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cadence-talle · 4 years

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Roses Linger With A Sigh

Pairing: Alvar Vacker/Ruy Ignis

Wordcount: 1,786

Notes: I’ve had this in my drafts for a while and I finally worked up the motivation to finish it. Enjoy! (Also: Walgreens is a convenience/drugstore and the BBG is a public garden in Brooklyn.)

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void

“Fuck Walgreens,” Ruy growls, slamming his hands down on the counter. His only employee, a young woman named Umber who’s always wearing black hoodies, doesn’t even flinch.

“They’re marketing them as The Best Roses in NYC,” she informs him in a bored tone. “And they’ve got lines up the block.”

“Ugh.” Ruy gags. “They’re probably not even natural roses.”

Umber shrugs, tallying another mark on her inventory sheet. She’s not much of a talker, and she has a tendency to scare small children, but she’s a good worker. And it’s not like Ruy had much of a hiring choice, anyway. Very few people want to work in a flower shop.

“This is going to destroy our monthly budget,” Ruy groans. “Valentines is our busiest time of year.”

“Yep,” Umber says.

“We don’t even need that much money! Rent isn’t even that high! All we need is, like, a few hundred dollars a month! Is that too much to ask?”

“Yep.”

Ruy sighs. “Can you work the counter this morning? I’m going over there to see for myself.”

“Sure,” Umber responds absently. “Don’t get distracted by the cute guy.”

“The what?” Ruy blinks.

“Never mind.” Umber waves a hand towards the door. “Have fun.”

-/-

Two and a half minutes later, he stands inside Walgreens, staring at the display of roses. Sure enough, they’re chemically altered- larger than normal roses, petals too red to be natural. Ruy supposes they’re pretty, in a shiny plastic way.

“Can I help you?”

Ruy spins around to see an employee, clad in the stereotypical blue shirt, giving him a bland smile. His nametag reads Alvar.

(He is also extremely hot. Ruy chooses to ignore this fact.)

“No. I’m fine.” Ruy responds icily. “Just great, actually.”

“Okay,” Alvar says. “Tell me if you need anything, I guess.”

He turns away and manages to take two steps before Ruy calls “Actually, hey! What are these?” He points to the rose display.

“Uh.” Alvar blinks. “Flowers?”

“No,” Ruy shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. Those are not flowers. They’re aliens. They’re disgusting.”

“Sir,” Alvar starts, calm tone beginning to slide into annoyance. “Please stop shouting about the flowers.”

“Stop calling them flowers, then!”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store,” he says. “Or we can have security escort you. Your choice.”

Ruy snorts. “Like I want to be here anyway. Have a nice day with your fake flowers.” He marches towards the door as Alvar turns into the makeup aisle, muttering under his breath about crazy fucking customers.

-/-

“And then he just kicked me out. Like I was a piece of trash or something!” Ruy stabs a tulip into the floral foam, making sure it’s standing up straight. On the other side of the store, Umber wraps a bouquet in paper and sets it in a bucket of water, waiting for pickup.

“I don’t even know why I’m so hung up on it, either. I just- he was so rude-”

“You think he’s hot,” Umber says bluntly, “and you hate yourself for thinking he’s hot.”

Ruy stares at her. “What-”

“You’re very easy to read.” Umber stands up, grabbing her lunch container from the back area. “I’m going on my lunch break now.”

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

Umber shrugs and ducks outside. Through the slightly-vine-obscured window, Ruy can see her heading towards the coffee shop a few doors down. He sighs and moves into the back room, gathering up some more soil for their potted plants.

He hears the doorbell chime and he calls “just a second!”, grabbing soil bags at double the pace.

“Why are we here again?” an oddly familiar voice asks. Ruy can’t quite place it. He turns to move back into the shop, peering through the gap between the soil bags. There’s a teal-eyed girl standing there, rolling her eyes at someone out of Ruy’s sight.

“It’s Mom and Liv’s anniversary tomorrow,” she tells whoever’s standing next to her, “and you haven’t gotten them anything.”

“I was just going to pick up a box of chocolates or something. God knows work has enough of them.”

The girl wrinkles her nose. “No one wants your shitty Walgreens chocolate.”

“It’s not that bad-” whoever’s talking stops suddenly as Ruy staggers into the room, setting down the soil bags and brushing his hands together.

“Sorry about that,” he says, glancing down at the soil one more time before looking up at his customers. “What can I…”

Alvar from Walgreens stares at him, eyes wide.

“Oh,” Ruy says cooly. “You.”

The girl- Alvar’s sister? She looks way too young to be his sister- raises an eyebrow. “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” Alvar says at the same time Ruy says “Unfortunately.”

The other man glares at Ruy, jaw twitching. “We’ve… met.” He says finally. “Biana, can we just buy the flowers and get out of here?”

Biana looks at her brother, smirk pulling the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, sure,” she responds. “What do you think? Lilies?”

“I actually don’t care,” Alvar says, following her into one of the aisles. Ruy watches them, eyes wide.

What the fuck.

Biana sets a pot of lilies on the counter, smiling sunnily at him. “Just these, thank you.” Ruy nods and rings them up, mumbling out a “have a good day” as the two leave. The bell behind them chimes merrily.

What the fuck.

-/-

He’s still confused the next day when Biana enters the store again, still smiling but this time with a tiny blond girl beside her. They’re talking at a speed Ruy can’t even comprehend, and Umber wrinkles her nose.

“You take care of this,” she says. “I don’t like kids.”

Ruy doesn’t answer; working with Umber, you get used to stuff like that. He gives the girls in front of him his best customer grin.

“Good morning, what can I get for you?”

Biana shakes her head. “Nothing. Well, nothing right now, at least.” She tilts her head towards one of the signs in their window. “You do flowers for events, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Ruy says. Biana pumps a fist and hands him a folded piece of paper.

“Ok, that’s all the information. We’re having a party in the BBG on Wednesday night, and we need flower arrangements.”

Ruy is pretty sure the BBG makes flower arrangements, but he’s not going to argue with business. “All right. You need to pay up front, though.”

Biana produces a credit card (who are these girl’s parents?) and waves a cheery goodbye. Ruy flips open the paper.

Wednesday, 7:00-11:00 pm. Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Client: Della Vacker. Fifteen bouquets of marigolds.

And a note, scrawled at the bottom in perfect slanted script:

Feel free to come dance. -BV

“Hey, Umber,” Ruy calls. “What do you think of a party Wednesday night?” Umber pokes her head out of the fertilizer aisle.

“Can I wear a suit?”

-/-

The Brooklyn Botanical Garden’s conservatory is lit from the inside, strategically placed lamps and fairy lights hiding among plants and flowers. Ruy’s just finished hanging the last bouquet on a column when the doors open and the hosts enter.

First is a woman with long, sparkling braids, avidly talking to a woman who Ruy assumes to be Biana’s mother. Next is Biana and someone who must be her brother; same teal eyes, same wide smiles. And the fifth is…

Ruy should have expected this. Should have figured something was up when Biana called him the second time to make sure everything was in place, should have been suspicious he was being paid so much for such a simple job. But he didn’t think it was probable; what reason would this fifteen-year-old girl have to orchestrate such a thing?

Now he knows. Biana Vacker is just a terrible person, same as her oldest brother.

“Good evening,” Ruy says, stepping down off his ladder with one last tap to make sure the marigolds are secure. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Vacker.”

