OOM: All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness?

[brave_kreyu]

(OOC: Warning for explicit adult content, mention of noncon/rape, slavery)

Is it a dream? A glimpse of a universe that might have been? A story untold?

Something called Skellig out here, to a road scratched in the earth between the desert and the land irrigated by the river. The sun overhead is like a hammer, the heat murderous. His coat...he can't remember WHAT happened to his coat. In this heat the coat would be as strange as his wings to human eyes in any case.

There are two small mud-brick houses up ahead, then more road, and a mud-brick wall encircling a small village of mud-brick houses.

He needs a drink, desperately.

He hears footsteps coming toward him, the heat haze breaks to reveal a woman. (Except she can't be a woman, no one human has that much Light inside them, that much power.)

"Even one touched by the gods should not be walking about this time of day," her voice is all concern, all worry. She's wearing a white linen kilt around her waist, and nothing at all above it except a necklace of blue clay beads. She's lovely. (And she feels familiar? Why?)

She offers a hand to him, seemingly not concerned in the slightest about his wings.

Comments

[27_53]

"I've got you," he mutters under his breath, pressing his fingertips and palm firmly to the wound to hold it closed as he briefly studies the arrowhead - yes, all of it is present - before tossing the offending weapon onto the tabletop.

With his palm still flat against her chest, he reaches and allows his skills to work to heal the damage in her shoulder.

And then he leans in and allows his forehead to fall lightly against hers. This effort, he does for pain relief - and while it is draining, he keeps the contact brief as to not completely exhaust his reserves.

Once the skin has finished knitting itself together, he leans back in the chair and exhales heavily, tired.

[brave_kreyu]

"You have done lovely work." She moves to kiss him, a light press of lips. "Rest, and I'll fetch us some things to clean up and perhaps restore some energy."

More rags, more water, something herbal and resinous to help take away the smell of blood. And a fresh kilt for both of them, as the ones they have on are stained with blood.

On another trip, she brings more beer, along with some bread and dried dates.

The horrors of the afternoon have been cleaned away, wrapped up to be dealt with at a later date.

[27_53]

Skellig does not move much from his position in the chair, other than to rinse his body of the bloodstains (both hers and those of the men they fought) and to gratefully accept her offerings of food and drink (he leaves plenty to share between them, but he did not realize just how hungry he was) as she busies herself with taking care of things.

He feels as if she should also be resting, given that he just dug an arrow out of her shoulder, but he's too tired to argue.

With his bare feet on the floor, he focuses on letting his body adjust to the rhythm of the Karma he can feel moving through the packed dirt beneath him, closing his eyes as he drinks. A rustle of fabric catches his attention (his hearing is improving, in this space) and he cracks one eye open, glancing at her.

She is changing from her bloodied kilt, her body turned away from him. One version of him, in another life or timeline, would have turned his gaze away from her form. This is not that version, and he does not stare...but he does not turn his head, either.

[brave_kreyu]

Somehow, she notices his looking. His scent, something else? There is no scar over her shoulder, between her shoulder blades, Not yet. She dresses slowly, deliberately, because she WANTS him to look, her heart pounding faster in her chest.

"You may look upon me as much as you please," she says as she finishes tying the kilt. "Though I fear spending time with me may damage your reputation." She turns to face him. "No idea how the rumors started, but apparently I'm pretty poison." She laughs, the sound a little bitter. "The young men will jest among themselves when they think I can't hear them that it would be a fine thing to have their hands on my breasts and fill me with their cocks. But in the same breath, they'll curse me as a witch that makes any man who lays with me impotent."

[27_53]

Skellig's expression shifts to one of interest, with a heavy layer of disbelief, his eyebrow lifting as he shifts his jaw.

"Young men are often fools who do not know of what they speak." He huffs, offended on her behalf that anyone would speak of her that way. (Not only is he offended in general at the view towards women, but he is more frustrated that someone would speak of her in that manner - his dragon - why does he feel such an attachment?)

And since she has given him permission to look upon her...he does so. Gratefully, and appreciative. He senses her heartbeat quicken under his gaze, and he feels a stir in his own chest, an aching hint of want that surprises him somewhat with how much it also brings him...a familiar comfort, among other thoughts.

With the hand that is holding his cup of beer, he motions at her form, smirking.

