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losfacedevil · 2 years

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Let Me Love You // Jake Kiszka

a/n~ Let’s try this again SHALL WE?! Either tumblr did me dirty or ya girl doesn’t know how to simple copy and paste lmao. Repost as last nights copy was missing literally half of the damn fic! Word Count: 3K

Backyard barbecues were not your thing - especially if the Kiszka boys were involved. But somehow you had let them convince you to come hang out because ‘food and drinks would be involved’ and ‘Bree said she’d come too!’ Rolling your eyes you looked out over their backyard - somehow the one to run inside for a drink refill - as Josh and Sammy rough housed in the pool.

“They’re gonna kill themselves.” You sang, no one around to hear you as you tucked three coronas between your arm and rib cage, gently grabbing the other two as you pushed your way out of the door and onto their back patio.

“Boys I’m not gonna be the one to call 911 if you drown. Cut the shit.” You giggled, watching as the boys came to a complete stop, Josh’s hands on the top of Sammy’s head as he attempted to dunk the younger boy under water for the fifth time.

“Always the mom.” Jake chuckled, putting his book down as you placed the round of drinks down, sliding a cold Corona in front of him. “Well I’m definitely not going to be the one to call your mom when they kill each other, are you?” You quipped, popping open your beer, taking a swig and making a face, definitely not a favorite. “No way, she might kill me for letting them kill each other.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as Josh got his way, dunking his younger brother under the water once more; a scream sounding like that of a banshees erupting from his chest.

“Joshua!” You yelled, stepping closer to the railing that surrounded the patio, his laugh echoing off of the trees that stood beyond their back yard. Your book lay discarded on the lawn swing down by the pool where you had originally been sat next to Jake; Bree now sitting there watching as her boyfriend was effectively being drowned by his older brother. “Babyface you better go get your man before you don’t have a man anymore.” You yelled, placing your beer down on the railing as you leaned over trying to get her attention. “Nu uh! That’s his battle to fight, Josh might get me next.” She giggled, throwing a lone football that sat on the ground beside her feet into the pool; almost hitting Josh in the head.

Another giggle slipped past your lips, picking the beer back up and making your way back to the table, perching on the edge of the chair next to Jake. His eyes wandered a bit, dancing up the expanse of your bare legs; a blank expression on his face as his thoughts ran wild. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and rest a hand on your knee, to let his thumb dance over the crest of your knee; but held back unsure of how you would react. Your eyes landed on his shoe of choice, quirking up an eyebrow before pointing down at his feet.

“Chelsea boots? For a cook out? Living on the edge there, Jake.” He chuckled, kicking his foot out and looked down, tapping the back of your flip flop as he did so. “Perfect footwear, wouldn’t have it any other way.” You rolled your eyes, he always had some sort of smart remark.

Leaning back in the chair you got comfortable, crossing your legs at the knee as your eyes danced over the boys who were clambering out of the pool. Josh’s entire body shook as the cool afternoon breeze blew past him, snatching the towel Sam had picked up off of his shoulders. The younger boy whipped around, hands thrown up in a fighting stance as Josh laughed, running out of Sam’s reach.

“What the hell, where’s yours?” Josh shrugged, laughing as he toweled off his damp hair. “I never grabbed one, sorry Sammy boy.” He taunted, dancing in front of Sam as he wrapped the towel around his waist. “Children! Babyface get yo boy a dang towel, please.”

You couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from your chest as the boys chased each other around the yard, always kids at heart when they’re around each other. Jake cleared his throat, tossing back the last of his beer before sliding the empty bottle across the table, watching as it collided with the spine of his book.

“What’re you up to later?” Jakes voice was soft and airy, dancing away on the midafternoon breeze as quickly as it left his mouth. You cocked your head to the side, turning your attention to him as he reached up pulling his shoulder length hair into a faux bun at the nape of his neck. “Hmm?” He nodded, jutting his chin out to indicate the group now sitting on the lawn swing with Bree. “After this, what’re you up to after you leave? I know this isn’t really your cup of tea.” You shrugged, tossing back the rest of your beer before sliding the empty bottle onto the table next to his. “I don’t know, might just go home and try to finish my book. Unless Bree has something in mind.” You eyes wandered down to the group on the swing, Bree sat with her head on Sam’s shoulder, ankles tangled with his. “I think I heard Sam ask her to stay with him tonight.” Jake shrugged, eyes dancing around the yard, trying to find something to rest his gaze on that wasn’t you. “Babyface, why you hate me?! You ditching me for Sammy boy tonight?!” You yelled, standing and making your way over to the railing to better see what they were doing. “I’m sorry! He asked.” She shrugged, turning her attention back to whatever story he was telling. “Not fair, what am I supposed to do tonight?” You stuck your bottom lip out in a pout, arms crossing over your chest. A mischievous look crossed her face as she sat up, turning her body to face you. “Hang out with your boyfriend! He’s been shooting heart eyes your way all afternoon.” She called, pursing her lips together and making kissing noises. “Ew Josh, I thought we had this conversation, not interested!” You giggled, watching as his mouth popped open into a stunned expression as he reached over, smacking Bree in the knee.

You turned back around, making your way back to where you were initially sitting, eyes falling on Jake as he stood, collecting the few empty beer bottles before stepping into the house. You thought nothing of it as your eyes fell on the latest novel he was reading, picking the book up and reading the summary of the story on the back.

Jake watched through the window as you thumbed through his book, eyes dancing across the pages as you flipped them quickly not really reading what it had to offer. He couldn’t help but admire the way the late afternoon sun danced across your sun kissed skin, every last freckle on full display across your pink tinted cheeks. How you pulled you leg up like a flamingo as you concentrated on a certain page you had landed on, the words fully engaging you as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth nibbling on the skin. How the corners of your mouth turned up into a grin as Bree passed you, shoving you gently causing you to stumble into your chair.

“Stop sending her heart eyes and use your big boy words.” Bree mumbled, shoulder checking Jake as she made her way to the bathroom, shooting him a sly smile over her shoulder and she shut the door behind her.