“Della,” she corrects. “The flowers look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Ruy smiles. “I’m afraid my assistant and I have to be going now, however-”

Umber appears next to him, giving Ruy a look that is both unconcerned and really angry. “You promised me a party,” she says calmly. “We have nowhere to be. We’re staying.”

It’s very hard to argue with Umber.

So six turns into seven, and the guests arrive, and people are celebrating… something. Ruy’s still unclear on what it is.

Umber is gone, off somewhere dancing or drinking or summoning demons (who knows what she does in her free time) and so Ruy is left leaning against a column, watching people dance by. It’s not fun, exactly, but it’s not too bad.

At least, it’s not too bad until Biana moves over to him, dragging a very annoyed Alvar.

“Look,” she says impatiently. “If you’re not going to dance, at least talk to your friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Alvar says in a tone akin to a frustrated five-year-old. Biana rolls her eyes.

“Whatever. I’m gonna go dance with Marella. Don’t set anything on fire.”

Alvar groans and leans against the column, closing his eyes briefly before turning to face Ruy.

“Do you want to dance?”

“I- what? Why?” Ruy sputters. Alvar shrugs.

“It’ll get Bi off my back. And you seem like the only one here who won’t talk my head off.”

Ruy considers. “You know what? Sure. Let’s dance.”

They sweep onto the floor as Ruy tries frantically to remember his middle school waltz lessons. Alvar jerks his head toward one of the bouquets hanging on the wall.

“Nice flowers. Walgreens roses are prettier, though.”

“They’re-” Ruy starts, noticing the corner of Alvar’s mouth twitching. He starts to laugh and Ruy joins in.

You’re right. The Walgreens roses are a joke.

“You know I actually don’t care about the roses, right?” Alvar asks when they’ve both calmed down. “They’re the worst.”

“Then why do you work with them?”

Alvar shrugs again, moving them across the dance floor with some sort of fancy box step Ruy can’t hope to replicate.

“I needed a job. Walgreens was hiring.”

“Oh.” Ruy thinks of his own store, shelves crowded with supplies they don’t have the time or manpower to organize. Before he knows it, his mouth opens. “Well, we could use an extra hand. Over at the store, I mean.”

“Are you offering me a job?” Alvar cocks an eyebrow at him. Ruy does his best not to flush.

“If you wanted one.”

Alvar flashes a quick, sharp grin and spins them around, dipping Ruy close to the floor.

“I think that sounds amazing.”

-/-

Walgreens beats them out for rose sales on Valentine’s. Ruy doesn’t even care.

#ravioli #ruy ignis #alvar vacker #biana vacker #kotlc #kotlc fanfiction #lynn rambles #my writing

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years

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Folklore

Rating: T (warning, high levels of fluff ahead)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: YAY! We’re finally here! We got through some of the angst, and now I am happy to present a chapter that is 100% free from angst! (Well... almost. Kind of? For the most part.) Be warned friends, extreme fluff and feels ahead, because I NEEDED something happy to write about, and this presented the perfect opportunity. I hope you guys like it!!

Tags: @mxndoscyarika, @perropascal, @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379

Let me know either in the comments or an ask if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, or any of my other works!

mirrorball

You stood nervously in front of the mirror, hands smoothing down the front of your dress. You’d never worn anything like this in your entire life, and you highly doubted you ever would again. The dress was actually made of two pieces, both a deep midnight blue. The top piece had no sleeves, and the collar came up to your neck. The skirt piece was almost directly beneath the top, leaving a sliver of skin showing. The skirt flowed out from there, all the way down to your feet. Towards the bottom of the skirt, the fabric was covered in little rhinestones, and you thought it looked like stars in the night sky. When you twisted back and forth, your high heels peeked out from beneath your swirling skirts, the same deep blue as your dress. They were higher heels than you’d ever worn before, and you felt a little unsteady, but you were relatively confident you weren’t going to fall over.

“Can I come back in, now?”

You start at the sound of Frankie’s voice, just outside his bedroom door. Your cheeks heat up, and you begin to panic, not sure if you’re ready for him to see you like this. Your hands flutter nervously around your skirt, trying to smooth imaginary wrinkles, and straighten your top for the thousandth time. When you finally can’t put it off any longer, you call for him to come in.

The door opens, and Frankie walks in, and you take a moment to appreciate his own outfit. It had been a struggle, but you’d managed to get Frankie to agree to a tie and dress shirt, along with dress pants and shoes, although he’d drawn the line at an actual suit. His tie matched your dress, and he already had his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, although you couldn’t really complain, because he looked extremely attractive like that. His hair was somewhat tamed, but still somewhat wild, and with his stubble covering his jaw, you kind of wanted to swoon.

You can tell the second Frankie’s brain processes what you’re wearing, because he stops mid-sentence. “Hey, are you ready to–”

His eyes are glued to you, and you watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks. He gulps, and it echoes loudly in his quiet bedroom. His eyes rove over your form, and you smile shyly, spreading your hands in a ‘what do you think?’ gesture.

He slowly moves into the room, holding his hand out to you. You step forward, placing your hand in his, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he leads you in a twirl, allowing you to spin in place, your skirt flying out around your legs. When you face Frankie again, he has this look in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he pulls you forward just as he leans in, and places his lips on yours. You’re surprised once more, and also grateful you’d decided to forego lipstick tonight. He kisses you for a long time, pulling away briefly for air a few times before pressing his lips sweetly back to yours once more. It’s only when you hear Mrs. Morales calling from downstairs that the two of you separate.

The look in Frankie’s eyes hasn’t disappeared, if anything, it’s even more pronounced. “Como una princesa,” he whispers against your lips, and you can’t help but kiss him again. Mrs. Morales has to call a second time before the two of you actually make your way downstairs.

As you descend the staircase, Veronica Morales has tears in her eyes as she looks at you. She’s holding her camera, snapping picture after picture, and you can’t help but wish your own mother was as excited as Mrs. Morales was about tonight. Your mother had thrown a fit when you’d told her you wouldn’t be going to prom with whoever it was that she’d picked out that she thought was ‘socially acceptable.’ You knew what she meant by that. She hated that you were dating Frankie, she considered him to be beneath you, both because of class and race. You refused to let Frankie come over, because the last time he had, your mother had called him a ‘dirty immigrant’ and you’d nearly slapped her.

You refocused as Mrs. Morales ordered Frankie out of the way so she could get some pictures of just you. She gestured for you to spin, and you did, once, twice, three times–

Your heel slipped, and you would have fallen if not for Frankie’s arms suddenly around your waist, holding you up. You were in a partial dip, looking up at Frankie as he held you, effortlessly. The two of you were startled by the flash, and Mrs. Morales just giggled as Frankie pulled you upright. She took a few more photos, some of just Frankie, but mostly of the two of you together, before shooing you both out the door.

“¡Estar en casa a medianoche, Francisco!”

You giggled as Frankie flushed, following as he tugged you down the driveway to his truck. He opened the door for you and helped you inside, situating your dress so it wouldn’t wrinkle. He ran around to the driver’s side, climbing in beside you, and pulling out, grumbling as you waved goodbye to Mrs. Morales.

The drive to the high school wasn’t long, but Frankie still held his hand out, palm up, like he always did. And you put your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, like you always did. You pulled your joined hands into your lap, stroking at his fingers with your other hand.

“Did you mean what you said, Frankie?”

