They're no stranger to those, considering their time spent walking across Eorzia in search of anything to give their lives meaning once more. That much they haven't said out loud, but Ysayle and Estinien are not complicated people -- for a while it had been what remained of Nidhogg, but they'd seen that through but recently, the lance that still bore traces of the dragon's corruption piercing the eyes and sending them back into aether. After there had be rumors of another dragon that needed dealing with, but the Warrior of Light had beat them to it. And with a better solution.
Which meant that they were in Kugane with no clear path ahead save for the fact that they had a dragonette in their charge. Of which Estinien is all too eager to get rid of -- hence the argument.
Only this time, when Ysayle had lost her temper with his stubbornness, she'd found herself kissing Estinien instead of doing anything sensible about it. But he'd started to kiss her back instead of shoving her away, and that only complicated the problem.
Mostly because Ysayle has no practical knowledge of how to kiss someone, or anything that follows. Not that she will tell Estinien that, no. Which translated into bumped noses, bitten lips and tongues and one time where they'd actually hit their heads together.
But they'd gotten to a room somehow, Ysayle's fingers pressed against the leather in the gaps of his armor, breathing heavily against his lips -- stained the same blue of her lipstick -- and attempts to keep him pinned against the wall.
Only-- what to do next? Knowing the vague details in theory were one thing, but she'd never acted upon a sense of need before, never had the time or desire. Hm.
There might be a too-long pause as she considers this, and then goes to the simple falconer's shirt she's wearing, undoing the laces in front of that.
Estinien can-- well, she's not sure what he's going to do. )
[Confounding. He must have muttered that more than once by now--against her mouth, into her mouth, maybe into her hair, he's not sure anymore--but isn't it? Isn't it the most confounding thing? Bewildering, stupefying, all of it. Not only that she has kissed him, not only that her hands are searching him--searching for more of him--but just look at what she is trying to do. Pin him. She wants to use all the onzes of her strength to hold him fast and restrain him. Ysayle is a mighty woman and Estinien won't ever again claim otherwise, nor will he accept it from anyone else. But she wants to hold him fast. It's the sort of thing he would laugh at, if his lungs could laugh. If his face could laugh. It's too hot and confounded to do that or much of anything.
Not to do nothing, mind you. He isn't stock still. For all the ice that's been proclaimed of her, she has done anything but freeze him here; she is warm. Gods, the woman against him is warm. She is always causing a stir in his embers, heating him up when they argue or when she has some criticism to lodge... but it hadn't occurred to him that it would be this way. Her mouth and the press of her--these things hadn't occurred to him.
Anyway, he hasn't the time to consider them now. Ysayle is already moving beyond the scope of his comprehension: she is plucking at the laces of her shirt to undo them. To open it up, Estinien realizes. And from there--well it's beyond the scope of his comprehension. Not the overarching concept. Like her, he grasps the theory. But step-by-step, as action--as shared action--what had it mattered before this? Before the very moment where Estinien reaches to place his hands against hers? He touches her fingers, and then what her fingers are touching. His pause is snowfall, the place between cloud and earth, before anything hits the ground. He's waiting for her to deny him.
But she does not. So he undoes the rest of her laces for her. To open up her falconer's shirt. He opens it up. Looks upon her. Draws the shirt down past her shoulders, just so--and he looks upon her.
He's seen this before. He actually has. He lived in a barracks for so long--men with the men and women with the women, yes, but they were all young and they lived together for some time. It was inevitable that they would glimpse each other's bodies. Estinien could spare no interest for the women he saw, nor for the men. The only throats or breasts or bellies for which he'd any eye were that of dragons.
Turns out an expanse of flesh like this is quite capable of holding his interest after all.
But he is so overwhelmed by how much her body matters to him that he says,] Begging your pardons, [as if he'd turned a corner too quick and dashed into a lady above his station. As if he cares about that sort of thing in the first. It doesn't suit him--though his eyebrows peaked as high as they are, that's more like him. He's just utterly lost in the sight of her, is all. A man forgets himself at a revelation like this.]
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dragonsung) wrote2020-08-24 06:10 pm
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They're no stranger to those, considering their time spent walking across Eorzia in search of anything to give their lives meaning once more. That much they haven't said out loud, but Ysayle and Estinien are not complicated people -- for a while it had been what remained of Nidhogg, but they'd seen that through but recently, the lance that still bore traces of the dragon's corruption piercing the eyes and sending them back into aether. After there had be rumors of another dragon that needed dealing with, but the Warrior of Light had beat them to it. And with a better solution.
Which meant that they were in Kugane with no clear path ahead save for the fact that they had a dragonette in their charge. Of which Estinien is all too eager to get rid of -- hence the argument.
Only this time, when Ysayle had lost her temper with his stubbornness, she'd found herself kissing Estinien instead of doing anything sensible about it. But he'd started to kiss her back instead of shoving her away, and that only complicated the problem.
Mostly because Ysayle has no practical knowledge of how to kiss someone, or anything that follows. Not that she will tell Estinien that, no. Which translated into bumped noses, bitten lips and tongues and one time where they'd actually hit their heads together.
But they'd gotten to a room somehow, Ysayle's fingers pressed against the leather in the gaps of his armor, breathing heavily against his lips -- stained the same blue of her lipstick -- and attempts to keep him pinned against the wall.
Only-- what to do next? Knowing the vague details in theory were one thing, but she'd never acted upon a sense of need before, never had the time or desire. Hm.
There might be a too-long pause as she considers this, and then goes to the simple falconer's shirt she's wearing, undoing the laces in front of that.
Estinien can-- well, she's not sure what he's going to do. )
Well?
( Perhaps prompting him will help. )
no subject
Not to do nothing, mind you. He isn't stock still. For all the ice that's been proclaimed of her, she has done anything but freeze him here; she is warm. Gods, the woman against him is warm. She is always causing a stir in his embers, heating him up when they argue or when she has some criticism to lodge... but it hadn't occurred to him that it would be this way. Her mouth and the press of her--these things hadn't occurred to him.
Anyway, he hasn't the time to consider them now. Ysayle is already moving beyond the scope of his comprehension: she is plucking at the laces of her shirt to undo them. To open it up, Estinien realizes. And from there--well it's beyond the scope of his comprehension. Not the overarching concept. Like her, he grasps the theory. But step-by-step, as action--as shared action--what had it mattered before this? Before the very moment where Estinien reaches to place his hands against hers? He touches her fingers, and then what her fingers are touching. His pause is snowfall, the place between cloud and earth, before anything hits the ground. He's waiting for her to deny him.
But she does not. So he undoes the rest of her laces for her. To open up her falconer's shirt. He opens it up. Looks upon her. Draws the shirt down past her shoulders, just so--and he looks upon her.
He's seen this before. He actually has. He lived in a barracks for so long--men with the men and women with the women, yes, but they were all young and they lived together for some time. It was inevitable that they would glimpse each other's bodies. Estinien could spare no interest for the women he saw, nor for the men. The only throats or breasts or bellies for which he'd any eye were that of dragons.
Turns out an expanse of flesh like this is quite capable of holding his interest after all.
But he is so overwhelmed by how much her body matters to him that he says,] Begging your pardons, [as if he'd turned a corner too quick and dashed into a lady above his station. As if he cares about that sort of thing in the first. It doesn't suit him--though his eyebrows peaked as high as they are, that's more like him. He's just utterly lost in the sight of her, is all. A man forgets himself at a revelation like this.]