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(Closed) Octeuril Catch All
Who: Asura + Plotted CR
When: Octeuril
Where: Various locations in Aefenglom and the Wilde.
What: Quests, event threads, domestic undertakings, and general gallivanting about.
Warnings: None yet!
Feel free to drop me a line @ the October CR and Plotting Post if you're interested in threading and would like to work out details for a starter. DM works just as well, too! o9
When: Octeuril
Where: Various locations in Aefenglom and the Wilde.
What: Quests, event threads, domestic undertakings, and general gallivanting about.
Warnings: None yet!
Feel free to drop me a line @ the October CR and Plotting Post if you're interested in threading and would like to work out details for a starter. DM works just as well, too! o9
SOKIE;
The King of Summer can hardly be called the Iron Spear without his iconic weapon, after all. True, the spear is not forged from the flames churned out by Asura's furnace of a chest, but the magic it's comprised of burns brightly all the same—the trick is keeping it sustained. Power, fed through the foci of his crystalline frame, keeps the evocation summons from charring hair and blistering the skin (and from burning away the silk of his shirt), and more still feeds the composition of the spear, keeping it weighty and solid Asura spins the spear in his hands, alternating between half and full rotations in a blazing dance.
It takes the edge off (of excess magic build up, of the tension which has been pulled over the house like a shroud since he'd confronted a necromancer about falsehoods and t r u s t), or at least it did until the moment when the mage herself made an appearance.
The whirling of the spear slows, its flames ceasing to streak, as the weapon is leveled with Sokie's line of sight in a gesture which is arresting, but far from a threat. In fact, it's— ]
Sokie Undertown, I challenge you. [ —an invitation to throw down??? ] Accept, and step into the pit to fight for that which I once offered you: the Freehold role of Sun's Shadow, a friend to Summer, able to call upon the Iron Spear at will.
Refuse... [ And what? What will befall her, or more to the point, them? ] ...and understand that I cannot continue on as we are.
[ With Sokie, treading upon a path undisclosed to all others. Could their alliance truly be called as such, if she would speak to him I do trust you, Asura in one instant, and recant the words in the next? Is their home the cage she'd spoken of, upon the streets of Dorchacht? Would she take her leave of it, in the instant she deemed in time to cut her losses? He won't be used, not by anyone (never again, after Arcadia), and in the heat of their former exchange, he'd allowed those very words to slip his tongue.
He won't let her pick and choose when to call him friend; she'll either accept the challenge or she won't.
His grin, then, is a wry thing, edged with equal parts fondness and frustration: ] You and me, Sokie, we've been stuck for awhile. And I don't know about you, but I sure as hell can't take it anymore.
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Sadly she wasn't the one to call on him or tell him, and hence their bitter disagreement. It'd feel bitter and queer when he walked out that night; her bed had felt cold when she settled in and when she woke up.
But instead of being able to wait for him to finish playing in his pit as it were, he leveled his spear at her and...did he just. Challenge her? To a battle? And cornered her neatly into one thing or another, in as dramatic fashion as possible which...
Had her mouth open, agape and uncertain at first if he was serious. No, he was completely serious. He wouldn't offer the Sun's Shadow, of all things, even if they had spoken of him being her general in jest.
For a few moments she was frozen and still. Then there was an anger that set her frame; a slow move to roll and crack her neck, a slow exhale of heated breath going through her nose.]
So it's like this then, hm? And here I was hoping to just have a candid conversation.
[There's a slow, angry sigh, and for a few moments, it seems that she's about to walk away. But no. Instead, she reaches behind herself, to the back of her belt, and makes a flicking motion with her wrist, bringing out a collapsible baton. It wasn't as impressive as a spear of fire-instead, it was rather mundane of nature-but she still held it to the side, a clearly defensive, even battle ready posture.]
You're so ready to deal the blows. Fine. I'll dance. But I do think we need to actually have a conversation. Just hitting each other isn't going to solve this, your highness.