He turns to look at you, his eyes dark in the dim light available in the cab. “Every word, mi amor.” You grin, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand as he looks back at the road, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

As the two of you pull into the school parking lot, you see all of the other couples arriving. You take pride in the fact that Frankie seems to be one of the only ones who opens the door for his date, for you. He helps you out of the truck, and you can practically feel stares from other girls from school, but you’re so giddy you can’t bring yourself to care.

He leads you into the gymnasium with a hand on your back, and you can feel the bare skin of his hand on the small sliver of bare skin around your waist. It shouldn’t excite you, but it does, and you can barely stop yourself from dragging him down the hall towards the broom closet the both of you know intimately.

You’re surprised at the effort that went into transforming the gymnasium, fairy lights strung everywhere, curtains covering the walls hide the bleachers and the basketball hoops, and there’s an honest to god disco ball over the dance floor. There’s a buffet against one of the walls, but you pull Frankie straight onto the dance floor. There’s a pop song playing that you don’t recognize, but you begin to dance anyways, and Frankie goes along with you, smiling softly all the while.

It takes longer than you would have liked, but finally a slow song comes on. You turn to Frankie, eyes sparkling, but he’s already holding his hand out for you to take it, pulling you into his arms the moment you do. The two of you sway together, surrounded by other couples, although most of them admittedly look a bit awkward. There’s nothing awkward between you and Frankie though, and as you dance, you lay your forehead against his shoulder, relishing in the way his grip on you tightens. His hand is warm against your back, and you can feel his heartbeat under your palm, and you’ve never been this happy in your life. When the song ends–far too soon for either one of you–Frankie takes the lead, pulling you out of the gym and towards the back of the school.

The two of you sneak out a back door, and that’s when Frankie pauses, turning to you and sweeping you up into his arms, bridal style. You squeal, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as he begins to walk, and with your face buried in his shoulder, you don’t know where you’re going until he sets you down. You look up, and realize he’s brought you to the park that’s just behind the high school. There’s swings and a slide, but also a small covered area, dotted with plants and little lamp posts. It’s where he first asked you out, and you want to cry at the gesture.

Frankie turns to you, holding his hand out once more. “¿Un último baile, princesa?” You smile at his words, once more placing your hand in his. Frankie leads you in a dance, one his mother spent hours practicing with the two of you, insisting that the both of you know at least one formal dance for prom. As you twirl around the covered garden, you feel your heart swell, happier than you could ever imagine being.

As the dance ends, Frankie twirls you once, twice, three times, before he pulls you to him, feet stilling on the ground. Your chests are pressed together, both of you breathing heavily from the exhilaration of the dance, the excitement of sneaking out, the joy of being here together. You’re so happy, you don’t even think when the words fall from your lips.

“I love you.”

You barely have time to register that you’ve spoken those words out loud–for the first time ever–before Frankie’s eyes darken, and his mouth crashes onto yours. He kisses you, frantically, desperately, trying to convey every emotion he feels that he doesn’t have the words to describe. He only pulls away when you’re panting, breathless, head spinning as you try to replace the oxygen he stole from your lungs. His forehead leans against yours, and you can see the love he has for you shining clearly in his beautiful eyes.

Even though you already know, he still says it. “I love you, mi amor, so much.”

As you grin, delighted, and pull him back in for another kiss, you think there’s no possible way you could ever love anyone else the way you love Francisco Morales.

***

“You’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes

Spinning in my highest heels, love

Shining just for you.”

#Folklore #Taylor Swift #mirrorball #inspiration #fics #Frankie x reader #reader fic #Francisco Morales #Reader #no use of Y/N #FLUFF #happy cute fluff #I hope it makes you squeal #cause I did while writing it #song fic #album inspired fic

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princessvicky01 · 3 years

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The Peacock and the Vixen

Since it’s valentines day, me and @inner-muse have decided to share a swoon worthy romance!

It features my oc Annabel Trevelyan and hers Lord Asharion as they trade glances and much more at a masquerade party.

If you have a thing for dashing lords, firey ladies and steamy seduction, then you might just enjoy this co-written fic. NSFW - Lemons.

The Peacock and the Vixen ❤

Asharion smirks below his mask, preening just like the peacock it depicts. It had taken even less time than usual to attract an adoring crowd; the anonymity of a masquerade emboldened even the most timid. The relative anonymity, anyway – no one seems to have any trouble recognizing *him.* The hair is a dead giveaway, he supposes, flowing loose over his shoulders in coppery waves – though he likes to think that no one else could possibly match his style, either. Really, who else could pull off a coat trimmed in actual feathers?

He does so love to be the most fabulously alluring person in the room.

Though he has to admit, some of the Ladies’ gowns could give him a run for his money. Not that he minds all that much— especially with half the ladies in question are busily fawning over him. He’s lost count of how many compliments he’s given, how many hands he’s kissed, how many playful kisses he’s blown. Maker, but this is a glorious night!

Seduction was thirsty work, however. He excuses himself – effusively, of course – and makes his way to the sideboard. While he could probably get half a dozen drinks hand-delivered with a word, he prefers to give himself a little break and pour his own wine. The glamour and power were as intoxicating as any fine vintage; he did try not to let it all go *completely* to his head.

He’s not the only one seeking refreshment. His eyes widen behind his mask as he emerges from the crowd to behold a vision of scarlet and gold, helping herself to a glass of fine white wine. The mysterious Lady looks up as he approaches. She is utterly stunning, with a tumble of dark hair, full red lips, and luscious curves – but it’s her sultry smile that most intrigues him, lighting up her face below her vixen mask. Something about her niggles at his memory, but he can’t place her for the life of him.

“If I may... you have exquisite taste, my Lady.” Bowing smoothly, Ash offers her his most charming smile. “I’d thought to indulge in a glass myself, but if you linger here much longer, I’m afraid I shall be drunk on beauty before I’ve tasted a single drop.”

"Do you use that line on all the ladies, Lord Asharion?" She makes a point of using his name as he pours a drink, curious to see if he knows her own, or if she remains the mysterious lady in red. "If you'd like to make me weak at the knees," her smirk turns decidedly naughty. "I'm afraid you'll have to try harder than that."

Annabel had been enjoying watching the throng, the colours and fabrics of the garments on display tonight catching her eye with shimmers of silver, emerald greens and fiery reds. Although, the latter appeared to be simply Lord Asharion's natural hair. She toyed with the end of her own, briefly wondering how copper locks of fire would look against it, before returning to her drink.

Drink she would need to get through the evening, no doubt. She'd already lost count the number of dances she'd twirled for, the number of hands that had 'slipped', by accident of course; noble lords would have her believe they were clumsy fellows. A sharp word and fiery glare were usually enough to make them stutter apologies - apparently, they weren't accustomed to ladies taking offence at their clumsiness. It seemed in a room full of Lords there was not a single gent. Funny really.

As she spies Asharion break from the crowd, she could swear he pauses on sight of her. His reaction, however subtle, is compliment enough to bring out her sultry smile. Perhaps he is the gentleman she seeks? Perhaps not— but either way she desires to find out. His outrageous flirting cracks a smirk that glitters in her eyes. For once it seems she's caught some welcome attention.

The first quip that comes to Asharion’s mind is entirely inappropriate for polite company. “Only the ones who take my breath away,” he says instead, lifting his glass in a light toast. The wine is indeed delicious – although, with a beautiful woman watching, he can’t resist exaggerating a little, humming and wetting his lips with a deliberate flick of his tongue. What was the point in having a mouth made for kissing if he wasn’t going to flaunt it?

