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11-23-2016, 10:51 AM
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Thranduil
Every flinch of her skin, every tremble of her flesh he feels. His mind was obsessing over her feel, her touch. Its weakened senses were still reveling in the notion that this was real. That she was here. With him. In peace, and love. To her touches he too is weakened. Her gentle nips send shivers down his spine, and his trembling knees can no longer be accounted for just his current injuries. They still pressed him, draining him to a threatening paleness, but he was not looking over his shoulder for a reaper. He had. When he had first come. His knees scraped, and fresh wounds reburning. And he had expected to all the more. The burden of those weaknesses he had carried for so long he thought would be the final nail in this coffin. He wouldn’t be able to stand as he let it go, and fell back into the imprisonment of love. Yet he hadn’t fallen. His heart still beat strong (even racing as the rose’s lips nip), and his legs held him. Love was a prison. But…dare he admit the stinging voices of others that love was strength? That love held him up? The gold wouldn’t go quite that far perhaps. He had felt its strength to be true…to destroy, yet never build. Yet he’d never felt it. When the white ghost had held sway, and her body felt real under his touch, he hadn’t been weak. At the very start he was strong, and he had seen it as his strength continuing him on. Had he been blind … And what of those things? What of that past ache? For so long he had carried that guilt like a precious object, shouldn’t he tell her? Was that not the sign that he had finally given in? Hadn’t he always seen that as the sign for him and others that the door was open? Perhaps…but then, here, in her touch…he didn’t even remember. Her touch made all the past melt into nonimportance. A burning needle slices his barrel and the gold flinches more visibly, his face contorting out of its dream like state. He might be agreeing love was strength, but it wasn’t exactly a miracle working healer. His breath hisses out as the rosen retreats realizing what was to come next. Earth eyes shiver as he feels the cold breeze blow against where she had just been. In his moment of grief he feels her breath against him again, and hears her whispers. Her words come like another knock at that iron door, trying its best to needle its way into this. But he didn’t want to let go. Like a selfish child he wanted to cling on, ignore that there was a future where wounds could be infected and fevers threaten life. He didn’t care about ills found his way, if only it meant this moment lasted a little longer. These moments made all that suffering in the past, and those to come, bearable. So his voice hesitates, it breaks against the rock of his lips. The ‘of course dear’, even the ‘I suppose darling’ go unsaid. Instead his head pulls back slightly, never leaving her touch, but come to press against the flat plane of hers (his turned aside to avoid her horn). He presses it, his own head beginning to throb, though it was likely more so from the awakening to his condition. “Send Alice.” It slips out like some dark secret, a confession loathe to be revealed. But then he slips back into the softness of their love. “…in a little while…” He slides his head back to her white mane where he reaches and pulls it gently. Pulls it to the quiet darkness of the cave. As he steps towards his, his own balance stumbles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His body runs along hers feeling its heat, leaning on it, till at last necessity parts them. Into the darkness he steps, though the sun shrinking back the shadows. He turns slightly to face out, his leafen starred head looking for her, but his vision was growing darker. Without much protest his knees buckle and he lowers to the cold cavern floor, legs tucking, in and face contorting as his nerves feel each crease in his fresh scars. Yet he doesn’t black out, or sleep just yet. Instead he looks up, his head trying once more to seek the object of his desires, to call to her in some way to his side. To have her come. To feel her heat. To touch her…A healer could wait. He would cling to this moment as long as he could. "talk talk talk" OOC:: Sorry for the wait dearie |
Hotaru
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