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[ She's angry and he can taste it, the emotion rolling off of her like miasma, heady and noxious in turns. Never before has she seemed so corporeal and present to him, wholly situated in the moment as her furor sparks the green in her eyes, their bright malachite set ablaze as she casts aside the last vestiges of her surprise to brandish that baton which Asura assesses as a quick draw and light carry. Against it (and against Sokie), his beast weapon is not a fire-forged spear, and so...! He sees it dispelled after one final rotation, its flames flickering into nothing as he defines the scope of the challenge set before them: ]
Each forward advance comes at the cost of one disclosure, and each feint is priced at a single concession. Blocks are free, as are withdraws, and...
[ Asura, he cannot help but wonder if Sokie's so fiercely incensed because she's afraid. He hadn't missed her hesitation, when it seemed she might walk away from him and refuse his invitation, and he's certain that it had been borne from the notion that she perceived a Freehold role as little more than a ball and chain; that she would consider it not as a partnership forged of goodwill, but as an a obligation which she could not (and would not) be able to fulfill.
And yet... she had stepped forward, anyway.
(In that instant, the tension had gone from his shoulders. Had she turned from him, he would have afforded her the same courtesy with finality.) ]
The first person to force the other to set foot outside of the pit wins the day. [ Putting a measure of distance between them, Asura falls back to the opposite end of the fighting pit, his arms spread wide and palms set upturned and open as though he were addressing some imaginary crowd of onlookers for the fight. ] And the loser...?
[ Head canting to the side, the mass of his raven-dark curls obscures one of his eyes as he grins, gesturing toward Sokie, because despite the circumstance, Asura can't hide his love for contest. He and Sokie, they'd already danced together once, but never like this. Never on opposing sides. ]
Maybe that should be for the mage to decide.
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[She points at him briefly with her baton. Yes, concession and disclosures blah blah blah. Very nice, very poetic, and while normally she'd just enjoy it, she's not really in the mood for it at all. Maybe it's just from the tension from after the Dor things, or the passing days where he was angry at her, or too many bonds-or caring for people doing stupid things-maybe all of the above. It was difficult to say. Fear? She wasn't really fear right now. He wanted to trap her into a position so she had to be on his side, be his mage?
After being stuck in a role of a tourist, a barely tolerated witch, she was not in the mood to play around.]
Don't. Eat it.
[What she means is:]
Let me feel what I need to feel for this, all right? Let me feel something.
[She flicked her baton at her side, and while he was loving of contests, she...tended to fight for survival, as if she was coming for blood. Which was why it was good he was setting limitations.]
I don't care what the loser has to do right now. But I'll say no magic, else we can easily hurt each other.
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(During the hour of Autumn when shadows grew long, the first frost gathered, and the year began to die, Asura remembers walking the Hedge with the Queen of the Leaden Mirror, her sightless eyes seemingly fixed upon him as she crooned—"So you see, my dear Imperator, nothing lasts."—her point articulated with a fleeting press of lips to lips.
He'd been unwavering, then, as he is now, his response the bark of a Draconic's laugh: The amity of anger may cool, but it always endures. Camaraderie is strengthened, more so when fear looms over the bend. It's how we survive, all of us. Together.) ]
And from the look you're wearing, maybe you'd even enjoy it.
[ Because Asura knows her expression, has seen it on the faces of each and every one of his brothers and sisters in arms. That look is wild, agitated, and coupled with the flick of her wrist and snap! of the baton at her side, Sokie is all but raring to fight, and the notion alone nearly sends Asura surging forward to greet her (how could he deny her when her passion finally, finally matched his own?). But he refrains, makes an exercise of control, flexing taloned fingers as he affirms: ]
No, magic then. [ He'll brawl, where she's chosen her baton. ] Don't worry about me eating what I shouldn't, either.
Though you've gone and laid out a world-class buffet, if I had any more energy coursing through my veins, I'd be the next Witch in Aefenglom to go out with a bang.
[ And then Sokie wouldn't have an opponent to work out her kinks with. ]
Besides, this is about how you feel that my offer is a collar around your neck. [ —all at once, Asura's easy cadence drops into something guttural and low as his own wrath unfurls like a crack of Summer thunder: ] ...as though I'd ever rob someone of their freedom!
[ How doesn't she know him better than that? He may have instigated this, set her at a crossroads, but only to choose for herself—he would sooner see her dead than confined and restricted at his hands. ]
You left, once before. [ Perhaps to avoid a confrontation such as this one. ] You can show me now what you're made of.
