[I did mention that I had been coming back from a flight and have a full-time job. Nonetheless, I apologize for the delay. Also, sidenote: don't be afraid to help lead the story. Remember, this is a cooperative effort, not just one of us has to direct the action at a time, feel free to control background characters as well. You don't have to wait for me to direct the scene. Enjoy!]

Quinlan kept tight into the crevice from where he was. He definitely hadn't been counting on her to follow him here. He didn't care where she went, just as long as it was away from him, so when she joined his hiding spot, he scowled at her.  He said nothing and just held his breath, keeping it low enough so that his heart would calm down. The needle-like pangs inching through his veins forced him to bite down on his lip.

He cut his eyes to her again. Didn't she have a blindfold on? Why the hell did it look like she was looking at him? Couldn't she find her own hiding spot?

He didn't waste any time trying to ask her when dirt was kicked from the edge of the embankment. In fact he pushed out what little breathe he had, and listened intently for the sound of feet crunching dirt on the road.

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know!" one bandit replied to the other.

"Well, keep looking! I'm gonna drop down there, and check it out. Lod, you come with me."

Quinlan didn't know who Lod was or what each dumb bastard started to call themselves. When you surrounded yourselves with lowlifes, one face soon blended into another. The bandits jumped off the edge of the path, along with another both of them were wielding weapons. One a club, and the other an axe. They were gruff and scarred, Lod was the heavier of the two, well-muscled and balding, while the first bandit was lean and gaunt.

Quinlan knew this was a bad idea. He should have kept running. Thankfully, they were coming up on the woman's side and would likely see her first. He kept his right fist balled up close to him and when he spied them through the brush as they were oncoming, he readied himself.

"THAT WOMAN THERE MAKES FOR A BETTER PRIZE THAN I!" Quinlan hollered at the top of his lungs before bolting off into the brush on the opposite side of the dirt path.

The gaunt bandit screamed for the others to regroup. Lod spotted the woman where they both had been hiding and immediately bolted for her, along with eight of the total comrades that followed. Two for the price of one.

Feeling her scramble to her feet underneath him caused Quinlan to roll off to the side and slowly push himself up. He was dusty and choked on the sensation of dirt in his throat. He coughed and as the dirt clouds settled had the vague sensation that he’d been nestled in a waterbed. It had been unpleasant and left him very confused.

“Gods, are you ok? I’d be more concerned with popping on impact,” he observed and dusted himself off. Quinlan glanced behind him momentarily. “Either way, I’ve gotten worse scrapes through and through.”

There was a point of talking too much and whether or not he should keep running. His legs were aching something mad, and he was out of breath. Running wouldn’t get him very far at this particular point in his escape, but maybe hiding would. They were bandits, they didn’t care who they found so long as they had some kind of punching bag. Or an air mattress.

Quinlan shook his head, holding his ribs where he’d surely felt some of them had cracked. “One of them? Hell fucking no, sister. And if you don’t fucking get out of here, you’ll be sorry for it. Wrong place, wrong time. You know how that goes.”

He scooted around her as the bandits were fast approaching, their voices whooping up a storm. He spotted an embankment beside the road and threw himself down the ridge that was opposite the dirt path he came from, forcing his body into a divot where the roots of the nearest tree had broken the dried dirt away. It wasn’t perfect but this would have to do on such short notice.

Now all he had to do was not make a noise and hope they didn’t notice him.

It only then occurred to him how stupid he probably looked hauling a woman's unconscious body through a forest with just one hand. His stumpy arm kept the wheel lock secure over his shoulder. He pulled her by one arm and just let her drag the rest of the way, trying to make the path was as smooth as possible.

But Connloath was a harsh land all over, so there wasn't much he could do about the terrain. So the few times she bumped her head on a cantaloupe-sized rock, the worse her headache was going to be no doubt.

Then she started to stir and he kept pulling her firmly, but ready to stomp her head in with his foot if she tried to be antsy.

It wasn't his fault. It's exactly what he'd been trying to tell them and they wouldn't listen to him.

Of course not. They never did. Wherever he went, if something went horribly catastrophically wrong what happened? They blamed him. It never fucking failed.

Quinlan was exhausted from running. When they caught him the first time, they beat him nearly senseless. His veins were killing him, even breathing left him laboring for...well, breath. He kneed one of them in his tiny balls and took off running the first chance he got. Even then he could already feel the burn in his veins.

