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Author Topic: Hermitage Interrupted  (Read 291 times)

Description: tag: Sloane; NSFW; Mature Rut type content.

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Hermitage Interrupted
« on: Aug 12, 19, 01:26:41 PM »
Sloane had looked, well, incredible at the gathering of the various Dark Courts under the Dark Religion there at the Territory Palace.  He had been a little on edge, but he was acting as his Queen’s senses, and he felt that made her just a little bit safer while she was rubbing elbows with the literally rich and powerful.  He didn’t like the place, or most of the people.  Lorcan Nivis was an aristocrat, educated and wealthy, but he was a Nivis, and he had been raised to work.  He was more outdoorsman than noble, more predator than businessman, and not just because he was a Warlord Prince.  He was a lifelong hunter, tracker, and trapper.  He had skinned and eaten just about everything that could be skinned and eaten in Glacia, and a few in Rihland and Raej besides.  He did not care for wine, nor did he care for salt pork, and eels soaked in whatever sauce some chef had created.  Like his Queen, he preferred things to be more elegant, which was just a fancy word for ‘simple’.

His Queen had been on his mind since they had Bonded, but lately she seemed to have bought up more and more acreage in his thoughts.  She had smelled as good as she looked that night, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take some unearned pride in that.  He had done nothing to deserve Sloane as his Queen, she was not a prize to be won, she was HIS, but fate and Mother Night had joined them, not skill at arms nor trick nor charm.  He was proud for more than just her beauty, which she had in spades, but for her spirit, for her kindness, for her sense of justice.  Lorcan growled, startling Edgar and Runner both.  He had gone to the stables to give the two horses he knew best a brushing, and a bit of apple, and Marvy benefitted as well.  Lorcan had to get away from his Queen to take a few breaths to think.  Every time he breathed in the house, she was there.  It was becoming overwhelming.  Even the horses seemed uncomfortable, and he was masked, with animals that should be used to him now.

The horses...Lorcan put the brushes away, and walked out into the cold.

The Sapphire Warlord Prince looked up into the heavens, taking in the stars, remembering that mine--that enormous cavern of glittering light that Sloane had shown him, and he felt a tingle run down his spine.  Warmth spread in his chest, and he clenched his hands into tight fists that made his knuckles crackle from the strain.  Lorcan scowled.  He knew what was happening now.  He knew it all too well.  He circled around a corral and entered a barn that did not have animals in it.  He began to conjure what he needed, and once he was equipped, and his climbing furs and gear was in place, he walked back towards the house to face his Queen, the very same person what was unsettling him, affecting him so deeply he had almost missed it.  His desire to stay near to her was at war with his desire to keep her safe, and his more conscious need to do right by her.  He was her only bonded and--he realized that the presence of the others, the other Males were becoming an irritation.

The scents, mundane and psychic, seemed to great on him, like someone had stuff his shirt full of the dryest, scratchiest hay, and he could not get it out.  Lorcan growled low and dangerous, rolled his shoulders and walked into the house.  Lorcan found her unerringly.  He could open the Bond this close, and feel her, he could walk into that room and touch her--and then he would be lost.  Not for the first time, he wished he could Mark her, could sink his Craft into her and always know where she was, and how she was.  She was in that same room where they had shared that first meal, and when he walked in, the ladies attending her took one look at him, and left.  The guards did not vacate, but they slowly migrated to the edges of his awareness, as if he had a gravity that worked in reverse.  Lorcan managed a smile for Sloane, though it was a little strained.  ”I will be going into the mountains for a few days.  I--I won’t be available for three maybe four days.  Do not worry, I do not plan on any fights, or anything more dangerous than logging in an area of my family’s land that’s due for it.”

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #1 on: Aug 12, 19, 01:33:04 PM »
“My Lady, will you be needing anything further?” The maid asked as she finished straightening the plush couch cushions and setting them to rights. The two had entered,, one with a tray of refreshments and assortment of snacks and set them near Sloane’s writing desk and the other to feed the hearth before the flames could grow lazy and thin.  Sloane shook her head, barely looking up from the pages before her, but she managed an easy smile reserved for the staff who knew her best and tended to her with such care. “No thank you Ladies, that will be all.” One of the women smirked, hiding her smile knowing their Queen had a way of using the term “lady or ladies” to flatter some of her staff. It worked.

“Actually, one thing, have the Steward see me before he leaves for the day.”  The women nodded, hands folded on their laps before them in silence. Sloane finished the letter she had been working on and skimmed over it before realizing that she wasn't alone. “You can go, have a good night.” 

The women had just begun to leave when the Warlord Prince entered without announcement. There was an uneasy feeling in the air, a sense of cautionary instinct that struck those he passed. Though the Warlord Prince paid them no mind, they felt this energy and were wise enough to see themselves away from it quickly. The guards grew tense, but none impeded his entry in any way, glancing at one another cautiously. Even Jeweled Blood could sense a predator.

It had been a Court day, which was to say Sloane had found herself traveling to and from Emmen in the span of a few hours. The Territory Court’s introduction of its new Queen preceded an uptick in negotiations throughout the region. Having been in attendance, she reaped the benefits on discussions regarding new trade routes across the Tulva River into Dhemlan ports. A wealthy merchant requested an audience and none of the days which she would find herself in Emmen were suitable. So the Steward commuted to her home in the eastern corner of the District after the meeting was concluded to expedite any paperwork and settle her schedule for the next month.  As inconvenient as the trip was, it gave her some time to check in on the rest of her Court returning home. 

Lorcan was there, a fact that she appreciated, even if he was spending as much of his time outside of the main house and on the grounds. She’d not yet changed from her trip finding the short floral silk dress as comfortable as a nightgown, her hair was loose and hung thick waves down her back. A simple silver pendant hung between her breasts.

Folding the letter, she glanced up at him as he came in and gave him her soft closed lip smile. Her eyes sprang back up curiously a moment later, taking note of furs that were too heavy for the indoors. He’d surprised her the day of the Territory Queen’s announcements by meeting her on the steps to the dining hall. She’d not expected him, but there he was, and the befuddled look on his face when he found himself with a sleeker and far more coiffed version of his Queen was its own reward.  The look on his face was charming.  This one, however, was confusing.

It wasn't strange that he was notifying her of his plans, or even that he would be away for a few days, what was bizarre was how suddenly it had come up.  Lorcan just returned from another trip into the mountains not a day prior, and it felt as though he was either attached to her side or completely ripped from it. They’d come to an understanding, she would not probe him with questions on his comings and goings and he would not volunteer them unless she asked. His words were too specific.  Turning in her chair to face his direction she crossed her pale but toned legs. “Already? Is there a reason you're leaving so soon? I was hoping we could go for a hike in the morning.”


Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #2 on: Aug 13, 19, 02:22:42 PM »
Lorcan was aware of the narrow eyed glare he fixed on the guards. It was brief, only because he had known how he would feel about their presence, but it was there. It was the unfounded glare born of animal suspicion, of other Males being too close to his Queen, to near to his Territory, and Sloane was that. Lorcan was an outdoorsman, he considered the mountains his domain, and while he was spending significantly more time in Sloane’s home and around his Queen, he did not really consider the Halston Ranch to be his, even if he would protect it like it was. Sloane was another matter. She was his Territory, she was his and right now the presence of these other Un-Bonded men was an irritation that he expected, and could control, to some extent. Lorcan’s nature pushed them away, whether it was the glare, the set of his expression, or just their sense of him, they knew that a larger and more deadly beast was taking up the space.

Sloane’s hair was golden, and framed her lovely face. Once he stood still, and spoke to her, he had trouble finding a comfortable place to settle his eyes. Her lips did not help him. He looked into her eyes, but her shining blue gaze did not help him either. He wanted to walk across the room, lift her into his arms, and leave with her. He wanted to touch her hair, her cheek, her skin, but if he did that...no, he couldn’t do that. He growled softly, low, somewhere deep in his chest, but it wasn’t anger it was desire, no—that was too mild, it was hunger, primal and deep. She moved just a touch, and something caught the light, drawing his gaze to the silver pendant settled between the curves of her breasts, and he took a single involuntary step, before he lifted his gaze to her nose. Her nose was safe? Wasn’t it? Nothing about her is safe right now. She smiled at him.

Did you hear that?

No.

Yes, you did.

I won’t look.

Yes, you will.

There was the whisper of fabric as Sloane crossed her legs, and it drew his gaze as surely as a lodestone drew iron filings. Lorcan clenched his jaw, his legs tensing, and he took another step before his eyes returned to her nose. ”I—Yes, there’s a reason--”

Just then, the Blood Opal Steward arrived. A Prince of good breeding, and even good nature. Lorcan and he had not interacted too terribly often, the Steward was often too busy running the nuts and bolts of Sloane’s District, but they had met a time or two before. So, having only a brief experience with Lorcan, he did not see an issue with stepping into the moment between Queen and Bonded Warlord Prince. He had missed the nervousness of the guards. He had missed the absence of other female retainers and members of Court, and he had taken Lorcan’s presence as nothing too unusual. Warlord Prince’s were always on edge, and the mountain man was so rough and ready, it was sometimes hard to tell. The Steward had time to open his mouth and say, ”Pardon--” But that was it, Lorcan spun around so fast at the intrusion, that the Prince barely saw the motion before an arm completely arrested his motion mid-step, and sent him crashing swiftly to the floor hard on his back. The wind rushed from his lungs, and Lorcan was above him, his teeth bared, the stark white of them contrasting his dark beard.

”Get. Out.” Lorcan growled, and watched the Steward scrambled away on his back a bit, and then quickly stumbling to his feet. He spared a glance to Sloane, but then the Sapphire Warlord Prince fully settled his attention on the Steward, and the Blood Opal Prince scrambled out of view. Lorcan’s shoulders sagged just a little, though his body was still tense, and there was still a growl in a his voice. ”Sorry.” He turned halfway back to Sloane, as though he did not trust himself to fully look at her. ”It’s my time. I should go before I hurt someone.”

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #3 on: Aug 13, 19, 02:33:50 PM »
He’d just walked in, but Lorcan’s behavior was growing more and more suspicious. For one thing, his jade eyes wouldn't settle on hers, a juxtaposition to his usual intense focus. They shifted erratically over her, everywhere but nowhere at once. The smile that crossed so plainly beneath the layer of his facial bush looked strained and uneasy at the edges. He was distracted and yet somehow had a heightened awareness of the room. This she could feel through his open senses. Lorcan had come into the habit of peeling away his defenses when near his Queen and welcoming her into the world. Her scent was the strongest of all, but it was only just above that of the two Jeweled Guards in the room.  He was aware of them, while trying to ignore their presence?

They had a long discussion about the folly of keeping secrets. She didn't like it, wouldn't accept it and he had agreed readily to be honest with her in all things. The male shifted, coming closer and stopping suddenly as though there was some invisible wall that he had to push against, or some tether keeping him back. His eyes moved to her legs and then back up to her face, but not her eyes, he didn't meet those. The explanation was at the tip of his tongue and if it wasn't she would coax it from him when the Steward slipped through the doors in a brand new grey suit and a sharp blue tie. Her attention diverted hesitantly for a moment to hand him the ledger and letters she had spent the better part of the day finishing when her bonded male spun around, arm extended and rendered the Steward helpless.

The air flared with Blood Opal Craft as his shields were brought up. She heard his body and that finely tailored suit hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and the air explode from his lungs. Uneasy the guards stepped forward to intervene but stopped midway as they saw the Queen move.

“Lorcan, stop!”  On her feet she had crossed the room before she realized how many steps she had taken. A hand grasped Lorcan’s shoulder, fingers digging firmly and yet she doubted he felt any of it beneath the layer of furs and tense muscle. “Stop.”  She didn't pull on the bond, for some reason those ropes felt slick, yet frayed and for a split second, she had feared she had lost grasp of them altogether. Darkness help her if she lost sight of their bond altogether. Yet there he was faintly beating in her spirit. “Stop, calm down, Go. Go.” Waving the Steward back she looked up at her male, leaning back as she gripped his shoulders, forcing his eyes to her.

Confusion and realization dawned clearly on her features all at once. It was as if the sun had come up in the middle of the night. “Oh.” Turning her head she looked to the guards and jutted her chin upward excusing them from the room. A decision they did not argue.

Immediately a thread went out as she looked over her bonded. He was on the edge, dangling from a precipice that he could not hold onto for much longer.

“Stern, do not let anyone into my rooms or these floors. Send the guards outdoors but do not block the egresses, and have Amandai look at Prince Jonesson.”

The Master of the Guard’s thread pushed through her own with concern. “Is everything alright Lady Halston? What happened?  Are you safe? I am on my-”

“I am. Lorcan is nearing his rutt. I will let you know if I need anything. Keep everyone away.”

“Fuck. Be careful.”

“Look at me.” Her hand rose to his bearded cheek, drawing his gaze back to her. “How soon do you feel it coming? Or are you there now?” she asked, gently releasing him. As long as he was looking at her, she could distract him from the commotion happening below their feet. Clearly, he was focusing on her, the symptom clearly written on the bruise her poor Steward would be wearing across his chest. He’d let it get this far until he felt as though he needed to remove himself from the situation. “Why didn't you come to me sooner? Why logging?” Was he planning on leaving and taking care of it himself? Considering his bloody history when it came to his ruts, she wasn't sure that was the best idea. This wasn't how she expected this day to go, but her concern now was for Lorcan. “Let me clear your mind. It will give you some peace for now. Okay?” 


Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #4 on: Aug 13, 19, 02:45:26 PM »
The Butcher of Heino they still called him, well, at least in Heino and other places. The story had spread around just a bit. It didn’t make him a legend, but every now and then, someone would call it out. For some it was a nefarious moniker, an exceedingly rakish name for an exceedingly dangerous man. He did not entirely like it. He used it to his advantage when and where he could, but those men that he had killed for doing their duty, they had family and friends. Blood Law stated that he was not to blame, but Blood Law didn’t really manage his own feelings on the matter, or the feelings of the brothers, husbands, fathers, and sons that he had kill or might one day kill because of what he was. Lorcan knew that the problem was him. His Uncle had spent his life warning him about the Rut, training him to recognize and deal with it, and while he knew the important people in his life didn’t think any less of him—that did not mean that he didn’t think a little less of himself. That had been years ago, and he had no thought about those feelings, or felt them, in quite some time.