The lady’s smirk has only widened. Her mystery – and her restraint – have only made her more intriguing. It’s rare to find a woman who doesn’t immediately swoon and giggle at his attention, nor simply rebuff his advances. The challenge makes his pulse quicken— though as always, he’s wary of overstepping anyone’s boundaries.

“Were you seeking solitude, my Lady vixen? Or shall I continue my attempts to sweep you off your feet?” He can’t shake the feeling that he ought to know who she is... “If I can manage to entice you half as much as you’ve enticed me, I shall consider myself a very lucky man... but if you’d rather be alone tonight...?”

“Oh, no, my Lord Asharion, by all means continue. I want to see if your silver tongue is all it’s rumored to be.”

Ash grins, sinful and eager, and offers her his arm with another little bow. “Seeking my tongue already? My, my, how forward of you,” He winks and is rewarded with a light, musical chuckle. His heart flutters in his chest. Maker, who *is* she? He steers them towards the nearest private balcony, rather selfishly wanting her all to himself for a while. “I am glad you’ll suffer the company, my Lady. Having glimpsed your radiance, the rest of the ballroom is beginning to pale in comparison.”

He gives her a smoldering sideways glance, eyeing her up and down— and very carefully lingering on the shadowed glint of her eyes beneath her mask. Nowhere else, no matter how much he might want to stare at those luscious curves... He’d learned long ago that if he wanted to get anywhere with anyone worth his time, he had to think with his head, not his cock.

Small wonder women flocked to him. A shining beacon of finery with a charm to match, and she is more than a little intrigued. Truthfully, she hadn't expected to catch his eye; she never had in years gone by, and yet he steers her away to a scheduled spot.

She'd always glimpsed him from afar, usually trading quips with her older brother. Of course, he'd attracted her attention, she's not blind and had easily lost moments to watching his graceful movements through the crowds. She'd been introduced, received that winning smile and a kiss on her knuckles that made her heart flutter, but he'd always then gone ahead and fluttered by, more interested in girls his own age. However, time changed all things, it seemed. Here she stands captivating his attention, and she intends to take full advantage of that, even if just for tonight.

The heat behind his glance threatens to flush her skin as it rushes through her, but she manages a small smile, almost coy, and a flick of her hair.

"So the crafty Vixen has captured the majestic peacocks attention, has she?" His smile is all the answer she needs. "It’d be rather foolish to turn down the chance to spend time with Ostwick’s finest bachelor."

He practically preens at the compliment, and Annabel can’t help but smile warmly. It's rather endearing. "And I am no fool." She leans back gently against the rail, making sure to emphasise every curve with a slight hitch of her hip. "I shall enjoy indulging myself in your company, Lord Asharion."

Ash‘s gaze travels down her body once again, slower this time. He can’t help but linger a little; the tantalizing promise of soft flesh beneath tight fabric is more than even he can resist. He’s grateful for the dim evening light and his mask, for concealing the flush of his cheeks. She smirks as he finally meets her eyes again; he chuckles, acknowledging his wandering gaze with a tip of his head.

“A vixen indeed,” he murmurs, low and husky. Settling beside her at the rail, he picks up her hand to lift her fingers to his lips. He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, a sultry smirk of his own tugging at his lips. “With every passing breath, I grow more astounded that I found you alone... Surely I’m not the only one who sought to bask in your presence, my Lady?”

“Mm… The rest sought far more than my mere *presence.*” She tosses her hair, a note of bitterness coloring her tone, and Ash growls softly. With curves like hers, he can guess what sort of liberties the lesser lords had been taking – but just because it was predictable didn’t make it any less abhorrent. How dare anyone try to take advantage of a Lady?

“In that case, I’m glad you shooed them off,” he says seriously. “Such rabble are far beneath you.” He’s still holding her hand; now he brushes his thumb across her knuckles, letting the warmth seep back into his tone. “But I can assure you, you’re in much better company now. If I do say so myself, that is.”

“Well, I’d hardly be here if I thought otherwise, now would I?” The playful lilt has returned to her words, bringing his smile back in full force. For a minute, he’d been concerned he’d spoiled what was shaping up to be a lovely conversation – but it seems he needn’t worry.

“As I said before, my Lady... you have exquisite taste.” His grin flashes against the velvet backdrop of night. He can’t help but wonder if she would taste exquisite as well... but he’s more determined than ever not to let his carnal urges guide the conversation. Whoever she is, this Lady deserves nothing but the utmost respect.

The husky drop of his tone is downright intoxicating. Maker, but how she can't wait to make him rumble, to feel the tingle of his soft caress, and hear hot, wanton, moans mumbled against her skin. Annabel's teeth can't help but nip at her lower lip in approval, polished ivory digging into supple ruby.

“Well, thank the Maker for good taste,” she twirls her crystal wine glass playfully. Lust has quickened her heart, his dark smouldering smirk already making her ache. No wonder the ladies battled so hard for his attention. Bold, as always, and flushed with confidence from his hungry gaze she steps towards him, closing the gap until she's running her hand down the velvet of his arm.

“If I might be totally honest,” she leans closer, body now pressed against his so she can drop her voice to a sinful whisper. “I'm far more interested in *your taste*,” with a mischievous smile she grants him a little space again, the erotic purr of her tone lost to all but him and the chill of the night.

“It appears to be uniquely exquisite,” her tone returns to it's playful nature, her fingertips briefly caressing the feathers on his lapels, curious and tender. “I'm intrigued to find out just how true that is…” Annabel had found that this was the point when most men fell apart, stammering and blushing as lust soaked their minds, yet she gets the distinct impression she's met her match in dear Lord Asharion.

“Are you, now?” He purrs. As she leans against his side, he moves a stray lock of hair behind her shoulder, his fingers brushing feather-light across her skin. “Mmm, and here I was just thinking the same of you, my Lady.”

Mirroring her intimate gesture, he runs his fingers lightly up her arm. When she makes no move to pull away, he shifts his weight away from the railing, and lifts her chin with a delicate knuckle. “Would you care for a sample, dear vixen?” He murmurs, hot and sinful. The nip of her teeth against ruby lips makes his pulse quicken. Maker, how he wants to feel her mouth on his...

As if answering his silent prayer, she closes the gap between them. He kisses her, slowly and thoroughly, wanting to savor and be savored in turn. It’s a delicate dance, maneuvering around their masks – but the decadent slide of her lips on his is more than worth it. When they finally part, she’s pressed up against him once more, her fingers clutching at his lapels, her bosom pooling against his chest. It’s more than enough to make him stir in his trousers, but if she can feel him beneath all the ruffles between them, she gives no sign of offence. Indeed, she seems as reluctant to pull away as he is.

Ash strokes along her jaw, staring down into her eyes, trying to plumb their depths beneath her vixen mask. “Who are you?” He whispers. “I’m certain we’ve met before— but I don’t see how I could have overlooked such an incredible, alluring woman...”

Annabel reflects his softness back with a glowing smile. “Hmmm, well perhaps if you continue to impress you'll get to find out. Take off my mask...” Now it's her turn to run her thumb up his jaw, and skim it over the gold and emerald edge of his disguise as she tiptoes up. “And so much more…” With a whisper her lips ghost over his, soft as rose petals, before they sink deeper into another slow, tantalising kiss.