Jake shook his head, clearing the fog from his mind and he placed the empty bottles in the sink. Rolling his head side to side he rolled his shoulder back in one swift move, shimmying his shoulders before he stepped back outside, eyes landing on you as you continued to thumb through his book.

“It can’t be that interesting, I’m struggling to get through it honestly.” You dropped the book, a soft gasp slipping past your lips as you turned to face him. “It’s semi-interesting, I could probably get into it. I didn’t know murder mysteries were your thing.” You shrugged, eyes falling back onto the cover of the book. “They’re not. The cover looked interesting and has taught me the whole never judge a book by its cover thing works in many situations.” He chuckled, gaze trained on his boots. “You’re not wrong, the cover definitely piqued my interest. But the summary on the back was kind of a turn off.” You shrugged, making a face at Bree as she made her way out of the house and back down to where Sam sat. “Cute.” Jakes voice was barely a whisper, almost not there as it danced away on a breeze. You cocked your head to the side, running your hand back through your loose curls. “What was that?” You were sure you knew what had been said but decided to play dumb, hoping that maybe he’d repeat what he said. He shrugged, looking over his shoulder at the door to the patio that sat slightly ajar. “Did someone go inside?” You quirked an eyebrow, giggling as you shook your head, turning your back to Jake. “It’s just the ghost, Jake. I’ll think you’ll be okay.”

He watched you as your sauntered over to the railing once again, leaning up against it and resting your head in your hands. His eyes traveled along your body, dancing slower the closer he got to your bare legs taking in every inch of them. You spun quickly, hands coming to rest on the railing as you jumped, swinging your body to sit up on the railing, legs crossed at the ankles.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer. But like I mean they’re just legs, you have a set of them too.” You giggled, shaking Jake out of his thoughts as a deep red blush crept up his neck to his cheeks. Jake shook his head, stepping a little bit closer to where you now sat, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “No idea what you’re talking about, Bug. I think you’re imagining things.” The giggle that escaped you sounded almost manic, one that let everyone know the alcohol may be dancing a little heavier though your system. “And I’m the Queen. Question!” You turned your head, eyes dancing through the trees and greenery that sat just beyond their property line a whole different adventure seemingly right at their fingertips. “Answer?” Jake side stepped, resting his hands on the railing dangerously close to your hip, leaning over the railing to see the others had taken off elsewhere. “Where’d they all go?” He asked, eyes dancing around the yard, hopeful they hadn’t left the two of you alone. “That sounds more like a question. But listen, have y’all ever explored out there? Gone on a hike?” You asked, turning your head so your face was right next to his, your eyelashes could have tickled the apple of his cheek had you leaned forward a centimeter more. “Yeah, we used to go out there all the time as kids. There’s a rope swing out there somewhere. But we haven’t been out there in years.” Jake shrugged, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear as his eyes danced up the clearly worn footpath.

Jake turned his head not realizing how close in proximity you were to him. His breath caught in his throat, eyes growing wide as he realized how his nose brushed against yours gently, your eyes fluttering shut at the sudden contact. Jake swallowed hard, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he let the intrusive thoughts win as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Let’s go on an adventure.” Jake whispered, rubbing his pinky against the side of your bare thigh. You didn’t realize that you had been holding your breath, your chest starting to burn with the lack of oxygen. “Into the woods?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you fought air into your lungs. “Let’s go find the swing we put out there, it’ll be fun.” He chuckled, pushing off of the railing, holding his hand out to help you jump down off of the railing.

_________________

You sighed as you followed Jake up the hill and into the trees, watching as he reached a hand out to run across the trunk of the nearest tree. A smile danced across his face as the memories started to play in his mind, eyes dancing up to the leaf covered sky.

“We used to lose Sammy in here all the time when we were little, but don’t tell mom that. She might kill us for that even now.” Jake chuckled, spinning on his heel. He continued walking backwards, eyes fully on you and your eyes danced around the woods, focusing on a hole in one of the trees. You pointed upwards, a smile on your face as your eyes found Jakes. “Betcha a raccoon lives up there. It looks big enough for a whole family.” The excitement in your voice was endearing, warming his heart as you spoke about the different animals you imagined lived out in the woods. He chuckled as you ran ahead of him, pointing out a wood pecker sat high up on the tree hammering away. “Look how cool! Is that what we hear all the time? Jake look how cool!”

Your eyes found his for the first time since entering the woods, a look of curiosity and adoration dancing across his face. He had stopped walking, leaning against a tree with his hands shoved in his pockets as he watched you, the awe and enchantment in your demeanor enough to make his heart explode. You stopped in your tracks, hands bunching up in the bottom of your tank top as you suddenly became self conscious.

“What?” You asked, eyes suddenly cast downward as if his stare was too much. He couldn’t help the smile that played on his lips, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose as he kicked off of the tree, walking closer to where you stood. “What, what?” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders as if to shove his hands deeper into his pockets. “You’ve been looking at me like that all day. Something on your mind?” Your tone was inquisitive, cursing the sunglasses he donned on his nose for hiding his chocolate button eyes. He shrugged, jutting his chin out over your shoulder. “Found the swing, cmon.” He chuckled, changing the subject as he reached out for your hand. Carefully, you slipped your hand into his, letting him guide you to the swing. “Dad built this for us when we were like six, let me push you.” You slid onto the wooden seat, hands wrapping securely around the rope that held the swing together.

Jake let his hands rest against your shoulders briefly, thumbs rubbing against the sides of your neck before letting his hands travel down to the middle of your back, pushing gently to give your the momentum to get the swing going. You let your mind wander, giggling as butterflies erupted in your tummy; both from the height you were starting to gain as well as from his hands gently caressing your back with each gentle push forward he gave you.

“Answer my question, Jake.” You called on a down swing, watching as he walked in front of you. “What question?” He quipped, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you swing, losing momentum on every downswing. Pushing your legs out in front of you, you tried to slow the momentum even further. “ I said, you’ve been looking at me like that all day. Something on your mind?” You asked again.