He could not let himself hurt anyone on the Ranch. He could not risk his new—his new…

Home, you thick-skulled Lout. Home.

Leaving was the best option, and he had just proven that. He was simultaneously angry at the Steward, and feeling guilty about attacking him. If the man had been slow with shields, if Sloane had not been there. His Queen called for him to stop, and while he still had that much control, her words steeled his grip just a little more. She took hold of his shoulder and gripped it as hard as furs and dense muscle allowed. She dismissed the Steward, thankfully. ”I didn’t mean to.” The words were emphatic, but they sounded weak between his ears. The guards left, and he felt her communicating via threads. She knew. Sloane had figured it out before he had to be specific. He was grateful that she had, and now a little embarrassed. The Rut typically meant one thing. She commanded his attention, and Mother Night, the hand against his cheek guaranteed it. Lorcan balled his large hands into fists, to keep them off of her. ”It’s soon enough, Sloane.” His voice a growl, ”It creeps up like a horse-thief in the night.” He tried to smile, and failed, the expression more of a self-deprecating grimace.

”Sooner?” Now he did meet her eyes, his nostrils flaring. ”What should I have said if I came to you sooner? What should I have assumed?” Lorcan shook his head, ”I will protect you, even from myself.” Though it pained him to say that, to feel that. It was too much to ask of a Queen that was still figuring out their Bond. He had to be patient, had to let her come to him, not jump her in a desperate need to procreate, to make more Dark Jeweled Blood, to satisfy the instincts of the predators that they all were. ”Work. Necessary work. I can clear a whole field of logs in about a week. By then, it will have passed, and all my energy will have been put into my axe swing. No one dies. No one is harmed.” And no one is butchered for trying to defend the Queen of the District from the over-eager predations of her Bonded Killing Machine. Lorcan nodded at her request for permission, and he felt her Touch and Queen’s Craft flow through him, taking the sharpening edge down to something a bit more measured. He released a long, slow sigh, and closed his eyes to avoid falling into her gaze.

”Oh, Sloane, you should let me leave. I can’t ask this of you. It is too much.” His eyes flew open, and he let her see the heat behind his green gaze, the intensity of his focus, of his need. ”Of course, it is you, how could it not be?” Lorcan did not move away, but she could feel the tension in is body, feel the waves of aggression rolling off of him like he were an enormous bell whose ringing she could feel vibrating through her. Somewhere outside, the nearest stable of horses began to whicker and complain. Lorcan growled again, ”Let me go. I could not live with myself if I hurt you.”

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #5 on: Aug 13, 19, 03:45:56 PM »
Sloane ignored his apology, focusing on him and making sure that he looked at her directly. He was lucid enough to be sorry for his actions and to dismiss himself before disappearing into some cabin for almost a week if not more. “Horse thieves have a way of creeping up on me.” She whispered, her bright green viridian eyes searching his. He was struggling to look at her and maintain his composure, but she knew that only she could reign him in enough to ease his misgivings. Instead, he snapped, even at her question. It was her fault, she could see how the words stung of accusation.

“You could have warned me. I could have made arrangements.” There was no stopping the rut, it was like trying to keep a wave back with a finger, it would wash over you and drag you into the sea.  What they could do was prepare for it. It didn't dawn on her to do so before.

Guilt and frustration were the uniting emotion, she sensed him battling instincts that were sure to win over. He needed to release it, he needed her.  Sloane didn't know how she would feel if he had decided to sequester himself in a Red Moon house. No, she did, it would bother her, she would be pissed. But, he needed help and he struggled with asking such a heavy burden of someone, especially her. 

“Shhh...give it a second, breathe, it's okay.” The Queen’s Touch was a balm, but the Emotional Healing Craft she laced into that elixer spread through the edges of his mind, dulling the desperation and turmoil that clung to his emotions like tar. It would return soon enough and she might not be able to clear it with as much clarity. The haze always returned until it consumed the male in a rut. It had been this way with Jacen, but she had not been his focus. For Lorcan, she was everything at that moment.

His plan had a few flaws and it did not guarantee his attention would be diverted. It all depended on how strong his focus was. Sloane did not pretend to be some expert on ruts, she’d, never experienced one. But she knew him and at his core, he was a good man who carried a great deal of guilt for the things he could not control.

“You can't run away from this.”

From me.

He didn't want to hurt her, and he could. Easily.

He wouldn't survive hurting anyone else, at least not unscathed. He hadn't come to her sooner because he wanted to protect her and her house. It boiled down to the fact that he didn't trust himself.

He was right not to.

“Shhh....hey.” she whispered, touching his face again as his hand clasped suddenly against it with intensity. Sloane considered the options, weighing the few that there were. Again, this wasn't what she had expected her day to be like, but these things had a manner of creeping up. He didn't need her for a few hours, but for days. Once more she felt impotent in their bond. It had been months and still, she felt that rift between them growing no bigger but no smaller either. Any attempt to force the matter only alarmed him further. Lorcan had been so patient, even to toward the things she refused to share with him but he could clearly feel.

He needs me.

You need him.

I can help him.

It’s not safe. He can't control...

He’s mine. He needs me.


His gaze threatened to consume her with its intensity. Barbarous, greedy but needful, in a way it was a vulnerability he had no choice in accepting. This was an assault on his mind and body that begged for release, a hunger that if unsated would unravel him completely. He stepped closer and she could feel the heat radiating from his tall, muscular frame. “If it's me, then let me help you. “ Mine. a faint voice echoed its appreciation at the farthest reaches of their bond. There were some things she could do. This was one of them.  Once he was more settled, and each breath filled the drum of his chest she gave him some room.  Unsure of what to expect her thoughts cycled through preparations, a few more threads were sent, first to Amandai for healing herbs and then to the kitchens and her Master of the Guard with the urgency the matter deserved. “I want to help, alright? You won't hurt me. I trust you. Let me.” Slowly her hand fell from his face still clasped within his own. “I will need some things, I'm having the staff make the arrangements now. Is there somewhere we can go? Someplace you feel safe? If not we can go to one of my other homes on the mountain.”


Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #6 on: Aug 14, 19, 03:40:21 PM »
Lorcan half-smiled at the reception of his small joke, but it was a brief thing, there and gone as quickly as it had appeared. He tilted his head slightly, ”It’s not always clear. It’s not governed by the moon’s cycle, or the stars. It just happens. I can usually tell when it’s starting, and it is starting.” It was a small explanation, but the best he could manage. In a small sense, it’s like the sneeze you don’t know is coming. It startles you and everyone around you. You can’t warn anyone about that. It just happens. The Rut just happens. It could be the Bond pulled it on earlier than he expected, it could simply be that it was his time. ”I have arrangements. I go far away.” He could feel her Craft moving through him, bolstering his restraint, but also realizing the depth of the concern. He was a Sapphire Warlord Prince, his Rut would last days, not just hours. It was starting, which mean he would have to be gone for a week or more, just to be safe.

He could not take his eyes off of her, not anymore. He’d fallen into his own trap. He had let her touch him, and now he was lost. Sloane had let her Craft flow through him, and now there was no walking away. What was she doing? She’s taking care of you. It’s just too dangerous. He was the Butcher of Heino, he should have risked her ire and simply left. ”It is not okay, Sloane. It is never okay.” Lorcan growled at her simple truth, not at her, but at the idea, at the thing he was grappling with. ”No, it can’t be ignored.” There was something more to that, and it drew him closer to her, as he breathed her in, felt the warmth of her body, his eyes taking in the whole of her, from her golden hair to the swell of her breasts, to the toned muscle of her legs. He shook his head slightly, as though she had said something, though she had not uttered the words out loud. ”I do not want to run from you. It is just safer.”

Lorcan closed his eyes and leaned into her hand when she cupped his face, and he held it there. He opened his eyes to gaze into hers, as though he might dive into everything she was. ”It is you. It is always you.” Lately that certainly seemed to be true. She was making an incredible offer, an extremely generous and even charitable decision. It kindled the fires of—more than desire—terrifying and unrelenting hunger. A beast stirred, and for once it was not violence that it was after. ”I do not trust myself.” Lorcan had not been with anyone he knew, truly knew, during his Rut in a very long time. Every time he was worried. It was either an early visit to a Red Moon House and an extended stay or a long retreat into the mountains. ”I will let you. I want to—I want you.” There he had said it, and it felt abrupt and awkward and utterly true and necessary all at the same time. Sloane held his hand now, ”I have a cabin, up in the mountains. A permanent hunting lodge, it is largely mine. I keep it stocked with provisions. It’s cozy. I had hoped to take you sometime to show you...” He took a deep breath, the sentence unfinished.

He shook his head, ”Your places will smell of others, your people. My place will smell of me, and then you. That is best.” Lorcan squeezed her hand gently, and then pulled her back to him, his free hand lifting her chin to capture he eyes once more. ”Are you sure, Sloane. I do not want you to be afraid of me, I can’t take that either. If you’re not sure, tell me no while I have the strength to run. This is your last chance to let me go.” She should let him go. He should run away now, knowing that he had kept her safe and whole, knowing that he would not come to his senses in the company of his cherished Queen battered and bruised on the altar of the Rut. The Butcher of Heino claimed that one, rumor has it it took a team of Healers to get her walking right. Lorcan’s entire frame was struggling to relax, to take in the offered comfort of both Touch and Emotional Craft. ”Please, say so now. Right now, before all of our choices are made for us.” Lorcan was not sure that even that desperate statement was true, already the desire to abscond with her was threatening to overcome his common sense. She was right, there were things she had to prepare, but he just wanted to leave there, with her. He doubted they could even ride, he would terrorize the horses.

Lorcan’s thumb traced the line of Sloane’s lower lip, and his eye widened before he dropped his hand and waited for her to change her mind, to do the pragmatic thing. Send me away.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #7 on: Aug 15, 19, 12:28:40 PM »
With his focus on her, she had more control.  Funny that word, “control” It was a fallacy, a sweet little lie told to oneself so that a sense of safety could take root. Sloane didn't feel in control, Lorcan couldn't even claim he did. All she could do was exercise a brief hold on his leash and even that was fleeting. The relationship between a Queen and her bonded was at its root an exchange of that word. It was relinquishing their health, safety or wellbeing to the other. There would be days where he carried the load of that burden and others where she relieved him of it. Now was one of those days where the onus was on her.

He moved closer drawn as if by gravity, his lungs expanding taking in her scent. She couldn't help but do the same, musky and intensely masculine. Now that she had his attention he could let the sounds and the smells of the house fade into the background. 

The words he used, specifically gave her pause. They mirrored the voice exactly. Either he had plucked them from her thoughts with Craft, or he was thinking the exact same thing. There were times when she felt she could hear him, or maybe, she so desperately wanted to feel something, anything in their bond that she just thought she did. “Then don't run. “

Safety be damned she could see his brow crease when she touched his face. Thin lines stretched across his brow, cheeks bunching toward his eyes in an agonized grimace but when he looked at her there was a need that called to her. This is something I can do for him. Which was enough to cement her decision. “It's normal.”  She wasn't sure who she was trying to reassure, him or herself. “We’ve just bonded, I should have expected it.”  Her hand caressed his cheek under the weight of his palm.

He wanted her, needed her to be his consenting target and his relief. Her eyes searched his, growing resolute but thoughtful. I will take care of you. He agreed, not that she believed it would be an argument she would lose, but she wanted him to understand it had been her choice and not a fate he just thrust upon her.

“To show me the stars...”  she completed his sentence and smiled, nodding softly. It made sense why he would choose a place that was solely his. It was somewhere he knew no one would come creeping upon which meant he could work through the Rut as safely as possible.  Pulled into him she took in a deep breath. Sloane did not make a regular habit of touching him just because, she also didn't keep her distance. Their relationship was new and with him constantly coming and going as he liked along with her inability to connect, she had not thought to seek out physical comfort too often. When he did seek it out, she found that she could relax even if it was only for a minute or two. This didn't feel like that, the purpose was different and they had not connected sexually, at least she hadn't despite how attractive she found him. Part of her distance was an excuse to figure things out.

She would have to put a rush on that.

“I'm not afraid of you. “ She blinked from her thoughts as if challenged and squeezed his shoulder. Strong, warm, real. Hers. He wouldn't hurt her, not on purpose. There he was giving her a way out, one last, pleading sweep toward the door. She had a chance to go, only one,  but she knew that once she confirmed her decision, there would be no getting out of it. His gaze lowered to the parted petals of her mouth, his thumb, calloused but not abrasive. Then his hand fell away, releasing her and she found that she wanted it back.

“No. I won't.” Tucking a ribbon of flaxen hair behind her ear. “I'm going with you. Let me collect some things and we can leave and get settled in your cabin. I'm staying with you.”

Minutes had passed and a thread from just beyond her chamber doors alerted her that the preparations were complete. Threads were exchanged between Stern, Prince Jonesson and herself with condensed instructions as well as a warning that no guards were to come remotely close to the Nivis hunting lodge. This disturbed Stern, but that is why Protocol reigned and matters such as Lorcan’s Rut were handled with kid gloves.

  Holding a hand out she motioned for him to stay where he was. The Emotional Healing could only smooth the rough edges for now.  Opening the door she found a bundle of items and no one in sight.  Sloane didn't have to look through the large basket or the twin packs that lingered with Lady Amandai and Katerina’s perfumes. Only women had touched the bags, good. Vanishing them quickly, she gathered the heavy coat by the door. A thick burgundy wool drape with a sable collar. 