"They would be lucky to lay with a being such as yourself, even if the rumor happens to be truth...so long as perhaps, the effect occurs afterwards."

[brave_kreyu]

She's visibly pleased to hear them called fools, and his last comment startles a laugh from her. It takes her a good minute to stop laughing.

"You flatter me, Skellig." She's close enough now that she could reach out and touch him. She flushes ever so slightly. "I have never lain with anyone, before. But if you would teach me how to please you, I would strive to leave you very satisfied."

[27_53]

His original plan, as she stepped closer to him, had been to swiftly pull her into his lap and kiss the hell out of her without much further preamble, to show her just what idiots those young men truly were.

And then she speaks. And he has to take a brief moment, a heartbeat, to consider her words and just how she has spoken them to him.

"I would gladly teach you," he says honestly, motioning to her to come closer; when she does, he pulls her to him, guiding her to sit on his lap. His hand settles at her hip. "But to start...I have no doubt in your ability to satisfy me. Men...we are much more...straightforward."

To say the least.

"I would ask that I be taught how to best please you."

[brave_kreyu]

She is delighted to be guided to sit on his lap, that he has agreed to teach her.

"Really?" Men being more straightforward is definitely news to her. "I am glad of a bit of straightforwardness here, I think."

She flushes at his question, heat and want stirring at the idea of him pleasing her. "I, I don't know if I can teach you that, as I don't know it myself," she admits after a moment of thought. "I've tried touching myself before, but it only made the wanting stronger and it was never ENOUGH."

[27_53]

"We will learn together, then, what it is that brings you the most pleasure."

His hand on her hip remains in place, though he begins to draw slow circles against her skin with his thumb, the contrast of the woven linen and her bare flesh helping to keep his focus in this moment.

"And I will teach you what brings mine."

A pause.

"You must promise me, this...if at any point, anything that I do is unpleasant, or makes you unsettled...you will speak up. I do not think that will be a concern...but if it is, I would stop, without argument."

[brave_kreyu]

"I will," she promises. "Would you promise me the same? I don't want to hurt you."

She shivers at the feeling of his thumb drawing circles on her hip. It's a pleasant feeling.

[27_53]

"I will," he replies, with a nod. "I am not afraid to speak out when it is needed."

With that issue settled, and with her already shivering under his touch, he uses his other hand to brush her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"If you will allow it, I would kiss you?"

[brave_kreyu]

"Please," Kreyu replies, voice low and wanting.

His lap is solid, warm, beneath her, and moving into a kissing position rather presses her breasts against his chest.

She's very careful at first, but her confidence grows over time, makes her a little bolder.

[27_53]

Skellig allows her to set the pace of the kiss, responding in kind to the way she is working her mouth against his, encouraging when needed, allowing a break occasionally to catch their breath, settle her nerves, laugh when they bump each other awkwardly.

It is fun, and he quite enjoys it.

As she grows bolder, he deepens the kiss, and slides one hand up to cup her breast in his palm, massaging gently as she leans into his touch, thumb grazing her nipple slowly.

(Those idiot village boys have no idea what they're missing out on.)

[brave_kreyu]

It is FUN, and she is quite relaxed by the time he cups her breast in his palm. She makes a pleased gasp when he massages her breast and when his thumb grazes her nipple he drags the first moan of pleasure of the evening out of her.

She deepens their kiss, reaches out to touch his chest, explore, fingers light against his skin.

[They have no idea, but that just means he has her all to himself.]

[27_53]

As her fingertips explore his chest, he is more vocal than he typically would be with a partner, encouraging her with contented, happy sounds as she hits spots that cause static sparks to crackle in his mind, pleasure welling in his body.

When her touch hits his collarbones, she is rewarded, a low groan escaping his throat as he breaks the kiss briefly to pull in a shuddering breath.

"More of that, please."

[brave_kreyu]

She's enjoying all the sounds he makes, but the groan and shuddering breath make the heat curl tightly in her gut. She shifts a little on his lap, straddling him, the kilt riding up higher on her thighs. There's nothing between him and the most intimate parts of her body now except the linen of his own kilt.

She is VERY pleased with herself at coaxing such a thing from him, and applies a hand to each of his collarbones, the touch firmer, more lingering.

"Like your hand on my breast," she breathes against his lips during a short break for air. There's also a bit of vicious satisfaction that she's giving Skellig what those young men wanted for THEIR pleasure and will never have.

