ not that it's hard to think of. while malkuth's an active person by nature, there's definitely points of her body that undergo more wear than others. ]
[He hums at that. Guess where she needs it most? A sort of test. Vaguely. Maybe. He finds it somewhat amusing, though.]
Up or down. Decisions, decisions.
[He did massage her calf once, for her injury. It feels like a lifetime, ago, where something was born. A spark of sorts, deep and heated. He could revisit it now, but this time, he wants to try something different.]
[He reaches to pull one of her arms up to kiss the back of her hand, before turning it over in his grip.]
Let's see those busy hands. [Another light kiss to her palm.] Unless you'd like a different place.
[ her fantasies are between her and the sheets of her bed thanks
her arm, her wrist, are small in his grasp; this is a fact she doesn't seem to tire of, nor of how much she likes her hands (tired, soft but with points of wear incomparable to those with rougher lives) being kissed and held, and each light brush sears her better than any brand. her heart remains battering in her chest, longing to be kissed elsewhere all the same, and she curls her fingers slightly in offering.
but she ought to respond, his color flourishing down her shoulders. ]
No, that's a... a fine start, Vergilius. They've been aching from all the writing I've had to do lately, no matter how often I stretch.
You're so busy. It's good. You're so passionate. But you deserve to rest, too.
[His other hand moves to cup over hers, before pressing his fingers in to intertwine with hers, rocking it a bit as his other hand kneads and strokes down her arm. Solid, gentle, and yet meaningful.]
The red of your flush...the yellow of your dress. You're like a sunrise, there.
Edited (can i spell. time will tell) 2024-05-09 04:45 (UTC)
[ intentional more like, his words and his movements, just as her choice in dress was intentional. malkuth rests her head back and sighs, a small sound escaping with it, squeezing their joined hands in time.
could she be more spoiled, really. is it wrong to be. ]
[Now that gets him to release a little exhale with a sound not unlike the start of a laugh. She's warm. His hands tickle upward, brushing against the base of her neck.]
Of course. All they see is red eyes in the dark. So...you think they're like dusk? Most would say my gaze is like hell.
[ the fires of hell might be as warm, might be as dangerous and ready to light. malkuth shakes her head, straightening a little to catch more of his touch as she sighs. ]
I've been in hell before. [ ruled it in a way. ] I like the way you make me feel way more.
[ there was a kind of self-satisfaction in her work. yes, she was always on the cusp of falling, all it would take is a push to bring her over the edge, but it was that tightrope performance she enjoyed so much... right? knowing that if she succeeded despite the odds, she'd be praised and respected and loved... knowing that if she failed, she would be ridiculed and dismissed as unable to do her task.
maybe she would have been thrown aside like tiphereth a had always wanted for netzach.
the past is the past, but it still influences her some. she turns her head to lay her cheek on his arm best she can. ]
They just think it's hell because you won't let anyone come close enough to learn that your gaze can be heavenly.
It does. And you burn me, most pleasurably. Your warmth is like no other.
[And she has been in hell. He wanders through the Inferno, even now, even in this place. The way she compliments him makes his ears warm up, and its like she's holding her hands against them with the way it feels wonderfully smothering.]
[Your gaze can be heavenly, she says. But how can it be? So many lives. So many destruction.]
[If the angel instructs it, however, then maybe it is so. His hand stroke through her hair, the other coming to knead over the base of her neck.]
[It terrifies him, the strength of emotion in his chest.]
Even heaven can be a burden. [But he'll try to take the compliment.] But you, who have been through everything...I'd lay down a carpet of roses for you on the way there. I would.
[ even heaven asks for the destruction of the beneath, but that's more of hokma's realm. her own is mankind and the path they walk, by choice by circumstance by their own will and not. a smile flutters to her lips and a laugh out of them.
he writes her poetry in so many ways, she can never fully believe it's for her, about her. but who else is here? no one, so it's only logical that it's about her, that it's for her. leaves her warm and wanting for more, throat tightening the way her heart does.
at least the massage is nice and easy to focus on. malkuth hadn't realized how much stress she'd been carrying until he began to work it out. ]
[There's no one else. His gaze is turned for her and her alone right now, hungry and desperate and affectionate. She guides humankind in all its flaws, rolling in her own, and so does he in his own way. She puts her gaze on mortals like him, and he returns that attention tenfold. All for her. Anything for her.]
[The question is a little unexpected, and he muses on it as he rubs up to behind her ear.]
[It's a nice image. Thrilling, really. But something feels like it is sitting at the back of his throat, a lump that can't even dissolve. It sits there, as solid as a stone. He wishes it could go away. Instead, he knows he'll choke on it for the rest of his life.]