That wasn't enough for Lorcan who quickly stated his expectations and what she needed to wear and followed her into her private chambers with barely a look around. Trousers, a heavy coat, gloves and he would supply any gear that they would need. Once she was suitably dressed, he seemed to relax a bit more, and it didn't escape her notice that there was far less of her flesh to focus on. A cloud of anticipation hung heavily between them, neither was really sure what to expect. “I'm ready, we should go.”

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #8 on: Aug 15, 19, 01:04:17 PM »
Control was an illusion when he was like this, Lorcan knew.  It was not like his anger or his need to violently make his opinions on certain matters clear.  He knew how to dance on the Killing Edge, and he knew that it was there waiting, and that he had to let it loose from time to time.  It was like a full bladder, you could ignore for a very long time, but if you wait too long, you’ll just be pissing yourself.  Better to let it go when the urge came, when it was necessary and called for.  Better to make clear to the other predators who you were, and what you were, rather than keep that too contained.  The Rut was different, it was an uncontrollable fire, it was a mindless, undirected need, with one focus and one purpose.  Even in the grip of his Coldest Rage, Lorcan was never mindless; brutal, violent, direct—final, but never mindless.
 
The Rut turned him into something else, and he was not sure that he liked who he became at all.  He did not want Sloane to think less of him.  He did not want to see fear in her eyes the next time he came to see her.  That idea alone made his belly tumble as though he were rolling ass over tea kettle down the side of a mountain.  It worried him, but Sloane was eating away at his worries with her reassurances.  She was whittling away at his concerns like so much soft wood with every pass of her Queen’s Touch, every ripple of her Craft, and every feather light touch of her soft skin.  His need was slowly carving away at his concerns, and soon all that would be left would be his desire and his need.  Lorcan gave Sloane every opportunity to deny this, to let him go, to save him from her, or was it her from him?  He no longer knew anymore.  Everything had seemed so simply just moments ago.
 
”I will not run.  I do not want to.”  Lorcan let go a ragged sigh, filled with a tumble of emotions, none of which he wanted.  ”There’s nothing normal about it.  Just because we know about it, doesn’t make it normal.”  The words held a touch of bitterness, but that fled his voice quickly.  ”It’s no one’s fault, Sloane, it just is.”  She still touched his cheek, and he turned his head slightly, taking her scent from her wrist.  Just don’t be afraid of me after.  Please, Mother Night.  Take anything else, but let her still be just my Sloane.  He smiled slightly, ”My stars, like I told you about.”  The smile vanished  under the weight of everything this Rut was going to mean for them.  It would, by no stretch, make a complicated Bond any less complicated.  It would change even that, and the Bond was still so very new, and so very real for Lorcan.  Sloane claimed she was not afraid of him, and for the briefest instant, he looked so terribly, incredibly moved by that simple statement.  Caught between tears and hunger, he simply swallowed, and growled, ”Good.”
 
Lorcan nodded when she told him there was no turning back for her  that she would be with him.  Sloane was his now and something changed in his perspective.  It was a slow and subtle shift, it was his instincts, his Territoriality, it was the predator recognizing that he had what was his, and it was time to go back to his lair with her.  He waited for her to gather her things, waited for her to declare that she was ready, and then he dressed her properly for their journey, for the short hike they would have to make to his lodge.  It was easier to look at her once she was swaddled up properly.  It was all Nivis furs and leathers, the best that could be bought, and perfectly tailored to her.  Lorcan had measured her somehow, and the gear was supple and warm.  He took her hand then and led her out of the house, he pushed his presence ahead of him like a battering ram, warning people to move and stay clear.  Lorcan took her out into the light snow, and for a time all they did was walk in silence, and then he gathered her close against his chest, and looked skyward.  They were drawn up into the Winds for a time, moving so swiftly across the land that it became difficult to think in seconds or minutes or hours.  One moment they were somewhere on her vast estate, the next they were on the side of the mountain at the edge of her District.
 
Lorcan led her along a clear trail to the lodge.  It would have been difficult for horses, passable for a good mule or donkey, perhaps.  It was tricky on foot, but someone had laid in a guide rope, and there was Craft in place to keep the worst parts from being too slippery or iced over.  The lodge was empty, as he expected, and as he pushed open the front door, laying his hand in a particular place to undo the Security Web his sister had put in place years ago.  The lodge burst into cozy life, a fire blossomed in the hearth that was clearly both for cooking and for keeping warm.  The furnishings were simple and handmade, cut from timbers that still had bark on them in some cases, but so deeply cushioned by pillows and furs that they looked inviting.  It was one large open room,  with a farm table that could seat six, surrounded by cabinetry and two deep sinks.  Opposite that was a large bed, also laden with pillows, blankets and furs.  It smelled of Lorcan, with older far fainter scents, and wisps of Craft, as though a Hearth spells lingered to keep the place fairly clean.
 
He closed and secured the door behind them, and for a long moment, he just looked at her as though he could not believe they were finally there, finally alone.  Lorcan vanished his gloves, and his coat, and then stepped towards Sloane.  Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered her hood, and undid the toggles of her coat.  He ran his hands beneath the fur and leather, and gently eased it off of her shoulders, where it vanished before hitting the polished golden hardwood floor and throw rugs.  Silently, unless made to stop, he removed layer by layer of the gear he’d had made for her, until she was standing there in that same dress he’d found her in.  Lorcan met her eyes now, he had no problem doing so, and whatever hesitation he’d shown in her home was gone.  He drank her in, one of his hands unconsciously settling against his own beating heart.  ”Here we are.”  He murmured.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #9 on: Aug 15, 19, 02:35:21 PM »
don’t be afraid of me...Please

The same six words raced through her mind. Over and over, replaying like the whispers of some memory crystal in her ear. They clung to the back of her thoughts like sticky sap, refusing to dislodge themselves. Try as she might to shake them, she just couldn't. Sloane had fallen silent and searched for some proof that he had spoken them.

don’t be afraid of me...Please

How could she reassure him when he hadn't said a thing. All she could do was tell him that she was not afraid and she meant it, with every fiber of her being. The bond was not what she had hoped for, it certainly couldn't be for him. She was weak, broken even, but he was hers and he would not harm her, she didn't fear him.

But she knew that a rut was its own beast as much as Blood society liked to look the other way, its rampages could be devastating. Sloane promised Lorcan in that moment that there would be no repeat of the events of Heino. His name would not be tarnished further, she would make sure of it. Once she was made suitable for travel they left the estate. Lord Stern was wise enough to ensure the guards gave them a wide berth, barely any could be seen.

The coat, pants and furs he provided fit perfectly. Instantly recognizing their make, she did not question where he got them or why they fit so perfectly. He’d looked almost insulted at her choice for a coat. They left the estate and then he was everywhere, all around, his purposeful strides taking them away. There was a claim in the way he held her hand, and for the first time she did not feel as though she was in charge, or holding the leash, nor did she feel collared. They walked for some time before finding the path of a wind and before she could ask for the direction he swept her up in her arms, crushing her to his chest and vanished into its ether.


When they landed, shakily and without a landing pad she looked around. It took a few seconds to get a clear idea of where she was, but not how much time had elapsed. She was seeing her District from a different angle, in a place where the rocks beneath her feet recognized her as its own, but it had not received her Gift. “How much further?”  She had asked as he led her down the path until they found a lead that would take them up the steep crags leading to the lodge. All at once she was grateful for the reinforced boots. A part of her wished they had a chance to admire the sights, only that was not the reason for the day trip.

It still made her feel out of sorts to have her day, Darkness, the next several days flipped on their head this way. At some point she became a creature of habit and schedules so as nervous as she felt, she also saw it as an opportunity...to.....there was pretty much only copious amounts of sex to look forward to. She wasn't a prude, that cherry was plucked long ago, but this was different, this was utilitarian, but t was also Lorcan and she had so much to lose.

don’t be afraid of me...Please

Taking in a deep breath they completed the hike up to the quaint cabin. He’d barely said a word, his countenance shifted from desperate need to a determined focus. Having consented, he had been of many of his concerns, except for maybe that one.

Sloane lingered close to the door, her gloved hands rubbing life into her fingers. He led her in and the lodge opened it to him. Where she expected to see a ramshackle hovel decorated with rams horns and cured furs, she found a rather quaint cabin. The table was rustic, but beautifully polished. The bed stood out like a beacon and she felt a knot roll around in her stomach. This was, so his, where he slept, where he prepared his stew and rested between hunts. It smelled like him. It was pleasant.

The hood slipped from her golden hair. She turned slowly just as his hands moved to her collar, so slowly that she found herself able to count the breaths in the time it took to pinch the toggles of her coat free. He slipped it from her shoulders, his eyes surveying her skin undisguised. Next came the sweater, up over her ribs and arms, vanishing each in turn. When he moved close her breath hitched, his fingers pulling the strings of her trousers and slipping them down, past the swell of her hips and thighs. The dress she wore before was short enough to have been tucked into them.  Shaking her hair back she met his eyes, unsure how soon he expected to start and finding herself momentarily unprepared. This was a different man than the one who had reached out to her with such need, hungry still, he was patient enough to enjoy his prize. For now.


She exhaled, the sight of him holding his chest and staring at her as if she were everything shook loose a tender smile. That look alone captured her long enough to reassure her she was doing the right thing. “Here we are.”  she agreed. It was difficult to pull her eyes from him. None of this was meant to be romantic, but somehow that small gesture made its beginning unforgettable.  Her eyes strayed to the corners of his mouth, his square jaw hidden beneath the soft whiskers of his beard. Lorcan was wild, but there was no doubt he was an attractive man. His coat was vanished along with his gloves, leaving only the rough leathers he wore beneath. She’d admired them in the past, they fit his torso perfectly, adding just a bit of bulk to his already muscular frame. She’d only had the briefest of glances of him as he slept that first night at the estate. His shirtless figure slung over the bed, beautifully. The tattoo on his back called for her fingers to trace, but she let him rest.  Stepping closer, she undid the buckle of his vest with a tink of the metal. Carefully she relieved him of it, taking her time to free him from the restraint, feeling his breath hold taught within his ribs. Once it was done, she peeled back the layer, his shirt pressed to his skin just beneath. She vanished the vest only after his powerful shoulders rolled it free. He rumbled as she knew he would, and she smiled, paying his kindness with her own. Her eyes traced a line down his chest, drawn to the subtle dip of the fabric and all the small valleys it smoothed against his warm skin. If he she continued to touch him he would lose the restraint she had gifted him with. She was curious to know when he would, but they were on his time table now.


Taking in a calming breath of her own, she glanced over her shoulder, then back to him, then back to the table as she took a dainty step towards it, turning fully. “This table... it's beautiful. I haven't seen one like this.” two fingers skimmed the varnished surface appreciatively. “Your cabin is very nice. It's cozy, as you said.” She conjured the basket and bags on its bench and looked around the room and up into the pinewood rafters. “How often do you come here?”  she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. It was warming in the cabin, but she could still feel the cold mountain air against her skin. The chill would linger for a bit while her bones drank in the warmth of the fire  Extending her arm she reached for him, beckoning him to take her hand. “Do you need me to stay close?”


Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #10 on: Aug 15, 19, 03:12:42 PM »
If there was a kindness amidst the Rut as Lorcan saw it, it was the fugue state that it induced. It was the fact that when it was over, all that remained were the consequences. He could only remember scraps, bits and pieces of what happened while he was in the grip of it. After Heino, he did not grasp the totality of his Rut-induced actions until after the fact. Men had died because they had attempted to do their jobs, to protect their Female against a predator that proved to have larger teeth than they did. Lorcan couldn’t even remember the fight, not really. His body bore the signs of a fight. Bruises, healing cuts, new scars, but none of that had mattered. For days he had claimed a Dark Jeweled aristo woman, a married woman. Blood Law held that the Warlord Prince was blameless, but there was blame, and there was guilt. Lorcan had managed to avoid that since.

Here he was with his Queen, with Sloane. She was like gravity. He was a homing pigeon, and Sloane was home. He would inevitable return to her, find her, protect her. He had been patient since that experience in the cavern, patient every day in between then and now. Sloane had accepted him, and he had accepted her, but he was much further along the path than she was. He would have to wait for her to come to him, and he would have to be there to meet her. Being by her side, being near to her was better than not being near to her. Every time he had left for aboveboard or under the table work, he had to force himself to focus, knowing that on the other side of necessary tasks, was his return to the Halston Ranch and to Sloane. There was and had been distance, but that did not seem to be the case now. Lorcan wanted to remember this, wanted to recall this time where it was just him and just her, and they could be together, Bonded Male and Queen, the mountain and the gentle snow that blanketed it.

He wanted to remember her just as she was. He hoped that he would. For once, he didn’t want to forget.

Lorcan stood back, and watched her shake out her golden hair. He could not have thought of anyone else if he tried. She smiled at him, and echoed the quiet words that had slipped almost unbidden from him. He smiled softly back, adding nothing. The moment was like a droplet of water sliding down a long icicle and hanging pendulous from the point taking forever to fall. He didn’t want to say or do anything that would cause that drop to fall and be lost in the snow and ice. Sloane looked at him, and it seemed to him that she was looking with different eyes, and then she stepped towards him and that droplet of water began to swell with new memory, new details that Lorcan was desperate to recall, to burn into his mind as permanently as the Nivis marked was burned into Sloane’s gear. His Queen removed layers of his clothing, running her hands over him just as he had her, before vanishing one article and then the next. He took a deep breath under her touch, his muscled chest swelling beneath her palms.

Sloane stepped away then, regarding him for a moment, the deep breath she took doing things to the way the fabric of her dress fell across her chest. The silver caught his eye briefly, but it was just an adornment to what his eyes took in. ”It is roughly made. I made it.” He gestured over his shoulder, ”Bear broke the last one.” He watched her move, watched her absorb the décor of the lodge, such as it was, rustic and simple. ”I’ve always liked it. I essentially lived here as often as I could, really.” Before the words were completed to her question, he had moved closer and taken her hand. ”Yes.” Was his simple answer, untarnished by confusion or uncertainty. It was always better when she was close, and it seemed to him that he would always need her to be. Lorcan squeezed her hand gently, and gestured. The cabinets opened, and revealed a stocked kitchen, likely with spelled spaces to preserve perishables. He then gestured at the hearth, and a cast iron door set into the rock beside it. ”I can even make bread. Not fancy, but fresh bread doesn’t need to be.”