Jake stepped fully in front of you on another downswing, pointing towards the ground in a silent signal to drop your legs. Doing as you were asked you bent your legs at the knee as he came closer, gripping the ropes of the swing and bringing you to a halt. A gasp escaped you as you came to an abrupt stop, sliding forward of off the seat into his body.

“Looking at you like what?” He asked, his voice light and airy as he walked forward, leveling the swing before letting go of the ropes. You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders. “I think Bree called it heart eyes? I knew she wasn’t talking about Josh but he’s easy to rile up and his reactions are hilarious.” You crossed your legs at the ankles, too short to rest your feet on the ground as you gauged his reaction. A deep red began to creep up his neck once more, settling in the apples of his cheeks as he looked away, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Let me love you.” His voice was barely a whisper, eyes trained everywhere but your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat, unsure you had heard what he said correctly. He turned to face you, sunglasses perched lower on his nose. His eyes spoke what his mouth couldn’t, eyes lust blown as he tested the waters, reaching up and running a thumb along your cheekbone.

“What was that?” Your voice just above a whisper, threatening to crack as you pushed past the lump in your throat. “I said, let me love you, like you deserve to be loved.” Jakes eyes never left yours, reaching both hands out to cup your cheeks, thumbs running soothingly along your cheek bones. “Jake.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, cocking your head to the side as he leaned forward, noses gently rubbing for the second time. He pulled a sharp intake of breath through his nose, deliberately brushing his lips against yours causing an electric shock to shoot down your spine. “Kiss me?” It was more of a demand than a question, hands finding purchase on Jakes side and pulling him to stand between your legs. “Gladly.”

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fluff #greta van fluff #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic

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birdie-told-me · 9 months

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Red Sky at Night (D&D Fic, ~7.5k words)

Fandom: Dungeons & Dragons (homebrew setting)

Rating: Explicit Summary: On the final morning of the holy festival of Truatonalia, Faustine, a priestess of Truatoni is drawn to the seashore. What she finds there is unexpected

Contents: M/F; tiefling female x water genasi male; oral, handjob

Header art by vampariart!

Faustine is intensely aware of the approach of the festival’s third day: the Veneration of the Sea. The closer it gets, the more she feels that tug, deep within her, to venture down the rocky cliffside to the shore, to immerse herself in the crashing surf, allowing the salt water to overtake her. Twice, now, she has felt the elemental power of the Storm Maiden coursing through her, having been struck with divine lightning in both the holy Grove and the Temple, and received boons thereafter. She imagines submitting to the power of the sea would carry a similar terrifying thrill, the same new empowerment afterward.

The sea is both refuge and restlessness.

It is a constant, ever-present. The sound of waves crashing upon the cliffs beneath her window had been her first lullaby. The smell of it on the air is a familiar comfort. The sea featured in her earliest hopes and dreams: a promise of freedom, carrying her away from all of her unhappiness.

It is a mystery, ever-changing. Its churning waters reflect the Storm Maiden’s moods: sometimes peaceful, sometimes violent. Its currents tug on the hearts of those connected to it, pulling them from the stability of home, imbuing them with wanderlust, yearning to embark on its rippling waters.

Naridius carries the sea with him. On his ship it hadn’t been as obvious, surrounded as they were by the thing itself, but here in the city, it clings to him even as it releases everyone else. His skin, his hair, even the air around him - he smells of a fresh salt breeze. His skin is the color of the sea on a warm, inviting summer day, and glistens enticingly with droplets of water, as if he has always just emerged from beneath the surf. His hair is a riot of seafoam: pale, tumbling curls forming a corona around his head, setting off the lovely aqua shade of his skin, giving him the look of a cresting wave. She longs to run her fingers through it.

She knows the Maiden would not begrudge her this, but resisting the lure is a habit borne of years of practice even before she swore her life to the goddess. Faustine has always been an expert at resisting temptation. Too cautious has she been, seeing Fierna’s phantom smirk behind every opportunity for pleasure. Too frightened to give in and allow herself to slip for even a moment and open the door for infernal influence. (Not to mention, of course, the thought of baring herself in such a way. Being seen beneath the swathes of fabric she always keeps her body concealed by). She has trained herself to be as remote and untouchable as the clouds.

But, she thinks, what if I want to be touched?

She has grown accustomed to it, lately, and she must admit, she craves it more now that she knows what she was missing. So many years of her life spent isolated, contact with others limited only to the most necessary of functions. Now she travels among friends who do not flinch when she reaches out a hand to touch them, even if said hand does not carry a spell to bolster them. She is still cautious, always watching for the slightest indication that her flesh is an unwelcome presence among theirs. But she has not seen one yet. And Naridius….

He had asked her to dance on the first night of the festival. Despite having invited him earlier in the day to come find her, she had still been surprised and a little flustered. She is not graceful - never was lithe and delicate, and now even less so since separating body and spirit, never fully fitting the two back together even after leaving the Astral Plane - but he did not seem to mind her stumbling feet and her flushed cheeks. He had offered his hand, and when she took it, pulled her against the solid planes of his body.

Never had she been pressed so intimately against another. She hardly knew how to process the feeling of his muscle against hers, his hand resting on the curve of her hip, his sturdy shoulder under the hand she had drawn up to steady herself. A faint buzzing filled her ears, and she is quite certain her face went slack for a moment as she felt his warm breath against her skin. But the lively music wound its way to her ears, sparking her senses back to life and drawing a smile to her lips. She cannot pretend that their dancing was in any way polished or worthy of spectators, but she found that she did not care. It was enough to feel the rush of joy as she clutched him to her, allowing him to twirl her through the crowd. She tilted her head back and offered her delighted laughter to the heavens. She reveled in the feeling of him moving with her, against her, alongside her, as the music swept them up. He was close enough that his lovely curls brushed against her cheek, releasing a burst of his clean, fresh scent, and she wished she could breathe him in forever.

