hades/persephone dream thread - duplicity

[unabatedly]

from here

Ereuvir:
It becomes very clear, though perhaps only slowly, that he is driving her deliberately closer and closer to the brink. He's taking his time with it, no hurry, though he will go easily and smoothly wherever she sees fit to move him. When she isn't, though, when she's holding back or trying to hold herself still, he's relentless about his own pleasure in this, which seems to be to taste as much as possible of her. He clearly prefers his tongue over his teeth, the better to savor the textures of her, but wherever it seems to drive her the most crazy, he'll easily nibble just a little bit, graze his teeth maybe a little less gently, soothe that space with his tongue a moment later.

Still, he's definitely ramping up the intensity, not so much trying to get her to come as trying to get her to chase for it, push him to the right places. Each time she does, she discovers he is unsurprisingly relentless, until there's really nothing to do but surrender to the inevitable.


Neria:
She isn't certain what to make of it all, the way he practically traps her in her own pleasure. Guiding him will get her what she wishes but drawn out, savored; letting him do what he wants nets her the most pleasure, though not always precisely at the focal points. He's goading her sweetly and taking what he wants, and Neria does her best to stave herself off only because she wants to feel what he wants, wants to lose herself in the sensation of denial, but even that is a game she doesn't want to waste too much time on.

No, eventually, she's meeting him halfway, going after her own pleasure once she can't stand it any longer, when her breaths are coming quickly, hitched in her chest. Her fingers, once content to drag through long tresses of his hair and to cradle and caress the back of his head, do more to coax him to the places where she knows she'll come undone. She feels the coil of pleasure rise up through her legs, leave her quivering. Practically bowing over him, she comes with a quiet cry that is for his ears alone, swallowed up in the utter silence of the wood around them...save for the faint rasp of her own breath.

She doesn't buckle, surprisingly, but her grip is tight on his shoulders to keep her balance while she rides out her orgasm, keeping him there for just a few moments longer before she loosens her hold.


Ereuvir:
He returns each quiet noise with one of his own, encouraging moans and soft sounds, like he's coaxing her to it rather than the relentless force he's actually displaying, once she meets him there. It turns to a purring, pleased noise as she shakes through her orgasm above and around him and he keeps teasing at her through it, until she's shuddering a bit with it afterwards.

He tips her over a moment later, the fall controlled though it may not seem to be. She lands in his cloak, not in the snow, and while there's no residual body warmth to soak up, she'll find it's plenty thick enough to keep her from the cold, that it warms to her own heat and touch. She's not liable to spend too much time considering it, though, because Ereuvir follows her, leaves her bereft only in that he takes a moment to look down at her, expression still hungry. He licks his lips, not quite showy but a lot more like an animal, deliberate, and then he grips her dress at the tear he'd already made and rips the entire thing open, almost casually. They are gods. It can be mended.

It's more important for him to get his mouth on the rest of her, a heated trail up that starts where he was previously and trails up over her belly, teeth scraping more frequently now as he works up her body.

"You're warm," is what it sounds like against her skin, a better compliment than one to her beauty. They are gods. They are all beautiful.


Neria:
She half tips over and half falls right into the open arms of his cloak, which cradles her as Ereuvir climbs up and tears the rest of her dress open. There's a momentary shift, not a flinch but something else that's caught like surprise, and then he comes down to her, starts to roam over the rest of her body. Neria tries to hold still, really she does, but the scrape of his teeth over exposed flesh draws up goosebumps, makes her shiver with anticipation and desire and excitement. With something that could be taken for a laugh, her fingers weave into his hair, over the back of his neck, and any piece of clothing he's still wearing that she can reach, she's trying to nudge it off or open so she can at least touch more of him now.

"You say that like you've never touched anything warm in all your days," she murmurs, giving him a long look from beneath her lashes. Her fingers find the little catches of muscle over his shoulders, his back, and it's here that the warmth feels like it spreads outwards. Surely that can't be right - she's a goddess of spring, not of warmth - but it feels like sunlight over his skin as he drags his mouth further, further up.

When at last he's close enough, Neria is reaching to draw him down so she can kiss him, to drag her teeth over his lips and nip at them. Her hands go exploring again, down his sides, his ribs, like she's trying to map out a world just by touch alone. He is cool to the touch but never cold and she presses to him like she might look for shade on a hot summer day. Her mouth falls to his jaw, sampling there with a smile.

