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Post by Riffael Dureau on Jul 6, 2008 1:21:57 GMT -5
It was midnight. Riffael sat in complete silence in the dark behind the set of the balcony scene, which was still up on stage from the day's rehearsals. There was a very distant chatter of sound, as always, from the many whispers of those still awake and wandering in the opera house and the Parisians out on the street. Otherwise there was only silence, stillness, and dark. Riff could hear his heart pounding away like a drum, and his breathing seemed too deep and too loud. He tried to breathe softer, but that only made him feel like he needed to breathe harder to take in the air that he lost by doing it.
He was in a fit of turmoil. He had held out as long as he could in guilt and shame, but he was haunted by her always, and he felt that he was going mad. He was unworthy and he knew it; even if she did return his feelings, he wasn't the type that could promise a marriage and a well-off lifestyle. At least, not yet. He swore he could work for it, but with these times, how could he? He had no real talent or skill excepting with hard labour, and that did not pay. She had to know that, if he was honourable. He prayed for courage to be honourable. Goodness knows his heart wanted to lie through his teeth to her and then have her to himself for all time, but then, it also wanted his lies to be true. Wishing and praying would bring him nowhere. He knew that well enough from experience.
Riffael stood from his place behind the stage and began to pace. His steps echoed terribly in the empty auditorium and jarred his taut nerves, but it gave him some distraction. He had slipped a note that day during practice to a young ballet girl and told her to pass it on to Formorian. The little chit had giggled and flirted, but he's sent her off and seen her do it. He hoped that Mori would come here tonight, in the midnight hour, as the note requested. If she were wise, she would not. He was torn as to what he wanted her to be.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Jul 7, 2008 0:46:33 GMT -5
It'd been far too long a day, it'd been far too long a wait was more accurate. Ever since she'd felt the rough hands of a man she only knew by name, felt his rough hands against her own. The strength of his arm drawing her in, like a willing catch against his body in that darkness. Lips that tasted so wild, untamed, with the smell of leather, his sweat, and a more pinch of foreign spice had filled her senses that night. In a kiss he'd not hurried at first, allowing her to timidly explore, so unlearned and the madness she'd return the kiss of this stranger. All of that had come crumbling down when Liana had invaded the stage, still silently grateful Formorian had never forgot his parting words.
She would see him again.
That thought had haunted her deliciously; also in a most negative way just the same thinking on Liana's words. It was hard for her to not recall his kiss, his touch, his voice, it was like asking her not to breathe, not to sing, not sip water into her body. Impossible! Yet she had schooled herself with caution, wondering if ever he'd keep true to his words. Having so much to ask with what had gone unanswered she'd been positively sinful for a maiden. Kissing a stranger on a whim that he made her feel...Safe.
No matter her uncertainties Formorian's wait ended earlier that day, it seemed like a dreadful, same morning she'd been having for the past week. Rehearsals were terrible, they were growing restless as the Opera date neared with nothing and no one ready, not even the Leading Lady who constantly fought Formorian for every ounce of command during rehearsal. It was a wonder that the smaller woman didn't toss her hands up and let the woman have her way: She'd never let that happen..She'd been hired to do a job and by God she'd do it! That had been her day, until just before noon and one of the ballet girls had pranced over to her a folded piece of paper in hand.
Taking the letter with a thank you as ever her custom, she'd pocketed it for the briefest of moments while finishing her conducting of a portion of the vocal piece. Annoyed when some stage hands stormed the rehearsal shouting that it was time for lunch and every stomach grumbled in agreement: Even her own. Piercing blue eyes had fixed on them, given them a more than formal lash of the tongue only to have them chuckling right along with male dancers and chorus members. They left her as she huffed and shuffled papers at her piano, barely recalling that she'd received a letter.
At her bench she'd removed the paper, slightly crumpled but nothing horribly bad. Slender digits had opened it with great care, reading it once...Her heart stopped, then thundered in her breast thankful she was sitting while reading it. A second time, a third time, it was memorized in her head like a sweet song she'd never forget. The pads of her fingers touching the black penmanship that was there...This was Riffael.....He'd written her...taken the time....Each stroke felt like a touch of his calloused fingers against her flesh. Shivering at the recollection she'd put it away, but in the forefront of her mind Riffael plagued her into distraction.
Until now she was filled to the brim with waiting, wondering how she could ever survive the wait of true love when she could barely survive a few hours wait to see a faceless man. Calmly she'd declined joining a gentleman on a night out to dinner and no doubt some gambling a minor Baron had thought her adoring during a walk-through of the Populaire. She'd declined him since day one, tonight was no different only tonight she'd pretended to sleep. Turning off her lamp-light just outside her door, with her midnight oil burning so low it cast her in a hue of orange and licks of yellow.
Midnight drew so close, forcing her to contain her heart as that pink, silky tongue escaped to lap her lips for the billionth time. Trying to taste him there, she sat up slowly, slipping from the bed with a tentative care. Placing her feet into dainty slippers, all the while her lace, silk, and satin night-shift clung to her form. A few fly-aways of chiffon decorative fabric making it all the more intricate, and feminine. The under shift was of course so very see-through, topped by a longer one that covered down to just above those slender ankles. Reaching out on her screen she drew down the robe, of lace and cotton, tying the strings securely to her left-side.
