PM to join A Familiar Face [Noven]

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

A Familiar Face [Noven]

Postby Keene Ward on December 30th, 2015, 5:02 am

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.

User avatar
Keene Ward
Chilly Wizard
Posts: 902
Words: 1279864
Joined roleplay: October 16th, 2014, 2:16 am
Location: Kalea
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Medals: 6
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1) 2014 Top NaNo Word Count (1)

A Familiar Face [Noven]

Postby Noven on January 15th, 2016, 12:16 am


He did his best not to let the doubt seep into his expression, though it must have shown on his face regardless. Nov had never been good at hiding his emotions. Less so when the touch of another was distracting him at every turn, blurring the edges of his fears and worries until they were nothing more than foggy, unrecognizable shapes in the distance.

Can peace be earned?

It was no small wonder that the Sunberthian had buried himself in a fevered kiss then. He knew the answer to that question all too well. Had known it ever since that rickety, peeling door had opened a second time and Nona reluctantly agreed to take him off of Old Calyn's hands. He knew it because the only family he'd ever acknowledged had worked decades trying to earn her small share of peace, only to find her throat slit and corpse left to cool in some common alleyway.

He knew it because he had tried to find peace in those dark days that followed. But everywhere he looked he saw Nona's bloodless face, staring back with sad, silent accusation.

If she hadn't taken me in that night...if I wasn't at the tavern today...if I had only listened...if, if, if....

He knew the answer like he knew nothing else, and with the same conviction that he knew Krysus would only free him upon his gruesome, agonizing death. Perhaps, if the gods were kind, Keene would find his peace someday. But Noven knew most of the gods, however many were out there, didn't give a rat's arse about this particular slumdog's existence. And the only one who did saw him as nothing more than an instrument of pain and plaything for her own amusement. He was a puppet and she the puppeteer; not a day went by that he wasn't reminded of the strings he danced to, forced to set back the cycle with her cursed power. Always in fear of the pain returning, and always leaving a trail of victims because of it.

Peace can be earned, maybe...but not for the cursed. Not for me.

The feeling of his shirt being tugged and pulled over his head, however, ended his morbid trail of thought then and there. Keene's movements had suddenly grown urgent, his usual grace abandoned. Without even thinking, Nov responded in kind, memory and raw, primal need taking over all else. It was like the two of them were racing to see who could peel off more clothing first, one slightly clumsier than the other but no less determined, their lips crashing into one another whenever fabric wasn't in the way.

The whole thing left him disoriented and breathless, hair angled seven different ways and trousers barely loosened at the waist by the time they'd sunk to the ground and Keene's pale, capable hand found its way to his chest. Nov glanced up to find his companion's eyes gleaming above him with intrigue and hunger, drinking in the sight of him as though this was the last good look he'd get. And for some reason, it only stirred him more, sending all the blood rushing downward in record speed. Nov wanted to lose himself in that hunger. Drown himself in the other man's lust, in his own lust, in their combined pain and pleasure. Drowning was the only way he knew how to cope, and Keene wasn't the only one who had a broken dam to deal with.

Everything happened all at once, as it was won't to do whenever the two were involved. All of his focus turned away from thinking and solely toward doing just to keep up. Noven still held onto a measure of control, ever aware of the pain that the simplest of touches caused, but only a measure. His hands traveled of their own accord as they traced, pressed, squeezed. It never failed to fill him with a sense of wonder, the quiet strength that the man before him exuded. Keene was never idle, and it showed in both the trim edges of his form and his bold ministrations.

At some point Nov found himself on his back, panting for air, eyes wide with anticipation and desperate need. It was rare for him to be held at the mercy of another, and the icy mage did just that. He teased his darker half with the nearness of his mouth, then with a kiss and meeting of the hips, wrapping him in a delicious and torturous series of friction. There was a whisper of Noven's name that sent another surge of blood rising with the heat, and then Keene rose to his feet.

The Sunberthian nearly snarled in protest. But then he took note of the new location, rust-colored eyes tracking each and every one of his lover's movements as pale, lean flesh settled a nest of their abandoned garments, and his frustration turned into understanding.

Within a matter of ticks they were entangled once more, heedlessly shucking off the last of their clothing as they kissed harder, deeper, hungrier. Nov knew only need by then. Need, and Keene. He thought and cared for nothing else. There was a surprised intake of breath as cool fingers brushed against his pulsating heat, the contradicting sensations catching him off guard before pleasure and excitement quickly kicked in. Beneath Keene's amorous, explorative attentions, Nov could do nothing more than groan in relish, completely held beneath the spell the other man had woven with naught but his mouth, tongue, and hands.

His breathing grew shallower, the time in between each gasp shorter. It was a mix of sensations he'd once known however many seasons ago, yet still new enough to suspend him in curiosity and wonder. Noven had never known the touch of a man before Keene, had never even really gave any consideration to the possibility at all. Yet something about their union, about the way the coolness of Keene's mouth wrapped around his heat and the rough texture of his tongue as it stroked in languid, sensual movements, proved a force of carnality that left no survivors in its wake, man or woman, readiness be damned. It swept them up without a shred of concern for where they were or what they were doing prior, slamming them together so fast and so hard that it left both more than a little dazed and out of sorts. Not that either man was complaining, as one was devotedly pleasuring and the other mindlessly moaning.

"K-Keene..." Nov finally stuttered, somehow managing to fight for a sliver of control as he twined his fingers into the other man's tawny hair and gently pushed back. "S-Stop...or I'll...too fast..."

Knowing that Keene might very well try to push him over the edge regardless, Nov took his chance and retaliated. He wanted to hold the pleasure at bay. To keep this moment alive for as long as possible. Groping until he found purchase around the other man's jaw and shoulders, he began to pull Keene up so that their bodies were once again aligned.

Now, it was his turn to torment.

The mage had grown stronger with his diligent training, but what Nov lacked in magic and finesse he made up for in brawn. Muscles tensed and contracted as he lifted his back off of the ground and rose to find Keene's lips again, bringing the heat between their groins even closer. Browned, calloused hands held the other man by the waist, pressing Keene down into him, hips shifting ever so slightly as his tongue searched that cool, gasping mouth.

Slowly but surely, he began to push Keene toward the ground, a well toned thigh on either side of his own, naked waist. The veins in his neck rose and his chest heaved. There was nothing headier in that moment, nothing more intoxicating than the desperate abandon and matched, masculine strength that they offered to one another. It wiped their worries clean, replacing them with a carnal appetite no normal, sane person could hope to sate. The further the two of them went, the greedier they grew. Every kiss, sigh, caress only served to feed the flames of their desires. Noven's own head was swimming with craving, his lower half demanding release. But if now was all the time they had together, then he wanted it to last, as subsisting on memories alone was no easy task.

He let one of his hands trail away from its pale perch, moving it down along lean muscles. There was less fear of hurting his companion now and more longing than anything else to give pleasure.

"What do you want, Keene?" the darker of the two rasped against his lover's ear. He caught some of the pale, soft flesh between his teeth before asking again. "Tell me what you want..."

Even as he spoke, he was moving lower and lower, mouth leaving behind a trail of exploration over pale, taut chest and smooth muscles. He was a little less inexperienced than their first time together, but there was much left unventured. And he was willing to remedy that however, where ever, the mage desired.

User avatar
Taste my fist
Posts: 517
Words: 816073
Joined roleplay: December 16th, 2013, 11:11 pm
Location: Sunberth
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Medals: 2
Featured Thread (1) 2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests