Thranduil
Skin touches, heat blooms on his face from her neck and needles down his spine. Whatever cold she felt in her own blood did not twisted into a searing freeze, burning in its cold. Nerves, muscles, and blood- all it touches want to lean back, lean away and keep in its mellow cool darkness. Ever wanting to remain unyielding to the sentivities in himself arising from her control of the moment. Perhaps he had reached out, but she had begun, and even this attempt to steal to control from her was lost in the heat of their touch. The gold coat held against hers though, (her reaction to it lost in his own struggle to remain outwardly unaffected), as his stubborn pride refused to let the reins of this encounter slack.
Gold harks lift from the nest of his mane to catch her words, letting the process of threading through them pull him from the drowning depths of his struggle. He was glad to give her hold of the conversation, glad to let it slip along. How much longer the gold could hold his own in this moment he could not have said. More dangerous for her, the only path he’d seen was to continue on down her spine…
Contact breaks, lifted like a receding wave, and he can breathe. Tasseled tail swings back into the water, and the sharp cold brings his mind more to the present. Earth eyes look, and harks truly hear, as the gold is released from focusing on maintaining his mask. The burning frustration of its effects on him remain deep within though (ashes and embers against the shame). Now, free, he could feel the weight of his names, his titles, and call them his again. But they were by no means finished.
Her words, without interfering his thoughts, rose into his mind. A story lingered there. It was practically a “Once upon a time.” So he waits. As she walks away. Now released he masters himself enough to gain some motive once more. If there was ever a story, he wanted to hear. A master of spies after all, was nothing more than a librarian of histories, rumors, and faces.
She leaves for shore, his ears, still following her, listen to the sound of hooves on shifting sand and the quieting of the waves as it said its last farewell. The gold was still waiting, cautious and curious, now beginning to collect his prior desires he wonders if she will tell all or leave. Had her story been stolen by the night and waves. Earth eyes look to the sun now piercing the sky (and underside flinches as the sea begins to brush and roll against it), before his head rises and turns back. There the dawn fish stands, her own coat, blue scalled, sparking in the morning light like ice as water drips from her coat. Perhaps it wasn’t so early in the morning…(but the prior attempts at such closeness, put the thoughts to rest).
Come. She calls. Horned head tilts, earth eyes darkening in deeper thoughts. A demand? From her? The curiosity rose like the sun, called by her tone. Did she know
He comes. Now, do not be a fool. This is snake turned lap dog or beast made tame, or your risk being labeled a fool. No matter how her touch may have stirred unease, or what promises of satisfaction she could offer, he would never be tamed. This was something much darker, and dangerous. Yet he does come. From the water and the tide he rises, slow with earth eyes never leaving her where she stands. In calling forth a darker being she also calls forth a challenge, a dare, given out like a promise. The gold stops before her, square and solid, not leaning in, or touching, but close. Here on this sand she waits for him with something, some mystery. And he will have what she holds. From his lips comes nothing. She called him, and he has answered, that was enough said from him.
OOC :: <3
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
@Isra
