Alec í Amasa (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whiteroadrunning) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thesphererp2019-04-07 07:31 pm
whiteroadrunning) wrote in thesphererp2019-04-07 07:31 pm
Entry tags:
Memory Share: Alec í Amasa
The nights are hotter here, somehow; heavier than they've ever felt in Skala. Saltwater clings to the air, sometimes in a fine mist, and at times you feel you're veritably swimming through it. The nightcalls are different too. The frogs are shrill, not like the gentle crickets in Watermead, and it had taken some getting-used-to when you first arrived. They were difficult to sleep through. Well, sleep deprivation was between them and the ghost, but she hasn't been a problem for quite some time.
You make a mental note: Return trips to Mykonos should be reserved for the autumn and winter.
But Mirror Moon loves to celebrate. They'll find any reason, and they've seen little enough joy in their lives, you can't find any reason to dissuade them. Tonight's affair was a wedding. After the ceremony and the feast and the drink and the dance, you find yourself lounging among the roots of a tree near the bonfire. Your head rests upon Seregil's thigh, an anchor, because your mind is swimming with turab otherwise. Seregil's picking idly at his lap harp -- which rests against his other leg -- and you can't quite recall what he said a few moments earlier, but your face is burning and you're still laughing. It's still far too easy for him to make you blush.
"Careful, you'll lose your shirt again like that," Seregil says through a sly smile.
"Haven't I already?" You ask.
You look down; sure enough, you've still got your tunic on. That's been rare lately. Heat and all. Seems ridiculous to go a whole night with it now. You grab the back neckline of your tunic, squirming a bit to get it out from under yourself, and sigh gratefully when it's finally off and tossed... somewhere. You're not sure where. You don't care.
"There. Better." You say.
You feel a flutter in your stomach, and you glance up at Seregil just in time to catch his gaze sweeping over you. Was that from you, or from him? You can't tell anymore. You've been part of each other for so long, his emotions sometimes feel like your own. You smirk, reaching up to run a finger down his nose.
"What?" You ask.
"You have no idea what you look like," Seregil says.
"No? And are you going to do something about it?" You ask.
The words have hardly left your mouth, and suddenly his lips are on yours, warm and familiar and beckoning, and this time you know the flutter in your stomach is your own. The kiss lingers, and you feel the hint of teeth at your bottom lip just before he leans back against the tree again.
"You're indecent, talí." You say.
"Me?" Seregil laughs. "You're the one without your shirt at a wedding!"
"Practically everyone's asleep now," you argue, and roll to drape yourself more fully over Seregil's lap. "Hardly anyone to mind."
"I certainly don't." Seregil laughs.
You kiss him again, and you swear -- for the thousandth time in the past seven-odd years -- that you've never been happier in your life.
You make a mental note: Return trips to Mykonos should be reserved for the autumn and winter.
But Mirror Moon loves to celebrate. They'll find any reason, and they've seen little enough joy in their lives, you can't find any reason to dissuade them. Tonight's affair was a wedding. After the ceremony and the feast and the drink and the dance, you find yourself lounging among the roots of a tree near the bonfire. Your head rests upon Seregil's thigh, an anchor, because your mind is swimming with turab otherwise. Seregil's picking idly at his lap harp -- which rests against his other leg -- and you can't quite recall what he said a few moments earlier, but your face is burning and you're still laughing. It's still far too easy for him to make you blush.
"Careful, you'll lose your shirt again like that," Seregil says through a sly smile.
"Haven't I already?" You ask.
You look down; sure enough, you've still got your tunic on. That's been rare lately. Heat and all. Seems ridiculous to go a whole night with it now. You grab the back neckline of your tunic, squirming a bit to get it out from under yourself, and sigh gratefully when it's finally off and tossed... somewhere. You're not sure where. You don't care.
"There. Better." You say.
You feel a flutter in your stomach, and you glance up at Seregil just in time to catch his gaze sweeping over you. Was that from you, or from him? You can't tell anymore. You've been part of each other for so long, his emotions sometimes feel like your own. You smirk, reaching up to run a finger down his nose.
"What?" You ask.
"You have no idea what you look like," Seregil says.
"No? And are you going to do something about it?" You ask.
The words have hardly left your mouth, and suddenly his lips are on yours, warm and familiar and beckoning, and this time you know the flutter in your stomach is your own. The kiss lingers, and you feel the hint of teeth at your bottom lip just before he leans back against the tree again.
"You're indecent, talí." You say.
"Me?" Seregil laughs. "You're the one without your shirt at a wedding!"
"Practically everyone's asleep now," you argue, and roll to drape yourself more fully over Seregil's lap. "Hardly anyone to mind."
"I certainly don't." Seregil laughs.
You kiss him again, and you swear -- for the thousandth time in the past seven-odd years -- that you've never been happier in your life.
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What about you guys?
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Shall we make a marriage pact?
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