thranduil oropherion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rowancrowned) wrote2015-03-22 06:02 pm
rowancrowned) wrote2015-03-22 06:02 pm
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Provost! When will you be collecting your wedding gift?
Why, I did not think to expect one beyond your goodwill.
You know me. I have not done you the kindness of lying.
There have been benefits, to playing invalid—more, if he was willing to stretch it out, but those are exactly the sort of games he won’t play with her. He does come down from playing enough to actually consider her words, consider how dancing might have worsened it, and rests a hand on her hip intently.
“Assuming you aren’t overcome with the need to post particularly hard, I think all will be well.” He rubs along the bone of her hip, through the silk, savoring it and her, her here, them here, after so long. "But it would make for a good story, if you had the mind to rebreak it."
And then his hand rests at the small of her back, where the ties from the corset drop, toying with the aglets between his fingers.
“Would you like help with your lacing, or did you have something in mind?” She may have plans. She usually has plans, with something this intricate laid out.
“Assuming you aren’t overcome with the need to post particularly hard, I think all will be well.” He rubs along the bone of her hip, through the silk, savoring it and her, her here, them here, after so long. "But it would make for a good story, if you had the mind to rebreak it."
And then his hand rests at the small of her back, where the ties from the corset drop, toying with the aglets between his fingers.
“Would you like help with your lacing, or did you have something in mind?” She may have plans. She usually has plans, with something this intricate laid out.
“Well, I was thinking that...because this is a special occasion,” her smile a little lopsided, a little rueful, “and you have done a lot. You've done so much, and I know I've been...even for me, difficult.”
It's a high bar, but she's pushed it lately. She knows. (And will again—)
Above her head, in his grip, her fingers flex and she tilts her head, just a little. Enjoys this moment, while it lasts.
“I've decided to be very gracious and accommodating.” Has she. “And you are welcome to take over whenever you'd like,” generous, from her position best described in the present moment at 'at his mercy' (a comfortable place to be, when she is so familiar with the nature thereof), “you know I never object to a firm hand. But...”
A little wrinkle of her nose, like she can't imagine her own sentimentality, even when expressed very sexually,
“Undress. And let me be sweet to you.”
It's a high bar, but she's pushed it lately. She knows. (And will again—)
Above her head, in his grip, her fingers flex and she tilts her head, just a little. Enjoys this moment, while it lasts.
“I've decided to be very gracious and accommodating.” Has she. “And you are welcome to take over whenever you'd like,” generous, from her position best described in the present moment at 'at his mercy' (a comfortable place to be, when she is so familiar with the nature thereof), “you know I never object to a firm hand. But...”
A little wrinkle of her nose, like she can't imagine her own sentimentality, even when expressed very sexually,
“Undress. And let me be sweet to you.”
Have you given any thought to the matter of the next Divine?
[ gently: ]
It may not make your life easier, but the choice of which woman sits the Sunburst Throne might make it less difficult, in coming years.
It may not make your life easier, but the choice of which woman sits the Sunburst Throne might make it less difficult, in coming years.
Edited 2019-02-15 21:52 (UTC)
[ you're his very best bud, solas, but come on. ]
Clorentine will not win us the war, nor do we have any chance at catching her ear and holding it.
The other three are varying levels of... not bad. I think all might be persuaded towards coaxing the lazy into action.
Assuming your plan goes smoothly, how long will you need to put it to use?
Clorentine will not win us the war, nor do we have any chance at catching her ear and holding it.
The other three are varying levels of... not bad. I think all might be persuaded towards coaxing the lazy into action.
Assuming your plan goes smoothly, how long will you need to put it to use?
Anyone who isn't Clorentine.
[ a beat, a line drawn between thranduil-and-provost: ] Agathe, if I wished for stability and to get us through the war.
And to keep me out of a Circle.
[ a beat, a line drawn between thranduil-and-provost: ] Agathe, if I wished for stability and to get us through the war.
And to keep me out of a Circle.
Perhaps Gwenaelle would like to play rescuer. Still, [ wry, ] I will do my best to keep away and stay of use.
She is, I think, the most suitable.
She is, I think, the most suitable.
“Not terribly difficult,” is his immediate soothing, like saying things sweetly will undo the ties of her corset all the sooner. He has certainly untied tighter knots, but few so personal and fewer still so sweet, like coaxing honey from the comb.
And hardly any so rewarding, because here she is, his triumph laid out in the courtyard—the spoils of the Game, the promise of more to come. Finally, the tide turning here, if nowhere else.
His expression shifts. The hunger abates for a moment. He dips his head to kiss her cheek; his hold loosens as he rolls off her and backs up off the bed. Thranduil does not strip quickly, nor without care, but if there is an art to it, it comes from natural grace and not any intent to arouse. The outfit ends mostly over the back of a chair (doubtless, to be tended to eventually by some valet not-Guilfoyle), and then he is nude, proud, and back on the bed, inching to where she was, seeking the warm spot left on the mattress in her wake.
And hardly any so rewarding, because here she is, his triumph laid out in the courtyard—the spoils of the Game, the promise of more to come. Finally, the tide turning here, if nowhere else.
His expression shifts. The hunger abates for a moment. He dips his head to kiss her cheek; his hold loosens as he rolls off her and backs up off the bed. Thranduil does not strip quickly, nor without care, but if there is an art to it, it comes from natural grace and not any intent to arouse. The outfit ends mostly over the back of a chair (doubtless, to be tended to eventually by some valet not-Guilfoyle), and then he is nude, proud, and back on the bed, inching to where she was, seeking the warm spot left on the mattress in her wake.
Maker, but he is improbably good-looking.
It's not that she isn't perfectly (smugly) aware of that—or prone to taking a certain satisfaction in it, that she exclusively takes this particular pleasure of him, but...well. To him it might yet be much as long summer day, but to her (substantially) younger years they are wearing out the newness of their relationship. They've bickered from the very start; he had been handsome, first, but then he had been an elf, and exasperating, a constant source of consternation. He's fussy and particular and demanding and so arrogant it would take her breath away if it were physically possible for her to not have something to shout at him—
she does love him, somewhat despite herself, for his infuriating personality. She doesn't forget he's also beautiful, but it takes her off-guard from time to time—like now, sitting up on her knees and watching him undress with uncharacteristic patience, tilting her head like an artist considering blank canvas when he lays down.
“Tell me what you'd like,” she says, kneeling beside him, one hand sliding lazily up the outside of his thigh, almost more proprietary than provocative. “I'm not saying you'll get it,” in a drawl, “but you should tell me.”
Her thumb brushes his hipbone and her smile is not to be trusted.
It's not that she isn't perfectly (smugly) aware of that—or prone to taking a certain satisfaction in it, that she exclusively takes this particular pleasure of him, but...well. To him it might yet be much as long summer day, but to her (substantially) younger years they are wearing out the newness of their relationship. They've bickered from the very start; he had been handsome, first, but then he had been an elf, and exasperating, a constant source of consternation. He's fussy and particular and demanding and so arrogant it would take her breath away if it were physically possible for her to not have something to shout at him—
she does love him, somewhat despite herself, for his infuriating personality. She doesn't forget he's also beautiful, but it takes her off-guard from time to time—like now, sitting up on her knees and watching him undress with uncharacteristic patience, tilting her head like an artist considering blank canvas when he lays down.
“Tell me what you'd like,” she says, kneeling beside him, one hand sliding lazily up the outside of his thigh, almost more proprietary than provocative. “I'm not saying you'll get it,” in a drawl, “but you should tell me.”
Her thumb brushes his hipbone and her smile is not to be trusted.
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