The bloody curse wasn't going to leave him alone. He had bigger problems than a bunch of bandits that thought he stole from them. They had planned to torture him, to tear him apart little by little until there was nothing left of him but his pinky toe. At least that was until he promised that he could lead them to a bigger prize. A cave in a far off hillside that had some buried treasure in it.

Folsom Mire was the name of the place, but it was unmarked on any map, and that was when they took off a fingernail. Of course they didn't believe him. Of course, they weren't convinced that he was more useful to him alive rather than dead. He'd been too disoriented by the pain to pay attention to the blood that could have ended them all quickly. He'd been starving too.

So there he was trudging through that thick, horrid Ravensway forest with a bandit gang hot on his trail, hungry, sore, tired, thirsty and bleeding. It wasn't the worst thing that happened to him in his life. Not even close, but even he could agree that his current state was pretty shitty.

Gods' balls he needed a drink. Or 10, and some hot soup and bread would be nice. He wasn't picky!

Quinlan's legs kept up at a continuously dragging pace. He could hear voices in the distance calling out to their comrades to "Find him!" "Alive!" and "Skin him!" Little did they know that he would make for a terrible leather coat.

Nevertheless he ran faster at the prompting of his pursuers and bounded over rounded tree roots that sprung up from the ground. The brush was exceedingly thick, as it were when one as trodding far from any beaten path. He kept running, looking back only long enough to see if any of the bandits were getting closer.

He didn't see the strange woman on the actual beaten path in front of him, moving into his trajectory. At the last second he collided hard with her body, and knocking them both full force to the ground. At least his face was cushioned in the fall by the generosity of her bountiful chest, leaving only his hands and knees scraped up on the dirt path.

"Excuse me," he murmured, voice muffled in her bosoms. "I think you're in my way."

I got KlezmerGryphon 8D

Artistic liberties were taken. I was going for a 90's pop art Brazilian Samba dancer type thing!

I still have Falkenrath with Roland, and Bellkrath with Mercuxio.

@Eckhart_Von_Musel

Mine pales in comparison to all y'all's but I got Eckhart! A fancy feesh with an aquamarine necklace. Going for a fancy 90's pop art theme.

Spoiler

[close]

Tchenko had lost sight of Tsaji as she rounded the bend. And even with the extra speed of Gojo leading the pack and the dogs rushing him forth, his heart was pounding in his throat. There could be anything there and whatever it was could be dangerous and put himself and his pack at risk. Tsaji was young but Piero's dogs were his pride and joy and he'd never forgive Tchenko if something happened to them.

He pulled hard to the left as the sled slid over the tall thick grass. The layers bellowed over with the force of the contraption, him along with it. He frowned and when Tsaji came into view, knocking a figure down, his heart caught in his throat. Fear gripped him, racing thoughts taking over of a struggle ensuing.

Or what would have seemed to be a struggle as they pulled closer and Gojo headed straight for them.  Except Tsaji couldn't have been happier and Tchenko couldn't have bee more relieved. "Tsaji," he breathed, tone disappointed. The young pup barked and panted before coming up to him and reaching up to nuzzle his hand.

He'd been fully prepared to pull one of the spears hanging from the side of the sled out of caution. But then the small person in the coat spoke and he saw that it was a woman. His sense of alarm decreased, although it was not because of her sex. But more due to her demeanor. She was a lot less alarmed than he was.

He wasn't quite distrustful as he otherwise seemed. Travelers between Carlig and Hyoite sometimes lost their way, it wasn't that uncommon. That was what he rationalized, but she wasn't any familiar face he knew, and her clothing wasn't quite made for the tundra. Her expression wasn't timid, and remained unthreatening. She had just as much to fear from him as he did her, he supposed.

Tchenko commanded the dogs to stay put as he reached down to grab Tsaji by the harness, who was very excited to have done a good and found a person. "This is not my dog. Tsaji is my friend's dog. She is learning to lead the pack, but she still has a long way to go," he replied, the common leaving his tongue in faint enough northern accent. He'd tempered his dialect enough to be understood by foreigners that came through Hyoite.

He supposed he ought to ask the obvious question but he held his tongue for a moment. Pushing the goggles from his face and revealing it to her, he then held his free hand out and pulled her to her feet. "Tchenko," he said simply. "You are lucky to have been found by a very happy dog. But your face says other wise. You've been walking long, yes?"

Tchenko pulled Tsaji forward and saw where the lead and broken from her harness, cursing slightly and seeing that the metal clip couldn't be repaired by hand. Maybe he had something in the gear he purchased to make a makeshift clip. "Are you good with your hands? Help me fix this, yes? I can give you a ride on the sled. Crossing on your feet is very slow. The sled is much faster."

