Sariana and Pash'nar pick up where they left off...
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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]
Every breath, every small move of rough hands against smooth skin had the brunette burning with desire. Their unity froze time, held them there suspended in a moment of untamed delight. Something within her clicked, the sensation of familiarity washing over her in a way that truly felt as though she had known the ethaefal forever. There was no doubt, their meeting had been planned by fates beyond their control.
You don't believe in those things. Those things cause pain.
The little voice in her head spoke quietly in the back of her mind, even as the tall figure lowered his head - smooth horns brushing her skin with a soft promise of something more to come. As the ship rocked, the brunette released her thoughts to focus on the pressure that stoked her flames from deep inside.
Read at your own Risk :
Breathing in the scent of the ocean that radiated off the statuesque being, Sariana let out a broken moan as the sailor moved his hips slowly with the rhythm of the waves, allowing the movement to build a deepening tide within her - one he had so carefully coaxed to the surface before only to let her go with the ebb of the ocean. With each inwards stroke, the young brunette pressed herself into him, bringing them together skin to skin. Her head lifted and blue eyes met his as the godling pressed perfect teeth into his pale lower lip. His cerulean eyes belayed the excitement and enjoyment surging through his veins, causing her to shudder as they moved. There was so much he wasn't saying, but for now, it was enough that he didn't.
With each slow roll of chiseled hips, the opalesque creature brought Sariana closer and closer to the rising crest she had been denied before. The woman rested one hand on the table behind her, the other holding the back of his neck as they moved against each other, breathing coming in soft feminine moans. Her gaze shifted down Pash'nar's too-perfect features and roamed down his torso to the place where their bodies joined so intimately. The sight of their distinctly different skin tones mingled together sent another shock of sensation through the drykas, and she closed her eyes as the soft rolling of his hips gave way to faster movements.
As the gentle, almost tender motions increased they become rougher, harder. His rocking motion became forceful thrusting, and the warrior dug her nails into his flesh as her brows drew together and her moans became breathless cries of unbridled pleasure. The ethaefal's own voice matched her own, alone on the ocean in the wooden hull of his ship. Her peak was coming fast, building deep within her core and tingling to her toes. Pash'nar's once soft touch became harsh, almost painful in his fevered movements. Sariana's teeth clamped together and she pressed her eyes shut tightly as the crescendo that had risen within her suddenly burst forth and flowed through her body like water, a high sound of ecstasy finally breaking forth as her jaw released. She welcomed the hard, sheer abandon of the tall sailors last movements, hearing the sound of his release loud and harsh in her ears.
Slowly, they came back down to the reality around them. The ocean crashing against the small boat and the orange glow of the lanterns. Sariana breathed heavily as she caught her breath, opening her eyes to look at Pash'nar as his hoarse chuckle broke through the silence. She smiled, moving her hand from his neck so she could lean back on both arms, sated and content. Her black hair fell around her face in a damp and disheveled frame, cheeks flushed and lips upturned. The waves rocked them, a soft reminder of what had begun all of this.
"Well...I suppose that was a little better than buying you dinner." The drykas said when she finally had her breath again, resting her cheek against her shoulder as she sat where she was, making no actions to move from their current position.
Somewhere inside of her, the woman felt a warmth she didn't quite understand as she looked at the pale creature. And she didn't care to quell it right now.
"Oh, aye, I'd say. Considerin' I wouldn't eat it." The unlikely sailor purred a teasing response, pale fingers reaching up to smooth away strands of dark hair from the warrior's flushed face, palm brushing her cheek. He was, apparently, incapable of such color in his opalescent features. He wavered a little on his feet, opposite hand still curled over the edge of the table, heart still pounding restlessly in his chest.