[ Hey, Sokie. That? That is your invitation to make the opening move as Asura (for once in his life) holds his ground. ]
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[She's been practicing and playing with magic since near-about day one, and she loves it. It's more then a weapon or a resource: it's something that she loves. And when she's angry...she'll just hurt him badly, and possibly even with lightning and fire. That just wouldn't be fair if he can't shield himself.
She shrugs about her enjoying herself. She might. Doesn't matter. More important is the fight that's about to occur. Yes yes, talk talk talk is good things to know-good she won't suddenly be chill-she bared her teeth to the possibility of him exploding, not allowed-
Though. Hah. Was he getting that? Was he really? She wasn't sure, even as she felt herself center, and her teeth bared in a grimace.]
Maybe there was a reason I left, you dunce. Maybe the song wasn't about you!
[Forget the baton, she's running up to him, and moving with a rushed hop so she could go down and slam her fist against his nose. Maybe it was a good thing she didn't have a platform to leap off of...]
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It was always about you. [ And that had been evident even on the streets of Dorchacht, when they sang together, but never truly to the same tune. A taloned hand raised, he brushes the flat of his hand against his nose, knowing that it'll bruise something awful, but be no worse for wear come morning even if there's a beautiful ache radiating throughout the whole of his skull because of it. Breathing hard, Asura pivots on his heel to face her, his stance notably unguarded—and really, it's almost like he'd welcome a second punch, just to make sure the first wasn't a gratifying fluke. ] About your lack of faith and your deceptions.
[ He wonders: would she be able to move him, if he became an imperturbable pivot in the center of the pit? Would she even care to? ]
I'm not about to fall for the same old song for a third time.
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Oh my god. Is it about me? When I'm looking out for you, trying to ensure you survive? I didn't tell you about the operation because it wasn't for mine to tell! And if I mentioned anything on the Watch, anything at all, we'd get caught. Which sucks when they're memory eaters.
[She hissed through her teeth, and moved to grab him by the hair, so she could bring his head down. It was with the baton hand. It's fine.]
You're one to talk about lack of faith. Every time, every time things are going well...
You get caught up about me being a mage bullshit!
[And she. Tried to punch him in the eye.
With her injured hand.]
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Because even now, you resort to misdirection— [ Even as she rears her free hand back, her anger demanding that she land another punch despite the injury to her person. Were he less angry himself, he'd be pleased like no other, that she showed a glimmer of Summer in her will to deal damage to the deserving despite the cost, but... Though it's tempered and restrained, he still can't help but be pissed as he rumbles, voice breathy and low in the wake of her hit, pain blossoming in his brow where her knuckles had collided: ] —just like a mage.
[ And he sweeps Sokie's legs out from under her, encouraging her to fall to the side, and with her hand still very much rooted in the thick of his hair, he makes it a point to fall with her, helping her along to the sands below.
Impact is jarring, but not nearly enough so to stop him from carrying on as he blinks blood (Sokie, she must have split the skin with the force of her hit) from his eye— ] Don't make this about the Watch, you knew where to find me. Don't make this about protecting me, either, not when you couldn't trust me enough to have your back in turn.
[ His arm comes between them, then, in what could have been a palm strike, had it only the momentum behind it. Instead, it's a simple press of his taloned hand to her breastbone, his touch lingering there for as long as she'll allow it (no, he's not convinced that her wrath will be so easily diffused; that she's done nearly enough damage to be alleviated). ]
How could I have known things were going well, that you made it out all right after, if you don't talk to me? For all that you study and dissect the world around you, sometimes... [ His grin then is a bitter thing. Bitter and warm and foolish beyond anything else. ] I swear you don't fucking think, Sokie Undertown.
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Though the mage comment was underhanded and she snarled at him for it. It was a good, gutteral snarl too-a sound worthy of a Summer retainer-even if it ended with a grunt as she was swept off her feet.
The hold on her baton loosens, and her fingers tangle in his fingers, rather then a full on pull as they fall (one far more gracefully then the other-) to the sands. For all that she did make sure to smack her legs against the surface, she just knew her back would be one giant cramp after this.
Though hey, she drew blood. If she wasn't so annoyed with him, she'd be pleased with herself for managing to do that.]
Don't think? Excuse me?
[That. Was a squawk. And of all the things he could have said, that was so offensive she-well she sputtered for a few moments, before holding up the fingers of her (still) injured hand. It hurt, but she still did it.]
One, you're over six feet. You know how hard it is to punch up and carry momentum? Also, you're a mother fucking dragonish big boy. You only come in large.
Second, yes I fucked up. I should have told you, or had Geralt tell you that I was doing something dangerous, we're on blackout, if I'm back by morning, then we're cool. But I didn't, and that was not a matter of lacking trust.
Because I do trust you.
Third-
[Her hand went over his wrist, and her nails dug in, moving to twist the skin in a one handed friction burn-]
I like you. I'm used to running from that. For centuries. Have you noticed? I act friendly, but I'm not a friend. I'm used to people dying on me, or trying to use me. If not that first party, then a second, trying to kidnap them, killing them, or worse to spite me.
[She tried to shove his arm away with a grunt.]
Not everyone emerges from madness to the arms of a court or humans that take them as they are. Cut me some fucking slack Asura.
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[ Shoving himself up with one arm (insofar as Sokie will allow), his hair tumbles down, over his shoulder, in an ever-curling cascade as he studies her face, and wonders at when the fight (the excitement for contest and sport) went out of him. Had it been in the moment when they'd both collided with the unforgiving sands below? When Sokie had squawked, admitted that she'd fucked up, or confessed to holding fondness for him?
He doesn't know, and maybe now isn't the time to soul-search for an answer. But what he is aware of is how much she must be hurting (both physically and not), after running the gamut of so much emotion. Speaking freely, for her, is associated with so much perilous cost, though...
It didn't have to be. Not with him. Not with anyone, if only she chose to live. Like a human, like Asura's own kind did. ]
I like you, too, but I've got five decades worth of history with mages hunting me and my kind, slaughtering us as though we were nothing more than exotic reagents to further their spellcraft. Tools, with which to access realms far beyond their own.
[ And hell, that's hard for him to let go. Especially when he thinks of Lilith, how she'd been subjected to torture at the hands of mages after making it out of the Hedge. The truth is, even after Changelings escaped Arcadia, the fight for survival and for freedom never ended. ]
When you look at me, I don't know what you see. You've never breathed word of it before now. Paloma, she called you a dear friend of mine, but to me, you're...
[ The motion is deliberately slow and more tender than anything, when he reaches to take Sokie's busted-up hand into his own, his thumb touching lightly to fractured knuckles as he closes his eyes and tries to picture the damage done to them in his mind's eye. ]
Someone I want to learn and don't want to be without. You're more than a mage.
[ He knows it. It'll take a few more tries to wrap his head around it, fully, no different from how he's still coming to terms with the notion that (maybe) magic isn't inherently bad. Magic, after all, is the thing which allows him to heal the injury Sokie had first incurred then worsened in ten seconds flat. With an outpour of energy (and it's a relief, to be free of all that power which makes even his skin feel too tight), he sees the swelling of the joints lessened, and chips of bone set back into place. And if, by virtue of using magic during their battle, he forfeited the match, then...
W e l l, that's just coincidence, isn't it?
Eyes falling shut, he wraps up the last bit of his spell, his hand falling away from her own as he speaks with indelicacy and gentleness both: ] You're also someone I want to protect, so next time use your damn baton instead of your hand if you really want to break my face.
[ So yeah, he'll accept her not-quite apology. He'll do better by her, too. ]
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Sokie didn't want it to drain away. It would have been so much easier to snarl and bite and fight him, rather then talk about all of this emotional stuff. It was painful. She felt like she'd pulled out her guts out, and she felt...
hollowed out by his and her emotions alike. And he liked her too. She knew he did, but it was one thing to know, but another thing to hear it said.
Maybe this was what modern teenagers felt like. She couldn't bring herself to be mad even when he broke the rules and healed her hands. Her fingers had started to feel tight and taut, the first signs of swelling-
And they blissfully went away under Asura's healing touch. Ah-he really was a romantic wasn't he. Bastard.]