Comments

[unabatedly]

Her expression seems uncertain for a moment, easily smoothed over. It's a question for after they get into town, she thinks, to press him more. She seizes on the rest and manages a laugh. "I don't know if I'd be able to dip between worlds so easily. Or that a summoning ritual back here wouldn't require me to be a little less corporeal. As much as I'd be delighted to haunt a magister or two, perhaps we can try without for the time being. Unless you know some way to slow the flow of time so we wouldn't be gone as long?"

It's hard to tell if she's being serious. Maybe she is. There's a glitter in her eyes that speaks just a little too fondly of adventure and the unknown, a spark she hadn't often shown in Duplicity, not when there'd been so much responsibility on her shoulders. Neria might not be free of that now but she certainly has less of it, at least formally.

As they approach the town, she's slow to release his hand, but she needs it to better guide them through the gates and through the cramped streets. Things are quiet, many homes dark, but there are a few people milling about that pay them some mind, watching them with caution. When they reach the center square, she brings her horse to a halt and swings down, leaving it with him to go speak with a few people. Wary, two speak to her in hushed tones, one of them looking more and more relieved the longer they converse. They point beyond the town, towards the ridge, and Neria glances in that direction with a hardened gaze. After a time, she nods, they speak more, and then she returns to him. Taking hold of the reins, she tips her head, leading the horses down another street.

"There's a place we can stay for a time. It's not much," she says quietly, by way of explanation, seeming not to want to say further out in the open. "We'll need to get wood for a fire and food."

[notcharming]

"I doubt you would need to be non-corporeal to return using my own magic. But you might be gone longer than your liking. It's hard to save a world you can't reach, after all," he teases back.

He lets her handle the people of her world. He's comfortable in a great many times and places in his own world, but he's aware he's an interloper here and doesn't want to make trouble.

"I think we should be able to make do," even if she remembered Duplicity, it's uncertain if she would fully comprehend how little work they might actually need to do to make somewhere livable. He's not about to just go throwing magic around, just in case there's some way to track that here, but then, he's also fairly sure that they would be long gone before anyone tracked them to here anyway. Still, better to not talk about any of that out here anyway.

[unabatedly]

"I'm certain we'll be fine," she assures him right back, and the comment slips out easily enough that it's hard to know if she's just shrugging off the idea of a little hard work or if she does remember, and she doesn't elaborate as she guides both horses to the barn nearby. She reaches up a hand to help him down - though he doesn't need it and she knows it - and gestures for him to follow her. "I'll take care of the horses while you get settled. There's likely firewood around to warm the place up and then we'll figure out what to do."

The home she leads him to is on the outskirts, small and dark, the inside of it quaint and threadbare with its offerings. Either a large family once lived here or several people working in the mines and this was a home for its workers. There's nothing discernible to the eye on first glance, though the back rooms might offer more. It's the the stillness that feels unsettling when she enters, and Neria looks around for a lantern or anything that might have oil to offer them. With the sun going down, it'll be dark soon.

"When the magisters and their ilk settled in, they quickly took hold of some of the mining operations. Some have moved on already." There's something else there, something she wants to say, but it can be given freely later when there is less to do. Neria finds a lantern and lights it with a flick of magic, bringing it over to the fireplace to examine what's left. It's there that she finally turns to him, as if realizing: "How obvious is the magic you do? If we pulled the curtains, would anyone be able to realize what was happening in here?"

[notcharming]

He absolutely takes her hand and the help down and if he pulls her a little closer in the process, well, they both knew that would happen, too. There's just an air about him, like he's near to desperate to be in her space, to touch her, but it doesn't seem like either obsession or some kind of possessive, dangerous thing. It's just immediately and fully obvious how much he adores her, has missed her, and even when he's holding himself completely in check, little moments still slip, like the way that once she makes contact, of any sort, she always has to be the one to break it, like he would rearrange the world to keep her hand in his until she needs it elsewhere.

Ereuvir trails after her into the house, observing but mostly letting her navigate the more familiar to her space. He considers the question for a moment,

"They would have no idea unless they could sense it happening somehow. I don't know how common that is for people in your world. More to the point, I doubt that they would know even with the windows open, unless they were looking directly at me. It's subtle in execution, but a bit noisy if you know what you're listening for, I suppose."

[unabatedly]

"The only people who could possibly sense and come looking are Templars if they were close by. And they've...disbanded, more or less." She sets the lantern down by the fireplace for the moment. "If no one's come looking for the rituals the Venatori are doing or the magisters or whatever they're calling themselves these days, then they're not likely to come looking for two strangers in a house." The risk isn't null but it's significantly smaller than it might have been years ago, even months ago.