"Much better'n'dinner—"
Leaning without warning, Pash'nar snaked an arm around Sariana's waist, taking advantage of his surprise move to toss the woman over his shoulder. He was careful to tilt his head away, the obsidian-tipped ornaments that pretended to be horns set at an angle less likely to impale the tan, supple flesh he'd just taken so much pleasure in. With another laugh, he swung them both in the direction of his curtain, throwing the old cloth to one side with his free hand and all-but tossing the Drykas onto his bed, though he knew he would have to stay awake if he wanted to sneak away before the dawn.
He'd just have to convince her she was tired. Eventually.
He wasn't really in a hurry to leave the woman. Something about her tempted him to linger.
His bed was raised from the floor—the wood underneath the mattress drawers for storage. It was a chaotic collection of sheets, blankets, and pillows … a mystery if it'd been made in years. Cleaned, yes, but actually made, no probably not. Everything smelled like the sea, considering that was obviously where one did laundry when far from land.
The ethaefal simply climbed over the naked swordswoman he'd just thrown down onto his sheets, obviously taunting her on purpose with further brushing of skin against skin. Tide pool eyes watched her curiously even as he settled in a way to invite her closer, not ready to keep from touching her tanned, muscular body.
"Though there's more conversatin' when sharin' a meal." It was not an apology. He was, admittedly, purposeful about not saying too much but too curious about the Drykas—the soon-to-be passenger and customer—he'd willingly exploited his more divine seeming's nightly charms to slip out of her clothes with. She interested him with more than the body he'd enjoyed. Her devotion to some dead friend had piqued his interest in a way he couldn't quite articulate. He didn't understand the point of such devotion, especially for something no longer living and hardly divine.
Had that been why he needed to lead her into his boat? Did he really want more than just a risky petch?
The opalescent navigator sighed, feeling a bit of weight return to his chest as the edge of the thrill in his loins faded a bit, "We skipped some o'that 'm'afraid. I hope y'don't mind."
Smiling up at the ethaefal, Sariana felt a moment of peace. There was no tugging sensation pulling her further and further on, there was no urgency or direction blown on the wind. It was refreshing, and almost a release in its own. The woman had been travelling so long, on a path so far from the straight forward line to Avanthal from Riverfall, that she had forgotten what it was like to feel...settled. Her smile faded slightly into something else as Pash'nar brushed away her hair, and she didn't like it. There were...was...a feeling. Something other than just lust or the need to be with another human being for physical comfort. It was exposed, raw...vulnerable. It was time to get away, before things got worse.
With a sudden yell of surprise, Sariana laughed as she found herself hoisted up and over the shoulder of the tall creature, her thick damp hair tumbling down his sculpted back. Trying to raise herself up to see where he was taking her, the warrior watched as he pulled back the curtain she had seen at the end of the boat, before her world turned over again and she landed with a small bounce on the soft coverings of a bed. The whole thing smelled pleasantly of the ocean, of him...and looked as though it had never ever been made. Ever. Not that it bothered her, the drykas had come from a land where beds were multiple cushions, furs and blankets all piled together to make a comfortable resting place. It made her feel, almost at home.
Laying on the bedding with hair strewn about her in an obsidian halo, the woman smiled at the statuesque being as he moved across her, biting her lower lip gently as the man brushed against bared skin still sensitive to his touch. As he rested beside her, Sariana moved closer to lay against the hollow of his shoulder, blue eyes focusing on the beautiful map on the ceiling. She smiled as Pash'nar's chest rumbled with his voice, an usual thing to hear and feel. The brunette didn't...cuddle. She usually dispensed the usual pleasantries before moving along and letting her partner move on with his life - no complications, no strings attached.
"Conversation is over-rated." The woman murmured, sighing as she allowed herself a moment of guilty pleasure in the ethaefal's pale arms. Turning her head, she looked up into his sea-born eyes and smiled.
"Sometimes talking can just turn things into one big mess. It's easier to just let the wind take you where it will." Raising her eyebrow, Sariana lifted a finger to poke him in the chest gently.
"Or in your case, the tide I suppose." Lowering her hand, she rested it on the smooth plane of her stomach and turned her eyes back to the roof.