Having stayed the night in Hyoite, Tchenko Sindri was well rested for his journey. Hyoite was a much larger village than Carlig and the long trek encouraged him to stay the night. He did not have dogs, but his friend Piero allowed him to use his sled for the journey. It also helped in bringing back supplies that he couldn't carry in his pack. The sled itself was custom-made, hand built and adjustable with wide slats to stay steady on uneven ground. The patches of thick grass would make for an easier flattened blanket once the dogs got up to speed.

In this case, it was necessary to bring back more wood slats for some reinforcements to the hull of his boat. It was a strong vessel, and it made his living livable, but it was time to put work into restructuring it. Perhaps if the catch was better in the upcoming months he could afford or even build something much better.

Tchenko pushed his hair back and fitted his fur lined hood over his head he stepped onto the sled, securing himself to it. The load had been prepped, secured to the load in the front, and soon they were off. The dogs had been barking madly, eager and excited to finally be on their way.

The huskies were mushing off into a frenzy and he guided them in the direction of Carlig. The dogs would be happy to be with their master, and for all their tolerance of Tchenko, he'd reward them with plenty of fish and a good brushing.  The tundra itself was a fast expanse and he knew the quickest route back home, even if that would still steal away most of the hours in the day.

He borrowed Piero's goggles, a small invention he'd tinkered with and kept the air from his eyes, his vision largely clear. The dogs pulled onward at breakneck speed and the route was flat enough to avoid major spills where it mattered most.

"Tsaji!" he called up to the lead dog, a young pup that was still learning the ropes at being in the front. Beside her was Gojo, an older female husky that tried to guide the younger one along. After hearing her name, the young dog corrected herself, ran forward.

What he hadn't heard with the wind wailing around his ears was the rattling of the hooks that secured Tsaji to the rest of the dogs. And the weakness in its link. Something had intrigued her and she was desperate to run off, and bark at it. As they began to reach a crest in the hillside in their route, Tsaji fixated to what caught her attention and tugged in that direction. The tug was enough to break the line and off she ran in the distance.

"TSAJI!" Tchenko wailed again and by instinct Gojo directed the dogs after the younger pup. 

The fluffy excited dog was the pinnacle of Unexpected. Although it wasn't unpleasant. Decebal was impartial to dogs, and they were often very partial to him. Dogs with owners usually growled at him, or gave warning barks to stay away. Some just ignored him completely. This was the first dog he'd ever met that actually seemed quite pleased to meet him. Or her.

Probably just hadn't seen people in a long time.

It wasn't what chased her, she claimed. But he was somewhat glad it showed up too.

The dog stayed still, close to the woman and regarded him with both fear and excitement. Fully prepped to roll over for belly rubs. In fact, the dog leaned heavily on Sunniva and panted happily before swooping its head back and slobbering her across the face.

"Oh God," he hissed.

Decebal stalked over to his bag and pulled out a piece of meat. Dried jerky that was just lightly salted, ripped off a piece and tossed it to the dog.

"I could ask you the same thing. You say you can't see, but you're literally running blind in the middle of the night. I could have been anybody. Or no one at all, and that happy dog would have just eaten you up," he muttered. "Sorry to disappoint you though. I'm not a criminal. At least I don't think so. I'm Decebal. I was sleeping before you almost ran over my face. Do you have a name?"

Leo. Born in the year of the monkey. My stone is a peridot.

It seemed like he was waiting forever, staring at those stupid bushes. Just when he was going to lay back down and forget it was anything important, the thing sprinted out of the bushes and collapsed into a heap in front of him. Decebal almost cried out, and although his breath did leave him, he recoiled back against his bedroll, ready to bring his sword up.

Except he couldn't. And even if his head wasn't kind of swimmy, he was suspicious of this creature in front of him.

She was rotund. Fat? No. It was far too filled for that. Pregnant perhaps. That seemed most likely. Here she was in front of him as vulnerable and razzled as any princess from a fairy tale. Except Decebal didn't believe in fairy tales, but he did believe in demons. His mother pretended to be nothing but an innocent fragile damsel in distress his entire life, only to be an evil cohort.

The alarm in his eyes was very real and he felt his heart twist it's rapidly beating way down into the pit of his stomach.  She begged him for help, said that she couldn't see, and as he stared at her in silence for that long few seconds, he saw that for the most part, that appeared to be true. He was still a knight wasn't he, didn't that mean anything anymore? 

