.
At Noven's reply, the corner's of Keene's mouth twitched, just barely, and he shook his head, his hand slipping from his own glove to wrap his fingers around those that brushed his jaw, gently squeezing as he held the other man's gaze. "Can peace be earned?" There was no argument in his soft, cool tone as he let his shields fall away, allowing his fingers to slip their way beneath the leather of Noven's gloves, the searing burn of the contact tempered by the rush of his heart's beat. When the kiss washed over him, Keene found himself melting into the embrace. It was a treasured pain, one that he had only ever felt at the hands that held him so steady and calm, even with the tense rise of Noven's shoulders and the slight shake of the other man's emotions that were far less constrained than Keene's own. The longer they sought each other, the greater the tearing slivers dug their way into his lips, forcing a shuddering breath to slip from his lips and the darker man pulled away, just enough for their skin to shiver in anticipation of what was to come. At his joke, however, Keene's eyes softened, fingers just barely sliding over and around the back of Noven's neck, his own head shaking back and fourth, bumping their noses in a gentle collision as he moved. "Then stay."
His mind was too filled with the face before him to properly consider what was happening. The sharp, razor-like sensations of Noven's kiss ran though his lips, tearing him apart as quickly and fair easier than the removal of Noven's shirt and his own. His hands moved on their own, the commands that usually kept him so calm and controlled had found themselves devolved into simple "move this" and "grab that". Each touch was delicious agony, and the hunger that he had let dwindle under the influences of distance and days burned bright and all-consuming. Still, he moved with a cold fluidity, his body too practiced to respond to his mind's base instruction with anything other than the practiced, careful movements he had always employed. Thin fingers, toughened by his time in the wilderness of the island, ran a rough velvet over Noven's chest as they sank down to the ground. His eyes, a far brighter green than grey, ran over the image before him. The strong curve of the neck into the sturdy shoulders, the mess of scars over the smooth, caramel skin, the manner in which his flesh shivered as the tips of his fingers slid over the sensitive rises of his chest, they were each in and of themselves a breath of air in a cold, unfeeling ocean.
The fire spread through him, rising up from his fingers, coursing through his tongue, ripping and shredding across his body as Noven returned Keene's explorations. Though their time together had been short before, it had been spent in a similar fashion; only then, they were each new to the other - discovery had been the focus of their carnal foray into the murky depths of what they might find together. Beneath the gentle sigh of the forest's winds as they passed overhead, Keene found that his memory was far more expansive in the case of Noven than he had at first thought. Though cohesive contemplation of what exactly was unfolding before him was entirely out of the question - and any true stream of thought at all - his hands found themselves drawn to parts of Noven's body not by intuition but familiarity. The gasps and sighs that slipped from both mouths in the moments they were not joined were almost comforting. Even the pain was welcomed, and though tears found their way down his cheeks, they were disregarded in favor of fevered searches that slowly found their way down the length of Noven's torso.
He paused, lips hovering over the rise just beneath him, still held fast beneath a shrinking pair of pants, the leather little more than a binding as his chilled skin was met with the promise of the heat contained within. His gaze slid over the man beneath him, the hurried rise and fall of a chest in anticipation, the slight trails of sweat that found their ways down familiar paths his tongue had blazed only chimes before, the gaze of lust, love, and sadness all mixed into a dark, heady stare that held him there, that begged fate to draw them together in that moment and keep them bound tighter than what brushed Keene's chin with a shiver of Noven's hips. Crawling forward, Keene sought Noven's kiss once more, pressing his body against Noven's, the sensation of shards of flame running through him, augmenting the pleasure of Noven's touch with something more, something terrible and wonderful all the same. He gasped, drawing back for air as he pressed himself against the other man, his body moving at a steady tempo, something that it seemed prone towards without any instruction whatsoever. "Noven..."
With a careful, shaking caress, Keene gingerly pressed the back of the knuckles of his left hand against the fevered cheek below him, leaning into Noven's waiting hips with an unintentional tease as his weight shifted, though his focus still lay firmly on Noven's face, eyes flickering with a familiar warmth. The ring glinted in the hazy light of the sun's setting light, soft pinks and subtle oranges tinting the forest's shadows and casting the two young men in a symphony of color, the aurora of the elements so oddly complimentary in their antithesis. He sighed, drawing his hand away for a brief moment of respite. The underbrush, while sparse in the clearing, was hardly a place for the two of them. Their shirts and cloaks had been tossed to the side, and with a quiet motion, Keene rose, his own body's pleasure clear, as he settled on the garments, his belt slipping from the security of his pant's waist's loops, hitting the ground with an oddly distant thud. There were no words needed as Noven followed, their lips meeting once more in a heated dance, his taste filling Keene's mind as he let the other man move him as he would.