Darkness called to her, Riffael's spell weaving her thundering heart to move,her body to walk, to open her door and head straight towards the stage. Engulfed in shadow and the abyss once the door opened to the backstage, her lantern extended in front of her to light her way. Moving with a fluid grace that only she could accomplish on her own natural accord never having to force it. Timidly she looked 'round, allowing her full bottom lip to be worried as was her custom. Finding the piano with ease she set down her lantern.
She was like an angel fallen in what she wore, from the tip of her toes encased in plush slippers to the top of her head. The way the ivory of her night-gown, and robe clung to her no doubt having the right to touch every inch of her body while he was not permitted. The bell drop and lace sleeves hung from her elbows allowing the faintest view of her arms. Her skin alabaster even in the darkness, illuminated by the lantern was just the slightest bit darker than her robe.
Her cherubim face looked about, pale blue eyes framed by thick, ebony lashes searched the darkness. Pink lips, now slightly rosier from her obvious gentle torture throughout the day offered invitingly. Each breath she took with her firm breasts still pushed up with her clothing were just as inviting beneath layers of lace. Yet her portrait was completed by her long mane of platinum blond locks falling loosely down her back. Not drawn up, or slightly curled as how she wore it almost daily. No. Now it was free, unleashed, tumbling down and slightly past her buttocks.
Angels could walk the earth...At least for Riffael's sake.
Silence drew on, uncomfortable, what if he'd not come? Swallowing she worried her lip once more before speaking timidly, hugging herself with uncertainty. Her voice gliding through the Populaire in a song of its own.
"Riffael?..." His name had been wanting to escape from her lips for so long and finally...she had release.
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Post by Riffael Dureau on Jul 7, 2008 1:16:08 GMT -5
He heard the gentle, near silent swish of fabric against fabric and against polished wood. He fell completely still, muscles tensed, tracing her journey across the stage and to the piano in his mind. The mere thought of her made him quiver in an anticipation of touch that he had no right to have. That was not part of his plan! He had to control himself. With the silent stealth that came naturally to him he moved about to peer from the darkness into the small ring of light that cast from her lantern onto her form.
He could no longer breathe. His eyes traced her form sinfully of their own accord, the way the silky material clung to her curves. She was beautiful--magnificent. Her hair fell in waves so very low, longer than he thought he'd seen any woman's, and he wanted to trace his fingers through it like a stream in the sunlight. Her face was angelic, though her expression was one of anxiousness. He wanted to smooth the lines of worry from between her brows with kisses. No! He closed his eyes against the image, but her form remained burned into his eyelids.
He knew that she had not dressed this way to tempt him. He had asked for a midnight meeting, so doubtless she had been required to feign sleep. He had not taken that into account, and now was paying the price. He felt the strain of his body fighting the desire that coursed through him in waves. He fought and fought for control. She broke it. Her voice rolled over him like the whisper of a celestial being, saviour to his soul. He had to fight not to run to her then and take her in his arms. He had to give her the choice.
"Formorian..." He whispered back, his heart pounding, blood heated. "May I ask you to remain facing where you are, so that I might approach you unseen?" He asked, struggling to keep the strain from his voice. Her very presence inflamed him.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Jul 7, 2008 2:24:21 GMT -5
Silence. Was it to be so horrible now that she had come, that he'd not be here? Or would he make her wait with baited breath, fearing to breathe if she so much as missed the slightest whisper from his lips. Inhaling she caused her firm breasts to rise, going deep into her lungs, expanding her rubs slightly in her gown and robe. The silence drove her mad, made her uncertain, quivering with the need, the desire to at least hear him. Oh please let this not be some foolish jest and she'd fallen for it! Near ready to flee for her own stupidity, something caught her in it's thrall.
"Formorian..." It was a whisper, a song upon the wind that didn't exist yet it assailed her. Raining down on her like a pleasurable fall of bullets never resulting in pain only in complete bliss. Her heart lept for joy, and her body longed, willed, wanted to turn about and see him. Find him, search the source of his words, his voice, whispered, rasping deliciously into the air. A slight strain that almost sounded delightful to her because it was not a strain of pain, of something...different.
"May I ask you to remain facing where you are, so that I might approach you unseen?" It was like asking her not to breathe again, not to let her heart beat, it was him of all people bidding it over. The inner torture almost made her whimper aloud at his request, causing her to furrow her brow further, knitting together her brows in a consternational view, almost disapproving at his command. She didn't want to, she wanted to see him, did he not understand that? She knew but his name, his name, his scent, his touch, his taste, but not a face.
Her blood was being commanded to run rampant, while her heart ached and her soul tingled darkly with a sadness that swamped her. Pink lips, rosy as they were fell into a little frown, and she sighed heavily nodding her head mutely, causing the long waterfall of platinum locks to shimmer enticingly before him. Swallowing she moistened her dry throat, why did he have to torture her this way?
Perhaps...Liana was right..he had no good intent...perhaps she was the fool and the longer the darkness took even though he was there. Formorian was beginning to believe it.
Stupid girl!