His taste lingers long after his lips pull away, and already Annabel craves more. Exquisite indeed. She's been left near breathless by a single, slow-burning kiss, her bosom lightly panting against him like something from a romance novel. Perhaps gentlemen did exist, and perhaps so did real romance... Stroking his lapels in her fingers she tries to ground herself, lest she pounce and devour the poor man. There would be plenty of time for that if the twitch of his groin was anything to go by.

The tilt of his head is gentle, as is everything about him, save for the smoulder in his eyes. Dark pools that search hers intensely, trying to solve a riddle but seeming to only become more lost in whatever he finds in her gaze.

Ash hums into the kiss, his hands coming to rest against her hips. He’s panting lightly when they part, his pulse racing with desire. Andraste preserve him, she’s as good a kisser as he is. He closes his eyes for a moment, calming his breath and his heart... and reminding certain other parts of his anatomy who is really in charge. The primal, carnal parts of his brain served his conscious mind, not the other way around.

Opening his eyes again, he peers down at her earnestly, one hand rising to caress her jawline. “Ahh, such a cruel temptress, leaving me to languish in ignorance all evening...” The only thing his soft doe eyes get him, however, is a naughty giggle. His lips twitch in response, despite his best efforts to keep up the playfully mournful facade. “You, my mysterious Lady, are simply delightful. Not to mention delicious...” The husky edge is creeping back into his voice. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, sweet vixen?”

She bites her lip again, practically purring, and presses even tighter to his chest. “Hmm, I can guess...” A subtle roll of her hips sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine. His breath catches, his grip tightening around her waist.

“Naughty, naughty,” he rumbles. Her wanton noise sends another ripple of heat pooling in his groin. He can feel his control starting to fray at the edges – which meant it was time to diffuse the tension between them.

With a rueful little huff, he disengages from their clinging embrace and returns to a more gentlemanly position by her side. Their wine glasses lay forgotten on the railing beside them; retrieving his, he takes a careful sip to cool down the simmering fire in his veins. “Forgive me, my Lady – it is far too easy to let oneself get carried away, in such an... intimate, exchange. And I have no wish to turn this into a mere tryst. You have me far too captivated for that.” He tips his head to her, smiling warmly.

Annabel returns his smile. She truly hadn't expected for him to be interested in anything more than a simple, albeit, passionate liaison. Impressed once again by his chivalry, by his restraint, she returns to lean herself against the railings, her pose distinctly erotic, from the right point of view: it would take little more than the lifting of her skirts to claim her, scandalously, right here and now.

"I'm very impressed with your restraint Lord Asharion," she casts him a naughty sideways look. "It far exceeds my own, but that's not really saying much. My family is known for being....hot-blooded." She teases him with the tidbit about who it is he's been so enthralled by but doesn't divulge any more.

She takes a sip of wine, trying to clear the haze in her head that had been fueled by the taste of him, by his subtle musky scent and warm embrace.

"Ah! There you are Lord Asharion!" The almost shrill tone of Lady Elizabeth cuts through sultry tension. Annabel gives her new date an irked and weary glance before turning to face the small throng of pastel pinks and purples.

The insult is brazen, as is the women's attempt to physically place herself between Annabel and Asharion. Annabel's lips twitch with a growl, heckles bristling as she bites her tongue, glare flaring with molten heat as the Lady takes Asharion's arm and attempts to actually steer him away! As if he were too precious for the likes of her company. She knows that's exactly what her rival thinks, but she's far too caught out to come back with a witty retort, and far too angry to trust herself to open her mouth.

The butterfly of Elizabeth's mask barely hides her disdain when she spies Annabel, but the three women with her quickly turn their focus onto the handsome Lord as they flock around him. "You left before I could tell you about what happened to Lady Margaret's poor little poodle... Such a horrid affair..." Elizabeth’s eyes flick to Annabel then back to him with a pleasant smile. "It was mauled by a damn mangy fox, of all things! Pesky vermin. A blight to every manor if you ask me, why they can't stay out in the wild where they belong I'll never know."

Annabel appreciates the soft touch and flicks her hair back, radiant and defiant as ever. "Yes, well, I'd rather be a fox over a leashed yappy pet any day. And to be fair, she's usually far worse, she must have been playing nice for you. No doubt I'll be tripped over accidentally or have wine split on me by one of her ever so clumsy minions," Annabel huffs out a growl and spins back to the balcony, anger and hurt all muddling her mind.

“Mind yourself, Lady Elizabeth,” Ash says softly. “You know I have no tolerance for disrespect.” In this, at least, he doesn’t play games. Lady Elizabeth was perfectly lovely on her own, but her manners left something to be desired with a posse in tow. He frowns beneath his mask, glancing at his mysterious vixen. No wonder she hadn’t joined his usual crowd if this is how she was treated. She’s practically radiating hurt and anger. Unacceptable.

Elizabeth pouts, tugging insistently on his arm. It would be a pretty expression, if not for the ugly feelings behind it. “Why, Lord Asharion, you ran off on us! Surely you can’t blame me for being a little put out...”

Ash peels her fingers off his coat, gently yet firmly. “Jealousy does not become you, darling Elizabeth. I don’t recall anyone giving us trouble when it was *you* I ran off with last week, hmm?” She gasps, and glares at him, but he simply stares calmly back, refusing to be baited. With a huff, Elizabeth yanks her hand from his and flounces off. Ash sighs in exasperation. He’d make it up to her later, he supposed.

Then again... perhaps not.

The rest of the little gaggle are dithering, casting uncertain glances between him and their vanished leader. Ash clears his throat, nodding pointedly towards the balcony doors. “Ladies? Unless you’ve anything more to say about my choice of company tonight?”

They scamper off, trailing ribbons and perfume. Asharion scowls after them. “I had thought I kept better company than that,” he huffs. “I hope that little... episode... has not spoiled your evening too badly, my Lady.” Looking sideways at her, he gives an apologetic little bow, a hand pressed to his heart. “If there is anything I might do to make up for such rudeness, of course, you need only ask.”

“You were awfully polite to those, those, jackals, Lord Asharion.” His vixen props a hand on her hip, her stare a challenge – but he can sense the insecurity beneath it. The whole thing is so stupidly unnecessary! It’s hardly the first time he’s been fought over, and it’s always unbearably petty. He sighs mournfully.

“You’re right. Lady Elizabeth’s cruelty did not deserve a gentle response. I make it a point to be polite to everyone— but that does not mean I lend any credence to her cruel words whatsoever. You have just as much right to a place at my side as anyone else.” He might not know who she is, but he knows that much with certainty. He touches her arm, wanting nothing more than to sweep away every trace of lingering upset.

"Corner a vixen like a rat and then complain over being mauled." She shakes her head with another puff, trying to shift the petty irked emotions. Elizabeth really wasn't worth it and she won't let her spoil such a pleasant evening. More than pleasant in fact... Although learning he'd wooed one of her rivals a week ago brings her notion of romance back down to earth a little, he is only wooing her into bed after all.

"She wasn't just saying that because I was by your side, she's been saying things like that since we were knee-high, although "stealing her man" will likely mean I have to make sure I pour my own drinks for a while. She does enjoy spitting in them and subtly letting you know at the most inappropriate moments, yet apparently, I'm the uncivilized one..." She trails off with a sigh. All of this is hardly his problem... Just another day at court. Just another part of the game.