I didn't tell you because I didn't want to be hurt again. You've got five decades little dragon, but I have many more. We're both going to have to trust each other if we want this-whatever we are-to truly work.
Come here.
[Her hand untangled itself from his hair to cup the back of his head to draw him in. Not for a kiss-it felt too soon for that-but for their foreheads to touch, and to breathe this moment in.]
...you know I was too mad to remember my baton, right?
[She will poke you if you make fun of her for that or say she wasn't thinking again. Swear to god. SWEAR TO GOD.]
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[ H E L P, he couldn't resist. Sokie, she gets one free poke (or jab) to take whenever she so pleases. But if she could give him a few seconds before claiming her dues, that'd be nice, because this moment? It's tender and it's close—something to be savored in full—even if it's not precisely kind. Forehead to forehead and nose brushing nose, the puffs of Sokie's breath are warm and steady against his skin, and Asura's heartbeat ceases to pound, slowing to a pace that's thoroughly at rest within his furnace of a chest. ]
And don't call me little, not after claiming I only come in size large. [ —voice rumbling and low, he turns his head, lips pressing to the skin of Sokie's temple before drawing close to the shell of her ear: ] You don't get to go and minimize half a century when it's something that I fought for, tooth and nail, long before I set foot in the realm of mortals.
[ He gets it, that she's weathered the tides of time. He understands, that she's afraid. What he can't wrap his head around is the fact why anyone in all the realms would choose to continue on in such a way. ]
I'm not going to fall [ physically, at least. to madness, that's another story entirely ], and you're not going to get hurt. [ He reaches, then, to cup the side of her face with a taloned hand, his thumb skimming over the slender rise of her cheek in gentle caress to ensure that her focus is kept here, right on him. Because she's almost spent, benumbed by an outpour of emotion which even Asura himself hadn't foreseen, and before she turns away and locks herself right back up behind her friend-but-not-a-friend veneer, there's still some things which need to be said: ] Hell, a whole house collapsed on top of me Dorchacht, and you tell me if I came out of that worse for wear.
[ She's the one who'd healed him up, after all (despite Asura's initial disinclination toward her tending to his wounds when the pain seemed like the only thing which centered him after a night of taking vengeance against slavers). And after seeing the damage first-hand (how paltry it seemed, given the circumstance), she should know he's pretty and damn durable at that.
(As always, the only thing which might destroy Asura is himself.) ]
Though... if you ask me, a little heartache and pain means something is real. It keeps you connected to the world, and right now, don't you need that, Sokie? [ To remain grounded in the plight of the Mirrorbound and the continent of Geardagas. ] Liking someone so much that it frustrates you beyond compare every day, now that's...
[ Breathing deep, he shifts his body down, nose and lips trailing along the smooth column of Sokie's throat before coming to a stop just above her pulse-point. ]
...something worthwhile. [ And fun as fuck, to boot. ] Didn't think I'd find it here, though maybe I thought I'd always find it with you.
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It's a small large.
[Sokie, that doesn't make sense. But, well...at least she seemed to be enjoying the touches, slow and tender as they were, along with the more romantic touches. Even if there was a sudden speeding of her pulse-which could have been from fear or excitement, either one.]
I'm sorry if it seemed like I was dismissing your years. You earned your freedom, a hundred times over.
Though I will ask for you not to do that thing with the house again.
[Because that was worrisome, and also...she'd gotten so sick from using so much magic in a panic to keep him from turning into mush.
But all the touches and the talk...she could feel herself start to grow flustered. It's not a feeling that she likes, and she knows he has an image of her of being calm, cool and collected. So...she'll try to pretend her face doesn't feel warm from all the attention.
With a quiet huff, she made to take some of his hair, so she could hide behind some of it. She wasn't muffled or acting shy, he was just seeing things!]
But it seems...you want to be my connection to this world, and perhaps our own. You want to drive me crazy and be driven so in return...in the most harmless way possible.
And the most harmful.
What do you want us to be Asura? No mages, no courts involved. Just us.
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Continues on with his ministrations, taloned fingers skimming up and down her sides as his lips find the hollow of her throat, laving it with attention that is delicate and featherlight. ]
To be accomplices in a bid to take back our old humanity.