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Post by Riffael Dureau on Jul 7, 2008 2:54:58 GMT -5
He watched her reaction to his words. She seemed to drift away and then back, the intake of air pressing her bosom against the cloth of her dressing gown. His mouth went dry and he tried again to close his eyes against the image, to no avail. His breathing quickened. Was she aware of her power over him? Did she know how she aroused him and how he loved her, how she made him feel hollow with desire and completed all at once? She would. He would reveal this to her, as kindly and as innocently as he could manage.
Her brows drew together in consternation at his request and a tiny whimper of protest escaped her throat. The sound nearly drove him mad with need, and he gripped the edge of a wooden prop near him to help ground him to reality. She nodded her assent, obviously not happy with the arrangement. She looked almost... hurt. Surely she would think herself abused and made a fool of! He would not even give her the commitment of recognition.
He inhaled deeply and then let out the breath, the muscles in his chest tense and resisting to the expanding effect of the intake. Then he stepped forward onto the stage and paced toward her, letting his feet carry him as if in a dream. He felt as if he were not ready for this moment, but every step closer to her was heaven drawn nearer. He stopped behind her and stared down at the fall of her locks for a moment, and timidly moved a stray hair behind her ear. Her hair... her skin... so soft. His breath caught in his throat as he suppressed a groan.
"Juliette, you are... perfect. You must forgive my gall--I crept into your world in darkness and stole a kiss that was not rightfully mine. I am not a man of wealth or position. I am not credited with a talent or skill with which to correct this, though if it would allow me to make you my own, my wife, I would gladly labour night and day--" His words were halting, soft, throaty. He'd never spoken this way before, or of such an emotion. He felt laid bare and vulnerable, and he hated it. He wanted to spare a bit of his dignity, but there was no possible way.
His hand crept unbidden to her bare shoulder and then the side of her neck, fingertips skimming there to feel the milky softness of her warm flesh. "If you would leave me now, which I know to be wise... You do not know my face and I could disappear whence I came, never to return. You would not see me among the working fellows because you would not recognise me. There would be no trouble. I offer you this option." He closed his eyes and pulled back his hand, nervously exposed in the light of her lantern. If she were to but turn... he would not stop her. It would be her choice, her difficulty, her condemnation. He needed her, wanted her beyond anything else, and yet loved her enough not to steal her, unwilling.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Jul 7, 2008 3:56:59 GMT -5
Why? She wanted to ask him desperately, why she asked the impossible of her to not look upon him. Foolishly she obeyed like a trained dog, she obeyed stupidly and loathed herself inwardly for it. Stupid innocence what did it serve her other than leaving her to be a lamb lead to slaughter by a man she hardly knew more than just a name? Oh she was foolish, young, wanting to understand the draw in her chest when she heard him speak, thought of his voice, sang his name within her mind. She wanted to know what it was that made her like this for this man...for Riffael.
Barely containing her whimper, it was a primal sound of frustration calling to his darker desires without her knowing. Instead she settled for breathing, her chest offering up to the darkness that Riffael called his own. Did he not know that his voice plagued her in her sleep, when she had idle time on her mind in her day to day instruction? That when she touched the stage she thought of him, dreamed of him and dared never to put a face on him for fear of doing him too little justice. Distantly she heard his inhalation, deep, filling himself before exhaling as though he were Atlas and the world upon his shoulders.
Pursing her lips together, her heart jumped high and bounded quickly with the sound of his looming approach. Each foot-fall brought him closer, each creaking of the boards made her soul quiver in anticipation. What would happen? Would he reward her, would he make her poor heart weep longer, further than it did now? Please no. Her muscles tightened briefly with her fear, with her knowledge that Liana had slipped inside her brain that hadn't been working that night in his arms. Yet somewhere inside she'd been aware of what was happening, what she was doing....He stopped.
The warmth radiated from him, she could feel him standing behind her, his eyes roaming over her back, neck, shoulders. Just as he'd done taking in her attire, she almost felt stripped and bare to his eyes. Eyes she longed to see. Ever so slightly she heard his clothing rustle in movement, reaching for her when the warm touch of a finger tip ghosted her temple and down her ear. Feeling the slight tug of a stray lock being tucked neatly to join the mane of waves down her back. Shuddering in delight just at the slightest touch and she was wanton for Riffael...a man with a name and no face.
As though to tease her, tempt her, taunt her, and torture her further he spoke...Broke her heart...And made her live anew.
"Juliette, you are...perfect. You must forgive my gall--I crept into your world in darkness and stole a kiss that was not rightfully mine. I am not a man of wealth or position. I am not credited with a talent or skill with which to correct this, though if it would allow me to make you my own, my wife, I would gladly labour night and day--" His words assailed her like a slap to the face and the most tender kiss to her flesh. Formorian closed her eyes, inhaling trying to contain the emotions inside her. How could he think himself unworthy, that the kiss..stolen...was not his right? She was anything but perfect she was simple, plain in her opinion and he....his honesty...was humbling.
Each halting word, laced with emotion that he felt, a man unafraid to show his true self was just behind her..half a step behind. Throaty, with passion, deep yet light with his youth if that be the case. Formorian could not help but tilt her head back only slightly as though she gazed out into the darkness for her answer. A calloused hand ghosted onto her shoulder, grazing her silky flesh with it's harshness, making her quiver in delight the shiver working down her spine deliciously. Inhaling sharply in rapture, in pleasure, tilting her head in offering of her neck as though under his spell which she was. Feeling his touch there...God...twas magnificent.