[27_53]

Obliging, he shifts his second hand from her hip to her other breast, cupping both gently as he drops his lips to the skin on the side of her neck, kissing his way over it, nuzzling softly.

"I am happy to give you what you find enjoyable."

And frankly, what he also finds enjoyable - her body is a well-built form, and one that should be appreciated. His kiss shifts to her throat, mapping her curves with his mouth and tongue.

[brave_kreyu]

"Likewise," she tells him, voice breathy already. Her heart and her breathing speed up as his mouth and tongue map her throat. She moans, it all feels so good, tilts her head back to let him explore as much as he pleases.

One of her hands exploring his collarbones brushes a nipple more by accident than design.

[27_53]

His senses are normally heightened, but in the case of the blazing sun having beat down on him while he had wandered the road, his skin is extra sensitive in this moment. When her hand brushes his nipple, he groans against her throat - wanting, eager.

It is as if he knows how to allow his hands to slide over her body, as if he has already done this dozens of times, her form so very familiar to his muscle memory.

One of his hands shifts to her knee, sliding under the linen of her kilt to trace patterns on the top of her thigh as he moves his mouth back to meet hers.

[brave_kreyu]

The sound he makes against her throat prompts her to tease both of his nipples, careful little brushes repeated over and over.

She moans into his mouth as his hand slides under her kilt, traces patterns on her thigh. Her hips shift toward his hand, instinct or some echo of memory prompting a desire for more of his hand there.

Her kiss is hungry now, more daring, teasing with her tongue.

[27_53]

Skellig welcomes her teasing, her touch, and allows her to take control of the kiss. That is something that he enjoys regardless of the fact that he is the one who is supposedly 'teaching' her.

But at the same time, with her hips shifting towards his hand, there also also things he wishes to take control of.

Like his fingertips on her thigh, callouses brushing her smooth, delicate skin as he allows his touch to slide higher, to the curve of her body, to where she is practically begging for him to touch her without having to say a word. His own arousal stirs beneath his wrist, beneath his kilt as she shifts her body weight over him.

Tentatively, ever so cautiously (seeking permission without speaking, as his mouth is otherwise busy) he strokes his fingers over her, touching her in a manner that he somehow knows she desires to be touched.

[brave_kreyu]

She's already aroused when he touches her, when his fingers brush her clit oh so gently, when one finger slips the tiniest bit inside of her to tease. She gasps in surprise at how good it feels, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"Please, please," she begs, her body aching with want. She can't get more words to cooperate right now, so she hopes he understands that she wants his hands there, wants more.

[27_53]

"Just focus," he urges her, placing one hand (the one that is not busy at the moment) flat on her chest, his palm easily picking up the racing rhythm of her heart. "Breathe with me, as I touch you."

He fully understands, and her arousal and the waves of energy she is putting off as she begs for him is enough to make him feel as if he has just had several shots of strong liquor.

(In his mind, it is familiar, but only in the way that the roles are somehow reversed - as if she should be the one telling him to breathe.)

With his own focus growing stronger, he pulls in a deep breath, holds it briefly, wordlessly trying to coax her to mimic him - before he exhales. With his other hand, he obliges her want, her ache, sliding his fingers inside of her, setting a rhythm with his touch that matches the way her hips desperately move against his hand.

[brave_kreyu]

Pleasing a partner should be easier on him than it has been in some time, with no stiffness, no pain, in his hands, his wrists, his forearms.

It takes a few tries before she manages to breathe with him, deep breaths held briefly followed by an exhale.

His fingers stretch her, but it doesn't hurt, feels so good as he starts to move them that she whimpers in pleasure. She's getting wetter, more aroused, with every motion of his hand.

[27_53]

"There you go," he lifts his hand from her chest to lightly caress her jawline, voice a low murmur of encouragement - albeit one that is tinted heavily with want and a fair amount of lust.

Coaxing her to shift against him, he increases his pace slightly, allowing his body to rock slightly in time with his fingers, his chest pressing to meet hers.

my dragon

His mouth wanders to the top of her shoulder, and he traces an invisible line (there is a memory in that space, a trail he knows to follow even though there are no marks on her skin, no scars) with his tongue. Every sound she makes sense a ripple of pleasure down his spine, entices him to up the ante, increase the stimulation, give her what she wants.