"I'm sorry," Annabel adds finally, playing loosely with her wine glass, before gathering enough courage to look back up at him, eyes hopeful. She may be wearing a mask but they betray her feelings as clear as the summer sky, her truly greatest weakness in a world of lies. "I hope that, well that all this, hasn't deterred you?... I did rather enjoy the taste of you..."

Asharion’s frown only deepens, his eyes going storm-dark as she speaks. Playing the Game was one thing – he’s no stranger to the shifting web of power at court – but this... this was not politics. This was bullying, pure and simple. His heart aches for the vixen before him, so bold and yet so vulnerable, with her soul shining out from behind those sparkling blue eyes. And despite everything, despite being marked as a target, she still had the courage to be bright and brazen and beautiful.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my Lady.” Stepping up behind her, he slips his arms around her waist, encircling her in a light embrace. “Rest assured, I am anything but deterred. If anyone deserves a night of splendor and sweet passion, it is you, dear vixen. I may not be able to make up for a lifetime of petty abuses, but I can very well try.”

The Lady in his arms half turns to melt against him, her head resting on his shoulder, that little spark of hope flaring brighter. He presses his lips to the top of her head, nestling a kiss amidst the dark silk of her hair above the delicate ears of her mask.

“If anything, I should be the one apologizing,” he murmurs. “It seems dear Elizabeth’s pretty face conceals an atrocious lack of nobility— and our dalliance must have only encouraged her. If I’d realized what sort of appalling behavior was going on behind my back, I would have put a stop to it. Or ceased associating with her, at the very least.” He shakes his head, disgusted with the whole situation.

“It’s not your fault either, Asharion.” Her fingers brush tenderly down his lapels once more, comforting rather than seducing, this time. He smiles softly at the sweet gesture, and is rewarded with an answering smile, small but warm. How much he already yearns for that smile... How perfectly she fits in his arms...

Maker, he is well and truly besotted. And he doesn’t even know her name.

“Hmm, perhaps not. But I still intend to make up for it.” Lifting her chin, he favors her with another brief, warm kiss. When he pulls back, the playful sparkle has returned to his eyes. “Hmm, what do you say we show those yapping poodles where a vixen truly belongs?” She cocks her head curiously, and he smiles once more. “Right in the center of court, naturally. Just beside a certain dashing peacock.” He winks outrageously. Her answering giggle makes his heart glow with warmth.

“I like the sound of that, my Lord Peacock. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was wondering...” Taking a step back, Ash sweeps her an elaborate bow and holds it, one elegant hand raised in invitation. “...If you might honor me with a dance, my Lady?”

Annabel watches his playful and flamboyant actions with a growing fizz of excitement in her blood. The bow, however, breaks out a beaming smile full of unabashed delight as she bounces on the balls of her feet. It's not the correct reaction, she's been schooled long and hard over such matters, but it is her natural one.

"I'd love to, dear Lord Asharion," she takes his hand with perfect poise and elegance as she tips her head in thanks. She had not actually been raised in the wild afterall.

Linking her arm through his, she steps out to match his stride with the distinct clink of her heels and swish of fabric around her ankles. Holding her head high and his arm snuggly, she dismisses the world around them, and any spiteful looks cast her way. The only looks that mattered are the ones he gives, and right now they brim with confidence and smoulder with rekindled desire.

As they take position on the ballroom floor, she finds her hand seems to fit naturally in his and for some unknown reason, it makes her smile fondly. Silly really, to let herself be swept up by romantic notions once more, but she just can't help herself.

"Hmmm... carry on like this Lord Asharion and it won't be long before you earn my name," her naughty smile glitters up at him and she tiptoes up once more so her purred whisper can burn hotly against his ear. "I can't wait to hear it groaned from your lips..."

Asharion had found himself grinning as her excitement had bubbled out of her. It was hardly the usual response, but it was awfully endearing. Her innocent glee then segues smoothly into a true Lady’s refined grace— and from there, descends once more into pure molten sin. She fascinates him like no one else. It’s not just her beauty that’s enthralling him, now; he could easily spend weeks exploring her every sparkling facet.

Not that his purely carnal attraction has diminished. A rich chuckle rumbles in his chest at her sultry murmur; he gives her hip a little squeeze. “Gladly, my wicked vixen— but only once I’ve heard you moaning mine.”

Her eyes gleam up at him within her mask, shining with desire and sparkling with a coy teasing light. “Moaning? Why, my dear Lord Asharion... I expect you to make me *scream* it.”

That startles another chuckle out of him as their dance begins. There’s not much time or breath for banter as they sweep smoothly through the motions, scarlet silk and azure feathers swirling together in perfect harmony. His Lady is a wonderful partner, graceful and athletic, with a dash of cheekiness thrown in: she presses rather closer than is proper, and splays her fingers against his chest instead of resting her hand on his shoulder. He smiles the whole time, more than pleased to share in her joy.

Annabel can’t help but become lost in him, in them, Asharion really is as majestic as he'd always seemed, his timing is perfection, as is every movement he makes, every muscle she feels...

Maker but *he* is perfect. Annabel knows she really shouldn't let herself be so swept away by a dalliance that won't last, but he is impossible to resist. His hands hold and tug her waist to lead the way, firm but fluid, and more importantly, they never slip or fumble. She can just imagine his slender fingers digging into the bare skin of her hips, helping to guide them.

Skin flushed pink, she twirls for him as he spins her around, a flurry of red and gold that sweeps to settle over every tantalizing curve. As he tugs her back, she allows herself to gracefully fall and melt against his chest. Resting in the crook of his neck as the music slows, she nuzzles under his jaw in pure affection, beyond mesmerized. The audience is long forgotten as the dance fizzles out, only registering as applause beings to sound. Remembering they're not as alone as she'd like, Annabel pulls back slightly and reaches up once more to whisper his reward with a delicate kiss peaked against his cheek. "It's Lady Annabel."

The rest of the world had fallen away as she twirled. She’s beautiful. Radiant. How could he have ever overlooked this woman?! It’s maddening. He wants to push back her mask, to see her face... And even more, he yearns to tilt her face to his and kiss her, deeply, passionately, till his arms are the only things holding her upright. But the first would be a betrayal, and the second was impossible in the middle of a crowd. All he can do is hold her close, and hope she sees fit to end the torment of his ignorance soon.

And then she does. Asharion’s breath catches at the gift; he whispers her name, in pure adoration— and then his eyes widen as everything clicks into place. “Lady Annabel... Annabel Dracon Trevelyan?” He stops short of adding ‘Bryan’s little sister’ – *that* would be a disaster from which he would not soon recover.

She’d melted back against his chest as soon as they’d ducked behind the draperies. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes shining like sapphires. “Please,” she whispers back, and so he does.

She nods. Now that he knew, it was obvious... as soon as he stopped looking for the girl she’d been, and started seeing the woman she’d become. He’s staring at her, he realizes; there’s a trace of anxiety in her eyes. He smoothes out his dumbfounded expression, a heartfelt smile taking its place.

“You have grown into a remarkable woman, Lady Annabel. I am privileged to have you at my side tonight.” He caresses her cheek before turning to lead them off the dance floor. Letting the court see them together was suddenly not nearly as important as being alone with her once more: he leads them to a draped alcove in the corner, not quite as secluded as the balcony, but much closer.

“May I kiss you again, dear Annabel?” He has to show her he doesn’t think of her as a child anymore. That she’s opened his eyes at last.