Her pleasure was short lived.
"If you would leave me now, which I know to be wise...You do not know my face and I could disappear when I came, never to return. You would not see me among the working fellows because you would not recognize me. There would be no trouble. I offer you this option." He was killing her, and the moment his hand began to leave her flesh she reached back for it. Arresting it ever so gently and holding it to her shoulder, the gentleness of her fingers stroking over his calloused knuckles as well. Learning his hand like a song she'd have memorized to perform and never forget.
A lump in her throat forced her to swallow, and she breathed...Swallowed again, her voice soft, shaking, as though tears were ready to spill and that was the truth. That he could dismiss her so.
"You talk as though I could easily set you aside and yet I cannot...I am not able to set anyone aside. That you would have me never know you, other than your lips. I think of them do you know it? I remember when you kissed me, taking a kiss that was rightfully your own as I'd never have been brave enough to kiss another soul. I remember your taste, I remember your scent the strength of your shoulders...I remember it all." She stopped her gentle stroking of his hand keeping her own atop his there on her shoulder, burning her skin with his touch.
"I'm haunted by you, I could never go through my day knowing you were here, somewhere. If by chance I heard your voice I'd crumble, I could never forget...Nor do I want to. I should thank you for giving me options but at the same time I should be offended you think so little of what I'd think of you to almost encourage me to flee." Gently she squeezed his hand, staring off into the darkness her lantern burning behind them.
"I...I am not perfect...I shall never be perfect. I am shy, timid, scared of the world and I am so happy you've crept inside my world...inside me. I feel strange when I think of you...I feel....whole. Wealth is little in my eyes, position just the same where is all such things when that can never buy happiness? My joy would be to poor but so deeply in love twould be most rewarding. Even if it was hard on both myself, and my love the labors...I'd be rewarded with him each day. Why do you belittle yourself so? Belittle love so it would seem?" Formorian could not contain herself and so she turned without letting him have the chance to draw back and hide. Holding onto his hand she gazed up at him directly, her body to him, exposed in the way it would be now.
Her dainty little hands holding the larger, stronger, of his own hand between them.
"I am not Juliette....I am myself. Juliette found her Romeo, and they perished for their love to bring peace to a wounded world. I am myself and I want my love...Riffael....my own love.....and I want to live." Those icy blue eyes stared up at him, as she took in his every feature. From the dirtiness of his clothing, how worn they were a testament to his hard labors, to the way his skin was slightly dirty as well as sweat coated as she knew he'd be. She'd tasted it on his lips. The slightest coating of stubble upon his face looked back at her, and every angle of his face was capable of being almost boyishly handsome once cleaned up. Eyes piercing her to the soul, and she recalled his hair, tangling her fingers in it, a slight mess of dark curls and she never once drew away, looked away.
Instead she greeted him with a grateful smile.
"Do not run from me Riffael...." Stepping forward her body against his own, tilting her head back as she looked up into his eyes. Slowly moving her hands along his arms, up to his shoulders then to curl around his neck she spoke once more. "If you can love a witless girl such as myself....if you can see beyond my faults. Let Romeo and Juliette lie...let us be our own.....and kiss me...." Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, toying with tangling themselves in his hair.
"Riffael?....Teach me to live..."
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Post by Riffael Dureau on Jul 7, 2008 18:44:43 GMT -5
His hand was gripped suddenly in her own, pressed to the flesh of her shoulder where it burned, suddenly much more sensitive then before. His heart leapt and his breathing grew more ragged. Should he warn her of what she was doing? Had she faced the desires of such a man as himself? He sincerely doubted it, and worried for his own self control.
Riffael tensed as she began to speak, and hung upon every word, his conciousness suspended at her rosy lips. He felt himself becoming numb as he listened, all except for the pounding of his heart. The words she spoke eventually faded away and all that he heard was tone and inflection, the steady rise and fall of the gentle voice, the inhale and exhale, and even so absorbed her meaning. She turned to face him and his blood ran cold then hot in an instant as she stared up into his face, so very close! The pale planes of her beautiful face were so close, alighted by the lantern into perfect view. He felt his heart breaking at the very beauty of her. She was like the creation sprung from his dreams, he like Pygmalion captured in devoted silence to her animated, living, breathing being. Her smile warmed him through to the bones.
She spoke of desire and longing, the torture of her thoughts hanging around him always. He saw the manifestation of those emotions shining in her eyes, frustration, affection, even lust. He knew those feelings, that same self torture; her memory exacted it upon him day and night, endlessly. She spoke of love! Love, which he had so scorned, and scorned himself now for falling prey to it. He was hopelessly in love with her and would not deny it. He would rather be a fool than a fool in denial.
There was a filmy, sparkling quality to her blue eyes. Suddenly the gap was closed and her body was pressed to his. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, his hands going to her waist, then sliding down to her hips as her own hands made their way enticingly over his arms and then around his neck. Her face below his was beautiful, her plump lips inviting. Her breath shivered across his neck... "Riffael?....Teach me to live..." He had no control left, now.