Inevitably their dance had ended too soon - duty had called her away, and Naridius had melted back into the crowd. She found herself cold and irritable, resenting her friends and their silly foibles for drawing her away from the moment of happiness she had managed to snatch. Perhaps she was harsher than she ought to have been with them, but she found it difficult to tolerate their continued foolishness as she enviously noted other couples slinking away from the crowd with clasped hands and furtive caresses. Her night would not end with such a tryst.

(In fact, her night had ended with a shadow fiend stalking her through the city streets and trying to kill her instead. But such is the life of an adventurer.)

The second day of Truatonalia had been a whirlwind worthy of her goddess. Official duties beginning very early in the day, blessing and cleansing and above all trying to retain a dignified yet approachable manner. And once the ceremonies were over, she was pulled from event to event, presiding over games and races and contests, all the while spending every spare moment shoring up what support she could from the various noble houses, wheedling and charming and complimenting and persuading. It was a relief when the evening performance finally came around and she could simply let loose and confront her problems with spellcasting and trident.

But now, in the silent predawn hours of the third morning, she feels that tug again. An urge to head down to the shore and submerge herself. While she has proven herself inconsistent at best when remembering the official rituals and ceremonies Maurina taught her, her individual veneration of the Storm Maiden has always been guided by urges like this: an insistent feeling that she ought to be doing something, allowing her intuition to guide her through the Maiden’s desires. And in this time, at the height of her patron’s power, on her holiest of days, who is she to deny a calling?

She forgoes the heavy regalia she wears at most ceremonies - the robes of fine-woven chain and the fearsome breastplate. She does not need her shield. There is a moment when she lingers over the trident, but ultimately she decides to go empty-handed, trusting in the goddess to protect her. Instead she dresses only in the gauzy linen stola she had worn to the cleansing ceremony. The air is balmy enough she does not wrap a palla about her before she sneaks out of the villa.

The path down the cliffside is one that her feet remember from years of childhood antics, and so she picks her way down easily. Even the few times she stumbles over scattered pebbles or slickened rocks, the wind itself seems to lift her and prevent a fall. She closes her eyes and smiles into the breeze as it pushes fallen locks of hair from her face: this is how her goddess shows her love.

When she reaches the bottom, the sea is gentle and the tide is low enough to have revealed a minuscule beach - no more than a narrow bar of sand and some flat rocks. Soft waves rock back and forth, lapping at her feet with only the barest of splashes. She removes her sandals and steps in, wading out into the brine. The water lifts the gossamer fabric of her skirt and saturates it until one can hardly tell the difference between cloth and sea. It clings and drapes around her legs and she cannot resist the contented smile that tugs at her lips: she is clothed in seawater. Her tail loosens from its habitual coil around her ankle, and she allows it to float behind her as she wades deeper, up to her hips, where her fingertips can skim the surface of the water as it ripples around her. She swirls her fingers in a semblance of somatic spellcasting, leaving eddies and ripples in their wake.The water is warm as it slips and slides against her, rising up from hips to waist as she ventures deeper and deeper. Tendrils of seaweed brush against her legs. With a laugh, she tilts her head back to the sky and raises her arms in exultation, droplets of water trailing from them in streamers. The official public rituals for the festival are so rigid and unyielding; this spontaneous private ritual feels more like true worship, delighting in the Maiden’s domain on a personal level.

A sudden noise startles her, and she whips her head around to spot its source, instinctively crouching so that she is nearly immersed in the water as she scans the shore. He is easy to find, even in the dim predawn light; his bright, dewy skin picks up and scatters the last reflected glints of moonlight. He seems as surprised by her presence as she is by his. From this distance, she cannot quite make out the expression on his face, but his posture is hesitant, weight rocked back on one foot, hand raised slightly in surprise, as if to fend off an attack. For a moment she wonders if she should be upset that he has interrupted her communion with the sea, but she finds she cannot bring herself to be.

“I - I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean - “ His voice calls out from shore, more hesitant than she has ever heard him. He is backing up, his hands now both before him in a placating gesture. “I didn’t know you were - I just -“ She is struck by the realization that she doesn’t want him to leave. She feels that same tug deep in her belly that drew her to this place, drawing her to him. Her legs straighten to her full height once more, water sluicing up off her as she emerges, holding her hands out to him in a pose that mirrors his, beseeching.

“Wait!” She winces at the tone of command in her voice, and softens it. “You can stay.”

She picks her way carefully back to shore, somehow more difficult in this direction than it was on the way in. The rocks feel slicker and the tide slightly higher, while the waves beat with more intensity now, kicking up little splashes against her sides. He is rooted in place, watching her approach. He has not spoken again, but his hands have dropped limply to his sides, and his lips are parted. Only when her feet touch sand rather than rock does she let her own hands drop, tilting her head as she watches him in turn. The silence is heavy, and she cannot think of the proper words to break it, so she takes another tentative step toward him instead.

The tiny strip of sand is barely large enough for them both to stand on, but he does not back away. He, too, seems caught up in the hazy atmosphere, unwilling or unable to cut through it with a word. The only sound around them is the steady rushing of the sea, and the rustling of a gentle breeze. The air around them feels thick and charged, as if a storm is about to break.

He is staring at her. His eyes dart back and forth, from horns to lips to eyes to décolletage. She is suddenly very aware of the way her dress clings to her, translucent and waterlogged. There is but a momentary twitch of her fingertips, ready to call a swirl of fog to cover herself, but she defiantly forces herself to allow him to look. She wants him to look. She wants to keep looking at him. The expression on his face is one of…adoration. Nobody has ever looked at her with that expression before, and the realization is a bittersweet twinge that catches in her breast.

The hand he lifts is slow enough to give her time to back away. She does not. His fingertips graze her cheekbone with such tenderness it feels much like the caress of a gentle breeze. She closes her eyes and tilts her head, leaning into that touch so that his fingers tangle into the curls at her temple and his palm cups her cheek. Like this, she can feel the rough calluses of his sailor’s hands, can hear the rasp of his breath so close to her, can sense the heat of his body leaning infinitesimally closer. She opens her eyes to find them locked to his. She has stared down dragons and her heart did not race as fast as it does now.