He turned towards her, his hand rising to cup her cheek as he had done back at the Ranch, and once again his thumb traced her lower lip. He should have something to remember. Lorcan took a breath, and then he took a chance. He leaned down slowly, giving her time to—he didn’t know—push him away? She had already agreed to a great deal more, he didn’t know why he was still hesitant. Because she is precious, because she is your one and only Queen, regardless of all other things that might happen. Lorcan kissed her, soft but sincere, testing the waters before his arms slid around her and drew her into the hollow of his body.

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #11 on: Aug 19, 19, 10:04:03 AM »
Perhaps it was nerves that made her ramble, which was generally not in her character, or maybe it was the lodging cabin and the significance behind the location. He had immediately known where to take her and if she was being honest, it was not what she had expected. Sloane considered her tastes simple and comfortable, but she’d seen a weathered and drafty perch sitting on the edge of the mountain and not a place that felt like home. “Bear? Get a lot of visits from them?”  she gave him a skeptical smile, one that crept across the corner of her mouth and paused in question. “You did? I may ask you to make me one.” Of course he did. If anyone could survive in the untamed wilds and build himself some creature comforts it was Lorcan.  Impressed, she listened, taking slow steps around the room so she could take it in. It would have been nice to visit under different circumstances, but even so, she could appreciate the craftsmanship albeit briefly.

His hand enveloped hers, sapping the chill away almost immediately within their calloused but gentle hold. She looked around one more time, taking it all in, letting the walls speak and regale her with stories of Nivis family dinners and long stormy nights when the wind howled against the roof and the firelight shivered in the hearth. She could see him here, clearly, oiling his leathers, sitting at the table with muddied boots, looming over his meal like he sometimes did. He was painted in every corner of the room, even the one her eyes openly avoided. The bed looked comfortable, but she did not move toward it right away. When the rut wound itself around his mind, strangling all but one thought like some hungry snake they would see to it.

Well stocked with provisions, the cabinets were also organized. Her eyes darted to the small cast iron built into the fireplace when he called attention to it and said nothing her enigmatic smile didn't already say. The walls hadn't lied, this was a home away from home tucked away in such a remote place that one wouldn't even bother to look.

Feeling the tension in her hand she stopped mid-step and looked up at Lorcan thoughtfully. She told herself it was normal to be unsure, not of him, but of what was to come. She would enjoy herself as much as she could, how could she not. Chest tightening at the thought, she felt his palm brush her cheek and jaw. Inhaling softly, her mouth closed, his finger dragged beneath the swell of her bottom lip only slightly moistened. If she could feel his gaze it would be feather-light, she could mark its path by the sensations it drew up from her flesh. He leaned down, her eyes lifting to his nose, then down to his mouth her lashes swept the tops of her cheeks. It felt like an eternity when he descended, and while she knew it was for her benefit, she could not help but watch his lips part with lazy fascination. Sloane tipped her head back ever so slightly, then down until they were perfectly aligned. His breath was not sweet, but warm and fresh. Her lungs filled with the scent of him.

I'm not afraid of him. I could never be...He is mine.


The bristles of his beard brushed her face first before his lips found their courage and pressed to hers. The air felt so suddenly thin as he pulled her up into his elevation. Sloane reached higher, fingers sinking into the small hairs behind his neck, his skin was so warm, his body so solid and real. The bond felt faint still and she allowed herself for a split second to hope they would emerge from this with a new grip on it, if only for the sake of this one moment, if only she allowed herself to feel it.

Capturing his bottom lip gently, his hand pressed firmly to the center of her spine, the thin silk of her dress was in itself not a barrier. The taste of him, the scent of him...Darkness. His senses were open and she was pushed into a heightened perception of him. Lorcan encompassed her space, a comforting and at the same time terrifying presence, not because he had ever made her fear for her safety, but because he represented a new beginning. She had to start all over again, to trust and engage with a bonded who was not at all the one she knew. He didn't fit the mold that she recognized so wasn't sure how to make room. She had to relinquish control on that bond or watch it slip through her fingers. Worrying would not change the outcome.

They were together now. Her worries were hundreds of miles down the mountain, why should she let them track her into this sanctuary?  Once she had relinquished the fallacy of control she allowed herself to simply be, and relax against his body. The tension eased in her mind and she kissed him tentatively exploring his lips and the way she molded so perfectly into his broad chest. When he parted the kiss to look at her she opened her eyes and turned toward the touch of his fingertips. “A part of me says that it hopes if you remember anything, it's this.” He wouldn't, but she would not soon forget for both of them.

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #12 on: Aug 19, 19, 01:54:53 PM »
Lorcan shook his head slightly, his eyes on hers. ”Not anymore. The place hadn’t been used in a bit when I came along. It was just a convenient cave for him, until I came along.” There was a wide pelt on the floor in front of the floor that he glanced at, and shrugged very mildly. He nodded, his expression warm as he regarded her, but he did not share her good humored smile. ”I can do that. It is just a table and chairs, few things more basic.” He watched Sloane admire what amounted to his personal space, if not his home. His home had shifted to her ranch in his mind, in his heart. Lorcan was pleased that she seemed to appreciate its simplicity, and the comforts that it did offer. After a climb or a long trip of checking traps and hunting, this place was paradise at the end of the road, or close enough to it.

He kept the place stocked, and he had brought his sister and others there to spell the cabinets and other things, so that he could have pragmatic comforts. Lorcan never brought packages there, but it served as a personal touchstone, a retreat where he could prepare for those journeys in absolute privacy. He had hidden storage under the floorboards, which were wide and polished. Everything there spoke of who Lorcan was, and what it was he did, but it also put on display the things that he appreciated. Survival meant being organized, pragmatic, and logical, and that showed there in the lodge, but Lorcan also adored the outdoors, the mountains, and loved the mountains for all of that environments stark beauty and often hidden places that only a few, like him and like his Queen, had ever seen. It felt personal, as though they belonged to him, and perhaps through Sloane, they did.

Mother Night, give me this.

Sloane did not tremble or flinch away, she met his eyes for a moment, and lowered her gaze to his own lips, and that was really all the sign he needed. They met in a kiss that she must have long suspected was coming. The world contracted still more, which Lorcan had not thought possible, contracted and narrowed until the world was his Queen. He kissed her and the Beast within him stirred against the Queen’s Craft that still flowed through him. How often had he thought of this? When wasn’t he thinking of this? Since he had escorted her to the Territory Court gathering of Dark Jeweled fanatics and greedy hearts, he had seen her in another light. Sloane was unmistakably beautiful, in a land full of beauty, but that night she had surprised even him. It was all he could do not to keep her constantly shielded, or to take her out of a place that was obviously so uncontrollable and dangerous, he had not understood those urges entirely then. He did now. She filled his senses, which were also enhancing her senses, and she was not shy—she kissed him back, and it pulled at something in him, let the beast nos the cage open, and take her in.

When the kiss broke, he breathed a long sigh, as if she were a balm to a terrible wound that only she could soothe. ”I hope so too.” Lorcan’s voice was soft, low, intimate. There was only the two of them, but she doubted that anyone standing at arm’s length would have heard him. The words echoed in a way, through his senses connected to hers. Lorcan didn’t move, he held her close, his hands kept from her skin by such thin fabric that the warmth of his touch burned against her flesh, or it was her that burned beneath his hands. ”Fresh water comes in from the sink. It’s drawn from a snow melt cistern my Uncle and I designed.” He turned a bit, one arms around her waist, drawing her against his side, and he gestured. The bearskin rug slid aside on its own, and a panel popped up from the floor and slid to one side. The space in front of the hearth opened to reveal a large stone tub. ”Fill it with water. Throw the red stone into the marked corner. The water will heat up immediately.” Everything slid back into place, ”The cabinet beside the couch has salts and bath items, good for muscle aches and the like.” It was a sign of both his concern, and his awareness of what was to come, and how much the idea still troubled him, even if it would not delay him.

Then he took her hand in his and led her slowly across the room. The blankets and furs shifted welcome them to the large bed, and he turned to her before he sat upon it, holding both of her hands. ”I am alright, for now, but...” He growled as his words trailed off, and he shook his head. He took one of her hands and examined it, his calloused fingers tracing each of her fingers, and then across the place on her palm where she made her sacrifices. Very slowly, very deliberately, he loosened the silk dress she wore. ”I would rather that this didn’t begin so—so desperately. Even if—even if these moments will be stolen from me.” Lorcan slowly drew the dress up, taking care not to tangle up the amulet she wore, and by the time her vision was clear of black silk, she saw that he was as nude as she now was. He slid back into the bed, his back nearly against the wall it was tucked against, and opened his arms. ”I’d like to hold you for awhile, if that’s alright, for as long as I can.”

Lorcan hoped that between his honest desire to share with his and her Craft, that he could deny the Rut for just a few hours longer, perhaps as long as a day or more.  Surrender would come, but he would struggle with it if it meant collecting these stolen moments.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #13 on: Sep 10, 19, 11:38:13 AM »
His taste lingered on her lips, his breath was so warm it was dizzying. If they could stay this way a bit longer she might find herself faint. Sloane had never been a swooner, she was no wilting flower and it was a rare thing that a male could capture her attention so entirely, no, this felt as if she had come in from the cold only to step into a fire. The kiss fed a spark of hunger in her, one she hoped would fuel her in the days to come. His chest curved beneath her hand, he had held his heart in the exact same spot and she didn't realize how subconsciously it has strayed there.  I will protect you.

The oath was not far from her lips. Lorcan was an animal who could take care of himself. With or without her he would survive. He was built for it. What aegis she could offer was not physical but emotional. It was the rut’s nature to devour and when the dust settled it would be Lorcan who would awaken days into the future to realize its consequence. Not all ruts were the same, this she knew, though she had never been the prime focus of one herself, but she did know him, despite how insufficient she sometimes felt as his Queen, she was confident she knew the man. There might be a regret or two when the smoke cleared, she was sure she would not emerge fully unscathed. A bruise here, a small injury there, but while he might lament his decision, she could say without a doubt that when she looked at him again, it would not be with fear. That he would not have to face.

Their brows brushed as he pulled away and she smiled softly at their shared hope. The tips of his fingers pressed into her skin making her very aware of their placement. Even as he turned and gave her a stationary grand tour of the open room. There shouldn't have been much more to see, but that was not the case. The instructions were for her benefit as he was aware he would not be able to share them later. She watched the panel give way revealing the tub, blinked and shifted her gaze to him. The ingenuity that came with creating luxuries in such a small place was remarkable. “I was wrong, this is not a humble lodging cabin its a chalet.” Everything she needed was there, within reach. Time and Lorcan’s fervor would be the judge in determining whether or not she would get a chance to use any of it. Soothing bath salts aside, she had healing herbs she could snatch up during a lull if needed.  Reassuring him that she would be fine without knowing herself sounded disingenuous, she didn't say a word. Instead, she took to heart his efforts to prepare her.

That complete, he gathered her hand, leading her to the bed. The furs shifted away and she felt that nugget of hunger stir amidst some trepidation.  Her hand rested on his forearm, caressing into his hands as he sat and looked up at her. This was one of the few times she had ever looked down on him. Lorcan was tall and broad, imposingly so and it did not escape Sloane’s notice. He was rough around the edges, imperfect in the way that some Glacian males worked so arduously to avoid. Any Warlord Prince was a danger to others but some wore carefully tailored disguises of civility. It fooled no one. Prey could sense a wolf no matter the pricey suit it wore. Lorcan was comfortable in his skin, he didn't have to try, which made when he did that far more staggering. He looked good in that suit though.

“I know.”He studied the line of her hands, fingers tracing, then up the velvet flesh of her wrist and arm to her waist. The sash synching the silken dress around her waist gave way, fluttering down between them. The held breath caught in her throat. She wanted to tell him they could begin however he liked, but she saw the merit of beating the beast to the door. The dress inched up her skin leaving a trail of soft kisses in its wake. Her vision clouded she felt her panties spelled away, but there was no bra beneath.  Naked and unabashed, she looked down to find him bare as well. Brushing the hair from her eyes she watched as he flexed back toward the bed. Her eyes refused to leave him. Surveying the land promised to her as she would the earth beneath her feet. Her fingers itched to trace every line of ink on his skin. Lower still, she admired his musculature, but most impressive of all was his restraint, though he was not found lacking by any means. Shifting on her feet, her hip rounded as she studied him for a long moment. Unlike him, his Queen was lean, but muscular beneath toned, pale skin. Physical labor did not take its toll but instead worked in her favor. Sharp collars framed an exquisite neckline, her breasts were full, dotted with pink but not so weighty that they were cumbersome. Her stomach was not flat but had a gentle dip. Her arms and legs were slender but athletic. The unity between strength and not softness did not always call for harsh lines. Though she admired his.

Lorcan grasped at what he found most precious and in that moment and every it was her. He would remember her, even if he had to burn her into his memory. She rounded the bed, her pale blue eyes never leaving his until she was at his side. One knee dipped into the cushion, then the other. She reached for him, folding herself into his embrace until his nose nuzzled the crook between her neck and shoulder. The furs were pulled back into them and she wrapped her arms around herself, holding his while he molded his bare chest to her back. Of all things, he just wanted to hold her which brought a broad smile to her lips. With all other concerns aside, he’d chosen to wrap them up at the moment. “It’s more than alright Lorcan. It’s better than alright.” Unable to break her smile she sighed into the warmth of him. His lips brushed ear, his chin resting near it. The thought dawned on her she tilted her head, looking toward the living space but not at anything specific. “We didn't have to get naked for this, you know that right?” With some light humor she turned her head, wriggling into the cushion so she could look at his face with playful accusation.


Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #14 on: Sep 10, 19, 12:32:03 PM »
It was not entirely a surprise that Sloane kissed him back, though it was very pleasant to Lorcan’s senses that she not only returned the act, but allowed herself to feel it as well.  He did not know  if this would bridge the gap that existed between them, the one he so patiently waited for her to cross, but he thought that maybe it wouldn’t hurt.  Connected to her as she was, via his Craft and hers, he felt the way the kiss moved her, and she was well aware of how it moved him.  She pressed her hand against his chest where his heart beat beneath her hand.   The Sapphire Warlord Prince felt her possession, felt her desire to protect him, and while that warmed him, he also knew that her protection, her concern would only take them so far.
 
There was a reason he seemed to stare at her, to appreciate every line and curve of her face and form.  Lorcan wanted to remember this, wanted to remember her as she was, and as she felt inside of this moment.  The Rut had created a very specific frame of context, for good or for ill, and as much as Lorcan saw nothing but danger and even tragedy ahead, there was also opportunity here.  His care, his tenderness, his restraint bolstered by her Craft, was all fueled by a kind of desperation.  He was attempting to win a race before it had begun.  He was trying to get ahead of the inevitable whirlwind that would scatters not only his memories, but the solid self-image of who he was.  Lorcan would be like someone else, like some monster out of folklore, for a space of time, he would be absent.  His flesh would be present, but that in his view that thing that made him Lorcan Nivis—would not be.  That made every moment more precious to him than any chunk of gemstone.
 
Lorcan smiled slightly when she admired the hidden tub.  ”It is pragmatism and comfort.”  He showed her a door to the left of the fireplace, a water closet with the necessities, which supported his statement.  He moved with her, guided her to the bed, and was grateful for the fact that there was no hesitation in her step.  There was nervousness, anticipation, but he found no fear in her, no real trepidation beyond what was natural for such an enormous step in their relationship, one forced rather than chosen.  She told him she understood, and allowed him to undress her.  It gave him a chance to really see her, to really look at her, to study the curve of her hip, the athleticism in her frame, the way the muscles moved beneath the smooth skin of her thighs.  Lorcan regarded her as he waited for her to join him, and while there was heat in his gaze, unmistakable and as palpable as hands upon her skin, there was also the sense that he was memorizing her, capturing her as indelibly as possible in his mind.  A sculptor would have had less focus than Lorcan in that moment, a painter less desperation.
 
Sloane joined him, and he folded her against him, held her so very close, that every inch of skin that touched hers seemed to burn.  He breathed her in, that spot that seemed to beckon to a Warlord Prince screamed for his attention, and he gave it.  He nuzzled her, brushed his lips against her skin, his beard rough accompaniment to that caress.  Lorcan closed his eyes and brought all of his regard, all of his focus, mundane and psychic to bear on her, and pressed against her with gentle urgency.  He sensed rather than saw her smile, as the fingertips of one hand circled over her skin.  She turned towards him, her expression surprising in its playfulness.  His bantering reply fled from his lips the moment his eyes found hers, and she was greeted by a reverent silence, before he broke that moment with a kiss.  He touched his forehead to hers when the kiss broke, ”I know. Naked is better.”  He kissed her again, and encouraged her to complete the roll towards him, and he pressed her close, his hands slowly caressing over the long lines of her skin, from the outer curve of her breast, to the curve of her hip, to the long toned length of her thigh.  It was the searching touch of a blind man carefully learning the shape of her, because he did not trust his eyes alone to capture and store the perfection of his Queen.
 
Lorcan lost track of how long they laid together, kissing here and there, slowly caressing, but mostly just basking in the presence of the other.  It was a closeness he had long hungered for, a completion of their Bond that was, he knew, imperfect still.  Just once, just this once, perhaps The Rut would actually gain him something, rather than take it all away.  He breathed a long warm sigh against Sloane’s skin, and murmured, ”I will make us something to eat.  We should have something before…”  Before he lost all control, and all the choices, all the opportunities evaporated.  ”Stay warm.”  He had no trouble rolling them over, taking her gently and briefly over his body, and settling her on the other side of him.  He favored her with a small smile, and slipped out of bed, standing up with a ripple of muscle.  He took a deep breath, looked over his shoulder, and tore himself away with obvious effort.  Lorcan conjured something like a kilt and wrapped it about his waist in the same way one might wrap a towel around them.  As he approached the kitchen cabinets and drawers opened as he began to prepare to cook for her.  ”How about a hearty omelet?” 
 
She had seen, and could see the ink of his tattoos star against his skin, as the dancing firelight of the hearth played across his frame when he moved across the main part of the room.  Lorcan looked back at her as used Craft to fire up a small cast iron stove, setting a heavy frying pan on top of it with butter to heat up.  Hands that wielded axes seemed to wield kitchen implements with equal ease, as he began to deliver on his offer.  Vegetables were brought out and chopped in short order, sausage links—likely venison, were browned and chopped up just as efficiently.  Lorcan was quick, efficient, and tidy, but she still noticed the light dance off of something in his hand.  He used a hunting knife to cut things down to size, and the hilt of that knife had been polished, shaped, and wound artfully with braided twine.  The hilt was a familiar chunk of amethyst and sapphire, turned into something Lorcan used almost every day.

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #15 on: Sep 10, 19, 12:37:49 PM »
She felt his touch, both physical and psychic on her skin, the latter felt like a heated blanket swaddling her in its attentions. Her hair spilled over his arm, pooling in the crook between the cushions and the muscular bicep she used as a pillow. When she turned toward him, he seemed surprised by her playfully chafing commentary and looked at her for a long moment before responding with the heat of his lips. She returned the kiss once more, arrantly. When he pulled away and offered no excuse she laughed softly. “A better opportunity” she added in lazy rejoinder, watching as his lips descended toward hers again, her neck tipping back to welcome him.  Rolling onto his side, she breathed him in, the scent of hickory perfumed the cabin, his cologne was fresh and she marveled at it. Lorcan used the bond to aid her handicap and moments like this, where it was just he and she without the noise and distractions of the estate, she could almost feel what it would be like to dip herself into that bond. Mine. That tiny, distant voice whispered. Fingers curled into the soft hairs of his jaw, filling her breast with him until it felt as though her chest would burst. When he parted, she licked her lips and rested her head on his arm.

They lay there silent for minutes, or hours, until the sun over-ripened through the windows. He touched her skin, caressing her waist, ribs, the small of her back. Lorcan found passages and routes that no other man had ever taken the time to explore and with such reverie that it called to the part of her Blood that demanded service. It was the touch of a lover or a sculptor searching for rough patches of marble where there would be none.  His lips brushed hers, the tips of her shoulders...traced the line of each collar in turn. Sloane kept her promise and mapped the line of every visible tattoo on his chest and back until he growled seductively in her ear sending a swarm of tiny bumps up the center of her spine.  Mostly, they laid there smiling at one another, truly enjoying the act of simply being together. It was more intimacy than she had ever been comfortable sharing.

Sloane rested her eyes for a long moment, the sound of Lorcan’s beating heart a lullaby until he spoke and she nodded. Having something to eat would help and she nodded understandingly, then chuckled as he rolled her up and over him, effectively leaving her tangled in furs. “Speaking of things that are unnecessary.” She scolded him again as she lay on her back and brushed the messy hair from her face. “Do you ever do anything simply?” she asked, rolling onto her side, the blankets tucked beneath her arms and propping herself up on her elbow. Her head canted to one side as he walked away. There was a dimple on his buttocks.

“Sounds wonderful.” She approved and watched him move about the kitchen gathering everything he needed. There was something cathartic about watching a burly, handsome man make her breakfast, or was it dinner? Something so wholly attractive about watching him enjoy contributing to her comfort. That and she did not disapprove of the kilt.  When he looked back and caught her staring she raised her brows at him shamelessly.


She had just been studying an old scar on the back of his right rib when the glint of crystal caught her eye. She recognized the rare amethyst right away, only now it was polished, its colors brighter and now adorned a steel blade. “You found some use for it. Is that also only for pragmatism and comfort?”  Sloane smiled, pushing the blankets off, she stood conjuring a short silk robe. Tying the belt around her narrow waist she padded over to him. The cool air kissed her legs, but otherwise, the cabin was comfortable. Reaching around him she stole a piece of tomato and popped it into her mouth. 

Instead of sitting on the bench, she made herself comfortable on the table, bare knees pressed together, her elbow resting on her thigh with her chin propped as she watched him work. He was absolutely captivating. Her eyes strayed to his long brown hair with the slightest curl. “Have you ever considered cutting your hair? If you have, I'd like you to cut that out. What are you making exactly?” she asked nibbling the tip of her finger.

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #16 on: Sep 10, 19, 12:46:16 PM »
Lorcan smiled gently.  ”Entirely necessary.  You get to stay in bed, and I get to have you close.”  He looked over his shoulder, feeling her regard.  ”I tend to be fairly direct.  That’s why I had to fix a stable roof.”  Which he had done.  One of her Landen could have done so, but he insisted on performing that particular repair himself, though he did ask the carpenter if he had it right.  He didn’t want weather getting and dripping down on the horses.  He rather enjoyed the sight of her tangled up in his blankets, and she apparently enjoyed the sight of him.  Lorcan wondered if she understood what a gift that really was, under the circumstances.  ”I’m glad.  I am a fan of breakfast at any time.  It’s just—satisfying.  A belly full of eggs and steak, or griddle cakes and sausages—they have a way of lating.”
 
He was deep into his cooking prep when he caught on to what Sloane was referring to.  ”Oh, yes.  I wanted to keep it close.  It’s pragmatism and a reminder, so all of the above.  It took some work, but I’m fond of it.”  He smiled at her, his voice was rich and deep, and somehow gentle in this setting, as if it were part of his overall restraint.  He caught the movement of her getting out of bed from the corner of his eye, and turned towards her.  He was about to tell her that she didn’t have to get out of bed, but the words were stolen away, fading quickly.  She wrapped herself in a small robe, and he regarded her trying to decide if he would let her keep it, when the butter in the pan popped and he caught the edge of the splatter.  It pulled his attention back to what he was doing with a small growl, and a self-deprecating chuckle.  ”I’ve not seen that robe.”
 
She sat on the table behind him, and when he turned towards the frying pan to check it, while cracking eggs into a bowl with one hand, he paused a moment to catch her eye.  Sloane was very different here, alone with him, whether it was the Rut or not, he had a new appreciation for his Queen when she was just being herself.  She was always a Queen, always his Queen, but they were far from the Court, and he had forced her to put aside her worries.  Lorcan considered that he might have simply replaced her burdens with a different burden altogether, but he banished the thought, he could sense more than that from her.  She was enjoying herself, or trying very hard to.  ”Cut it?  No.  It’s sort of Nivis tradition, at least for Warlord Princes, and there are only a few of us.”  He smiled at her, ”An omelet.  Like I said.”  He didn’t get to that right away, instead he reached out and moved her finger, and stole a kiss before he continued.
 
Lorcan had made plenty of omelets if the way he put just one together was any indication, this one had homemade well-seasoned venison sausage chopped up into it, tomatoes, onions, green peppers from somewhere, and cheese he had to chop into cubes before he folded it all in.  He made the first as the potatoes he had chopped up and seasoned fried in another pan.  In little time, there were two plates, each one with an omelet swollen with the meat and vegetables within, and browned potatoes.  He set them on the table, passing close to her each time, his hand sliding slowly over her thigh with each pass.  Lorcan then made them coffee, though this time he conjured an already hot pot, and poured them each a full mug, putting out cream and sugar.  He cut a piece of omelet away with the utensils that were already on the table in open jars; forks, spoons, butter knives.  He blew on it, and presented the morsel to Sloane for her to try.  ”Tell me what you think.”  Lorcan met her eyes, ”Maybe I can make you one when we get back—“  He took a breath, and simply said it.  ”—home.”  Because as much as he loved the lodge, home was where she was.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #17 on: Sep 11, 19, 11:51:16 AM »
“You haven't seen many of my clothes.” she responded coyly on the edge of a faint smile that looked anything but. The robe was soft and comfortable. She had taken only what she felt she would need and would be useful to have on hand. When he slept she would be able to move about and sitting naked on different surfaces wasn't always comfortable. “I've noticed that about you, direct and to the point. Though this breakfast thing is new. We’ll have to inform the kitchen that you're a breakfast man.”  Tightening the ribbon around her waist she studied the dagger hilt as best as she could from this distance. He called it pragmatism, but she could argue it was sentimentality. There wouldn't have been anything wrong with that, except that she liked that he carried it with him often. It was as if a piece of her was with him at all times. Her rutting male maintained an iron-clad awareness of her movements even if it was just from the bed to the table, he couldn't help but keep her within his line of vision. 

“Good. It suits you. I think if it was short I wouldn't be able to recognize you.”  There was no denying he was handsome, even with his hair cropped she could not see that changing, but he liked that he didn't conform to Glacian standards of beauty even as a male. “There is a whole lot going into that omelet.” Moving her hand away from her mouth he leaned in and kissed her. The sound of the eggs cooking and the moisture popping from within the onions called his attention back. Lorcan was showing her a more tender side that they had not yet gone around to experiencing together. He was trying to put her at ease as much as he could, knowing that soon enough that would change. She hoped that the affection was not solely for her benefit, but because he wanted to express himself in this way when they were alone.  At the estate, there was always some distance. As his Queen, Lorcan was busy and when they weren't, they tried to stay active. Even alone she made certain they were always slightly distracted, may it be over dinner, or reading. They didn't have this much time on their hands, that and the troubling state of her lack of sensitivity where the bond was concerned troubled her to the point of distraction.

They didn't have much of a choice here but to make the best out of the situation. The best was actually pretty good. “I can't cook a damn thing. I thought I mentioned that once? I wasn't ever taught, never had a need to. Watching you make it seem so easy makes me even more certain I'm not cut out for it.” She watched with some fascination as he plated the food and inhaled deeply.  Twisting around on the table, she lowered herself carefully onto the bench facing in the right direction. Slipping the plate before her she looked down, inhaling the rich aroma of sausage, eggs, and fried potatoes, his hand slid along her thigh each time he set something new before her. She smiled at him, tilting her chin down and watching him from the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure what was more distracting anymore.

