Summer’s body curves into his hands, her mouth falling open with the pleasure of it. Blindly, she grips more tightly, pushing aside the leather to find flesh, slightly startled by the heat of it.
Tag Archives: turpisvirtute
have you ever noticed that some tumblr users come in sets
like they never stop talking to/about the other person so you may as well follow them too
it’s like buy one, get one free
Summer manages a small chuckle at the expression on his face before she’s drowning under his mouth again. His name comes out on yet another moan. Hands still trembling a little, she reaches down, sliding down over scars and skin, muscle and bone alike, to find the flap of his breeches and shyly stroke there.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I told you, I want this. I want /you/.” She pulls at his shirt, dragging it over his head, then scrapes her nails down his chest. “Please.” By dint of some writhing, including a lot of arching of her body against his, she frees one arm from her dress.
Oh, oh, that’s new. Summer moans, eyes sliding closed. Her whole body is on fire, she wants his touch so badly. She’d meant to return the favour, but all she can do is hold on, head thrown back and hands shaking slightly against his shoulders.
She’s so open to him now, the thread of curses intrudes like a slash of lightning. But then he’s kissing her again, muffling any words she might form. The weight and warmth of his body soon drives it from her mind; she slips her hands under his loose shirt and delights in the flesh she finds there. She counts each rib, moving upward to find the tense muscles of his shoulders.
A gasp escaped him as her hand delved under his shirt, her fingers tracing against his burning chest but to him, her touch felt like someone had allowed ice to run down his torso. After a moment he moved his lips back down to her neck, pushing the material down as he kissed over her torso gently, glancing back up at her for a second, casting her a look of questioning.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I told you, I want this. I want /you/.” She pulls at his shirt, dragging it over his head, then scrapes her nails down his chest. “Please.” By dint of some writhing, including a lot of arching of her body against his, she frees one arm from her dress.
“The love that binds us is more important than the power we wield.”
She sighed. “I don’t think there is a best. There is do the best you can.” Reaching out, she ran a thumb down his cheek. “Will you let me try to be a true wife to you, for this little time? I promise I will let you alone afterward.”
Mordred smiled, resting his head against her hand for a moment. “There is no harm in trying.”
Summer curled her fingers against his face, then stepped in closer, putting her arms around his shoulders and leaning her head on his hair. “Stay with me for tonight?”
She curled her fingers against his cheek. “We keep being here,” she said quietly, “not knowing what to do.” She smeared at the tearstreaks with the other hand, getting up slowly. A few paces sufficed to cover the room, and then Summer stopped in front of Mordred, looking at him, eyelashes still wet. “Should I not have offered it?”
“Does anyone ever know what to do?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t regret accepting your offer, Summer,” he tells her, looking up at her, “but I am certainly not the best person to be wed to. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
She sighed. “I don’t think there is a best. There is do the best you can.” Reaching out, she ran a thumb down his cheek. “Will you let me try to be a true wife to you, for this little time? I promise I will let you alone afterward.”
Summer blinked hard, and a few tears trickled down her face. “Trusting you is easy. I look inside you, and there’s nothing to fear.” She clung to his hand, laying her face against their joined hands. “I’m sorry.”
Mordred looked at her, slightly taken aback. How wrong she was; there was plenty to fear, but perhaps it was better fooling himself into thinking there wasn’t. “Don’t be,” he says, bringing her hand up to kiss it, “don’t be sorry.”
She curled her fingers against his cheek. “We keep being here,” she said quietly, “not knowing what to do.” She smeared at the tearstreaks with the other hand, getting up slowly. A few paces sufficed to cover the room, and then Summer stopped in front of Mordred, looking at him, eyelashes still wet. “Should I not have offered it?”
“They never knew it was magic,” she whispered. “I don’t talk about it much. Mine is so little it’s easy to hide, easy to make it look like I’m not using it, when I always am. I’ve only had to defend myself with it a few times, and nobody looks in the forest for the burned bones of bandits.” She shuddered hard with that memory, of dealing death with her magic while her mind was caught up in theirs. The cup rattled against the table.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you to know this. I didn’t mean you to have to carry this.” It always came to this, to the ache of being different spilling from her lips and driving people away. “I don’t want to be alone any more.”
He leaned forward, placing his hand on the goblet, ceasing the movement for a moment. “Do not apologize,” he tells her, his voice smooth and calm, “do not apologize for feeling, or for remembering, or anything. You have nothing to be sorry for. You have every right to defend yourself.” Mordred smiles, taking her hand. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that.”
Summer blinked hard, and a few tears trickled down her face. “Trusting you is easy. I look inside you, and there’s nothing to fear.” She clung to his hand, laying her face against their joined hands. “I’m sorry.”