[ Not to pretend that they are something which they are not (and can be no longer, not when one has been Changed, and the other has walked the mortal realm for so very long that she ceased to truly be a part of it), but to wear it as a badge. As mantle and as armor. ]
I want us to feel, to fight, to give, and to take. [ And to enjoy one another, as they'd been neglecting to do. ] I want...
[ It happens, then, in the blink of an eye—his hands at Sokie's hips, he uses his own weight to see their positions reversed: rolling onto his back, he sees Sokie risen above him, no longer able to hide behind his hair as he continues on in that sultry Summer drawl of his: ]
To get lost with you, out in the Wilde. [ And forget about the city, if only for a little while. ] I want us to dance, to love and to lust, and to be so damn alive that it rolls off of us in waves, letting everyone know that we have survived and we have endured and that we are not afraid.
[ Staring up at Sokie through a shroud of ravendark lashes, he grins (and the expression is soft, crooked at one corner and made all the more roguish for it), and he finds that (for once) he isn't disappointed by a fight that too soon met with its end—because this outcome? It's more enjoyable than anything he'd envisioned. ]
Because... you're more than the sum of your losses, Sokie. And I'm more than my Keeper's soldier.
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And the touch of his lips against her throat was...distracting. Good thing there were no bites, or there would be no conversation. (Likely he picked that up already, one way or the other).
His answer was...on the surface, a let down. That was always a goal, wasn't it? Always his goal of becoming More Human. And she...well she had to interact with humans on an intense basis to remember how to act like a person.
She didn't have any comments to make-she wanted him to talk it out. Though she should have realized he wouldn't let her hide for long. She made a quiet sound of surprise as he lifted her up, and up on top of him, and keenly aware of how their bodies fit together. And of things that they hadn't done-because it'd cross a line of intimacy that she wouldn't be ready to cross.
Not to have her heart broken another time.]
So you want us to be human and to be alive. Not a tall order in the least, hm?
[She cocked an eyebrow, and leaned in, pressing her hands against his shoulders. A light touch, after everything, and less on domination then tenderness.]
I never thought of you as that you know. Not here. Before, you were the Summer King. And now, you're a mostly stubborn Asura, a large flirt and a man built of beyond human endurance.
But still Asura all the same.
[Her hand come up-the same hand that was bloodied, that had been healed, moved up, to lightly stroke her fingers down his jaw, his throat.]
Though you know, I was hoping your answer would be a little less romantic and a little more concise.
Like, you know. If you wanted to date or something, rather then celebrate life like a couple of love children in the sixties.
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[ Though the pursuit he would have them share in together is part of a much larger, broader philosophy—one he'd divulged to her when they'd met upon rooftop in Venice for the very first time: one must always pursue their pleasure in life. And if his pleasure should be relishing in all things human with a woman who'd taken the name of Sokie Undertown...? Asura's definitely going to chase after it (and after her), if she were game for chasing after him as well. ]
But to be honest, I thought we'd breezed right on past dating when I carried you over the threshold to this house. [ Grinning, he thinks it's just like her, to drive straight into the cold, hard facts before allowing herself to be distracted by the details (however gratifying and cathartic). What do you want us to be?, she'd asked, and when she hadn't received an answer to her liking, she'd pushed a little harder even as her fingers skimmed whisper-soft down the bared skin of his throat. ] Living together and sharing a bed...
[ The habits they'd formed, as they'd grown familiar and close, relying upon one another in more ways than one. ]
You don't get more involved than that, yeah? [ Or, at least, Asura doesn't think so. ] Though if you wanted to get all formal on me, that's fine. We can devote some time to seeing one another—
[ With no barriers, no bar in between. ]
—starting right now. Because we're there already. You see me absent of both shackles and diadem, and for the first time, I think I can see you clearly, Sokie Undertown. [ Catching her hand with his own, he presses his lips to the ridge of her knuckles, tasting blood (the power it holds) from the wounds he'd only just healed. ] You want to give us a chance.