There was no more room between them, no more room for words. He couldn't have formed them if he tried, anyway. His mouth slanted over hers in a hungry kiss, gently urging and opening her beneath him. A deep groan rattled in his throat as he kissed her, pulling her hips gently forward so that she was pressed fully against his arousal. His left hand drifted up to cup her cheek and brush his thumb over the apple of it, where he had seen the rosy appeal of so many blushes. His other arm circled her waist, pulling her supple form into him tightly, her golden hair trapped between his arm and the curve of her back.
While he sucked and nibbled at her lips and tongue his fingers worked deftly at the ties at the side of her over gown. When finally they were free he peeled back the fabric, breaking the kiss to turn her so that her back was too him as he removed the garment. The sheer cloth beneath and the sight that it gave him made his breath catch. He laid a warm kiss on the side of her neck as his hands came up to her shoulders and began to ease that last piece from her slowly.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Jul 27, 2008 16:24:39 GMT -5
What madness had taken her? She could easily say that it was the sinner inside of her creeping forth, but how could she sin in the most natural way possible? How could she be at fault for the way her heart fluttered upon the mentioning of any name that could be Riffael since her first encounter? Pity her for being weak, for being a woman but she would not so easily let her emotions be trapped by propriety. As she spoke she knew she should run, flee the instantaneous moment her eyes fell upon the face that was the man she'd concluded she loved...desired...longed for.
Should she have been appalled, disgusted that his form was not so clean as some mighty protector could've been? With his shirt stained with work, the scent of leather, sweat, clinging to him. It would've repulsed even the most genteel bred creature back into her shell of virginal shyness and yet for her it was Riffael. His smell had filled her as she slept, the roughness of his touch tingled in her dreams purely masculine. Gazing up into his eyes that were no longer hidden, from view peering into her soul and she prayed she into his. That darkness swamped them, lust, desire nearly unbridled.
Even his flesh was slightly dirtied by his work, a smudge upon his smooth, angled cheek beckoned the pale cream of her thumb to rub it away. Not wanting anything to mar his handsome features that could be foreboding if cast into further shadow. There was nothing amiss from his face, a straight nose, rich brows, full lips, the softness of his curls calling to her fingers. Swallowing to try and keep the dry coating of her throat moistened. Formorian eyed his lips at first, her eyes flicking back to is face and down again as she leaned forward. Fat beckoning she be where she belonged: In his arms.
"Riffael?" Her voice quivered as she found his eyes forwardly in that moment. "Teach me to live..." The cord that wound a noose around their necks, and shackled their lusts seemed to have broken. Riffael in his silence, darkness, watching her from afar was now over. The nearness did little to help and within a span of half a heart beat he lowered that head of rich brown curls. Falling slightly forward as his mouth captured her own beneath him, prisoner to his person, prisoner of her heart to him.
Startling her at the hunger and she could only hang on for dear life to him. The sweep of his tongue startling her into a gasp which parted her lips for him her lashes swooping down, closed shut as she swallowed his moan into her soul. Causing her toes to curl at the taste of him, her arms circling at his shoulders unwilling to part as her fingers combed through his rich hair. Somewhere between the kiss that was breathtaking, sending her senses fluttering in every direction. Formorian wasn't aware of his reaching hands, finding her waist, clutching her hips greedily as she was already his own.
Drawing her forward into another gasp let loose inside his lips. Her back arching to press herself against him on her own accord, feeling the hard length of him between their clothing. Stiff inside his trousers, pressed firmly at her abdomen or just slightly lower due to her petite height. Forcing her to tip-toe as she leaned her face against the calloused hand that stroked her cheek. An unbridled little moan escaping her lips into his own, her first moan for his lips and her tongue timidly stroked against the pink of his own. Warm, hot, wet, writhing together within her mouth as he plundered her entirely.
Ivory digits tangled themselves in the chocolate curls of his head, drawing him down to her as she learned at a very fast pace how to kiss him. To kiss him in a way he enjoyed and even then her innocence made her fumble, made her nip at his lower lip without her knowing or trying. Avoiding by some miracle the knocking of teeth for he suckled, arching her back as he modeled her against him. Capturing her hair beneath his arm and she moaned a bit louder against his lips. Trying desperately for air, the rose in her cheeks flushed pink just by his touch alone.
His kiss burned, then she was free-liberated from her dressing robe only saved by her gown beneath of her nakedness. Skilled fingers would have her naked in no time, but she was neither skilled nor knowing. Formorian felt her mind go numb from the rapture, the unknown pleasure coursing through her and it was here she realized how inflamed she was. Hot, liquid lava burning inside her stomach or so it felt...and lower. Odd the feel, she gasped on a sound of a moan and a whimper of protest as he drew back.
Giving her burning lungs oxygen she wanted to form words, to be sane again to be....never without him. Turning her like a doll to control as his own she moved without protest nor complaint. Feeling each callous scratch at her silky shoulders once those hands found themselves owner of her body. Of her fate. Shuddering breathes entered her and she closed her eyes, leaning back against him feeling ready to swoon of the bliss of the wrong she was doing. The kiss at her neck had her offering the column of ivory to his lust, his desires, his intentions to kiss, nibble, mark her as his own. He'd done that the first time he'd spoken to her.