This time, he laces one hand through her hair to cup the back of her head. The other arm wraps tight around her waist. It’s a smoldering, fervent kiss; insistent, but never rough, rich and warm like melted chocolate, like molten sin. Annabel’s hands clasp behind his neck, her back aching as she moans into his mouth. Her breasts are soft and full against him. He could swear he can feel her heart, thundering in her chest...

When her knees go weak, he guides her backwards a step to press her back against the wall, and kisses her some more. The mystery of her had been driving him mad all evening; it was time to return the favor.

Annabel had worried for a moment her name had deterred him. That the connection to her brother, or maybe being several years younger, or even the simple ‘hot’ nature of her blood might have taken the shine off her appeal. As he kisses her though, every trace of anguish is burnt away, dashed by the thunder of her heart and the heat he stokes in her veins.

Clasping at his neck, she gasps with pleasure as he presses her into the wall, beautiful, magnificent man. She feels his fingers dig tight through the many layers, she's crushed between him and the stone and honestly, nothing has ever felt better.

The kiss deepens and flows effortlessly, mouths meeting and melding together, his tongue sliding over hers until she steals a cheeky nip of his lip. The huff of his chuckle only serves to make her more desperate, panting a moan against his lips as she feels him twitch against her. Hitching her leg up, she drags his hips down against hers and his wanton rumble shudders pleasure right down her spine. Damn, he could take her right here against this wall for the whole court to hear and she would gladly drag out his every thrust…

“This is the spot, they said-” a shocked gasp escapes two Lords a mere moment after the drape is partly lifted aside.

Annabel doesn't care, too consumed by her new lover to notice. It seems Asharion, however, has more sense, and pulls away. She let's his lips go but keeps him pinned to her with the firm hold of her thigh. He is going *nowhere*. Panting, flushed and dishevelled, she spies the two Lord's, with hands over gaping mouths, cheeks flushed pink and eyes blown wind by the scene they'd mistakenly uncovered.

“Lord Asharion… I… I… We were just… Just looking for you…”

Ash‘s fingers clench even tighter around her hip. He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath, and then turns very slowly to face the intruders. He says nothing, letting his piercing stare do the speaking for him.

“Er, I’m sorry my Lord, we didn’t think you’d be so—“

“Is the ballroom on fire, Lord Gareth?” Asharion doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. The haughty lift of his chin, his icily crisp diction, and the edge of a growl rippling beneath the words are more than enough.

“N-no! No, wel just—“

Ash’s voice drops further, rumbling in a true snarl. “Then. Get. Out.” In another heartbeat, they’re gone. He turns back to his vixen— to Annabel— both of them still breathing hard from the kiss.

“Now then, where were we?” He smoulders with anger and desire alike, their mingled heat darkening his eyes and deepening his usual purr to a husky growl. Annabel shudders deliciously. He smirks. “Oh yes, I was busy kissing you to within an inch an inch of your life.”

She pulls his mouth back to hers at the same instant he dips his head. Pinning her hips with his, he devours her, drinking in her wanton moans and returning her passion in kind. The kiss is rougher than the last, hotter, but no less heartfelt. Delicious, sinful, magnificent woman...

“Come to bed with me tonight,” he whispers hoarsely against her lips, when at last they break for air, pressed so tightly together it’s impossible to tell whose thundering heartbeat is whose. “I want you, my Lady Annabel, in every possible way...”

Another hot kiss, her hands cupping his jaw, her body crying out for him with every beat of her heart. His request is unexpected, most men would just assume a woman so wanton would fall into their bed. It's sweet and chivalrous- but then again so is he under all the smoulder.

"Hng... yes," she nods, eyes peering up through their golden frame, burning with sincerity, with want. "I want all of you..." her murmur is breathless in the heat between them. Her lips drag over his until she can suck tiny kisses along his jaw, drinking in the scent and taste of him as if he were the finest wine. "Please..." the panted plea is made, hot and wanton, against his ear, her hands now roaming over the lithe muscles of his shoulders as she yearns to explore him, to know him. "Take me."

“Of course,” he rumbles in answer. He sucks hard on her lower lip, and then nips it lightly, chuckling as she moans again. If this is how she sounds when he’s teasing her in an alcove, he can only imagine how fantastically decadent she’ll be in the bedroom. But he wouldn’t have to imagine for long.

Asharion draws back slowly, intending to offer his arm once more, but Annabel clings to his side. He chuckles again, carding his fingers through her tousled hair. “We shall have to walk through the ballroom, my Lady,” he points out. “As much as I enjoy the sight of you like this, I should like to keep it for my eyes alone, not the entire court.”

“Hmm, I could, it’s true.” Catching her hand as she takes his arm, he brushes her knuckles with a kiss. “Some other time, perhaps, but not the first. I am a not-so-secret romantic, at heart.”

She sighs dramatically, but straightens up, tossing her head and smoothing the front of her dress. “You could simply take me right here, my Lord,” she murmurs, eyes glinting, coy and playful. Ash huffs a laugh as he straightens his jacket.

“Would you like me to purr for you, dear peacock?” She murmurs. “To moan…” her fingernails lightly prick into his scalp. “To groan…” her fingers rake through his silken locks which glitter brighter than any mask. “To praise you with every breath… to call your name as I come undone, to blaspheme as you claim me…” her hips rock lightly against his as she speaks.

“So I'm starting to see,” Annabel's eyes may be dark with pooling lust, but they still cradle a gentle warmth for him. “Another time then… hmm it's probably for the best,” she tussles her hair to fall as loose waves. “I'm known to be… hmmm. Rather vocal, when enjoying myself.” Now he gets her smirk once more, one which he returns, his hand lightly stroking her jaw and settling to cup her chin up at him.

“I can imagine…” his words trail off as he gently wipes smeared lipstick from her plump lower lip with the slow drag of his thumb. “I only hope I can make you sing for me, my darling Vixen.”

Her breath, her heart, catch in her chest for a moment, held there by his majesty, by the depth of his smoulder, his eyes almost hypnotic as he gazes at her. Then a tiny smile, almost cheeky, spills onto his lips and brings out her own. Clasping both his cheeks in her hands she doesn't kiss him, instead, she reaches up and nuzzles at his cheek, as any vixen might.

Pulling back ever so slightly, she lets him catch the naughty sparkle in her eyes, eyes which promise all the above and so much more. Inch by inch, she prises herself away, all too eager to peel that mask from him and bask in his beauty, his undivided attention. Slipping her arm through his, she trades an almost innocent sideways glance at him, the perfectly rosy-cheeked Lady once more. “Shall we?”

Ash scrapes his nails lightly down the back of her neck, eyes dark with lust. “If I told you every sweet sound I wanted to draw from you, my wicked temptress, we’d never make it out of this alcove.”

Ash preens at her regard, shaking back his hair with a rippling copper shimmer. But nothing could distract him long from her, not even himself; reaching up, he cups her face between his palms and cocks a brow, asking the same silent question. Annabel’s teeth dimple her full lower lip once more as she nods. Near breathless in anticipation, Ash lifts her mask just as gently as she’d lifted his, setting it carefully aside.

With a great deal of effort, he gathers the scraps of his lordly composure and tips her an elegant nod. They receive a few knowing glances as they weed their way through the crowd. They’re perhaps a little hastier than was strictly proper – but Asharion’s eagerness in such matters was entirely familiar to the court.

Ash leads his Lady up the grand staircase, along tastefully furnished halls to his private quarters. Opening the door for her, he bows and gestures gracefully. “After you, my Lady.”