When he settled, and she stirred her coffee, he cut a piece of his own omelet and extended it for her to taste. She did so, straight from his fork slowly. Still hot, she lifted her hand to her lips, inhaled to cool the eggs and nodded her head several times before the words could form. “Delicious. No, wow, really, so good.” The staff always tried new and inventive ways to create meals for her, but something hearty like this, could replace all the poached eggs and tiny pieces of spinach and sauces that were thrust upon her. “My father used to make things like this on the weekend mornings when my mother went to court. It was our ritual. Anytime I visit he makes sure to have griddle cakes on the table and potatoes like this.”  She missed those days, sharing something simple but so precious with the people she loved.

The coffee was hot and sweet the way she liked and she nursed it in her hands for a long moment as she studied him. He was looming again, over his food, without diverting that previously mentioned awareness. She smiled pensively as she considered him and ate their meal. “You will definitely have to make this for me. I'm going to decree it. Make it official.” He looked at her as she took a bite of the savory potatoes and smiled a bit more. She had called the estate ‘home’ several times but he never repeated that, until today. “Good.”  Sloane wanted it to be home, to share that space with her bonded. For a Queen as territorial, as she was, that was a huge step that Lorcan might not ever understand.  Sloane had taken exception with anyone imposing on her space and her people with a Warlord-Prince like ferocity. It was not a side he had seen yet, but in time would come to light. He was a part of the home that she had built now, and she needed him to be a permanent fixture in it, at least in spirit.

They ate, and while the meal was delicious and best of all filling, her blue eyes always found their way back to him, especially when he was focused on his plate. She considered what it would be like in the coming days, how he would feel, how he would touch her and the attraction she felt and had given little thought to that now spilled over into her eyes. She knew the man whose savagery would keep her company was not the same one who sat across from her now. Teetering as he was between the calm of her Touch and the rushing falls of the rut, he was still Lorcan.  Sloane considered what -she- wanted and if anything could come from all of this.

Reaching across the table, she took his plate, stacked it atop hers and stood, moving to the sink to deposit them. She’d made the decision before acting. There was so much about the rut that wasn't within her control, but this was her choice alone.  She moved back to him wordlessly and touched his beard with her fingertips.  Standing between his knees, she stepped as close as she could until the soft silk of her robe brushed his bare abdomen. Fingers sank into his hair, her eyes lowering to his lips, then back to his emerald eyes. Closer still, she tipped his head back and brushed her nose against his in a gentle nuzzle. When he moved to kiss her, she pressed a finger on his chin keeping him at bay, but only just. The anticipation built with the taste of his breath, he touched her and her hands moved to slowly pull the lace of her robe open but not completely off. They had time, but she didn't want to wait for him to be lost to his impulses. “This can be home for a little while. We are on our own timetable, and I'm ready now, Lorcan. “ She kissed him then, breathing in the taste of him with a soft whimper of need.

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #18 on: Sep 11, 19, 12:11:19 PM »
Lorcan glanced at her, ”Well, we spend a lot of time outdoors. Between the furs and this robe, I’ve become fond of this robe.” He mirrored her small smile with one of his own, and gave a slightly shrug, before gesturing around them. ”The mountain doesn’t care about niceties. Survival requires being direct.” He chuckled, but the sound of it was new to her, warm and more intimate than she might have heard before. ”My Uncle says that inside every good hunter is a good cook, or that there ought to be.” He smiled at her, his gaze smoldering, his expression warm. ”I learned how to cook from him, and he claims I’ve been better at it than him since before my Offering, so I did the cooking back then, and still do from time to time.”
 
 
The hair kept him a little warmer on the trail, particularly his ears. There was weather, cold weather, that didn’t care about hair or hats, but he kept his hair all the same. ”Well, if I keep letting it grow you’ll have to make time to braid it or something.” It was only half a joke, there were only a few better ways to spend his time. ”All part of a good breakfast, I promise.”  Lorcan smiled again, ”Breakfast at any time, not just for the first meal.”  He could see that she was interested in the hunting knife, so he wiped it clean, flipped it easily and caught it by the blade, so he could show her the hilt.  He had polished it, probably by hand and Craft, and he had used the natural shape of the chunk, which lent itself well to this purpose.  ”The blade I had forged.  I worked with the smith to attach it properly.  The braiding around the gemstone is for grip, and my doing.”  He let her hold it, and run her fingers over the smooth steel and gemstone, before he took it back to finish cooking.
 
 
Lorcan tilted his head slightly, ”I can show you.  Once you find a couple of things you like, just focus on those and branch out when you feel like.”  He shrugged an gestured, ”I’m not doing anything difficult, other than maybe the folding of the omelet, that was a lot of trial and error—a lot of scrambled eggs with fixin’s.”  He touched her now as often as he could, small caresses, small touches, all of them stolen moments and absconded seconds to be remembered, or so he hoped.  They sat together to finally eat, and his smile brightened when she clearly enjoyed the food.  ”I can make griddle cakes.  I will do that for you.”  It seemed like such a fond memory of her Father, he would gladly give her a part of that back.  He could feel it in their Bond, even if that gentle knowledge wasn’t evenly exchanged.  Lorcan chuckled, that same warm, quiet sound.  ”You needn’t make a decree.  I can cook for you whenever you like.  It would give me something to do that didn’t involve checking the fence line.”  She seemed pleased that he considered the ranch home, and he hoped he remembered even that.
 
 
They ate, and the silence was companionable and pleasant.  He ate with one hand holding a fork, and the other hand idly caressing the smooth skin of her thigh.  He wasn’t even really aware that he was doing so.  Touching her skin somehow made the currents of her Craft more real, bolstered them, and deepened his patience even as it fired his desire.  He didn’t want to sink into that need, that wild ravenous hunger, not just yet, and so he continued to wrestle with it, mitigating it by touching her skin, by keeping her close.  When the meal was done, and the last bit of coffee consumed, Sloane surprised him by clearing their plates.  He would have done that, it was part of his taking care of her, but here his Queen wished to take care of him—he could not take that away from her.  She was trying, and that meant a great deal to him.  She surprised him again by returning to him, turning him in his seat, and pressing against him.  She loosened her robe, and he could see the lines and curves of paradise waiting beneath the thin fabric.
 
Sloane kissed him, so very close, skin to skin now, his hands guiding her robe further open before he knew that he was doing so.  Lorcan listened to her as though his entire life depending on hearing her soft voice.  It was a simple declarative statement that went beyond just agreement, or just care, or just being in the moment.  His Queen made a choice, and that choice was him.  Lorcan growled softly, touched by all of the sentiment made clear in those few words, and he returned her kiss with a soft urgency, his hands sliding down the backs of her thighs, and pulling her onto his lap, guiding her into straddling him, his kilt suddenly gone.  He kissed her deeply, his hands running firmly down her back, his fingertips pressing against her skin with desperate possession.  His fingers slid into her hair, easing her chin up so he could crane his neck and kiss her throat, her neck, and he shoulder, his beard teasing a coarse trail across her soft skin.  His hands filled with her breasts, even as his lips lowered and found the tip of one, teasing it to taut life, as his entire body trembled with his need.  ”I want to remember…”  He whispered against her skin, so soft, it would have been easy to dismiss, and then he urged her center against his, his body already prepared for hers.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #19 on: Sep 11, 19, 12:37:11 PM »
Hers was not a decision she would regret. Sloane felt strengthened by the knowledge that in her care, they could ride this storm together.  Drinking in his scent she felt his immediate reaction, a slow, rumbling need rose to the surface and he pulled her to him, closer still.  Idly he pulled aside her robe, letting it fall to the ground and pool at their feet until she was once more bare before him. Strong fingertips brushed the canvas of her skin, painting uneven lines down the center of her back, over the swell of her buttocks before pressing firmly but guidingly to her thighs.

Pulled by his gravity, and perhaps unaware of his own strength, her legs spread around him until she was straddling his lap. Her kisses grew heated, cupping his chin, then the back of his neck, she sought to immerse herself at the moment. In him. For as long as he could maintain his faculties.  He wanted to remember her and by now it was a prayer in her ears.  His hands roamed until she felt consumed by them, kneading and touching every surface of her back, legs and ribs in worship. There was an undeniable strength in his touch that she had not expected, not because he was rough, but because he had the potential to be. “Focus, on the now. Stay with me for a little while.”  She whispered as his lips sought the taste of her throat and his fingers sank into her hair. Lips wrapped around her nipple in a warm, delicious press,a  shivering breath was his reward.

Slender arms wrapped around his neck, fingertips pressing into the grooves of his shoulders as his lips worked the sensitive nub of her nipples in turn to dizzying effect.  Beneath her this mountain shook, forcing the Queen, his Queen to draw him closer. Even now he restrained himself, wanting so desperately to memorialize the moment. “I can remember for the both of us. Today is safe with me. I promise. “ she gasped, blinking so ease the enraptured haze from her eyes. If there was one thing she could promise him it was that as long as she remembered, this night would never be lost.  One hand moved to his cheek, her back bowed elegantly, her body so perfectly fitted against his like a puzzle piece until she relinquished his fevered kisses and looked up at her.  Tracing the line of his jaw she pressed her brow to his, the soft hairs of his beard tickling her sensitive skin. 

Sloane could feel her own desire feed into the urgency of the moment. It built and built through every soft caress, and every unexpected touch. She knew that neither of them would be able to control themselves in the next few moments. It was not only Lorcan’s flame who could blaze bright, though in time he had the potential to engulf her own. Pressing her knees into the wood, she lifted herself just slightly, her fingers gently wrapped around the hilt of his length, gently stroking as she guided him to the smooth folds of her sex. She could feel his tremors, hear the low, dangerous growls spill over her lips as she hoovered there. If there was one moment she wanted to remember clearly, it was this.

Slowly she sank back onto his lap, his length parting the petals of her lips. She moaned, low and deep, her mouth parting with a silent gasp as she quivered and kissed him deeply. Lorcan’s hand’s gripped her flesh with more firmness as her hips began to rock, her shins braced on the bench, she ticked the base of her spine in toward his pelvis, taking more of him into her and then relinquishing with every slow but eager sway of her hips. “Lorcan.” Her back arched again, grinding against him until all there was only him, surrounding her, deep within her body, and the scent of his arousal in her lungs.

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #20 on: Sep 11, 19, 02:00:47 PM »
His, she was his, all his. For the moment there was only Sloane and only him, and that had never really happened before. They were on his mountain, in his cabin, surrounded by extensions of himself, and the only thing that made him feel at home was the woman in his arms. She was his Queen, the focus of his Rut, and she was his will and strength inside of all of that heat that he felt for her. Lorcan had already been somewhat fascinated by the Bond, not infatuated like a boy might but, honestly fascinated by the Craft and magic of it all. Sloane was everything. He had been warned about the Bond as part of his training, and growing up attached to a large, successful aristo family. He had been told that it would feel like everything involved in falling in love, only it would happen in an instant. They had not been far wrong. Lorcan should have known Sloane would pull his focus, that she would be the object of his Rut—his most basic desires—how could she not be.

He wanted her like his lungs wanted air. Wanted her like his heart wanted to go on beating.

Once she made her choice clear, once Sloane declared her own desires, making her a part of Rut, a willing participant in whatever was going to happen, there was only so much he could deny. He ached to touch her, and so he did. He starved for the feel of her skin against his own, so he got rid of those fabricated obstacles. She kissed him, and whispered to him, and gave him access to her flesh with grace and patience. He focused as much as he could, focused on not rushing the moment. He had her, she was no going anywhere. He did not need to ravage her like she was going to disappear if he did not couple with her immediately. He did not have to lose himself, not just yet. Lorcan could lean into her Craft, hang onto it desperately, and let it keep his hands moving slowly, but wantonly over her body. This was a hunger that no amount of food would satisfy, a soul deep, animal-instinct driven need for everything that Sloane was, Queen and woman and HIS.

Sloane promised to remember for the both of him, but that was not enough. He wanted something for himself, and he expressed that with the heat of his kiss, the desperation of his hands. Safe, she promised them safety, and he believed her. He had to believe her, even as his lips blazed a trail over her pulse. She cupped his face in her hand, tracing the line of his jaw, teasing her fingers through his beard. His hands never stopped softly exploring, moving over her curves, teasing her body. Lorcan gasped when she took hold of his hard shaft, caressing him even as she guided him into her body. He growled softly right up until the moment when she sank against him, and the growl was interrupted with a low moan of pleasure and relief. It was as though this was where he was meant to be all along, deep inside of his Queen. She leaned back slightly, sinking against him, and he sighed as he kisses her again and again. Lorcan leaned her back slightly, letting her ride him as he favored her breasts with his attention, before he pulled her close again. She rode him slowly, unhurriedly, and he let her set the pace.

At first, Lorcan was able to let her retain control, let her set the pace, even as his hands found her buttocks and squeezed tightly. He pulled her against him, so she took him into her deeply each and every time. He kissed her hungrily, his lips finding places on her skin, from her clavicle to her chest, to the side of her neck and the lobes of her ears. He pulled on her hair, tilting her chin up and leaning her back, so he could tease her breasts again, her nipples finding their way between his lips or between sharply tugging teeth. Lorcan’s hips bucked against hers, eager for her, eager for every sway and return of her body, until he could no longer keep himself entirely in check. He rose to his feet, Sloane still riding his spear, and put her back against the wall, thrusting into her firmly, grinding against her and finding new depth trapped as she was by warm stone and timber. ”Sloane.” He growled against her lips, part reverential prayer, part declaration, part warning.

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #21 on: Sep 13, 19, 02:16:27 PM »
The way his hands moved over her flesh, molding her against him was dizzying. He touched her with desperation, with a need that rose up from deep within him. She could feel that desire faintly in the bond but she didn't need it to know what was already obvious to her. Had all her sensations been open she would have been overrun, she was sure of it. He kissed her, where didn't he kiss her? All at once and everywhere, there he was.  Her hands slid into his hair, molding her body to every rough, delightful inch of his skin. 

