#the navy languid medic

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

Rumination and Repose

Closed Starter for @sins-of-the-sea;

Two Souls, two sides of the same coin, ever held in orbit of each other even as they tore at each other, struggling to find balance. That is what was beheld of Guy and Phoebus Duchamp from the perspective of their Master's Rival, at least when watered down.

But reductionism is the last thing on the 'Great Spirit's' Mind, as he meditates not far off, watching and contemplating on the recent events... before he reaches a decision, and reaches out...

Before a soul of pale blue, a wooden snake appears within his psyche, with emerald eyes glinting curiously as it seems to regard the displaced medic... before twisting upon itself and becoming a staff, which where once it was alone found itself in the gentle grip of the same figure that had observed as he renewed his vows... smiling softly, if somewhat sadly at the fellow redhead.

Hello again, Phoebus. Would you terribly mind if I wished to talk to you right now? I wish to offer my assistance - it would be poor of me to convince you to be better only to let you suffer in silence... even if in self-harming ways, you have done your best to stick to your word, and one way or another I feel I must honor that with whatever aid I may muster, one Healer to another...

Before a soul of bright fuchsia, a wooden snake appears within his dreamings, with amber eyes glinting cryptically as it seems to regard the heartbroken duelist... before twisting upon itself and becoming a staff, which where once it was alone found itself in the gentle grip of the same figure that had tried to offer warnings to him... scowling down at the fellow redhead, if with a notable sense of self-reproach to his tone.

Hello again, Guy. I do wish to offer my condolences for how things have progressed, I would not have wished this on either- no, any of you. Dark as things may seem, however, I do wish to stress that not all is lost... would you mind if I offered some advice in these troubling times?

[arlome]

Taste

Ok, so @dismiss-your-fearsx and yours truly had this conversation about the dialogue prompts a few days ago. This no’ (44) came up, and Megan said I should write it, so...

Here it is. Be warned, be VERY warned. This is extra smutty- more than my usual style. 

I hope you like it:)

 Her nimble fingers untie his neckcloth slowly, the pads of her digits brushing against the freshly shaven skin of his neck.

"Shall we pretend this is our wedding night?" she asks almost shyly and the silken cloth slips off her palms.

Her husband –finally, she can call him so in public!- looks at her with eyes afire, a promise of a devoted life together burning brightly in them, and the corners of his lips arch upwards just a bit.

"No pretense needed." He says with a small shake of his head, "Every night is our wedding night to me."

He kisses her then, and though his eyes are soft with love, there is nothing soft about the way he presses up against her and picks her off her feet, or about the way he nudges her towards their joined bed.

They meet in flames, each burning brighter than the other, and Caroline thinks that the covers on the giant bed might get scorched by the heat. The candles cast a faint, warm glow about the room, the shadows dancing on the floors. Caroline sighs into her husband's mouth and thinks of a different night, in a different room, where darkness reigned. That bed creaked and groaned, and the feeling of his body was unknown to her as he settled above her, his waistcoat buttons pressed against her frock. That was their wedding night, but this-this is the first night of the rest of their life.

Dwight lies between her thighs, the fabric of his breeches smooth and pleasant on her heated flesh; one of his hands pushes the edges of her nightgown up her body, dragging the material as he seeks to touch her skin. He kisses her fervently, with so much passion that she can scarcely breathe, while his other hand fumbles with the ribbon that holds her stocking in its place.

Caroline's own hands glide down Dwight's back to his sides and from there, to the fastenings of his breeches. He lifts up his hips upwards, eager to assist her in her task, his lips never leaving hers.

The discarded clothes lie orphaned on the wooden floor, while their masters blatantly betray them and seek each other for warmth. The covers of the bed are trampled and wrinkled beneath them as they move, hands and mouths and skin engaged in dance.

Dwight leaves Caroline's lips and bends to kiss her neck, but his journey does not end there. He moves to worship the collarbone, then to sing praise to one pink nipple, and just when Caroline thinks she will go utterly mad, he proceeds to lick and nibble on her stomach. She furrows her eyebrows in perplexity at Dwight's intentions, unsure of where he set his destination, but then she feels his hot breath on that place that no husband, not even of the medical persuasion, should ever encounter face-to-in lack of another word, face.

"Dwight!" she jumps and squeaks, mortification dyeing her face scarlet.