Was Sariana uncomfortable? Was she in more of a rush to flee before the dawn than the ethaefal?
This was all an uncommon scenario and yet Pash'nar could only find himself distracted by the woman's hair more than anything else. Apparently, he had no real understanding of the Drykas culture, and while she obliged his curiosities well enough, he could feel her discomfort despite their otherwise acceptably comfortable proximity. Maybe he'd just brought too many Svefra to his bed. Or perhaps he needed to find a few more Drykas for a more accurate survey of intimate habits and preferences. Pale, uncalloused fingers toyed wordlessly with her long, dark tresses strewn about like currents over his sheets, and he took his time deciding when to speak, more than just a little amused by her awkward unfamiliarity with his invitation for her to linger in his bed instead of send her packing back to the sea in the dark.
He didn't expect her hurry, yet her words only encouraged him to bite his tongue, a brief pang of something he didn't want to label as guilt rising to the surface of his shallow thoughts. Conversation, in their case, was more or less dangerous. The unlikely sailor had already acknowledged (to himself at least) that too much talking would most likely give too much of himself away, and he had no real desire for the swordswoman to know he was the Svefra from the beach. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Certainly not here and not now.
With a sigh, he let his hand stray from tangling in her hair to trace lightly over what windmarks he could see, quietly enjoying a body he was convinced he wouldn't be touching again. His touch was taunting, as if he wasn't quite finished with her yet, that he'd considered having more of her before the night was through, "Nah." He hummed, almost a throaty purr, distant as he watched the woman breathe, fingers trailing over tanned skin in the shapes of constellations she wouldn't recognize as he thought about the route from Syliras to Alvadas absently in his mind, "Talkin' can def'nately get in th'way. S'fine."
"I ain't gonna keep you if you've got better places to be." That was an obvious challenge, though the navigator was still entertained more than insulted or confused.
He could respect her appearance of callousness—how often did he feel the same way? Too often ... but was it the same thing or something different? At the same time, he had nowhere else better to be.
Sariana felt a shiver across her skin as the ethaefal lazily traced the edges of her wind mark with tantalizing fingers, suppressing the shudder that came with it at the last minute. Her lips pulled into a sort of smile, eyes narrowing a little as she looked at the roof.
"No, no. I don't have anywhere to be right now. Here is just fine." Laughing, the warrior glanced down at her hand on her stomach, feeling a blush rise across her cheeks.
"I'm not used to men wanting to stick around after...well afterwards. Usually we go our separate ways. They don't have to worry about my...feelings or...commitments. I don't have to worry about breaking any hearts when I leave." It was embarrassing admitting this Pash'nar, as though she was revealing some great secret about herself that no-one else knew. A smaller, private smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Most men seem to find the arrangement quite suitable. I mean, no one wants to drag themselves across the world for some drykas to fulfill a drying man's wish. Being here, now. Like this...its...nice." Allowing the silence to settle between them for a minute, Sariana moved to prop up on her elbow and look at the celestial statue with a raised eyebrow.
"You should know, it's a first. You should feel...privileged." Her smile grew wider as she taunted the sailor in an offhand attempt to change the topic. Talking about feelings, and emotions and commitments....the whole thing made her uncomfortable. She'd seen what love and emotions and feelings did to people. What it had done to Karithus. He had been tied to a foreign place for the whole of his adult life, and the most of it was spent mourning a woman who was no longer there. She had caught him, late at night when he had thought she was sleeping, speaking to her ghost and crying softly. No one deserved that kind of pain.
She really had no petching idea who she was talking to.
While it amused him that their perspectives on certain situations weren't really seas or continents apart, any playful expression that had etched itself into the ethaefal's aquiline features faded slowly as the Drykas felt the need to explain herself. His teasing hand grew still and cerulean gaze pulled away from tan skin to stare at his carefully crafted charting work that spanned his ceiling. The position of the stars were forever fixed into his memory—the memory itself well over a hundred years old.