Neria crosses back over to him. There's a kind of gravitational pull to him, she realizes, and knows it's her insatiable curiosity and the temptation both. She has so many questions but, more importantly, she wants...to know him again, to be beside him. If there'd been any doubt before, it's been left back down the path they'd come from. Her gaze finds his and for just a moment, she doesn't know what to say. But she pushes through, and staves off the desire to take his hands again. They have time. There's more to do, first.

It doesn't stop her from nearly reaching out, though, instinctively.

"I'll handle the horses and get some firewood. Could you see what's here and see what you can do to make this place a little more...ours for the time being?" Once, it'd have been more difficult for her to ask for it. But for now, practicality is necessary.

[notcharming]

"Of course," he says with a slight bow, barely more than a lowering of his eyes and a tip of his head, graceful and practiced, but it comes across genuine. He previously might have joked that he was hers to command, just to get a rise out of her, but he doesn't think it will go over well, right this moment.

Instead, he turns to his job as she turns to hers. True to his word, there's almost nothing to indicate his work-- his magic is a subtle as it is all-encompassing. She can feel that he's doing something as she gets firewood and tends to the horses, but it's impossible to tell what.

Indeed, even when she comes back, it's hard to immediately say what has changed, simply that the place seems more lived in, the furniture just a little nicer and cleaned of the weeks or months of disuse, the walls a little more resistant to the cold. There's food laid out in the dining area, all of it simple but at least passingly familiar. It seems he's not taking any chances with anyone finding the remnants of their feast: everything is whole food, normal for the area.

"You'll have to teach me some more about what's available in your world," he adds, "as it is, I have no idea if the flavor of any of it is right, but it should at least seem normal enough for any observation."

[unabatedly]

It doesn't take long for her to remove the saddles from the horses or to bed them down, get them fed. Getting firewood takes longer though that's purposeful: she takes a longer route around the town, keeping an eye on the people, gauging the mood to ensure their own safety. But the truth is that two passersby who just want to stay the night are less concerning than the trouble over the hill and closer towards the Keep, or so she hears, and so when she returns with wood in her arms she feels much more secure about remaining there with him.

And even just stepping inside the home again, she can feel the difference. There's little light and a small fire but it still feels warmer, lived in. She closes the door and brings her prize to the fireplace to stack on to what's there, getting a real fire roaring in a matter of minutes. It's then that she goes to join him, tugging off her cloak. The food smells good, never mind the flavor of what might be there. She gives him a smile. "That won't be hard. But food is food, especially when I've been living off of dried meat and whatever I can catch." And sometimes she doesn't cook it if she's hunting prey in a shapeshifted form.

She pulls off her gloves and goes to join him, not immediately touching him with cold hands but briefly leaning her shoulder to his, trying to express her thanks before she warms up better. "If we manage to get into the Deep Roads and find a way back to Orzammar, you'll see no shortage of culture and different cuisine. And if we go north, Val Royeaux can offer plenty of that as well."

[notcharming]

He'll let her go if she seems in any way uncomfortable, but when she leans her shoulder into his he slips an arm around her, almost involuntarily, call and response.

"I am more worried about appearances, for now. I can make any of it taste however you'd like," there's a slight tone to his voice, an offering of a pomegranate in a story, forbidden fruits. "But your countrymen might not be so understanding. I will need some time to perfect our illusions, but I've no doubt I will be able to." That he will remain with her and continue to do this is a given. "Perhaps you can assist me in working on some better clothing, or a least a change of clothes, as well. For both of us. I won't feel the discomfort of the climate, but the more I can fit into your world, the better it will go for us, I imagine."

[unabatedly]

She remains when he offers, leaning against him. There's a look of curiosity she gives him at the start, the way his tone changes, but the rest requires her attention first. Growing silent, she considers the weight of what he says, and she breathes out. "I can do that. I need to consider what it all will look like." It's not about who he is in this world - he is himself, standing in for the time being - so much that she needs to consider what the story is, what she's going to weave for people who look and ask.

"With the state of the world being what it is, questions aren't always asked, especially of a single traveler. I...no longer have the excuse of being a Warden and considering what's happened, that's a good thing." Something to discuss later as it isn't necessary to the conversation at hand. "No one looks too closely at me because I'm an elf, so I've given the impression of a mercenary. It suits me well enough." For him, though? Ereuvir doesn't look like her but can't precisely pass for a human. He seems too ethereal for it. "How would... Do I describe it for you? Or try to draw it?"