“Can I - ?” He starts to ask, and she has not even registered the words themselves before she is nodding and he is drawing her closer with the hand still wrapped in the long strands of her hair, his other hand cupping the back of her neck as his lips meet hers with a frizzle of lightning that whisks her breath away. She is dizzy. She is floating. She steadies herself by grasping on to his broad shoulders. Their bodies align so naturally, curve against slope against plane. She cannot press herself close enough, though she tries, molding herself into him the way water fills a vessel. Her arms drape atop his shoulders and she finally, finally threads her fingers through those seafoam curls that have been enticing her for weeks. They are as luxurious as she had imagined.

She does not know how long they stand like that, entwined together, with the rising waves lapping at their ankles, but it is not long enough before she must pull her mouth away, panting and gasping. They part just enough that she can see how wide his pupils have grown, black overtaking so much of his eyes that they almost resemble her own. His cheeks are flushed and for some reason the pink at the tip of his regal nose causes her heart to swell so much she can hardly contain herself. She grins, a smile broad enough he can surely see the sharpened canines she is usually so careful to conceal. A huff of startled laughter escapes him in return. His eyes are wide and his jaw a little slack, but he does not make any move to escape her embrace. Instead, he moves his hands, careful as he untangles them from her hair, and brings them to cradle her cheeks reverently before bestowing the most chaste of kisses upon her.

“Come sit down,” he says, his voice roughened and deep. He trails his fingers down her arms until they interlace with her own, and he draws her toward one of the flattened rocks framing their little sand bar. She obliges, though her brow crinkles and her mouth twists into a moue of displeasure when their bodies are no longer pressed together. The distance between them serves to remind her of the state of her dress - the air rushes in to the empty space and chills the soaked cloth, causing a wave of goosebumps to ripple over her.

The rock he leads her to is conveniently sized and shaped, large enough for them both to recline on, low enough to step onto without trouble, and situated up against the cliffside such that one could comfortably lean against it. She does not know enough about stonecutting to tell whether it has been formed naturally or purposefully carved out, but she finds she does not really care. If this is a place for trysts, it must be only fitting that she has been called here, and a partner as well. There is no room for serendipity during the holy days. In the pause as she steps onto the stone and seats herself, she takes a moment to consider why the goddess would arrange such a thing. This does not feel like a command - the itching feeling at the back of her mind when the Maiden desires her to do something specific is not present. This feels more like…approval. Encouragement? Relief rushes over her and loosens the tension in her limbs she didn’t realize had crept in: this is still her choice - she can walk away if she wants to.

The sight of Naridius kneeling beside her is enough to remind her that she wishes to stay. His lips are swollen and his tunic is askew. Her fingers carding through his hair have left it wild and untamed, and as he leans in toward her, she is struck again by that thought that he is the sea itself, a foam-capped wave come to engulf her. She had come here this morning to embrace the sea and she decides to do just that, pulling him to her so that she can reach his lips once again. The fine silk of his tunic crumples as she clutches at him, but he does not seem to mind; he is too busy complying with her unspoken plea.

His mouth is warm and gentle against hers, his kisses soft and lingering as he cradles her face between his palms. While she finds this perfectly lovely, she can feel the restrained tension in him beneath her hands. She pulls back for a moment and looks at him directly, taking in the whole of him. Instantly, he also draws away, putting more space between them, and for a moment she is hurt before she realizes that he is following her lead, taking things slowly to make sure she is comfortable. He is holding back for her. She licks her lips, uncertain of how to encourage him.

“You can - “ her voice is husky and raw. She tries to make a gesture to encompass the two of them, and gives a helpless little shrug, unable to even begin to find the words to tell him everything she wants. “If you want. Don’t worry.”

He hesitates, weighing her words, so she underscores them by drawing him close once more, pressing her fingers firmly into his flesh. This time, he surges back into her like a wave crashing upon the rocks. No longer confined to gentle caresses of her hair and cheeks, his hands roam their way down her body, electrifying her skin in their wake. Every place he touches sears with heat - her throat, her ribs, her hips. The chill on her skin dissipates as he replaces it with delicious warmth that seeps through her, soaking in to her muscles and pooling deep within her very core.

His mouth strays from her lips and down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, alternating between kissing and sucking and licking. She gasps at a spot that sends a jolt through her, and he rewards her by lingering there, running his tongue over it again and again as she moans her encouragement. But then he is moving on, raining kisses across her collar and to the spot at her shoulder where her fibula pins her dress in place. He pauses and shoots a glance up at her, but makes quick work of unfastening the pin as he sees she is already nodding, reaching for the brooch at her other side.

The sodden linen of her stola sticks to her skin, so he must strip the fabric away in order to reveal her breasts, and the exposure causes her nipples to tighten into peaks in the open air. Her tail flicks nervously as he stops and stares, and she almost moves to cover herself once more, but she allows him to continue unimpeded. Now his movements are slowed by reverence rather than reluctance. He is caressing and stroking the sides of her breasts, murmuring praises to the softness of her skin, the firmness of her flesh. He presses his lips to the exposed column of her throat and sucks that same spot that had stolen her breath before, while his thumb grazes across a nipple. The air she sucks in is a sharp hiss, and her back arches instinctively, offering him more access. He accepts her offer, granting her a deluge of attentions as he rolls the hardened nub between his fingertips, pinching and squeezing first one, then the other, as she writhes beneath him. The sharp, insistent burst of pleasure tinged with pain contrasts so keenly with the sensuous rolling of his tongue along her neck. Her hands roam, searching for something to clutch on to, sliding over the broad musculature of his arms and shoulders and chest.

Their legs are a tangle, hers still wrapped in gauzy seasoaked fabric. She can feel little splashes spraying her feet as the sea churns beneath them, waves crashing more insistently upon their rocky refuge. Naridius, emboldened, bestows her with a searing whirlwind of lips and tongue against hers that she hurries to follow, returning his intensity with her own. There is a perplexed wrinkle on his brow when he breaks away from her to catch his breath, and his hand comes up to cup her jaw, thumb pulling down at her lip so that her mouth drops open for him. She is confused until she realizes he is peering at her tongue. Before the mortification can even begin to creep through her, he is grinning, returning to his ministrations, unperturbed by the revelation that the tongue that slides against his is forked in two.