...Can I...tell you something? About...a garden of mine, I suppose.
[ the air weighs slightly, in a different way than the warmth that might be there when his hands are on her; malkuth notes the change with his slow words and turns her head slightly to catch his gaze. ]
Of course, Vergilius. [ she's talked enough about herself, she's been patient for him. ] I'm listening.
...Once, I had a garden. Of all sorts of flowers. I kept it well. I nourished the seedlings I....wanted color. At that time, I hoped to see it make the City better. Happier, I suppose.
[Maybe he should be more concrete, but it still feels like walking barefoot on hot coals to even bring the actual thing forward as bluntly as he does with everything else. So, metaphor for now.]
But one day, I came home, and that garden was....burnt by another. Plants and flowers alike, gone. Only a few survived. And the few I managed to cobble together were later....stolen by others for their own needs. In the end...nothing of that original garden was left.
[He shakes his head helplessly.]
So what good am I in...taking care of something like that, huh? I couldn't even...protect the one I had.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Seeing them more often, he means.]
[Of course, he is malleable, obedient under her touch. He doesn't make much movement himself because he (doesn't deserve it, he shouldn't be selfish, he-) doesn't want to assume for her. He doesn't want to misstep.]
[She settles against him, and he grasps her lightly over her hips.]
You know...is the dress being short as it is also a preparation for summer?
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[ since it shows much of her legs, her thighs, especially when she sits and it rides up just a little. she's curious about what he likes, since she knows vaguely what others enjoy; she's learning what she likes in the same way, through the way their reactions make her feel. if she wants to show off more or less. ]
You're remarkably self-controlled though, Vergilius, I was convinced from my novels that it might distract you even a bit. I guess that's your work experience coming into play.
[ but trust, she isn't disappointed -- just amused, though she should have expected such. for now, it feels... as if she's letting her lead, and while she doesn't mind it, there's something about it that bothers her too. ]
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[Just for him, huh. There's a brief shift in expression - almost vaguely bashful - before it goes back to his regular neutral little line of his lips. The tip of his ears betray him, though, tinted red.]
[This is new. This is all new. He really can't fathom it.]
...It is distracting me. [He admits, a bit quietly. Experimentally, a hand moves down from her hip, over her upper thigh, before settling on bare skin.] That's rather...naughty of you.
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Isn't it? [ cheeky. ] I'm trying something new.
[ teasing him isn't new. but teasing him like this is. being bad isn't so bad though, there's still a sort of comfort in the control she has. the control she can let go as she's comfortable with it. ]
Would you give me a massage right now if I asked?
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[His thumb brushes up against the inside of her thigh, his expression thoughtful. She's so soft. As always.]
[Cheeky, cheeky. That restless part of him that wants and craves and desires beats so restlessly in his chest. He shouldn't be allowed to have this.]
[She's put herself in his hands and asked him to have it though, right...?]
Hm.
[Maybe he should also be playful here - not so much the stoic guide. A brief smile flits over his lips as he tilts his head.]
That depends on how you ask.
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she's soft, but she adores the roughness of his hands, the scrape pleasant in a way she can't explain. how she asks? isn't that an ask enough? but this is good, too. ] I'd like a massage, Mister Vergilius. If you'd be so kind.
[ as if he's anything but kind, to her. in his own ways. ]
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[He is obviously saying it lightly. If he really took offense to anything she did, he'd say so, or be his ever intimidating self.]
[The request goes heard, of course. He leans in, lips brushing up against her cheek as he murmurs against the flush of her cheeks. Red on red. She's so vibrant compared to his dull skin.]
Miss Malkuth. Of course. Where...would you like me to start?
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I don't know if I want you to work your way up or down... [ there's pros to both.
she knows, because she's imagined them. ] How about you guess... where I might need it the most, and go from there? See how well you know me.
[ not that it's hard to think of. while malkuth's an active person by nature, there's definitely points of her body that undergo more wear than others. ]
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[He hums at that. Guess where she needs it most? A sort of test. Vaguely. Maybe. He finds it somewhat amusing, though.]
Up or down. Decisions, decisions.
[He did massage her calf once, for her injury. It feels like a lifetime, ago, where something was born. A spark of sorts, deep and heated. He could revisit it now, but this time, he wants to try something different.]
[He reaches to pull one of her arms up to kiss the back of her hand, before turning it over in his grip.]
Let's see those busy hands. [Another light kiss to her palm.] Unless you'd like a different place.