Annabel is on him as soon as the door clicks shut behind them. Grabbing his jaw, she pulls him down for a hot, urgent kiss; with a purring growl, he wraps his arms around her waist and responds in kind. When they part, panting slightly, she drags her fingers through his hair again, making him hum contentedly. After a few soft moments, she toys with the edge of his mask and tilts her head in question. At his nod, she gently lifts the brilliant enamelled mask away, then pauses to stare, lips curled in an awestruck smile.

He studies her face as if it truly is the first time he’s seeing it – and in a way, it is. The flush of her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes... “You are... so beautiful,” he whispers, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. This time, when he leans in for a kiss, it’s feather-light, sweet and soft with admiration.

Annabel notes how they light up the moment her mask is gone, and although he must say such things to all the women, that doesn't make them feel any less genuine. The softness in the kiss steals her breath away, unexpected, but wholly welcomed. She wraps her arms up around his neck and nudges him into a private slow dance all their own, bodies hugged close as their lips tenderly explore each other. Nothing has ever felt like this, no one has melted her with such ease, no one captivated her so completely. It isn't just his looks or his gentleman's manners, it's the honesty, the sweetness, the softness refined by steel.

Somehow she'd forgotten how beautiful he was. How refined. How elegant. As if he'd been sculpted by hands with exquisite skill, and coloured by the finest artist. The shine of his copper mane, like liquid fire, is almost as mesmerising as those eyes, dark and rich, begging to have their depths explored...

He’s finally free to stare and Asharion’s eyes gleam with erotic anticipation. The dark shimmer of her hair catches his attention, however, and he drags his eyes up, over the bare skin of her shoulders and the smooth line of her neck. A deep, near-silent purr rumbles in his chest as he moves to stand behind her with casual grace.

“Please, my lord, allow me.” With a delicate swivel, Annabel is facing him. Rather than stepping towards him though, she reaches out and tugs on the front of his trousers, pulling him close and making him smirk all at once.

Annabel buries her fingers amidst the ruffles on his shirt and wriggles her hips to settle herself, a naughty gleam in her eyes, and he moans unabashedly. Grabbing the back of her neck, he pulls her down for a steamy kiss. By the time they break apart, she’s tugged his shirt open, baring his lean muscled chest. She drags her nails lightly down that strip of bare skin as she sits up. Running his hands up her bare thighs, he favors her with a sinful smile. “Hmm, it seems now we can begin, darling Annabel...”

“Your wish is my command, my Lady Annabel,” he murmurs huskily. Grasping under her rear, Asharion hitches her up against his hips; with a delighted giggle, she locks her legs around his waist, allowing him to carry her over to the bed. The pressure of her heated core against the bulge in his trousers has him panting by the time he sets her on the mattress, but he has breath enough to chuckle as she clings to his neck, dragging him down on top of her.

He makes for a magnificent sight beneath her, his chest rising and falling in time with her own.

“Not quite,” she grins back, full of delightful mischief, sliding her hands up her own back Annabel arches decadently as she unclasps her bra before tossing it away. The moment she’s free she feels his grip on her thighs tighten slightly. With a flick of her hair, she basks in his undivided attention.

Delicately leaning over him, Annabel splays her hands against his chest. Running her palms slowly down his torso until she reaches the few remaining buttons left of his shirt, with a sharp sudden tug she tears it, popping buttons free to send them flying with a wicked little chuckle.

“Naughty little vixen,” the husky rasp of his reprimand pools heat between her thighs, hot enough to make her fingers curl into his waistband.

“Don't tell me you've not been dying to be set free ever since you first swept me aside, dear, lord Asharion…” her own voice purrs with molten desire, desire that doesn't wait for an answer and instead sees her hand wrap around his cock. He's already wet and so she slides her hand in a long slow pump. Mmmmm, seems every part of him is perfection, including the little strangled gasp he gives at her touch.

Hips bucking in unabashed pleasure, Asharion finds his hands climbing until they are kneading her scrumptious rear. Maker, she is sinfully divine, responding to his every wanton touch with moans erotic enough to make a saint blush.

As his fingers slip to rub over her heat with only thin, damp, panties between them, her eyes close as she shudders over him. He basks in her pleasure as he takes his time, stroking, teasing out little wanton sounds. Glorious woman.

A sharp shot of pleasure shots up his spine, distracting him from all else as she mimics him, palm teasing circles over his tip. A lesser man would have come undone right there and then, the woman, the goddess, over them proving too much erotic sin to bare. Asharion, however, simply moans then chuckles richly. It seems he's met his match…

The warm touch of her is sharply contrasted by a rush of cold air as she tugs his trousers down so he can kick them away. Fingers wrapping around her panties he tugs as he rolls her, releasing a mischievous giggle from Annabel as she squirms free of their confines and settles under him. He can't resist touching her, feeling her wet heat slide along his fingers, imagining how sweet her nectar tastes even as he nuzzles against her curves.

Wet fingers trail over her hips then up to brush circles over pert nipples that harden with every touch. There is one, greedy knead of her chest to fulfil his most basal desires, before his lips descend to lap and suck against that pert little bud. Asharion feels her nails carding through his hair, her moans growing louder as his devotion grows stronger, more earnest and incessant.

Never has a lover absorbed him so, and when she pleads, a panted whimper just for him, he can resist her no longer.

She can't breathe as he enters her, breath hitching with a gasp as he stretches and fills her with a divine glide. Maker preserve her… one time will never be enough... How could it be, when he drives pleasure singing through every nerve with every slow, deep, roll of his hips.

Every pump delivers another ripple of ecstasy that shoots up her spine to release a deep-throated groan from her chest. Needing more, needing all of him, Annabel finds his lips and claims them with her own until she's moaning into his mouth, blunt teeth dragging over his plump lower lip as he pants and increases his speed. Each hit now comes firm and fast, the pleasure too much for her to bear as it surges through her with every rut, every smack of his flesh against hers made in glorious harmony.

Her nails dig into his skin, into the lean muscles of his back and those in his tight, peachy rear as it clenches with every slam. His name spills from her lips, urging him onwards, singing his praises in a way few lovers ever earned. When his mouth crashes over hers, moaning her name with passionate devotion she comes undone around him. Body shuddering as she cries out, a wordless sound borne of pure ecstasy, blinding her to all but the euphoria he sends lurching through her veins.

Another few ruts follow, dragging out the shimmer of pleasure before she feels his muscles clench under her hold, his breath catches then gives way to a deep rumbling groan as he pulses then spills hotly inside her.

Humming softly to herself, Annabel cards her fingers through his damp hair, riding high on a cloud of bliss that renders everything obsolete save for the thunder of his heart against her chest. After a moment, he groans as he seemingly comes too, lifting his gaze to hers, face haloed by fire as his hair tumbles over them both.

“Hmmmm, and how was that, my lady?”

There is a softness to his lopsided smile that matches his tone and Annabel can't help but return it.

“Just as magnificent as you, my Lord,” smile growing she chuckles and presses herself up to peck a kiss against his lips.

Even the most charming can be lost for words. Still recovering in the wake of shared bliss, Asharion can do little more than chuckle at her reply. After a moment of serene smiles, his forehead comes to rest against hers. He brushes a stray lock of hair away from her face, tingling with a glowing warmth, and nuzzles close against her. “Good,” he breathes. His thumb stroking up her jaw is just as tender as the words on his lips. “You deserve nothing but the best, darling Annabel… And I intend to deliver.”

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