[ So will you chase after him, Sokie? Will you hold onto him, after opening a gash above his eye and wearing his blood upon your forehead like some anointment? (Forehead to forehead can get messy, after all, and not only with the crest of tender sentiment it instills.) ]
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Though that didn't distract her from the fact that he called her babe. She really disliked nicknames like that, and he was lucky her hand was still sore, even with the healing, or he'd end up punched again.]
I knew it was the sixties, but I didn't realize it was in sixty nine. Also, you kind of dragged me in so I wouldn't be living a hobo life and snuck into my bed like you were a little kid having nightmares.
[So, she didn't think they'd been dating yet. Even if the hand kiss made her face soften for a few moments...she nodded, somber.]
I do want to give us a chance. That means more talking. This means we're going to be a little kinder to one another- and we're going to have to make little moments that are, dare I say it, romantic.
[Sokie's fingers went to the side then, and slowly looped his locks of hair around her fingers, before kissing it.]
And of course, sex.
[She moved to pull herself up, her grip not slacking on his hair.]
But first things first. Let's get your face cleaned up Asura.
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She rises and he follows (just as when she'd fallen, he'd dived right on after her), because... if they're not going to waste it, this chance, they've got to be on the same page and wholly together. ]
You don't think the blood dripping into my eye makes me roguishly handsome? [ —he huffs after he's on his feet, rolling his shoulders and lifting a hand to the back of his neck to release the lingering tension from Sokie's one-two punch from muscle and tendon. Already, there's swelling along the bridge of his nose, his skin reddened with blood that has yet to darken to purple, and yet...
He's impossibly content, because he got away with calling Sokie babe, even if she swiftly returned the favor by bringing his need for constant, close proximity at all hours to attention. (What had that been, about being kinda to one another...?) ]
Before cleaning up and before the sex, I'd wager that there's one thing that ought to come first—
[ And that !! Is a kiss, his lips pressed against her own, tasting of blood, sweat, and delight communicated through the curve of his smile against her skin. ]
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Because they know a little of what they are from each other right? It's not that all is forgiven; they're not the type. Rather, now they understand, and can move forward from there.]
Oh yes, the bruises are especially dashing-I bet the black eye will look better.
[She chuckled under her breath, and had been about to tease him more but-there was that kiss.
It made her pause, and slowly melt against him, sighing against his mouth. That was...oh. Oh, that had been a long time in waiting. Over thirty years. It felt like nothing (forever) as she pulled away.]
That...right.
[Shush. Don't tease her too much or there's no sex for you tonight Asura.]
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[ Right. It'd been a slow withdraw, when she'd pulled away, and Asura had ensured his kiss would linger with her for the rest of the day, his teeth nipping at the fullness of her lower lip as she relaxed against him. All may not be forgiven between them (nor would it ever truly be), but Asura has always taken to those who challenge him—and perhaps none do so more than Sokie. Sokie, who is all slack limbs and fluster (how many times, now, has he glimpsed her at a loss for words?), because... they'd both been waiting for this. Waiting, for the other to catch up so that they might meet again, unhindered by the constructs which once kept them parted.
And even if those walls should still stand (Asura, he'll always be Summer; Sokie, she'll never stop being a mage), there's a bridge between them called romance that's been three decades in the making. ]
You know... [ In a precise economy of motion, he lifts Sokie clean off her feet, encouraging her thighs to wrap around the narrow cut of his waist (for balance), as he supports her with the flat of his hand at the small of her back, fingers (and talons) splayed. ] I didn't believe it could happen, but I think I hate Autumn less.
Already, it's brought me a black eye and a good woman in my arms. [ Who he's going to ravish, make no mistake, even if Sokie's still got a hand entangled in his hair. ] And what's more... it's only just begun.
[ His laughter resonates low in his chest, full of vibrations, because 'nothing lasts' is a crock of shit. There's always more, a future to fight for, and now... now, he's got an accomplice in that battle, someone who's after little moments and sweet nothings and all the pleasure derived from them. Loving and fighting, they'd always gone hand in hand, he only hopes that...
Sokie won't be afraid of how fragile it all seems in the face of her years, and dash the(ir) future to pieces before it has the chance to flourish. ]
There's plenty more, around the bend. And dare I say... [ Ah? Is that a cheeky wink with his bloody and swollen eye? C h a r m i n g. ] I look forward to it.