It takes her a moment to catch up, overwhelmed as she is by the dizzying series of emotions this conjures. She tries to cut them off and focus only on the sensations as he works his way back down her body with both hands and mouth. The wonderful frisson of lightning under her skin in every place he touches. The building warmth that is smouldering and pulsing within her, shooting sparks through her veins. The solidity of his body as it presses against hers. She is mostly successful, though tears do still prick at her eyes as she registers the words he is whispering against her skin: murmured homages to her beauty, her power, her perfection. This last, spoken as his questing mouth finds a nipple and engulfs it in the most delicious wet heat she has ever felt, sucking and licking and scraping his teeth against it, making her writhe with pleasure.

He is terribly attentive, lingering in each place or with each motion that draws a gasp or a twitch or a moan from her, until she is squirming and desperate and ready to melt. She ceases to notice where precisely he has aimed his regard, drowning as she is in bliss. It does not matter which part of her he encounters; each of them is met with the same intent adulation. She is free to float upon a sea of sensation, basking in his worship.

He makes quick work of the girdle that cinches her dress at her waist, and she hurries to help him tug away the garment once its ties are released. She is fully exposed, no barriers between her skin and the outside world. However, she barely notes this momentous occasion, distracted as she is by the feeling of his mouth moving down her stomach and over hipbones, fingers pressing in to the flesh of her thighs, urging her to allow him access to the depths between them. When her legs part instinctively, he bolts forward to lavish her with even more rapturous attention.

This is the overwhelming, elemental force she came down to the shore to experience. She is surrounded everywhere by the essence of the rising sea - the brine of it filling her nostrils, her ears rushing with a roar that evokes the wildest of squalls, her blood pulsing with the rhythm of her waterborn partner between her thighs as his curly seafoam head bobs and retreats back and forth in time with the waves that beat against their rocky refuge. Her hands bury themselves in his hair and her tail winds reflexively around him, attempting to draw him closer, to hold him in place as he does something with his tongue that shoots bright white lightning through her entire body. The wordless gasps and pants that emerge from her meld into and are swallowed up by the sounds of the seascape. The waves are high enough that the water has begun to break over the ledge of their stone more consistently, sending salty surges of seawater lapping against her skin in counterpoint to the lapping of the skilled tongue occupied at her most intimate parts.

She cannot help the blasphemous words that flash through her mind: divine, glorious… ecstasy.

While his mouth has dedicated itself to a single spot, his hands have not been idle. They work their way over her thighs and hips, kneading, squeezing, pressing, stroking. Teasing fingers swipe over the more sensitive parts of her skin, drawing closer to where his lips and tongue continue their clever work, causing her to shudder and clutch at him. This appears to spur him on, his efforts redoubled as one arm hooks her knee over his shoulder and the other tugs at her hips to change their angle.

Her horns clatter against the stone of the cliff as she throws her head back. She didn’t know it could feel even better, but somehow it does, the new position of his tongue against her pressing so perfectly her vision begins to blur. Those nimble fingertips draw patterns and circles around her entrance, tempting her with the prospect of delving within, but he withholds them. Coherent thoughts have ceased to flow through her mind, replaced only by a litany of Ohs and Pleases and Mores that fall from her lips like scattered drops of rain, but a sudden thought does break through the haze with striking clarity: If he is the Sea, then you are the Storm.

The Sea may be master of its own currents and tides, but the Storm may descend and enact its whims upon it, changing courses and churning up the waters. Her hands cannot quite reach his from this distance, but her tail wraps its way around his wrist and leads him to the place she most needs to feel him. His startled hum of approval reverberates through her as he wets his fingers with the slick moisture that has gathered there. The foot she has draped over his shoulder presses in to his back, urging him on, while her hands, still threaded through his riotous curls, position his mouth exactly where she wants it.

He concedes to her demands, finally dipping his fingers inside her just as she has arranged his head to her liking. The combination of sensations overcomes her, and she cannot help the immediate rocking of her hips or the scraping of his scalp with her nails as her fingers clench, scrabbling for something to anchor her as she feels herself start to come apart at the seams. He continues his onslaught, steady as the pulsing waves surrounding them, and it is not long before she is cresting, breaking on the rocks alongside them, swept up in the tide that has welled up within her. The lightning in her veins buzzes through every part of her, setting her lips and fingers and toes tingling, contracting her muscles, searing through her vision with a blaze of white. She can only gasp and allow it to wash over her. It is not unlike the times she has been struck by holy lightning, only this time there is no pain, just throbbing waves of pleasure that shock their way through her over and over.

He does not pull away until she has settled. Her limbs loosen and her fingers unthread from the locks of hair they had wound around themselves, and finally his tongue stills. When he lifts his face to look up at her, it catches at her heart, sending a sharp ache darting through her breast. He is so beautiful, with his wide, dark eyes and his tousled hair and his slickened mouth. The expression of exaltation as he stares at her is too much for her to bear.

She tugs at him and pulls him so that their bodies align once more, face-to-face, and presses her lips languidly against his. She can feel the hardened flesh of him against her hip. While he does not press her to do anything about it, she understands that he remains wound tight, has not reached the same heady release as she has. Though she can admit to herself that she finds the prospect daunting, she finds that she still wants to try. Wants to do for him what he has done for her, to fill him with the same rapturous delight. She licks her lips and murmurs against his cheek,

“I’d like to return the favor. Will you guide me?”

The breath he lets out is half laughter, half groan. His hips give a little jerk against her, but his tone is sincere.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please. I want to.”

Another soft sound that might be a laugh as he nuzzles his cheek along hers. His voice is pitched low and she can feel it vibrate through her as he responds, lips catching and brushing at her earlobe.

“Then I would be a fool to deny you.”