Ever so slowly her gown began to lower, slipping down her flesh until her firm breasts were to be released to the cool air of the darkness. Backstage. Nipples erect with her arousal she found sensibility, how could she be so easy? Swallowing her hands gripped at his own, shackling his large palms to her side, one just above her heart keeping her gown up slightly. One firm, taught breast with a pink nipple being exposed, dancing in the air before them. She swallowed again, her voice trembling.
"Riffael...Please....nay....I....Not here....Not...like this....'Tis wrong." Drawing away slowly she drew up her gown properly and hugged herself as she whirled around. Cheeks still flushed, lips pouting and rosy from his welcomed abuse, the icy blue of her expressive eyes looking up at him as though he'd wounded her. Which he had in a way. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as was her usual for nervousness she spoke timidly then. "I...I..cannot...don't make me...I have nothing to offer you but my innocence. Which I would have a care to be taken properly....Rightly....'Tis...not so much to ask?..." Gazing up at him she still hugged herself.
"Pray..do not be angry with me..I....I am...frightened...I admit." Silence. "Riffael..." Did he hate her now?
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Post by Riffael Dureau on Aug 24, 2008 3:34:59 GMT -5
Riffael felt his senses heighten. Suddenly everything was acute. He was lost in scent, in sound--the perfume of her skin and hair, the strained and unsteady intake of breath--and most certainly touch. His skin tingled everywhere, and the feel of his intense arousal became nearly painful. His lungs strained with the need for more air, his head swam, his fingertips tingled against her smooth pale flesh as it was bared to him. A rush of air shivered against her hair as he exhaled sharply upon sight of her breasts. She was like a perfect sculpture, but in colour. His eyes lingered over the pink of her erect nipples, hardened by both the light cold and her own arousal. He sighed contentedly and shifted his hand so that his palm brushed over one of them lightly, coming to rest over her heart and feel it race.
His own heart raced. Beneath the heat and the rush, beneath the shiver, a warmth of a different type suffused him. He closed his eyes against her beauty and felt it beating against his palm instead. In that moment he felt her trust, her fear, her kindness. He thought of her at every moment throughout the days that he had kept vigil over her, working and laughing, and sometimes pouting or biting her bottom lip in frustration. Now she was bared before him, at his mercy, and he felt a swell of intense possessiveness and protectiveness. He would not let this woman go easily, he realised, and it pained him. He could not afford to lose her now, when he loved her so much; when she represented everything to him. Redemption. Meaning. Everything.
She suddenly tensed under him and his eyes flickered open. Her little hand flew to cover his large, calloused one over her franticly fluttering heart. She stuttered out her doubts, begging his pardon, to which he smiled. His brow knit in frustration for his bodily discomfort, but he knew that he would not harm her. He would reign in his desires and leave her innocence intact.
He chuckled despite his remaining arousal pressing into her from behind and the discomfort that it caused him, placing his chin on the top of her head lightly. "Formorian... you could not anger me with a cry for your honour. You are right. I was wrong to press you." He laid a light kiss then on her right earlobe, making it clear that she was still his, despite this allowance.
Then he stepped away, and hesitated, looking away from her. Hurt pride and reluctance to admit his own lack of suitability gave him pause before he swallowed deeply and continued. "I intend to properly ask for your hand when I can afford a ring. I have been saving my funds for this purpose since our first... rendez-vous. At this point I find it unlikely that you would refuse, but if you intend to do so, I give you my word that I will not compromise you."
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Aug 28, 2008 21:02:08 GMT -5
Formorian had never felt like this before, not even when his lips had ghosted her own upon that evening. The stage their display to the world, and yet here they stood in the darkness once more, cast to vivid reality by the single lamp. Making both bodies glow a golden color, making him seem God more than the simple man he was, his dark hair glittering like the sun had kissed it with a ghost of a touch. Her own mane of waves bathed in the glow of the rays of that sunlight, her blue eyes fallen beneath her lowered lashes. Enjoying every moment that each fiber of her being was aflame with this unknown desire.
A desire to feel his rough hand as it moved now over her flesh, leaving a tingling sensation of sweet fire in the wake of it's path.Grazing her shoulder, each callous rubbing, making her fill her lungs at a faster rate as though she'd been running, but in reality she was anticipating. For that moment when her gown had been expertly slipped from her body, her hands the only thing coming to life of her nakedness to catch the fabric before it fell entirely. Pink lips parting in complete rapture of the moment his palm fixed over the firm, creamy globe of her breast. Stroking with his hard touch, yet so gentle against her erect nipple sending a shock wave down her spine.
Her breath hitched immediately, entirely turning to liquid fire between her thighs and her entire being in his hands. With her taught bottom pressed securely against his back she placed her hands above his own, stilling any further disrobing of her body, least they step beyond the threshold of no return. She wanted to be his beyond all reason, all measure, but she wanted to belong to him entirely, body, mind, soul, and name. He would have the only thing she was able to give, that innocent barrier that would turn her a girl to a woman: His woman.
That thought had her heart racing faster, the feel of his hot breath against her neck making her quiver anew. Unable to stop the tiniest purr or moan from escaping she spoke with sincerity, apology in every drop but she'd not be taken like some Jezebel here: In the dark, behind the stage! Such a thought was more infuriating but she found she'd not be able to be angered with him he'd done no wrong...She had enticed him unknowingly, and so worried her full bottom lip for his response.