Again, Keene paused, his breath ragged and body slick with the season's worth of effort he'd layered over himself stripped away kiss by kiss, caress by caress. He slid down Noven's body, fingers fumbling for a tick before they gently closed over a fire-like heat. It was familiar, something that Keene had had little difficulty remembering in theory, but before him wholly different than he had thought it to be. It was not a matter of size, appearance, or taste, rather it was what it was; memory was only what it could be while reality held another place entirely. His hands slid the rest of the leather away, boots enough to stay their retreat, before they snaked their way to Noven's chest. He worked slowly, his breath almost cold in comparison to the warmth that filled him, threatening to burn him from the inside. It was a gentle rhythm, a practiced one, something that their nights together hand planted as a seed that had slowly grown into fruition over empty days and lonely evenings. He remembered, and he acted upon that memory, just as he did with everything else.
Noven, the man, was nothing more than a magic in and of himself: there were parts of him to be explored, to be teased, to be played with, to avoid. He had been a puzzle then, but their time together had quickly displayed a predictable pattern, a world within a world with its own rules and laws and consequences. It was something that Keene was able to abide by without issue, with pleasure even, and the soft growls of the man were as exciting as magic, and far more gratuitous. As his tongue moved in a steady path up and around to fall back down and return, Keene let his eyes close, his mind focusing on the sensations, the scents, the flavors, even the pain. It had dulled, not in an objective sense, but in comparison to the burning bloom of desire that had taken hold of him. It guided him, shifting his hips, his hands, his lips; there was no thought, only experience, and he lost himself to it, the golden light of the evening shimmering down over the pale ivory of his back, illuminating the swirl of blue and silver of Zulrav's mark that hovered between his shoulders, wholly forgotten in the heat of the moment and his own body strained against the confines of his leathered lower half. He had not realized how much he had enjoyed Noven, how deep his heart beat, nor how hot his own blood ran; it was more than he remembered and far greater a wonder, something that he was not in the least bit disappointed by.
At Noven's reply, the corner's of Keene's mouth twitched, just barely, and he shook his head, his hand slipping from his own glove to wrap his fingers around those that brushed his jaw, gently squeezing as he held the other man's gaze. "Can peace be earned?" There was no argument in his soft, cool tone as he let his shields fall away, allowing his fingers to slip their way beneath the leather of Noven's gloves, the searing burn of the contact tempered by the rush of his heart's beat. When the kiss washed over him, Keene found himself melting into the embrace. It was a treasured pain, one that he had only ever felt at the hands that held him so steady and calm, even with the tense rise of Noven's shoulders and the slight shake of the other man's emotions that were far less constrained than Keene's own. The longer they sought each other, the greater the tearing slivers dug their way into his lips, forcing a shuddering breath to slip from his lips and the darker man pulled away, just enough for their skin to shiver in anticipation of what was to come. At his joke, however, Keene's eyes softened, fingers just barely sliding over and around the back of Noven's neck, his own head shaking back and fourth, bumping their noses in a gentle collision as he moved. "Then stay."
His mind was too filled with the face before him to properly consider what was happening. The sharp, razor-like sensations of Noven's kiss ran though his lips, tearing him apart as quickly and fair easier than the removal of Noven's shirt and his own. His hands moved on their own, the commands that usually kept him so calm and controlled had found themselves devolved into simple "move this" and "grab that". Each touch was delicious agony, and the hunger that he had let dwindle under the influences of distance and days burned bright and all-consuming. Still, he moved with a cold fluidity, his body too practiced to respond to his mind's base instruction with anything other than the practiced, careful movements he had always employed. Thin fingers, toughened by his time in the wilderness of the island, ran a rough velvet over Noven's chest as they sank down to the ground. His eyes, a far brighter green than grey, ran over the image before him. The strong curve of the neck into the sturdy shoulders, the mess of scars over the smooth, caramel skin, the manner in which his flesh shivered as the tips of his fingers slid over the sensitive rises of his chest, they were each in and of themselves a breath of air in a cold, unfeeling ocean.