Her husband raises his angelic face from between her thighs to look at her innocently.

"Yes, my dear?" he asks innocuously as it is the weather they are discussing, instead of his proximity to her lady parts.

"W-what are you doing?" she squeals and attempts to press her legs together, but his hand on her inner thigh blocks her efforts.

"Well, scientifically speaking, I am about to stimulate your clitoris orally in order to induce climax," Dwight replies cheekily and grins, "but if you prefer the more endearing version, then I am about to give you your most intimate kiss yet."

"Where is this coming from?" she asks, blushing fiercely, more in need of stalling for time than in actually receiving answers, "And what is a clitoris?"

To her utter mortification, Dwight doesn't sit up or moves at all. Instead, he leans his cheek against her inner thigh and brushes his fingers through the golden curls before his face.

"I will answer your second question first, " he says as his fingers slide down a bit, "the clitoris is this little button in the female anatomy – right here – that, when stimulated, brings women pleasure." The feeling of his hand there- between her thighs- is a familiar one, and the sudden tension in her lower abdomen that settles in her pelvis at the touch of his fingers is a dear old friend. Caroline moans and bites her lower lip, one her feet sliding down the bed. Dwight seems to take pride in her reaction because he smiles and kisses her inner thigh, making her shudder.

"Now, for your second question," he says, and his fingers slip away, wet and cool, to rest on her hipbone; Caroline resists the urge to whimper at the loss of his touch, "as you must know, sailors gossip more than old wives and…" here he seems to hesitate a little, biting his lip as a faint blush comes into his cheeks, "well, a surgeon often hears more confessions than a vicar, and I have heard some bawdy talk on my voyage that I could never repeat for fear of appearing ungentlemanly, but there was this one thing…"

Dwight kisses her inner thigh again, only now the kiss lands a little higher, and Caroline can feel the wet tip of his tongue against her feverish skin. Her breath catches in her throat, and her fingers bury deep into the covers.

"I confess, this is something I thought of doing to you, of wanting to do to you, ever since I first heard of it, and now that we are finally here, together…" he trails off, but his eyes stay fixed on hers and Caroline can feel herself being slowly burned from the inside. His face half in darkness, the gleam of his eyes and the proximity of his lips to her center, all make her almost ache with need. Dwight bends down and places a soft kiss on the golden curls.

"Please, Caroline," he almost begs, and the way he asks sends a thrill through her body, "Allow me to do this; if there is no pleasure in it for you, I will desist immediately and never speak of this again."

If she is completely honest with herself, Caroline's interest is piqued. What harm can it possibly do to let him try this new method on her? She has always trusted him before, never had any complaints about anything regarding their intimacy, so why start questioning him now?

Caroline nods slowly in resignation.

"Alright," she agrees and settles back against the pillows; Dwight smiles widely and with a quick wink bends to his task with eagerness.

In two minutes he has her moaning so loudly, that she has to push her face into a pillow to prevent the footman from barging in and inquiring after her safety. He uses his tongue as he uses his fingers, in circles and swirls, only the strokes are more languid; more pronounced. She sighs and squirms and bucks against her husband's devilishly skilled mouth; her thighs clenching and unclenching about his head.

"D-Dwight," she cries as the tightening comes upon her, "Oh Dwight! A-ah!"

She descends from the heavens slowly, writhing against the lazy strokes of his tongue and pushes at his shoulders. Dwight lifts his head and gazes at her, enamored and grinning like a fool.

"Well?" he asks and kisses her inner thigh for the third time this evening.

"God save the Navy," Caroline gasps into her arm, and Dwight laughs so hard, she fears he might choke.

He moves up her body slowly, with an almost feline grace, and when he settles back between her thighs, Caroline wraps her legs around him firmly and waves her fingers into the hair at his nape.

"So, more of this in the future, then?" he asks, smiling, and bends to nuzzle the spot below her ear.

"Yes, Oh God; yes!" she cries eagerly and kisses his shoulder and the sound of his chuckle lights a fire in her stomach.

They spend the rest of the night above the covers, twirled and entwined in each other, as the candles slowly die out in a thin line of smoke.

                                                                            ***

Breakfast is a peaceful affair for the tired lovers, full of shy smiles and blushing cheeks, as is expected from all newlyweds.The servants are clearing away empty plates, smiling to each other at their masters' sudden spike in appetite, and hurrying out of the room, eager to give the couple more privacy.

Dwight sits at the head of the table, engrossed in a letter that came this morning from London by post, while Caroline, who sits to his right, stares at him openly, her chin in her palm.

"What has you so engaged, dear husband?" she finally asks when the silence proves to be too much. Dwight folds the paper in half and places it back on the tray on which it was brought in.

"Oh, nothing," he says and smiles at her brilliantly, "just some medical news that my school friend, Dr. Adams, sent me. I may need to go to London in a few weeks time, but it is not yet-"

Before he has the chance to finish his sentence, a footman walks in and apologizes for the intrusion.

"A man to see you, sir," he explains, "he says it is urgent, someone had a bad fall."

Dwight leaps from his chair, letter and breakfast and London forgotten.

"Yes, of course; Thank you, Tom. Tell him I shall be with him directly, please."

The footman bows and leaves the room; Dwight turns to Caroline and smiles apologetically.

"I am sorry, my dear; I am afraid that duty calls."

Caroline frowns at him and pouts.

"And what about duty to your wife?" she asks petulantly, thoroughly disgruntled at the impending lack of a husband.

"I will make it up to you," he says and bends down to kiss the crown of her head as she reaches for her tea.  

He doesn't move for a second, and Caroline basks in his close proximity as she sips on the warm liquid; then, she can suddenly feel his nose in her hair, and then his lips against her ear.

"I still remember the way you taste," he whispers sweetly- diabolically – and turns to leave her.

Caroline sprays tea all over the breakfast table.

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

(sins of the sea) 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️ (lmao you don't have to do them individually, the Crew as a whole is fine)

It is not hard to pity them, those fools who have been trapped and tricked by the likes of Gorgos - or the many other names the vile thing has become known by over the many millennia it has existed, just as your predecessors have for at least as far back. That might surprise them... you do not judge them as readily as they seem ready to judge themselves, but rather you are more 'disappointed' than 'angry', at least as far as the Seven Sins are themselves. Hatred... that is more in line with what their 'Master' deserves, but not them per se.

Each of the Seven is in many ways self-made as what they are, but you perhaps are objective - or perhaps simply amoral - enough to look past the clear and obvious wrongs and see the potential beneath... the true kindness and goodwill they still have that could have left such a mark, if only they had not fallen into their respective pitfalls... or into His cold, clammy clutches.

'The Master' as he currently calls himself is another beast altogether - hard to place despite proudly(?) wearing the moniker of 'Sea Demon' in many times and tongues... you know from much experience, however, that he is no more a true 'demon' than you are 'simply' Fae - ironically enough, the Devil's in the Details to the point that even if a simple human is enough to harm him, truly ending him outright is, while possible, extremely unpalatable given what else would get dragged down to the depths of oblivion with him...

In spite of the clear hatred between you for all the most valid reasons, you have always had an odd mutual respect despite that; for all your respective power and history, it is hard to deny the true cunning and vicious skill in each other, enough to make calling him a 'Rival' as much as an 'Enemy' a fair admission, and him towards you in turn.

...That said, you can admire someone's talents and still hate their guts - that much has always been true, and never been in question. The true question is how to 'fight' the Master effectively... you have several options, but even so your current methods seem to be gaining traction... for now... though another little 'intervention' may be in order given recent events...

After all, Pettiness is not solely the domain of 'The Master', any more than Deal-Making is... And if nothing else, there are few things you enjoy inflicting upon your enemies more than Irony...

"...even now, even weakened and literally half-blinded by his own hubris... even now I still feel the ache of loss, watching Atlantis sink into the ocean, knowing I at least saved their souls but still bearing painful witness of each life being snuffed out as the waters claimed them... And the less said of Pompeii, the better. I know my time has passed, and my successor is likely not the one to end that cancerous blight of bloated corpses... but is it wrong to hope he bears witness to that vile creature's demise, all the same?"

"...Alas, it appears that there are so-called 'Demons' beyond my ilk that can rival us all the same... yet what claims has he to our kin? Naught but a shambling orifice of lies and stolen souls, Mockery of the highest order! May my power aid in the deposition of such filth, for even now, my bile churns at the notion of its victory."