Would he be angry she now denied him what his body desired? She'd heard yes of what goes on..lack of clothing and much rutting about she'd heard. How could she conform to such an act even while her body screamed at her to submit. To become pliable beneath his strong hand, she knew she wanted more, wanted to be something, someone in his eyes rather than a passing fad. Fear laced her body when silence met her for the briefest moment, swallowing causing her elegant throat to bob only slightly from the movement in the ivory column.
Riffael's body imposed upon her own, could've easily taken her to his will, that large palm over her pink lips and none would've been the wiser nor all so caring. His chuckle was rich, deep, a growl, a purr of things to come, making her knees tremble as he placed his chin against her crown of curls. His voice rumbling somewhere from within his chest, and working it's way up in the most delicious way she almost wanted to change her mind.
"Formorian.." Her name...from his lips...."You could not anger me with a cry for your honour. You are right. I was wrong to press you." Her brow knit instantly he hadn't pressed her...well she hadn't felt he had, but then again...The kiss to her ear had her giving a vocalized little 'Mmmm...' as she leaned back to him. Pressing herself, forgetting just how snuggly her bottom caressed his hardness with even the slightest wriggling of her body. Finding herself so very at this man's mercy her heart stuttered with joy that....he cared enough to not make her do something she didn't wish to do!
As he stepped away placing space between them she felt like she'd been released from some spell. Her mind quickly going to her obvious nudity and her hands slipped the straps of her gown back on. Carefully lowering herself down to retrieve the robe, and slipping her arms through the sleeves and tieing the knot at her hip with the robe closed. Turning about to face the man she had so willingly come to call friend in her sleep, angel in her waking hours, and now love in her heart.
"I intend to properly ask for your hand when I can afford a ring. I have been saving my funds for this purpose since our first..rendez-vous. At this point I find it unlikely that you would refuse, but if you intend to do so, I give you my word that I will not compromise you." Said he, his face cast aside away from her and her features softened from the agitated worry she was certain had been there.
Extending her arm towards him, that small hand raised with the palm up to touch his shoulder as she came to let her body press against his left side. The other arm bending to place her hand just below his chest, fingers splayed with the heel of her wrist and hand against his upper abdomen. Feeling the strength of him through his clothing should've humbled her further but it only kept her fire burning strangely from within.
Speaking then her voice sweet, airy, light and so happy 'twas all she could do to falling into tears.
"Riffael? In truth you intend to ask me for my hand? Properly? With a ring? Oh....'tis ever so sweet of you!" Tip toeing up then she kissed his cheek resting her head in the niche at his chest where she could reach. Her breath soft against his neck as she continued. "Ye can never compromise me for I'll refuse any man that even so much as shows interest in me from this day forth. I am blind by the sight of one man, by the name of one man, and by the voice of one man. I'll await you to be your wife until forever!" Completely lost in the thought of being a bride, she giggled almost girlishly and twirled away.
"I'll help you, I'll save for a dress....Hopefully one that is decent, and one you'll like." Formorian said dreamily, returning to him and taking his hands within her own. Beaming brightly up at him. "I would know nothing more of man than you....to be your wife....I love you Monsieur Romeo." She teased playfully by not using his name.
Sorry very bad post my brain died]
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Post by Riffael Dureau on Aug 29, 2008 0:34:14 GMT -5
Riffael detected movement from the corner of his eye, and felt his skin flush with shame. He was a fool. He had cornered the poor girl, nearly taken her innocence and expressed his love for her, yet he had not even enough francs for a new shirt for his own back. He was about to justify himself in some way, explain that indeed it was not a good idea, but her arm was already extended, and suddenly there was her touch. No breath left in his lungs. His shoulder relaxed as her hand rested upon it and then the rest of him as her supple body moulded against his side. His arm snaked of its own accord around her waist and the muscles in his torso tensed and relaxed spasmodically beneath her soft palm.
Her voice tickled his heart. It raised a smile like an involuntary visitor upon his face, a rare expression for him. He had a small dimple on his left cheek. As soon as her cheek came in contact with that cheek a laugh bubbled forth of its own will, a true and joyous laugh. He bent to kiss her forehead as she babbled her dreaming whims, but she spun away before he could lay it. With another chuckle he extended his arm and she spun back into it, speaking of her dress. The shame bubbled up in him again, but she suppressed it with her declaration. He stared into her blue eyes, searching, and then smiled slowly. "I love you too, my soon-to-be-wife. You will have the most beautiful ring, and the most beautiful dress. A most beautiful wedding. What is your faith, darling?" He asked, brushing his thumb over her cheek tenderly.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Sept 4, 2008 0:47:53 GMT -5
Formorian's body fitted against Riffael as though she had every right to be there, which she almost felt was the case. Perfect in one way or another, she smiled once his corded muscled, arm slipped around her slender waist. Shackling her gently against him, the feel of his muscular torso not exactly flexing but twitching beneath the burning touch of her palm. Almost had her wanting to stroke the dirtied shirt he wore so long as she could touch him, and feel the way she affected him.