They were in constant movement, shifting the placement of their hands and lips, though she often pulled back enough to allow a shallow gasp of cool air to fill her lungs. He felt like the heat within the mountain to her, he even smelled of it.
 
The moment she allowed him entry into her most intimate places shed tensed, reveling in the sensation of his lance parting her lips, the ecstasy of his body pushing through those velvet barriers to fill her was sublime. Her lips found the curve of his neck when he pulled her against him. The tender pink nubs of her breasts throbbing warmly from his attention.  She set the pace at first, rolling her hips, riding him at an even pace if only to milk more of those delightful growls from his throat. Fingers pressed into the round of her buttocks hard and she could feel his restraint withering away. Sloane knew the moment she began this that the hold she had on him would be fleeting, he wouldn't break through like a wild man but ease into his hunger with a rising crescendo.  He filled her and she tended her fingers at the base of his hairline drawing her hips high and bringing them down smoothly upon him.

That low imperious growl rattled against her bones and she clenched around him just as he gathered the back of her knees and pulled her back so once again his lips could soak the warmth of her sharp collar and full breasts. He paid extra attention to those portions and she smiled to herself, learning a little more about her bonded without having a single word exchanged. She whispered his name and that only spurred him further.

Sloane knew the second he lost himself in the moment when the gentle coaxing of her Touch had completely faded and he threw himself headlong into the rut. She gaped and yelped with surprise as he stood and suddenly her back was pressed to the cabin’s wooden wall, the breath rushed from her lungs as his lean, muscular body held her aloft and thrust suddenly deeply up into her. Sloane gasped behind a tangle of blonde waves, fingers digging into his back, his growls were a muffled warning against her neck.

Lorcan breathed her name into her lips. She could make out the desire and the warning within them. He speared and her body jerked upwards with a loud, ragged moan. In that moment, her name was a stamp, HIS even when he was lost to the rest of the world and all that remained was her body and the sweet heat of her depths. The cord was cut and the beast set loose.

“Yes.” The permission was granted. “More.” and encouraged.  He ground his hips into hers and she felt him press into her very limits. Pulling his hair back she covered his mouth with her own, whimpering harshly as he lost himself, not in the killing edge but in this manic need that would drive him for the coming days. Pleasure coursed up her spine, his pelvis crashing into her swollen lips just perfectly so. Tightening her legs around his hips, her arms hooked around his shoulders in the same manner, even as the tips of his fingers dug into her bottom leaving reddened indentations in her pale skin. “Mine.” she murmured hungrily into his lips, her hips grinding every time he brought her down against him.

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #22 on: Sep 17, 19, 10:40:33 AM »
Even as he entered her, even as his shaft slid home into Sloane’s body, some part of him was trying to resist the downward spiral into the full grip of the Rut. Lorcan felt a little more confident about how things would proceed, not about his memory, he could hope, but he could never know how far his mind would sink. He was feeling more confident about Sloane’s safety, about his treatment of his Queen while in the grip of this primal urge, this animal need. It would be no less profound, no less urgent, but he felt that Sloane had eased him into the start of it, pulled it forward with her desire, the heat of her body, and the way she welcomed him. There was no doubt that she wanted that, that she was less of a target and much more of a participant, and that was meaningful to him. Lorcan struggled to hold onto his memory of her in this moment, the sounds of her pleasure, the motion of her hips, but they slipped away from him, tattering and melting away like thin paper in a hard rain.

She encouraged him, accepted him, he legs twined about him, accepting every motion, and hungry thrust of his hips. Permission had been granted before this, but her words set him free, and control slipped away. Lorcan was subsumed by his most basic nature, his most primal self. If the Blood were the children of a Dragon, as folklore and legend implied, with their Jewels the scales, then the Sapphire Warlord Prince was more draconic predator than he was a man. Even at the Killing Edge, even over the Killing Edge, he was always Lorcan, but this was different. His eyes burned emerald bright, and the fire behind them burned for Sloane, for his Queen, for her body, her Craft, ALL of her. He claimed her on his feet, his hips grinding against hers, pressing her had against the wall behind her, every return full of the desperate need to be inside of her, to be one with her, to feel her wrapped around ever part of him.

Lorcan’s hands gripped her thighs tightly, supported her as his hips moved against hers. He kissed her as though he were drinking her in, drew on her tongue and her lower lip, nipped and nibbled along her neck, all while thrusting into her again and again. He growled softly before he found her lips once more, his kiss deep and hungry, the passion for her bottomless and all-consuming. When it seemed that his hips would become far too bruising against hers, he moved again, everything on the table disappeared. Lorcan pulled Sloane away from the wall, and laid her down on the table, his arms slipping beneath her legs, his eyes burning over her body as he arms lifted her slightly so he could push back into her with deep urgency. Sloane’s hair was a golden halo spread about her face across the table, he body rocking with his thrusts, her hips rolling to the rhythm of his starved need. He groaned softly, the growl interrupted by the sight of her in that wanton state. He settled one of her legs against his shoulder, his teeth nipping at her calf, as that not freed hand caressed down her center line, or kneaded one of her breasts, the tip caught between his fingers.

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #23 on: Sep 17, 19, 03:14:10 PM »
Even as the delicate skin of her back scraped against the cold wall, her focus rested on the male who entrapped her against his form. Lorcan was powerful, she had known this since their initial meeting. He had the brute strength and survival instinct to be terrifying enough but as a man capable of extending his force through sheer will made him even more dangerous.  She gasped against his ear, her head tilted back as her lower body was slammed into the wall by his hips. Where her eyes could not fill with him, her hands sought blindly, smoothing over every dip and bulge of coiled muscle, the steam of his breath scalded her throat with the promise of long, sleepless nights. She shuddered, hooking her ankles around his waist as if trying to draw him even tighter against her skin until they were melded, seamlessly together.

They kissed, his mouth seeking hers out like a man-made desperate with thirst. He growled into her throat and she made a small sound of alarm, his hips driving him home just then deep into her slickened petals. She could have him like this the entire time, there was a heightened sense of arousal peeked by the danger he posed. Everyone spoke of the volatility of a Warlord Prince’s rut, the animalistic nature of it that sent them tumbling headfirst off the precipice of their own humanity, but rarely did they consider that Blood women shared the same Blood, the same instinct and it sang sweetly against the ragged growls of their lovers.

Sloane broke the kiss if only to catch a breath, her lashes heavy, his shaft hammering into her as she gripped to him or risk being swept away.  It was a silly thought considering he would sooner lose his arm than have her taken from him in this moment or the next.  Pulling her free from the wall she gasped, feeling her bodyweight suddenly void of support. Her skin flushed a pale pink down the center of her back, his arm anchored around her waist, keeping her against him as he moved.

Fingers tangled in the back of his scalp, the other arm hooked around his shoulders though there was little fear he would drop her considering the ease of his steps. It had barely registered that the table was cleared before he set her down, almost softly on the cool, polished surface, grasped her legs, lifting her hips flush with his own and filled her once more with his full length.

Hips and buttocks raised from the table, his fingers once more gripped her flesh and he sank deeper into her. A loud, surprised moan escaped her lips then.  She tried to raise herself onto her elbows at first, her body slipping back against the smooth surface, her pale eyes meeting his, following the line of his body, the way a thin vein snaked around his arm, disappearing into the muscle, how his skin glistened with exertion.  Her stomach tightened, clenching around him with the spring of every thrust, that hard stop that made her breasts bounce and her hips coil upward.

A leg up on his shoulders provided an altogether different sexual vantage. Dropping down on her back she reached beneath her thighs, hooking her fingers into the end of the table to keep herself from slipping, the action drew her shoulders back and her chest up, her back forming a elegant curve, perfect for his wandering hands. They splayed over her admiringly, wantingly, capturing the pert nub of her breast against his fingers as he filled her with his body and his eyes. 

Lorcan moved faster then sensing the desperate need that wound itself into her scent and seeing it clearly written on every tremble of her lips and on the edge of each moan. Teeth and lips grazed her leg before grasping the ankle and tossing it across his chest and shoulder, spinning her violently onto her stomach. Sloane smiled to herself amidst a tangled vine of pale hair and let her toes touch the ground, and lifted herself off the table. He was behind her, still buried deep, she could feel his breath against her neck, her chin turned toward her shoulder to meet his as he slammed his hips into her from behind, an arm wrapped around the chest, the other gripping her hip, she ground herself against him until her vision blurred and she cried out. Lorcan took her, giving her but a taste of what was to come until the room was filled with the sound of their bodies coming together and the breathless harmony of their union.  Though he would lose himself to the rut, it did not mean that he let go of who he was. Lorcan reached between the bridge of their bodies,  a finger swirling against the sensitive pearl of her sex while he speared her. Sloane had not expected such, mouth agape she shuddered violently, drawing maddeningly into the sensory overload he supplied. Her body tensed, lips and body throbbing with need until the wave of pleasure struck them both resoundingly.


Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #24 on: Sep 17, 19, 03:22:53 PM »
Lost in the moment, Lorcan could already tell there was something different about this Rut. He was with the person he had focused on, that was something new. He had not fled into the mountains or gone to a Red Moon House. His needs were being satisfied by the woman he wanted to have satisfy them. Not only that, she was his Queen, and her Craft and her presence seemed to mitigate the usual sense of sexual starvation that always enveloped him when he was in the Rut. He was a little more conscious of his actions, even if they were a little gentled, and still entirely driven by all-consuming base and primal instinct, he felt a little more present. He was not entirely himself by any stretch, but Sloane was a variable he had never before encountered, and it made a difference to the ravening beast that he became in this time. Lorcan was still ravenous, but it was tempered somehow, safer by increments because Sloane was who and what she was to him.

It was him, and it wasn’t, all at the same time. He was consumed by his need, there was desire as well, which added something to the overall inferno, but the overriding factor was need. Lorcan did not just want to couple with Sloane, he needed to with all the urgency of a species trying to survive. It was as desperate as it was powerful, and rendered all the more intense because his Queen, his partner, was meeting that need with a hunger and desire of her own. Whether it was the Bond that seemed to infect her with elements of his Rut, or if it was simple lust on her part, she never faded away from him, never flinched, never moved away. Whenever Lorcan reached for her, she was there, meeting him thrust for thrust, kiss for hungry kiss. He moved her, and she moved with him, and when he thrust himself back into her body, she pushed back against him, eager to receive him. Lorcan had resisted the finish for as long as he could, taking her to the wall, from there to the table, and then flipping her over, all of which Sloane did without hesitation or anything resembling complaint.

When they came, they came together, his arms around her as his final thrust made the table scrape over the stone floor. Lorcan grunted and ultimately cried out as Sloane’s body tensed and collapsed around his length. She rested more heavily against his arms as their bodies stilled and Lorcan’s hips twitched, his manhood spilling into her. He groaned softly and held her there, one hand still low on her body, the other across her chest, a hand on the opposing breast. Lorcan worked his hips slowly for a time, still hard and hungry for her, but satisfied for the moment. He held her there until their shuddering forms began to still, and until they could both breathe a little easer. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out of his Queen, and turned her about. He kissed her with undiminished hunger, and then picked her up in his arms to carry her to his bed. Lorcan carried her into the bed, laying down with her when they arrived, keeping her within the circle of his arms. He caressed her slowly, as though he were memorizing her body and where she liked to be touched for later. He kissed her lips, her neck, her shoulders, her skin slowly, idly, before he embraced her to rest for a moment.

Lorcan did not sleep. For over an hour, he was either exploring her, simply holding her. He briefly gave her room to conjure items and use Craft for whatever purposes she needed, but he did not let her leave the bed or move away from him. After some time, as if some internal switch was thrown, his touch turned into something else. Where before, he seemed intent on the peace and security of her presence, his hands caressing her, the energy began to change. Gradually, his touches became more sensual and erotic. He didn’t simply caress the curve of her breast, he cupped it fully in his palm, let his thumb play over the tip, or captured it with his lips. He pinned Sloane to the bed, so he could seemingly kiss and run his teeth over every inch of sensitive skin along her center line, or around it. Lorcan kissed the mound of her sex gently, before he began a return trip to look her in the eyes, his his fingers parting the folds of her sex, and teasing her. He smothered her pleasure with his kiss, as he brought her across with just his fingers. Assure of her readiness, he gave her a moment, before he positioned himself between her legs, and entered her, his body pressing hers to the bed, his hips grinding against hers as his harms slid beneath her, his hands gripping her shoulders as he pushed deeply within her.

And on it went from there.  That first day and night, he lost track of time almost as soon as they were alone in the lodge.  They entered into a steady rhythm of rest, of care and even gentility, before another round of sex that was as erotic as it was athletic.  Lorcan remembered what pleased Sloane, at least in the midst of things, he knew where and how to touch her to signal a renewal of their commingled desire.  For him, it was an imperative written deep in his bones and in his psyche, on his very soul, but for her it was something else, and he seemed determined to coax her desires, to inflame her passions until they approached a similar imperative.  Sloane kept pace with him, and some hours into the Rut, they found a stride that worked for them.  It was hours, certainly a day, if not more before Lorcan’s gentle care of her body eventually surrendered to actual sleep.  When he did finally close his eyes, it was shortly after making her scream his name for whatever time it was, he let her collapse against him, his hands on her bottom as she had ridden him to this latest end.  He held her there, the fingers of one hand curling into her hair.  Lorcan held her there, enjoying the weight of her body on top of his, and the scent of her post-coitus, and as he softly kissed her shoulder and neck...slowly fell asleep.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #25 on: Sep 17, 19, 03:26:16 PM »
Sloane’s body ached. Every micro section of her overly stimulated skin thrummed with the memory of Lorcan’s calloused hands, teeth and tongue pressing in some form to her, into her. Were this any other time, were she in her home with a male such as he shared her bed, she would have been sprawled out at his side purring like a well-fed cat during those quiet moments. Only this was a rut and not some casual tryst spanning the length of a day at most. No, when Lorcan finally succumb to sleep, it was her time to rise.  She slipped from beneath his arm stealthily, gently lifting his wrist with two fingers and setting its weight over her pillow.  He would notice she was not in her place, some territorial voice in his head would beckon him to awake and take back what was his. So she lulled the beast with tendrils of her Touch, at least long enough to tend to herself.