The fire spread through him, rising up from his fingers, coursing through his tongue, ripping and shredding across his body as Noven returned Keene's explorations. Though their time together had been short before, it had been spent in a similar fashion; only then, they were each new to the other - discovery had been the focus of their carnal foray into the murky depths of what they might find together. Beneath the gentle sigh of the forest's winds as they passed overhead, Keene found that his memory was far more expansive in the case of Noven than he had at first thought. Though cohesive contemplation of what exactly was unfolding before him was entirely out of the question - and any true stream of thought at all - his hands found themselves drawn to parts of Noven's body not by intuition but familiarity. The gasps and sighs that slipped from both mouths in the moments they were not joined were almost comforting. Even the pain was welcomed, and though tears found their way down his cheeks, they were disregarded in favor of fevered searches that slowly found their way down the length of Noven's torso.
He paused, lips hovering over the rise just beneath him, still held fast beneath a shrinking pair of pants, the leather little more than a binding as his chilled skin was met with the promise of the heat contained within. His gaze slid over the man beneath him, the hurried rise and fall of a chest in anticipation, the slight trails of sweat that found their ways down familiar paths his tongue had blazed only chimes before, the gaze of lust, love, and sadness all mixed into a dark, heady stare that held him there, that begged fate to draw them together in that moment and keep them bound tighter than what brushed Keene's chin with a shiver of Noven's hips. Crawling forward, Keene sought Noven's kiss once more, pressing his body against Noven's, the sensation of shards of flame running through him, augmenting the pleasure of Noven's touch with something more, something terrible and wonderful all the same. He gasped, drawing back for air as he pressed himself against the other man, his body moving at a steady tempo, something that it seemed prone towards without any instruction whatsoever. "Noven..."
With a careful, shaking caress, Keene gingerly pressed the back of the knuckles of his left hand against the fevered cheek below him, leaning into Noven's waiting hips with an unintentional tease as his weight shifted, though his focus still lay firmly on Noven's face, eyes flickering with a familiar warmth. The ring glinted in the hazy light of the sun's setting light, soft pinks and subtle oranges tinting the forest's shadows and casting the two young men in a symphony of color, the aurora of the elements so oddly complimentary in their antithesis. He sighed, drawing his hand away for a brief moment of respite. The underbrush, while sparse in the clearing, was hardly a place for the two of them. Their shirts and cloaks had been tossed to the side, and with a quiet motion, Keene rose, his own body's pleasure clear, as he settled on the garments, his belt slipping from the security of his pant's waist's loops, hitting the ground with an oddly distant thud. There were no words needed as Noven followed, their lips meeting once more in a heated dance, his taste filling Keene's mind as he let the other man move him as he would.
Again, Keene paused, his breath ragged and body slick with the season's worth of effort he'd layered over himself stripped away kiss by kiss, caress by caress. He slid down Noven's body, fingers fumbling for a tick before they gently closed over a fire-like heat. It was familiar, something that Keene had had little difficulty remembering in theory, but before him wholly different than he had thought it to be. It was not a matter of size, appearance, or taste, rather it was what it was; memory was only what it could be while reality held another place entirely. His hands slid the rest of the leather away, boots enough to stay their retreat, before they snaked their way to Noven's chest. He worked slowly, his breath almost cold in comparison to the warmth that filled him, threatening to burn him from the inside. It was a gentle rhythm, a practiced one, something that their nights together hand planted as a seed that had slowly grown into fruition over empty days and lonely evenings. He remembered, and he acted upon that memory, just as he did with everything else.
Noven, the man, was nothing more than a magic in and of himself: there were parts of him to be explored, to be teased, to be played with, to avoid. He had been a puzzle then, but their time together had quickly displayed a predictable pattern, a world within a world with its own rules and laws and consequences. It was something that Keene was able to abide by without issue, with pleasure even, and the soft growls of the man were as exciting as magic, and far more gratuitous. As his tongue moved in a steady path up and around to fall back down and return, Keene let his eyes close, his mind focusing on the sensations, the scents, the flavors, even the pain. It had dulled, not in an objective sense, but in comparison to the burning bloom of desire that had taken hold of him. It guided him, shifting his hips, his hands, his lips; there was no thought, only experience, and he lost himself to it, the golden light of the evening shimmering down over the pale ivory of his back, illuminating the swirl of blue and silver of Zulrav's mark that hovered between his shoulders, wholly forgotten in the heat of the moment and his own body strained against the confines of his leathered lower half. He had not realized how much he had enjoyed Noven, how deep his heart beat, nor how hot his own blood ran; it was more than he remembered and far greater a wonder, something that he was not in the least bit disappointed by.