Lightly to get her mind from the strength of him surrounding her, invading her senses. She spoke of her will to help him, to work so she would have a fine dress. The smile that graced his handsome features, took years from his face and he was a younger man before her. That throaty laughter which slipped from his lips, stroked somewhere inside her. Deeply, making her soul smile just as her lips curved up to express this feeling, those blue eyes glittering brightly just at the sound. Setting her to her speech, to her dreams and he chuckled.
Spinning away like a fairy just a step ahead of him, it was almost like a game for a brief moment. Until he extended his arm like a silent call, command that she'd never ignore. Spinning back into his body with dreams of her gown that she would have. In truth she'd be happy to purchase a new ivory, Sunday dress. Blue eyes sparkling up at him she stared into the depths of his own, the doors into his soul. Raising a hand to lightly brush a few strands of his silky locks behind an ear.
"I love you too, my soon-to-be-wife." She giggled madly then with joy. "You will have the most beautiful ring, and the most beautiful dress. A most beautiful wedding. What is your faith, darling?" He questioned, a hand moving to touch her cheek the thumb stroking in a gentle pulsation against her flesh.
Sighing dreamily, she let her eyes flutter closed a moment just by his touch, a little purr almost escaping her. In the form of a delighted...'mmmm..' Eyes opening once more she looked up into his handsome face, slightly dirtied still from his hard labors of the day. It made her smile, for she knew she'd never have such a ring, a dress, or wedding she'd be pleased with a ring entirely. A little ceremony in front of a priest and then she would be his. In all things, but in name she was protected.
"Catholic. Roman be it. If...you are not pleased..." She began knowing that religion was a tedious thing that would have to be over come if he himself was not Catholic. There were still the Protestants, a few waning Anglicans from England. Other forms of Christian faith were bubbling here and there still setting things to chaos in the world. Worrying her full bottom lip she kept her smile.
"I....I can find it to convert for you if 'tis your wish my love." Said she, her silky mane of blonde curls spilling down fluttering when she moved her head even a fraction. She wanted to please him beyond all else, but should faith stand in the way..If she were to be his wife. He had every right to take every, last rosary from her hand for it would be his right. There would be no way of fighting that other than to carry her faith in her heart.
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Post by Riffael Dureau on Sept 7, 2008 18:30:04 GMT -5
Riffael couldn't help but smile at her giddy manner, the way that her smile bubbled up and over, beaming, and how her eyes glittered. It was quite early in the morning now, and he feared that given the excitement neither of them would get any sleep at all. He dreaded the day to come, somehow working on little rest and a heart full of whimsy. He anchored her to him tighter with his arm, feeling her curving form press into him. He smelt her hair and sighed, fighting back his own desire.
Catholic; he should have guessed. It was an intense and rigorous religion to have. He ached at the thought of her sacrifice; essentially she was giving to him what to her was the state of her immortal soul. She would forsake her god and chance in heaven to spend a short lifetime on earth as his wife. He would not require it of her. He had been raised as a Protestant, but had never been particularly devoted to religion. He had several times, like so many broken men before him, doubted the presense of God or the existence of heaven. Now he felt that such thing existed, but not in the form that was written in the Bible. "No," He said firmly, "I will convert," He laid his lips on the top of her head again, then whispered into her hair, "You must get some sleep, love. I will be with you tomorrow." He said, meaning the sentiment lovingly.
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Post by Formorian Carlisle on Sept 8, 2008 2:40:58 GMT -5
Formorian quite simply was enthralled by every little smile he offered her, ones that were full and caused that cute dimple in his cheek to rise. Even the slightest of curves into a grin that showed her just how much he enjoyed her silly little bits of prattle. Or the view she offered as she did so, whichever it might have been, the petite blonde was happy to be the center of his visions. Cuddling bodily into his form, to fit her curves tender against him where they stood. Pressing her cheek into the rough fabric of his dirtied shirt not once fearing to be smudged in the least.
Life was dirty and she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty if it meant to be with him from now unto forever.
Her voice fluttered around them as she spoke of her religion, prattle as it were for she feared displeasing him. Formorian wondered how she'd hold under his gaze if ever he were displeased with her. Some how she knew it'd not sit well with her, and if religion stood between them she could forfeit her own to love him. Offering up a tender smile she awaited, baited, longing to hear him speak as he spoke. His features having made a decision internally he'd soon give voice to.
"No," his firm tone filled her very soul and she swallowed. "I will convert," shocked she stood, her blue eyes big and bright as his lips ghosted the crown of golden hair. Slowly turning into a smile as she giggled madly barely hearing what he said. "You must get some sleep, love. I will be with you tomorrow." A tiny cry of joy as she was still a young girl and he a seasoned man in these times.
Formorian tip-toed to hug him dearly, reaching to kiss his lips with a teasing peck. Stepping back before he could encircle her with his strong arms, she gave him a wink. Spinning away on tip-toes with her small recollection of some ballet she'd taken her long curls trailing behind her in a waterfall of sunlight.
"As you say my love, but I must confess..sleep will evade me tonight. For you however I shall attempt, and dream of you ever so sweetly." Placing a kiss to the tips of her fingers she blew it in his direction playfully. Then without further-ado, she grasped her lantern and floated out of the backstage area.
She didn't desire the stage, the lime-light, so long as she was the leading Diva in Riffael's heart Formorian would be content well into her old age and beyond.
[ this thread isCLOSED
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