This is met with a laugh of her own, and she turns her head to catch his lips again. There is a momentary pause as they adjust, shuffling positions so that he is now leaning against the cliffside, Faustine kneeling between the splayed V of his legs. He takes the opportunity to remove his tunic, folding it and solicitously offering it as a cushion between her knees and the rough ledge they sit upon. She bites her lip, touched by this concern for her comfort. Her whispered thanks are heartfelt.

She finds she isn’t sure where to begin, now that the whole of him is spread before her, clad only in his undergarment. Expanses of enticing skin and planes of perfectly-sculpted musculature call out to her, but she cannot decide what to touch first, overwhelmed by choice. He waits, patiently, allowing her the time to move when she is ready, but she can see the heavy rise and fall of his chest belying his desire.

The water that always glistens from his skin is more pronounced now, enhanced by the spray of sea, so that tiny streams drip down in captivating rivulets that her eyes track greedily. She watches as one curves around the swell of his pectoral and she barely realizes that she has leaned forward to catch it on her tongue, swiping up to follow its sinuous path to the place where his shoulder curves into his neck. She cannot tell if the burst of salt on her tongue is from him or the seawater, but she hums in delight either way.

The long straight column of his neck is before her now, and she laves her way up the side, collecting more droplets as she goes. With her hands braced on either side of him, the change in position brings her breasts up to skim along the skin of his chest, sending a little shiver of pleasure through her that is echoed in him as well. She pauses at this realization, before bringing her lips to close around an earlobe with the softest scrape of teeth. He shifts and sighs. She never was a very good student, but she finds that this is a skill for which she has an aptitude - her perceptiveness and insightfulness giving her the advantage she needs to fumble her way through it. She might not have the experience of having done this before, of knowing where to touch or how, but she can at least catalogue his reactions and find out what pleases him the most.

She draws her hands up his sides, caressing his ribs, his shoulders, down his arms, reveling in the feel of the smooth muscle padded by just enough soft flesh while her mouth remains at his neck. Her lips tingle with exquisite friction as they drag over his skin. Her tongue rolls over the taut tendons he has stretched out as he tilts his head back to invite her to continue. She moves slowly, achingly aware of every minute twitch, every catch of his breath, every groan that escapes him. She finds which swirling motions of her tongue cause him to gasp, and which spot beneath his jaw makes his hands come up and fist in her hair. She passes over his chest with long, broad swipes, and finds that she can make him tremble and call out her name with a strangled moan if she catches a nipple between the two bisected halves of her tongue. His sides seem ticklish so she is more firm in her attentions to them as they lead her to the peaks of hipbones just barely jutting out from the cloth wrapped round his loins. She presses her lips reverently to the hollows they create, and his hips rock in response.

While it cannot be said that she has ever truly been frightened in her life, she does find the mystery of what lies beneath his last remaining article of clothing to be a bit too much to tackle just yet, and so she passes over it, moving on to find what spots on the insides of his thighs are most sensitive. Hands and lips and tongue roam together down the long stretch of muscle between one hip and knee, before switching sides and making the return journey from knee to hip. The scent of him is deeper here, muskier rather than salt-sharp, and the damp heat coming off of his skin is thicker. There is a particularly beautiful curve of flesh along the inside of his leg, a lovely soft place that calls out for her to sink her teeth into. She gives in to this urge, and is rewarded by a cry that is wrested from his throat - an “Aaah!” of both shock and pleasure as his hands clutch at her head. The jolt of his hips this time brushes the cloth-covered bulge of him against her cheek, and she is struck with a burning satisfaction beneath her breast at the contact. Her tail gives an involuntary swish behind her.

She lifts her head and looks up at him, soaking in the picture of his flung-back head and his scrunched brow and his flushed cheeks. He is drenched in seawater now, the waves having grown fiercer and the tide higher in their time here, and it only accentuates his otherworldly charm. Her fingers brush at the folds of cloth at his hips, accompanied by a tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. Please,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

She merely hums her acknowledgment of his plea, but does not immediately act on her unspoken request. Instead she continues to run her fingers over the cloth, exploring the topography of him that has yet to be revealed. His restraint is sorely tested, and he cannot refrain from the eager twitches of his hips as she ghosts the softest of touches across him. She rises back up onto her knees proper, and straddles one of his legs, bringing her lips up to his ear and leaning into him so that they are chest to chest, skin to skin. Her tail winds around his leg behind her. She braces one hand against his shoulder, while the other works its way beneath his undergarment and presses her palm flat against that part of him she has been avoiding, surprised at the rigidity she meets. Her fingers curl around him, drawn to the shocking silkiness and warmth of his skin.

“Will you show me? What you like?” she whispers, more breath than voice.

His hands are instantly upon the knots keeping the cloth tied in place, working at them with not a little desperation. She keeps her hand still in the meantime, wondering at the feel of him in her palm, marveling at the texture beneath her fingertips. While she is not completely ignorant of what lies between a man’s legs, no bathhouse fresco or bawdy song had prepared her for this reality. Inexplicably, she feels saliva pooling in her mouth. Her fingers squeeze just a bit and she feels an answering throb beneath them. She muffles her gasp into the hair at his temple. Finally, he works the knots free and he is unclothed, completely.

She pulls back from him just enough that she can peer down as his hand wraps over her own, showing her how tight to grip, how to move her hand over him. The only word that comes to mind is ridiculously apropos: fascinating. Her attention is rapt, focused on this single point between them as she follows his lead in pumping, squeezing, stroking. Though mostly obscured by their entwined hands, she can see enough of him to admire the becoming proportions - this is no comedically engorged phallus in a farce, nor a demure, flaccid one on a public sculpture. She can feel the blood pumping through him, and it seems to match her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears. She turns her head to crush her lips against his and she imagines she can feel both of their heartbeats pulsing in time there as well. There is a rhythm shared between them that they are both caught up in, and she realizes that it is the same as the rhythm of the waves upon the shore.

“Do you want to -“ he does not even break away to speak, instead allowing his lips to continue to brush against hers with the formation of every word. Affection flushes through her when she realizes he is trying gallantly to remind her of her offer to return his favor in kind without pressing her to fulfill it.