[notcharming]

"A drawing might be better if you're so inclined. At least to start with. I could also simply not be noticed or commented on. But if we encounter someone who is sensitive to magic, it is possible they could detect that something was being done. A combination might be best. Something to make the mind slide right off me, but nothing that would cause further suspicion if someone noticed," he shrugs slightly, "Normally I might not bother with such subterfuge, but I'm given to understand that your world doesn't look kindly on it's mages. Nor now it seems it's Wardens either," he adds.

"All of this, too, could wait until tomorrow. I have done very little to tax myself, but it looks like you've fought off the better part of a small army single-handedly, if the campsite when I arrived was any indication. Perhaps what you should attend to is a bath and some sleep, the better to handle tomorrow's problems tomorrow."

He says the word "bath" like they are commonplace, even in an abandoned house. But then... she had told him to procure them some more comfortable accouterments for their lodging.

[unabatedly]

"I can look to see if there are any books or scrolls around with pictures. If not, I can sketch something for you." It's the very least she can attempt, though he might regret asking. for such. "We should be able to manage. If nothing else, I have the coin to spare; we can get you something temporary until you're able to see in person the sort of things that might suit you." And even then, she still would have the coin to take care of that as well. When she's lived off of so little, the coin just accumulates, and she's made enough of it for herself when she needs adequate lodgings in larger cities and better equipment for the road. Finding him clothes that would let him blend in so little to ask for.

To the rest, well... She foregoes addressing the fighting or even to bring up how many people she'd gone through to get to the ritual site. Doubtless, he has the shape of it. Instead, he gets an odd look for his comment. "...You found a--" No, found isn't the right word, she realizes a moment later. With a brief roll of her eyes that's decidedly fond, she reluctantly looses her grip on him to straighten in something like a stretch. "Fair enough. It's not a bad idea." The bathing and sleeping part, at least. Leaving tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow isn't so simple a task. Still, the promise of being able to clean herself off and to feel more like a person gets her feet moving towards the adjoining room to see what he's worked on in her absence.

[notcharming]

He'd been limited somewhat in Duplicity by not being able to do anything that attracted too much attention. Neria had money there as well, so him owning something her money could buy him seemed perfectly fine, whether her money actually ever was used or not. Here, he still perhaps does not have the full range of his powers when he is in his own domain, but there is no need for caution, beyond what the situation dictates.

The bathing tub is large enough to sit in comfortably and the water in it smells floral and has the consistency and color almost of milk, steam rising from it. If there is something that might accidentally convince her he is, in fact some kind of demon of Sloth (or possibly Lust) it's this tub. He follows her enough to see her reaction, lips curling in a smirk,

"Does it meet with your specifications?" he teases, knowing full well she would have contented herself with a bucket of cold water and a coarse sponge.

[unabatedly]

Well, that's something. The look she casts over her shoulder is nothing short of incredulous, which falls away into a smile and a low laugh. "When I asked you to make things more for our liking, I wasn't really expecting this." She should have, though. It falls in line with other pieces of memory that sometimes poke through, reminders of the things they must have done...or she must have dreamed they'd done together. This takes the cake, though. She works on the ties of her tunic, pulling it over her head and tugging it off. "Remind me not to take you to Val Royeaux. The people there would love you, mage or not. Maybe you'd catch the Empress' eye and she'd try to keep you."

Or they'd think he was a demon and try to kill him. For once, she thinks keeping him to herself is the better option, no matter how selfish that feels.

In the years they've been separated, Neria's only grown more accustomed to life outside of the Circle. Some of her softer edges have become more toned, especially in her arms, but some pieces still remain the same. The scars have only dulled a little but the marks he's given her, the long painted whorls and designs between them, look fresh, as if he'd only given them to her yesterday. She nudges off her boots at the same time that she works through the pleated knots of her braid, turning to look at him better. "Joining me? I can't guarantee the water will remain very nice for long, just as a fair warning." He's absolutely right to believe Neria's only been surviving on buckets, frayed brushes or sponges, and lye. She has a lot of grime to wipe off from traveling.

[notcharming]

He had thought to leave when she went to bathe or at least turn away if she wished to keep talking, to give her her privacy, and he wears his shock plainly on his face for a moment as she just starts stripping right in front of him before he can master the expression. He manages to not repeat staring at her like a slack jawed virgin when she asks him to join her, but he can't help the way his eyebrows raise.

"Nothing would please me more," he says, and the tone is fervent, "And I don't think dirty bathwater will be a problem. ... But are you certain you wish me to?" he can't help the grin he gives, "If you wish to do battle with your memory with me as the battlefield, I can't say I wouldn't be delighted. But it's not something that's required for my continued assistance."