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her arm, her wrist, are small in his grasp; this is a fact she doesn't seem to tire of, nor of how much she likes her hands (tired, soft but with points of wear incomparable to those with rougher lives) being kissed and held, and each light brush sears her better than any brand. her heart remains battering in her chest, longing to be kissed elsewhere all the same, and she curls her fingers slightly in offering.
but she ought to respond, his color flourishing down her shoulders. ]
No, that's a... a fine start, Vergilius. They've been aching from all the writing I've had to do lately, no matter how often I stretch.
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[His other hand moves to cup over hers, before pressing his fingers in to intertwine with hers, rocking it a bit as his other hand kneads and strokes down her arm. Solid, gentle, and yet meaningful.]
The red of your flush...the yellow of your dress. You're like a sunrise, there.
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could she be more spoiled, really. is it wrong to be. ]
Do you like the sunrise? Or the sunset better?
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[For her, it's wrong for her to not be spoiled enough.]
[He hums, scarred fingers trailing up to that exposed shoulder to give it a squeeze.]
The sunrise. I like...thinking of the new day. Though I suppose most would consider me a sunset man.
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the fingers on her shoulder raise goosebumps to meet the pads of his hands, closing her eyes. ]
Because it leads to the night? Mister Dark and Gloomy. Or because of your eyes? They are a lovely dusky color.
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Of course. All they see is red eyes in the dark. So...you think they're like dusk? Most would say my gaze is like hell.
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[ the fires of hell might be as warm, might be as dangerous and ready to light. malkuth shakes her head, straightening a little to catch more of his touch as she sighs. ]
I've been in hell before. [ ruled it in a way. ] I like the way you make me feel way more.
[ there was a kind of self-satisfaction in her work. yes, she was always on the cusp of falling, all it would take is a push to bring her over the edge, but it was that tightrope performance she enjoyed so much... right? knowing that if she succeeded despite the odds, she'd be praised and respected and loved... knowing that if she failed, she would be ridiculed and dismissed as unable to do her task.
maybe she would have been thrown aside like tiphereth a had always wanted for netzach.
the past is the past, but it still influences her some. she turns her head to lay her cheek on his arm best she can. ]
They just think it's hell because you won't let anyone come close enough to learn that your gaze can be heavenly.
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[And she has been in hell. He wanders through the Inferno, even now, even in this place. The way she compliments him makes his ears warm up, and its like she's holding her hands against them with the way it feels wonderfully smothering.]
[Your gaze can be heavenly, she says. But how can it be? So many lives. So many destruction.]
[If the angel instructs it, however, then maybe it is so. His hand stroke through her hair, the other coming to knead over the base of her neck.]
[It terrifies him, the strength of emotion in his chest.]
Even heaven can be a burden. [But he'll try to take the compliment.] But you, who have been through everything...I'd lay down a carpet of roses for you on the way there. I would.
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he writes her poetry in so many ways, she can never fully believe it's for her, about her. but who else is here? no one, so it's only logical that it's about her, that it's for her. leaves her warm and wanting for more, throat tightening the way her heart does.
at least the massage is nice and easy to focus on. malkuth hadn't realized how much stress she'd been carrying until he began to work it out. ]
Have you ever thought about gardening?
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[The question is a little unexpected, and he muses on it as he rubs up to behind her ear.]
...I never thought about it, no.
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You should, [ she finally mumbles, ] I bet you'd grow some really pretty roses.
[ it'll be good for him too. nurturing small lives, able to see the life those scarred hands can bring. ]
If you grow some, take me for a tour. I love flowers.
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[It sombers him, now, thinking of it. To nurture something into life, coax it into beauty. But he tried that. And look where it went.]
[She wishes it, but isn't it asking too much of him?]
Do you think I could really do so?
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[ sincerely, too. he's kind to her. he's gentle and careful, considerate and ever-watchful -- if he could do that... he could raise a flowerbed. ]
Just treat them the way you do me and you'll see them unfurl their petals as easily as you unfurl mine.
[ in several meanings. ]
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[It's a nice image. Thrilling, really. But something feels like it is sitting at the back of his throat, a lump that can't even dissolve. It sits there, as solid as a stone. He wishes it could go away. Instead, he knows he'll choke on it for the rest of his life.]
...Can I...tell you something? About...a garden of mine, I suppose.
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Of course, Vergilius. [ she's talked enough about herself, she's been patient for him. ] I'm listening.
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[Maybe he should be more concrete, but it still feels like walking barefoot on hot coals to even bring the actual thing forward as bluntly as he does with everything else. So, metaphor for now.]
But one day, I came home, and that garden was....burnt by another. Plants and flowers alike, gone. Only a few survived. And the few I managed to cobble together were later....stolen by others for their own needs. In the end...nothing of that original garden was left.
[He shakes his head helplessly.]
So what good am I in...taking care of something like that, huh? I couldn't even...protect the one I had.
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