She does want to.

It is strangely comfortable, settling herself between his legs as she does. From here, she can more clearly see the organ that had so captivated her. It truly is a stunning sight: flushed a reddish purple with hot, vigorous blood, jutting out from his body with a pleasing arc. There is a drop of fluid at the bell-headed tip, a different consistency than that she has seen on his skin before. She wraps her fingers around him once again, careful to remember the tightness he had preferred, and brings her lips up to capture that pearl of moisture. It is bitter salt that blooms on her tongue, but she does not find it unpleasant - in fact, it seems to unlock something in her, some driving desire to wring more of this from him.

His skin is so, so soft, and she delights in skimming her lips over it; no fine silk or velvet has ever felt so luscious against her - not even those she admired in the City of Brass. But she can feel his restlessness in the shift of his hips, the little groans he lets out. He is not in a state to endure her lingering, and she takes pity on him. Her tongue swipes along him in a broad, thick line from root to tip, leaving a trail of slickness in its wake. She experiments a few times with different ways she can wrap her tongue around him, searching for the one that makes him spasm and buck beneath her. It is when the two halves of her tongue split and run in tandem under the flared edge of the head that she is successful. His hips surge forward and his hands clutch at her head, grasping not at her hair as before, but along the curve of her horns.

Her mind stutters for a moment as she tries to decide whether this is acceptable or if she should shake herself free of him, but then he is using the leverage to tilt her head, to draw her back down, and the sensation clicks with some deep primal urge within her. She opens her mouth wide and takes him in, receptive to the merest pressure of his hands on her horns, as if she is his ship, guided by his steering oar.

The feeling of her lips stretched around him, of his warm, hard flesh stroking along her tongue, of being filled with him in a way she has not been before, is remarkably satisfying. Her tail swishes once back and forth in languid approval. One hand braces herself at his hipbone, and the other wraps around the base of him, steadying as she moves her head back and forth. He shudders and rocks his hips in counterpoint to her motions, thrusting deeper into her mouth, his body rising as hers is falling in a dance just as exhilarating as the one they had shared nights before.

He is speaking again - jumbled words and fragments of sentences interspersed with moans, praising her, telling her how brilliant she is, how perfect her mouth feels around him. He starts to say something rather poetic about the shape of her backside but it is cut short by his strangled cry as she swirls her tongue around the head of his phallus. She finds it easier to accept compliments like this, mouth occupied so that she does not have to stutter back her embarrassed thanks; she can merely hum and preen and duck her head to redouble her efforts, determined to earn every drop of esteem he has rained down upon her.

She raises her eyes to look up at him, to watch his face as she licks and sucks and bobs. He meets her gaze, awestruck and full of ardor, and it sends a seeping warmth spreading under her ribs. She cannot manage a smile with her lips stretched as they are, but she hopes he understands the softening of her eyes for what it is. One of his hands dislodges from her horns and cradles her cheek, caressing her cheekbone with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

Somehow, this serves to embolden her, single-minded now in her desire to bring him to completion. She is relentless in her pursuit, increasing her speed, moving her tongue in swirling patterns along his length, attuned to his every breath so that she may extract every possible drop of pleasure for him. She is the hurricane that their home is named for, bearing down upon him with unbridled fervor. He rises to meet her, matching her passion with his own. His hands are upon her horns once again, gripping tight as he buries himself between her lips, so deep that he catches the back of her throat. Her answering moan is muffled by his girth. She does not know if the moisture dripping down her face is sweat or spit or seaspray, but regardless, it eases her way, slickening both of their skin with lubrication so that she can slip up and down without resistance.

Her jaw aches and she can hardly catch enough of a breath to keep going. Her lips prickle with the beginnings of numbness. Yet none of these things matter in the face of the heady intoxication that surges through her. She can hear the change in his breathing, the new quality to his gasps that hint at his nearness. Her hand sneaks up to graze the pendulous sack that hangs between his thighs, delicately testing its weight, then rolling it along her fingers, and she is delighted by his visceral reaction.

There is a sudden frenzied haste to his movements, and he is pulling her mouth off of him, covering her pumping hand with his own to set a punishingly fast pace. She follows his lead and remains knelt in front of him, watching, waiting. Several quick strokes and his face contorts, as his member throbs in her grip. Warm ropes of pearly essence spray onto her face and chest and spatter on the ground between them, and he sags against the wall of the cliff. Bitter salt floods her mouth as the substance begins to drip, slipping between her parted lips.

She blinks. Suddenly the storm has run its course and they are in the quiet calm that follows. She rises, kneeling upright between his languorously splayed legs. Her hand is drenched in heaven knows what, and the fluid on her face tightens her skin as it cools. Leaning to rinse her hands in the churning water, she realizes that it has risen to the very edge of their stone, each successive wave threatening to be the one that covers its surface with the rising tide. She brings a cupped handful of water to her face, habitually wiping it in the motions of her ritual ablutions to cleanse it of the congealing fluid. The sky is still dim, but the horizon has taken on that hazy quality that heralds the rising of the sun. She can hear the faintest rumble of thunder approaching in the far distance and her lips curve into a jubilant smile.

He is breathing heavily, limbs hanging limp, and a fierce little flame flickers in her chest - pride at having accomplished this - tempered by an aching tenderness. Careful of the stickiness still coating her chest, she leans forward and brushes a stray lock of hair from his damp forehead. Saltwater drips from her fingers onto his cheeks: an anointing by the sea. His lashes flutter and his eyes lock in to hers. The smile he musters is sleepy, and he lets out a soft huff of not-quite-laughter as he takes in the sight of her glistening wet face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - “

She cuts him off with a dismissive noise made between tongue and teeth. She rises to her feet and holds out a hand to him.

“Would you like to go for a swim and rinse off before the sun rises?”

He accepts her hand, and they slip together into the embrace of the sea.

#original writing #original fic #dnd fic #original character #my writing #writing #writeblr #romance

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