[unabatedly]

"As though I do not always take the more difficult route." It's said with some flippancy to add levity to the moment because he is, after all, right. She has enough to know that he is important, that she has no reason to be afraid or wary, but there is so much of the in between that isn't tangible yet for her to reach and hold. Without that, she doesn't know what re-experiencing similar moments and sensations will do, the context it will give.

But that doesn't mean she wants to shy away from it, either. She crosses the distance to him, two fingers tapping the center of her chest. "This remembers you even if my head doesn't completely. I'm not afraid of what will come from finding out more." And he isn't going anywhere; he's said as much so far. She could be patient and maybe she should be. Neria doesn't touch him even though she's wanted to, even though she wants to look at him, to truly look at him, and let herself fall back into what she's lost.

"Tell me to be patient, Ereuvir, and I will." She respects him and even if her heart wants to know more, he knows better than the both of them, and she's willing to wait. "I'll do as you ask, I swear it."

[notcharming]

"Always so afraid your desire is an inconvenience for me," in a different tone, it might be an admonishment, but he growls it low, dangerous, said while he's stepping forward into her space, inevitable as death. He reaches out as part of a single motion as he reaches her, sinks one hand in her hair right near her scalp and gently but firmly pulls it until her head tips back, his other coming up to slide warm under her jaw.

He doesn't pull them flush but he does kiss her, deep and heated. He manages to at least somewhat keep himself in check at first, but it's barely a handful of moments before the hunger shows through, deep and insatiable, something that is not wholly composed of sex or death, but something that tastes a little like both. He has missed her, and though he never doubted they would be reunited, every second of their parting has built up, under his skin.

[unabatedly]

The first press of her lips is gentle enough to feel tentative despite her invitation, every word he gives her slow to roll down her spine as he takes her in his grip. Her own hands lift to smooth fingers up over the curves of his cheeks, touching him not only to touch but to ground herself and to remember. And she does, she thinks. The body doesn't forget and how could she ever forget the kind of depth Ereuvir has given her time and time again, the fathomless desire he's shown her? She could drown in it. She remembers all the times she's wanted to.

She breaks from the kiss for only a moment, a sharp intake of air following. And when she kisses him again, she kisses with fervency, a hand wrapping loosely around the back of his neck like she might try to keep him right here with her as she recounts all of the ways in which she's tasted his want and his timelessness long before this. The ache returns in full force, something finally feeling complete that she can't entirely name.

[notcharming]

If there's any sign from her that she wishes this to stop, he does still have enough control over himself to do so, but in the absence of that, he's backing her the several steps to a wall and pinning her there, devouring her mouth now while he makes short work of whatever else she's yet wearing. There's no real reason to trap her like that, but it was not Duplicity that made him fiercely possessive. Even as he knows there's either nowhere else she would wish to be or that he's, deep down, willing to let her go to move this at her own pace, the desire to claim rises up undeniable.

His own clothes are next, though he doesn't take his mouth from hers to do it, shrugging out of everything as utterly unimportant, bearing unmarred, almost marble-like skin as he goes, another reminder that he's not human, for all that he apes it convincingly enough when he wants to.

"I have missed you," he murmurs against her mouth, "It was all I could do to not remind you of who I was this way on the field of battle, flush with the defeat of our enemies. I will take whatever you will give me."

[unabatedly]

Perhaps predictably, there is no indication she wishes for him to stop, not a single moment's hesitation or refusal. She steps where he does, allows him to press her back against the wall and to keep her there by the magnetism of his mouth alone. Her hands remain where they are, against his face, looped around his neck, keeping him there for a short time like she's trying to recreate something, or her thoughts are holding her in place of what she once had.

She doesn't need to force herself to remember. He'd said they could make new memories. And it's with some reluctance that she lets him go but only to help him with her clothes and to reach almost greedily for his own, that undeniable hunger of his waking her from what feels like an eternity in the dark on her own. She helps him push aside the fabric of his clothes, her fingers finding smooth and unblemished skin, his perfections laid out for her to map and know once more.

Her breath is a warm exhale over his lips when he whispers there and he says that word - missed - in a way that she has to believe it, her throat constricting with emotion. But it's a soft laugh that bubbles its way up first. "I don't do things in half-measures," she whispers back, like he doesn't know. In for a copper, in for a crown. One hand finds its way into the strands of his silken hair as she kisses him again, deep and hungry and just shy of desperate. "All I have, all I am, it's yours."