Sloane remembered where he had indicated the tub would be just a day? Two? Prior. Time had a way of speeding past when their bodies tangled together. She immediately felt the soreness in her wrists and along her inner thighs and sought the sealing herbs in her bag, mixing them with water quickly and drinking it down. She snacked, famished from exertion and carefully lifted the board where the tub was cleverly hidden.

Lorcan stirred and she stood still like a deer, watching as he grasped her pillow and brought it in against his chest with crushing intensity before burying his face in and inhaling deeply.  A sheepish smile crossed her lips watching her Warlord Prince simply relax again.  Drawing the bath she did as he instructed with the heated stone and slipped inside. The hot water greeted her skin with a clap of sensation. She shuddered and sighed. Sloane wasn't sure how long she had sat there soaking up the heat once her hair and skin had been thoroughly scrubbed but it was long enough that her absence had been noted.

A low growl roused her from her meditation. She opened her eyes with a soft gasp to find Lorcan, dark hair loose and wild, the length of which snaked over the bubbly water as he stared at her. Somehow he had managed to step into the tub without her notice, barely disturbing the water and now lowered himself onto it.  His hands clenched on the floorboards before snatching her waist and pulling her toward him. He didn't rise from the water, but rather stretched his legs and pressed her hard to his chest.  Sloane straddled him, her heart racing, his lips sought out her skin with another low growl that rattled its way through her spine like static. She cooed softly at him, touching his neck and shoulders as his fingertips dug into her buttocks possessively.

The bath had done her wonders. Rejuvenated, she wrapped her arms around his neck, his hand sinking into the back of her neck, taking a fist full of hair and drawing her head back as she lowered herself onto his ready manhood and took him into her once more.

The next day went on much the same, his hunger grew and with it she found her own eagerly following his steps. A male his size and strength could easily overpower her, and he did several times, but there was a part of Lorcan that however rough, was equally eager to please. She yearned for him when he slept, but took that precious time for herself when she could. If he stirred before she was done, her Touch helped soothe him, long enough so that she could finish, or he could eat.  On the third day, she awoke to the sound of popping grease and the scent of food filling the cabin. For a moment she was utterly confused but looked up to find an astonishing sight, Lorcan was cooking. Surely the rut had not passed yet, but she rose, wrapping a white sheet around herself and mussing a hand through her tousled hair. Sitting at the table, she watched him, her lips slightly parted before she decided it was ridiculous that she wasn't speaking. “What are you making?”

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #26 on: Sep 18, 19, 11:07:25 AM »
If Lorcan had been asked to describe the Rut he would have said it was like steering a ‘handsy’ runaway wagon through a blizzard with visibility reduced to just a few feet. The wagon was his body, the hands were his own and hungry to touch and explore, and the visibility was as close as a kiss. There was no control, not really, all he could hope to do was hang on and ride it all out. There was rough terrain, and a road he could barely make out but he could stay on, but that was about it. All he could do was keep the wagon from total disaster, and then hang on. Regardless of what his higher mind thought about the whole thing. The images ran through his mind and were gone, one athletic sexual session leading into another, and none of them remaining long enough in his memory to leave a mark.

He could feel the scratches down his back left by his Queen and focus, he could feel where her nails had left crescents in his skin, or where her teeth had bruised flesh. These were all small things, but large clues to what had happened, even if he did not remember the specific moment he had come by them. Every Rut had its moments, however brief, of clarity, and for the first time, he lamented this one. When his eyes had opened to find his Queen beside him, he had a surge of warmth and real feeling for this woman while she rested so very close, and he tried to remember how things had begun, and how they had continued, and other than a general sense that they had coupled powerfully and often, he could not. It bothered him, left him wishing that the lucidity had never come. Better to ride it out to the end than realize what he had lost. Lorcan regarded Sloane, and quietly checked to see how she was doing, before he was satisfied and slipped out of bed.

The Sapphire Warlord Prince was relieved he had not done anything permanent, nothing that would need a Healer right away. He disliked the bruises he saw, well, some of them. Others he could frame a series of events around, and those did not bother him as much. Lorcan breathed her in for a moment, and then slipped out of bed to go and cook for her. It was an instinct, a need to take care of her, and to do something different with his hands, at least for the moment. He didn’t bother with adding a kilt though, he remained bare, clothes would just annoy him, but he did put a low-end shield in place to protect parts of him from the splatter of grease. He decided that he would make her venison steak, he had some, and it was an excellent cut. He began with onions, wild onions helped just about everything, and once those were right, he sliced up and added a number of mushrooms, and prepared a plate with greens. The steak had to be just right, cooked, but not too, hot through the middle, but tender.

Lorcan heard Sloane stir over the sound of grease popping. He turned his head slightly so he could keep an eye on her,. He growled softly at the sight of her as she sat up, wrapped in a sheet, running her fingers through her hair. She asked him a question, but he didn’t answer for a moment. He was just watching her, before he caught on that he really ought to answer. ”Venison steak, for you. For us. It is almost ready.” He took a breath, ”You should come to the table.” Two mugs appeared on the table, and then a jug of her own beer, one he must have gotten a hold of when he was at the estate. ”This will help keep your strength up.” Lorcan watched her get out of bed, and when she reached for a robe, his growl got a little louder, he could not even say why for certain. Finally, he tore his gaze from her, and kept his eyes on his cooking. ”Are you alright?” His tone was gruff, laced with his growl, but also terribly sincere.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #27 on: Sep 18, 19, 11:27:56 AM »
The cabin air felt a bit stuffy. Sloane was used to venturing out to her paddocks or the safety of her barn and tasting the wind as often as she pleased.  Her home was warm, inviting and smelled of sweet hickory. While the cabin was located in a very remote area of the mountain, they had not ventured out. Other than watching the snow drift down in tufts of fine powder from the window on the first night she had not felt the sun against her skin for the last three days.  It was comfortable, and inviting to be indoors, but she found herself missing the soil beneath her feet and in her fingernails from time to time. Sitting idly had never been her strength and the rut was certainly strenuous enough to leave her utterly exhausted. 

It was why she had not noticed Lorcan stir this time around. She must have fallen so deeply into sleep that even he could not easily rouse her.  Watching him in the kitchen, she wondered if he had even made the attempt.

Tucking the corner of the sheet under her arm she chose to ignore the disapproving growl for her own comfort and settled at the table as he instructed. Lorcan watched her, naked standing statuesquely as he prodded lightly at a piece of steak. The aroma of cooked onions was sharp and aromatic. It sliced through the scent of well-charred meat like a knife through butter. Together they were perfectly matched to stir up her carnivorous appetite. She realized, almost offhandedly that she had primarily subsisted off of sandwiches, fruit, and dried meat due to her own ineptitude in the kitchen. To her credit, so much time had been spent tiptoeing around her sleeping male to provide herself with even the most basic of care. Cooking was not really an option, so it was even more mysterious to her how Lorcan had regained his faculties just enough to set his mind on those details, even if he had forgotten his clothes.

Her hands wrapped around the mug of beer and smiled, still cold, and took a ling sip. The foam gathered on her cupid's bow disappeared with a swipe of her tongue. He must have liked it enough to save for later.  Sloane watched him turn back to his task, he was not himself but he also was? His scent was different, pungent but not distasteful, heady and raw like spice against the back of her throat. She realized then her senses were open once more and the only way that could happen was with Lorcan’s assistance.

“I am alright.”  she admitted, not wishing to alarm him. “Nothing a bit of care can't fix.” She underplayed some of the initial discomforts only because it would serve little to be so honest with him at the moment. Though the guilt would be quickly forgotten, there was a possibility her pain could appeal to a more predatory side of him. “I'm good Lorcan. Just a bruise here and there.”  She glanced out the windows over the sink. It was dusk, the sky was clear with streaks of purple and amber-like a watercolor painting. Perhaps after they ate she would open one up and let some fresh air into the room. It smelled like sex and sweat in there. Not that she minded, but the mountain air could not be compared. “How do you feel? Are you tired? You must be hungry. I tried to make you eat several times, you did, but not nearly enough.”

Taking another sip of her beer she curled her shoulders forward, resting her elbows on the table. It was still cleared save for the mugs.

Offline Lorcan Nivis

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #28 on: Sep 18, 19, 02:10:49 PM »
Even as Lorcan growled, he smiled slightly at the small display of rebellion from Sloane. He would have preferred her as nude as he was. Instead, he forced himself to pay attention to what he was doing. He felt her move through the room, and was pleased that she was moving closer, despite the sheet that she used to cover herself. He conjured the beer that he knew she would like, and on some level, he knew it would go well with the steak. It would be filling, and provide her with the sort of sustenance that she needed to keep up with him. He was hungry as well, he knew, though that discomfort was a distant thing to him at the moment. She enjoyed a bit of the beer, just as he was plating the steaks, and covering them with onions, mushrooms, and a bit of fresh garlic.

He looked up at Sloane when she declared that she was alright, as if wanting to see the truth of it in her eyes or her demeanor. He nodded slowly, and grumbled something under his breath, before he brought the plates to the table and sat beside her. One was for her, and one was for him, both of them had a healthy cut of steak, laid out on wild greens, covered in mushrooms and onions. It smelled fantastic, the aromas of the meat and fresh vegetables mingling into something that smelled as hearty as it must be to eat. ”I am fine.” She was unlikely to be able to hurt him in any way, unless she fought him, and he was grateful that was something that was terribly unlikely at this point. Lorcan gestured, ”Eat. Eat. I don’t...” He trailed over, his hand finding its way to her thigh, where his fingertips lightly caressed her skin. He shook his head slightly, and brought his hans above the table to start cutting the steak into chunks. ”I don’t know how long this moment will last.”

Lorcan began to eat, not hurriedly, but there was nothing casual about the orderly way in which he devoured his meal. It was not the slow enjoyment of the hunter reveling in his success, but neither was it the wolfish swallowing whole of bites as though someone might take it away. He ate with intention, tasting his food, but not wasting a lot of time over each bite. He drank the beer to wash it down, and there was the sense that this was probably how he ate when he was gearing up for a climb, and he wasn’t sure where his next home cooked meal was coming from, or when. Lorcan encouraged her to do the same with his hungry, wild eyes. He could meet her gaze, but his eyes would invariable wander, until he scowled at her sheet. ”When you are done. I would like some fresh air, but you must come with me.” The lodge smelled of good food, but also of sex and effort, and the bath salts that Sloane had been using to ease her pains.

Offline Sloane Halston

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Re: Hermitage Interrupted
« Reply #29 on: Sep 18, 19, 02:27:22 PM »
She wasn't sure what he had said as she wasn't certain he would repeat it if she asked. Instead, she gave him an inquisitive look, offering him the opportunity to express himself if he needed to.  The last thing she wanted to do was force the rutting Warlord Prince to do anything. It was like living with a caged animal that was docile as long as you let it do what it liked.  At least for now.  Her fingers rubbed her wrist idly when she assured him she was okay. A bruise here and there would heal. The bath had helped ease much of the soreness from her aching muscles last night before they were once more put to use.
           
Sloane didn't think she had ever smelled something so good in her life, which was otherwise privileged due to her Caste and upbringing. Try as she might to surround herself with landen and Blood who sought an honest days work for an equally honest living, she had never considered herself anything less than privileged. She was a Dark Jeweled Queen in Glacia, she could try and put herself in the shoes of the working poor, even better their lives, but she would never fully comprehend what it was to be them.  Landen and Jeweless Blood were treated well in Glacia, far more than their Light Jeweled cousins. A familiar pang struck her gut then, but it quickly faded to the more pressing hunger she felt.  Inhaling deeply, she glanced over to him as his hand slid up her thigh. He was having difficulty controlling herself, even though she had soothed him once during the night. Still, he had roused and gone through extraordinary effort to feed and tend to her.

“Hopefully as long as it takes me to eat this.” She said, watching him for a moment before turning her attention to the steak fully. She ate, pausing only at the first bite to inhale through her nose as she chewed. It was the first cooked meal she had in days. At this point, the sandwiches and dry rations could not even hope to compare. Sloane speared several tender mushrooms and enjoyed her meal, pausing between bites to thank the Darkness for a male who could cook. His Queen was ravenous. Cutting small bits of steak, picking out pieces of vegetables and enjoying the meal between long sips of cool beer. “I'm firing my chef. You won't remember this part, but you've volunteered for the job.” 

Taking a moment to reflect on his words, she glanced in his direction. He was nearly done, a bite or two at max. He had taken to his meal like he did with most tasks, efficiently. As if reading her thoughts, or at least her mood, he stated he would be going outside and if she joined him, she had to stay close.  Sloane smiled softly, pleased by his perceptiveness or whatever dumb luck she had and nodded softly. “I would really like that. Let's let the cabin air. You can show me a around your mountain.”  They wouldn't wander far, that was obvious, but they didn't have to. Sloane missed the sun in her hair and the bite of a Glacian breeze against her skin. “I will be dressed though. Just a bit.” She promised. Though it was unlikely she did not want to wander into anyone else in the nude. That alone would trigger a violent response from Lorcan, especially considering there wasn't any guarantee that clothed the result would be any different, it made her feel better. Lancing the last of her steak, she ate and stood, turning her back to him so she could pull the sheet off and conjure her robe.  Wrapping the ribbon around her waist she waited for him to finish.

Lorcan’s hand dwarfed hers, his grip perhaps a bit more firmly than what was necessary. Sloane stayed close at his side, especially when they first slipped from the cabin. With a bit of Craft she pulled the kitchen windows open and allowing the cabin to inhale the mountain air.