He woke up on some sandy shore to those stars mocking him.
They still did.
How many generations of Sariana's family had passed in that span of time? How many more could slip through his fingers like so much water and sand before he died? Apparently, his mortality would one day have to be intentional. Age was ridiculously irrelevant. Was it supposed to be a blessing?
He sighed, a quiet almost helpless noise through too-perfect teeth.
He hardly felt privileged at the warrior's confession. This moment for him was infinitely more of a guilty pleasure than it could have ever been for her. Still, he envied her sense of devotion. To a mortal. Did she serve any deities with that same fervor? He may have once. He may one day still. But for now, he just found her persistence and willingness to travel into so much danger for a man who lived so briefly and died so simply to have a meaning he couldn't seem to grasp. That feeling of elusion held his attention tightly, digging under opalescent skin and boring into moonstone chest.
Slowly, he realized he'd said nothing in response. He'd let Sariana's careful words hang too long in the still warm air between them and grow cold. With reluctance, he dragged his eyes away from his painted ceiling and looked back into her sapphire gaze. He failed at reviving any particular expression other than distant,
"I ain't deservin' of any priv'lege," he breathed, finally, free hand straying reluctantly from its place on her skin to rub the pale place at the back of his neck where a compass in a moon would be under Syna's light, "but I ain't gonna complain, either."
Pash'nar glanced away, back toward the small square windows that were now filled with dark and stars, carefully allowing a small smile to tease across his lips, though his chest still felt much heavier than his words. He understood her sentiments too well not to at least feign some humor, "I don't normally prefer to toss conquests out at high tide, s'all."
The silence between them deepened, hanging like a physical being and tainting the air around them. Sariana's slight smile began to fade, had she said too much? Well, isn't that what she wanted...to leave the statuesque being to his life and she to hers?
Then why did it seem so petching hard to leave this boat?
Finally Pash'nar spoke, breaking the tension and glancing at her again. His eyes were distant, somewhere lost in thoughts, and his words seemed sad. The drykas searched his gaze for something...something more. An answer to her questions, a salvation for his words. How could something so perfect be so sad? Slowly, his mood turned, and a small smile crept across his lips, contagious in its sly turn.
"Oh, but aren't you just the gentleman..." The warrior chuckled, reaching out to brush her thumb against an almost to perfect lower lip. Scooting forward slightly, the drykas kissed his smile, staying close as she smiled back.
"So, I guess I'm not the first to see the inside of your boat then? Darn." Playfully, the brunette pouted. She avoided the serious tone in his voice earlier, unable (or unwilling) to open up any further than what she already had. In a short relatively short space of time, he had managed to wrap her up in his story and his tide-pool gaze, and managed to have her bare her soul to him - mostly. It was altogether too easy to allow herself to believe in all that poetic fluff here in the ethaefal's arms...and much safer to steer their course into lighter currents.
"If ya haven't noticed, she's a rather old boat." Smirked the ethaefal coyly, though he felt no hurry to discuss his age and the sheer vastness it felt like when compared to the human races. He purred tauntingly, hands wandering a little as he spread out a slight euphemism with his words,
"Seen a few other pretty faces, she has, aye."
Pash'nar took note of the unhappy but hardly serious curl of her lower lip while she hovered so close and felt compelled to kiss her again. He lingered with a breathy chuckle, teeth on soft skin, before he simply rolled his eyes and pulled away.
A dull ache of guilt dug its way quietly into his spine. He hadn't necessarily expected to enjoy the Drykas so much … well, in some ways, yes, he expected quite a bit, but, in others, it was an interesting surprise. He'd played the game of his moonlit surprise without much thought for consequences—he was hardly talented, even after all these years, at considering the full extent of things like consequences. He'd never been able to find them particularly useful in the grand scheme of things, though he certainly didn't always enjoy their results.