"What did you hear?" he said, shifting carefully over to her until he was crouching in front of her, carefully avoiding any direct contact with her, but letting his voice dictate his general whereabouts. "I don't hear anything." A few deep breaths and he took her by the hand with one - his humany fleshy one - and kept the sword steady in the other, pulling her back toward his bedroll.

Now wasn't the time for questions as whatever was after her was now rustling the bushes behind her. He didn't really get a chance to turn around as it was already on one end of her clothes and tugging on them playfully.

A whine and a whimper followed when Decebal turned on it and screamed, raising his blade high, ready to strike. And he stopped mid-swing. "What? It's a dog. A shaggy, giant puppy."  The dog whimpered and could hardly contain its giant wolfhound excitement at having found people and sat next to the woman, thwacking its heavy bushy tail against her and the bedroll.

Roland had a distinct feeling that he was somehow going to regret this. Because the look on her face was already fully prepared to make him eat dirt, and enjoy doing it. He asked her, sure, he was getting on her nerves. But this was a rare opportunity to actually make something of himself when he came here to serve. He wanted to be a Mordecai, and instead of treating the moment with a sense of mockery, he buckled down into the stance he knew best and prepped himself for the beat down he was about to receive.

Again and again and again, his back slammed into the ground, his joints were locked, and his blows were dodged or the momentum used against him. Roland was out of breath and sweaty, his shirt clinging to him, his hair matted into a fine layer on his forehead. And while from an outward stance it seemed like he was just getting his ass kicked.

And they'd be right.

Roland's breath came in sharp, heavy waves as he pushed himself off the ground his back already throbbing and he paid attention to where she'd shown him his failures, and mimicked how she'd defended against them to change the field of battle. There was no right or wrong way to counter, and each punch thrown was an opportunity gained by the opponent to overcome, overthrow, or dismantle if they knew the technique.

Roland was tired and in his exhaustion he knew it was only going to be a matter of time before she put him down for the rest of the night. Roland saw an opening and he took it, his fist circumvented her guard and smacked her hard into the ribs. Eyes wide like saucers, Roland cackled. "Ha! ahahah!" And before he knew his back hit the ground for the last time, the wind knocked out of him and he was left gasping for breath.

The laughter was intermingled with groans of pain, radiating up into his shoulders and subsequently rattling into his skull. "Okay that was fun" he admitted, once he'd regained some semblance of breath. "So we should set up some regular sparring sessions. Same time tomorrow?"

Roland stared in disbelief as the former Duke of Falkenrath was laying there in a puddle of his own blood. He dropped his head and signed in front of him, the old recitations of his boyhood youth. Ansgar guide him, he thought to himself and cast his eyes over to Alanna as she reached down to check for a pulse, only to affirm the worst.

The war had taken it's toll on Falkenrath. The people had been nearly starved, driven out, marched through by army after army. When Charles Brennick could no longer protect them as was his duty, no longer abide by the oath he'd taken as Duke, his honor had been lost. Roland could understand this. Any man, woman, soldier, citizen could understand the need to protect the place they called home. And when they failed that duty, the sky was soon borne down upon them, the crushing weight no easy task to bear.

Roland chewed on his bottom lip a slow second, cutting his eyes back to Alanna's and finding the pain and sense of duty evident there. "I trust your judgment," he said, short and sweet. "You will be able to leave as easily as you arrive. My men will make sure Charles Brennick is properly tended to. Although it does pain me to have witnessed this at all. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

Just what he was sorry for, he didn't specify save that it was beyond all the events that had just occurred. Each had their duty to carry forth, and neither would relent for they promises that they were bound to. "Alanna. I mean, Commander. Despite everything, thank you for coming here and taking the time to speak with me. It's no small gesture."

His expression was hardened, eyes the only window as to the ache that burned beneath that steely facade. He was going to rebuild Falkenrath, make it a haven for the people that had suffered enough in this longwinded war. Even if he had to do that without her.

The dreams were always the same. He always would wake up in a cold cold sweat, and the memory of his mother imprinted on his mind. Her face deformed from the once sweet grin he'd tried to remember her by. The flashes of lightning that highlighted his father's dying body. The screams of his mother calling out his name as he ran off into the night.

Were they memories? Things he blocked out?

The fire roaring beside him made shadows dance in the corner of his vision. He pushed himself up from his bedroll, the night closing in on him. It must have been close to midnight. Or so he assumed, the moon being high over his small campsite.

The village he was just outside of had no room for lodgers. And he'd rather not have to fuss with odd looks and strange questions. He'd much rather have a quiet peaceful night's rest. If only his brain agreed with him and would let him sleep a full night through.

Decebal took a few more sticks he'd had next to him and tossed them onto the firepit. The small clearing he was in was just a few miles from the main road, and avoided unnecessary attention by way of any brigands or mercenaries traveling along it. It wasn't his job to clear them out, and with Dukes doing their own little squabbles, he didn't really have interest in being the one to clear up their mess.

He was a knight, or ex-knight. Or what have you. Titles didn't matter when your business was finding demons and casting them back to whatever pit they crawled out of. He'd find the head of the beast that destroyed that abbey and turn it in for the reward that was promised him.

The trail had gone cold for a day. That wasn't a good sign, and while he was sure he could find it again, the chase had left him exhausted in the days that preceded it.

Hence the need for rest. Hence the sleeplessness. Hence the pounding headache that raged in his skull. Eugh.

Decebal kept his sword in his lap, only moving it so that he could get closer to his supply bag and take a sip of the whiskey he had in the flask just tucked behind his other gear.  Maybe just one more.

In the middle of that swig, a loud rustle in the brush made him almost spit it out and he paused. Slowly setting the flask down, his heart was pounding clear in his ears, alarm making his hair stand on end. He reached for his blade and carefully removed it from the sheath, his eyes flicking to the bushes where he heard the noise, watching waiting.

Did she really have to ask that question or was she as daft as she looked? Reneth blinked owlishly at her, as if he couldn't actually believe that she said that. But nope, it was true. His brow only furrowed after and he actually smiled at her, clearly amused at this entirely nonsensical situation. It was too strange to not think it was funny.

"Because only fools believe such things can be given without a price. You have to either be incredibly naive and idealistic, or the one trying to lure and pull the strings to gain the trust of someone equally desperate. And you're incredibly tempting, I'll give you that."  The amusement never left his lips and he shifted so that he could move closer to her, to make sure she was truly real or he wasn't just hallucinating from the lack of sleep and food.  His hand reached out to touch her face, feel her cheek, just in case it might pass through.

And when it didn't his expression sobered just a bit.

"We'll I'll be a pair of robin's tits," he chuckled. "I'll humor you then. Seeing as how I've got nothing better to do and stepping outside this building might very well end badly for someone else. Reneth, if you need something to call me."  He sighed and pulled his hand back after stroking her cheek and tiredly laid back in his chair.

"If you can make a nice warm bed appear like you did that water, then that'll be all I'll need. A warm bed I can just sleep forever in. I guess I'll just have to see the price you ask in return for it."

The suspicion and curiosity still coiled in his gut and he couldn't put his finger on it but her presence both intrigued and alarmed him. Maybe he was just too tired to resist, or rely on his brain to do any proper thinking, or maybe he was just staring at her cleavage to avoid any real responsibility for himself. Eugh, his eyes dropped down to the cup instead and he relaxed into the chair.

The water appeared quite literally by magic and he grunted, sitting closer to the side and reaching forward as if to examine it. His roughened hands, bandages wrapped around his fingers and palms in some sections, hesitated, long thin fingers almost tempted to grasp that cup and then his thirst was too overwhelming to resist and he gently braced it. The coldness of the glass shocked him, and he gasped.

It was as real as he could have imagined it. He couldn't think of any reason why he wouldn't and pulling it closer allowed him to inspect the water's clarity. It practically sparkled and the dry itch in his throat ached to be quenched. Reneth gave in and downed the water quickly, the savage thirst that only a desert could commiserate with.

The water came down his throat, cold and crisp, and it spilled and splashed all over his face and neck, wetting the scarf around his shoulders.  He coughed and set the cup down, slamming it almost on the table before slinking his eyes back up to her.

What he wanted? He wasn't going to say it, she seemed to know what he wanted before he even had to open his mouth anyway. "I want to know one thing," he began instead. "Who are you and why are you bothering with me at all? You don't know who I am."

If there was one word that could sum up Reneth's entire evening it would be exhausted. He hadn't realized it until he sat down but every muscle in his body burned and ached and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on a warm bed and have a long deep sleep. The kind of sleep he hopefully didn't have to wake up from again because this world had nothing worth waking up for, but he'd take a soft bed in case the sleep wasn't very long. Some beggars couldn't be choosers.

His tired eyes, no doubt the bags underneath them sagging along the harsh lines of his face, raised when the woman started to move over to him. Sauntering as if she were some kind of Essyrni belly dancer, or paid for a private venue. Reneth's heart sank into his gut in the most unpleasant fashion and he felt sick. Not because she was repulsive to look at - quite the opposite.

But for all he knew she was a pretty face attached no a soul with nefarious intent. That was the usual tune to how that went. Still, however, he made no protest when she took her seat and produced a cup with her hand hovering over it. 

Reneth's gut twisted further. Yeah, serious bad juju here.  "My mother told me not to talk to strangers," he lied, and rubbed his face although his eyes couldn't peel himself away from the fascination he had with that cup. Some water would be nice. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper drink and his own flask was pretty light. "And you don't even know me, lady of the night," he snorted.

"How did you do that? Are you a witch?"  The question came out before he could decide if he wanted to ask it. His tired brain felt fuzzy and his eyelids were heavy when he met her face. His haggard expression only further accented his annoyance. Even if he was the one doing most of the talking.

Eh, well, it'd be more trouble to move from his chair than it was worth.

No trouble was worth getting into. Just mind your own business, he told himself, and everything would be all right. Nothing would happen and he could leave this awful town in the middle of the night like he always did, with nothing more than the clothes on his back, the blade on his wrist, and the herbs on his belt. The sooner Abraim forgot about him the better, because chances were, nothing good would come of it. Someone would have to die. And the debts he incurred would never be repaid.

They always found him. They watched him, and he couldn't just disappear as much as he wanted to. Suicide was always an option, but before he could plunge the knife something happened, stayed his hand and kept him in this painful world. He was paying for mistakes of the past and there was no path to redemption no matter where the road or non road led him.

Serendipity was no different. The old kingdom, land of the fae, of magic and mystical arts that no one would open a blind eye to his shenanigans. Of all places to wander into, this strangely felt the most like home. And the coastal breeze could rival that of the bluffs of Folkvar. It was nice. Like for a brief moment he could finally be at peace. Reneth, took in a deep breath, holding it as he let the breeze pass over him, brushing his hair back. Night was drawing in and the ache in his bones from all that walking he'd been doing earlier.

A place to rest was all he could ask for.

Reneth's tired eyes couldn't mistake the familiar face in front of him. And when he felt those eyes lock with his, that breath he'd been holding left him with a cold gut. "Fuck," he hissed and immediately darted out from the main street and into an alley just right of him. Reneth didn't know this city but any set of zig zagged directions would be better than nothing. His feet kicked up small stones and dirt as he shoved himself into the first side-door that came loose, slamming it shut behind him.

He panted softly, swallowing hard on a raw throat. The quiet of the building set him at ease, and he pulled his cloak higher of his shoulders, avoiding a woman walking down the corridor and into a doorway to the left of him. Must have been a service entrance he'd barged into, and thus far had gone unheard. No one would be the wiser if he just quietly made his way to the front. He was a traveler like anyone else.

Reneth did just that, slipping into the common room and when eyes were averted into a chair by the fire, tucked away in the corner. He eased out a sigh of relief, shoving his hair back and burying his fingers into the thick of it. "That was close," he murmured to himself, resting his head on his hands, elbows digging into his knees. Footsteps made his stomach drop but he remained calm, tilting his head up enough to see a woman looking his way.

"Fucking hell, can't I get through five minutes without someone staring at me," he murmured under his breath.

She wasn't the only one flushed from head to toe with whatever carnal lust was coursing through him. Was it the wine? Hmm, it was definitely part of it. Was it the fact that she was fairly determined he wasn't interested in her sexually but had to do his duty to spawn an heir regardless? Or was he just screwing her out of spite to her sheer sense of doubt?  Hmmm, maybe some awkward combination of all the above.

Mercuxio hadn't a reason to be spiteful toward her. And he'd be dead wrong to think of her as anything less than devastatingly beautiful.

They'd been rocking together, steadily and in time, Meruxio undulating his hips as his movements elicited responses from her. He scooped her close to him, keeping their bodies tightly wound together, legs tangled in a mess as he rocked in deeper, rubbing his face along her neck and cheek, kissing along it.

Then the tinges of her body, the muscles tensing and wanting to lock up.  Mercuxio focused the parts that made her tense more. "Usually yeah. Sometimes. If it's pretty good," he mumbled and  and ground his hips harder in hers.

He kissed her lips again, moaning into her mouth. "Are you...f-feeling anything?" he panted back against her. He got the cloudback of his own breath against her and he wrinkled his face. "Yeah, my breath does stink....I'm sorry."  A soft chuckle followed, only to be interrupted by a moan as he drew closer to climax.