Now that he'd had Sariana here on his boat, on his bed, the unlikely sailor realized he'd just made their journey to Alvadas a slightly more torturous one for himself—knowing what he knew, seeing what he'd seen, feeling what he'd felt. Petch, that was a little stupid, he supposed, still smirking with amusement at the warrior, but he still considered it worth the risk. He assuaged the uncomfortable feeling with the knowledge that had she known he was the swarthy Svefra on the beach threatening both her pets, she certainly wouldn't have ended up naked anywhere near him.
The risk was mostly to his personal safety, he was sure.
"An' you? Seen th'inside of a few boats, have you—" The teasing metaphor worked well enough both ways, and so the ethaefal ran with it while his pale hands still roamed tanned skin, "—now that you're out o'the Sea o'Grass an' seein' the sites, hmmm?"
Last edited by Pash'nar on May 15th, 2012, 7:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Sariana smiled to herself as the chiseled being rolled his eyes and looked away with a chuckle, knowing full well she was avoiding more serious discussion. Her head tilted as she rested it on her hand, black hair a sea of inky tendrils across his linens.
Distracted by the gentle movements of his radiant hand across her tanned skin, the drykas chuckled softly and moved to drop back on the pillow, gazing at the intricate map above her. Was it only a map, of the stars he knew, or was it everything across their world. Could he chart the way to Endrykas from here? Silently, she scanned her gaze across the room, trying to pick out familiar patterns unsuccessfully. The woman had never spent much time studying the sky. She knew the North star, and which direct the sun rose and set, enough to navigate her way across the land. But constellations and charts were foreign to her.
Picking up on the intended implication of his words, Sariana raised a hand and waived it dismissively.
"I may have seen one or two...get's a bit lonely travelling with just a horse and yourself, well for the most of the trip." Turning blue eyes on the ethaefal, the warrior reached up to trail one gentle finger across the celestial carving of his chest.
"But I've yet to see one as fancy as this. Or as interesting." Her wide smile was inviting, feeling rather comfortable relaxing beside the man in his bed, but unable to avoid noticing the warmth of his skin against her side nor the indelicate thoughts that swam through her mind of their only recent encounter. Damn him.
"And I've never had any desire to linger after my first visit." Sariana said with another soft laugh, casually suggesting that she might be enjoying more than just their impassioned encounter.
He hummed at her various levels of compliments, thin lips still carved into a mischievous smile. It was agreeable enough that she enjoyed his company, though it was perhaps prefaced better by their activities than by his previous actions. The ethaefal was beginning to suspect Sariana was hardly tired enough. Was the night so young and their time simply too brief? He could change that, if that's what she wanted. Cerulean gaze followed the movement of her finger down the smooth, opalescent skin of his chest,
"My boat's hardly fancy. She's jus' got character. I hear it happens when you're old." He joked quietly, "Ain't much diff'rent, then, a horse or a casinor, save my arse don't hurt after weeks at sea." He emphasized his word of choice with a firm squeeze.
The man she claimed to be guiding her seemed to have an awful sense of direction. Or perhaps he was a bit on the loony side of things. Or maybe the Drykas just needed an excuse to wander. Who was the pale navigator to question her lack of direction? Did he really have a compass of his own?
Not one obvious enough.
If she heard voices, whether perceived or actual, he could still feel a twinge of jealousy. He had always been poor at listening, even to the divine. Too much hurt and unforgiveness had led him to drift further and further away into silence until he felt as though he may never be worthy or willing to hear Leth's voice again. He'd made some of those choices, but buried deep in his center of thought was still a kernel of hurt he'd never unraveled or resolved. It festered sometimes and slept others, rising and falling like a tide.
"You've got yourself some companions now." He noted from their previous night's meeting in the city proper, though his tone seemed to infer emphasis on their moment together more than those she was traveling with. His hand hadn't moved, and he purred his next breath of words with obvious invitation, "You must know 'em better'n me. Will they wonder where you've been hidin'?"
