Warning: Adult situation - this log contains R-rated matierial
Xanadu Weyr – Clearing
A wide clearing stretches from east to west, the ground packed hard although grass grows across most of it. Trees are strictly forbidden in this space, their danger to the constant draconic traffic reason enough to banish them to the forest that creates a border to the north. Where the ground is less trampled, tiny flowers poke their delicate heads out from their shaded hiding places.
The cliff looms imposingly on three sides, stretching upwards all the way up the side of the rock edifice where, high above on Xanadu's Star Stones, the ever-present watchdragon sits on the lonely peak. Directly south is the hatching arena, the large round complex taking up a large portion of the perimeter, a line of trees visible beyond it. Southeast are wide steps leading up to the caverns and eastwards is the large entrance to the Infirmary. Somewhat north of the infirmary is a human-sized archway that has a frequent quantity of traffic — it leads to the Wandering Wherry Tavern. Tucked neatly under the arch, to one side is a tiny wood-frame shop bearing the name 'Petals and Pots Garden Shop'. Southwest lies cliffs where windows for the administrative offices have been cut. Underneath them are the entrances to the crafters complex while north and west along the cliff's base, a broad path leads to the feeding grounds. Due north is the spacious trail that leads to the rest of the Weyr - the meadow, the forest beyond. At the far edge of the clearing, beside the trail leading to the forest sits a clocktower.
It's near to midnight in Xanadu when Jethaniel and Darsce emerge from the craft complex. He's dressed simply now, in a blue linen shirt and brown trousers, and there's travel cases in his hands. If they are gone before morning, he cannot be drawn into any of the morning meetings, and this trip will actually occur as planned. Jethaniel… intends to make himself inaccessible so far as Xanadu is concerned; the set of persons aware of their destination has been kept quite limited. The Comet rider who'll be taking them must, of necessity, know; other than that… he hasn't even told the Weyrwoman, though he's told her where in his office to find a sealed envelope containing that information, should he actually be required. He does not expect this eventuality to occur, but the precaution is present, and as such, he does not have to concern himself with it any further. He smiles for Darsce, bringing the cases to the waiting brown dragon. It is rather excessive for the requirements of two persons and their luggage. Perhaps it's a matter of availability, or maybe this time someone noticed the passenger manifest and decided to provide an upgrade. Jethaniel certainly didn't ask for the larger and theoretically more impressive dragon; he never does. Regardless of the reasons, this is their ride, and the rider, once summoned, will sling cases onto his dragon's back and secure them adeptly.
Darsce has slipped out of her lacy white wedding gown, leaving it carefully draped across Jethaniel's bed so it won't wrinkle and kicked off her heeled white satin shoes. Though the temptation to remain unclothed tugs at her, she too has donned something more travel-worthy. Warm days cool nights is all she knows and so beneath her riding gear she's wearing a soft, sleeveless blue blouse and white shorts. Her carisak is filled with mostly shorts, capris, t-shirts and tank tops, sandals, a few casual sundresses - and a small makeup bag of course. She hasn't pressed for the location, enjoying the anticipation of surprise so if she's packed inappropriately she'll just purchase what she needs - or so she assumes. With that slung over her shoulder, she walks beside Jethaniel, eyeing that brown then returning her husband's smile; she asks no questions, however difficult this is but he'll see she's in the throes of anticipation. Her carisak is handed over and stowed and she's aboard as soon as permission is given, scooting up the dragon's side in a flash to clip herself in and then wriggle with a smirk at the two below. "Chop chop, time's a-wastin'!" Where's she going? This headwoman knows not and thus her assistants will assail the junior weyrwomen or Thea while she is gone. Hah!
The prospect of Darsce remaining unclothed was, indeed, a tempting one, but Jethaniel kept his distraction limited to a few kisses and the anticipation of the trip has carried them through to here, to the dragon who will carry them… somewhere. If Darsce pressed, Jethaniel would tell her in an instant - but she hasn't, and so he's kept the secret. Despite his own knowledge, there is a certain excitement derived from her curiosity. He smiles, though beneath it there's a whisper of concern over the suitability of his choice. It has not been approved by Darsce - but, she has assured him, she likes surprises, and if it proves unsuitable, it - as with many problems - may be resolved by the application of marks. He laughs for her eagerness, hands over marks and thanks the rider (still no comment about where!), then leaves him to finish stowing their gear. Jethaniel climbs aboard the dragon - by now familiar, if not expert, at the task - and settles behind Darsce, fastening the straps around himself before putting his arms around her. "We shall make good use of it." The time, that is - though it's only another moment before the rider's swinging up a-dragonback, leaning back to check their straps before doing his own. Pre-flight check complete; the wings spread, beat against the air, and… liftoff!
Increasing that temptation, those kisses would have been returned lingeringly now that her wedding jitters have passed and they aren't the center of attention any longer. Yeah, Darsce had those - not that she'd had any doubts about marrying Jethaniel, just the sort where she might trip in front of all the eyes upon her or spill something on her dress or forget what line she was supposed to say when. Now all that is gone and her head is in a rush of euphoria - and champagne. Her smile in response to Jethaniel's laugh is a touch giddy and her thanks is to the dragon - for it is his wings that will carry them to their destination - is with a small pat to warm brown hide beside where her thigh rests. When Jethaniel is aboard and buckled, she settles back into his arms with a sigh of pleasure, relaxed because she's ridden her parents dragons all of her life and because she's right where she wants to be. After the jolt of liftoff, she tips her head back just enough to press her cheek to his. The way dragons fly, she knows she can wait a little longer to have her curiosity satisfied.
That temptation is far from gone, but it has been deferred by - and into - anticipation. Jethaniel's arms are close around Darsce; holding her is both desirable for its own sake and welcome as a distraction from the dragon's motion. He has become familiar with flying; he still does not entirely enjoy it. It is, however, an efficient means of travel, and thus… he makes use of it. His enjoyment is for Darsce in his arms, for his cheek pressed back to hers. He closes his eyes, as they rise through the darkness, and focuses on the tactile stimuli. He does not see the signal for their passage between, but the experience is one that makes itself known, and he opens his eyes during those three heartbeats.
They emerge from between to a sweep of rose-tinged dusk along a distant horizon, the day's heat lingering but gentled now with Rukbat's departure. There's little in the way of moisture, dry sands sweeping away to the west and south - though if it were brighter, one could see that there's a river winding a verdant streak to the east, and the desert landscapes turn to meadows and scattered forests a brief dragon's-glide to the north. Above, the first stars have emerged to the cloudless sky, while below a galaxy of lights swirls around the outskirts of the volcanic bowl, tracing in sweeps up and down from the central point to which the dragon will descend. The air is far from still, dancing with currents from the sands and buzzing with the stir of the bustling bazaar and outdoor activity saved for night-time by a Weyr becalmed by heat during the day.
Igen Weyr - Central Bowl
Barren by day, the Weyr bowl becomes a hive of activity at sundown. It is the center of the Weyr's industry — the frequent comings-and-goings of dragon transports are marked by the greeting bugles of the watchrider pairs with the odd flurry of wings and raucous calls of gathered firelizards. During the day, before and after Rukbat reaches its zenith, shadows are cast by the worn peaks at the volcanoes rim that at times look as though they're dancing across the sand — an illusion enhanced by the shimmering of rising heat and light reflected by the lake to the south. Dragons of all sizes and colours can be seen lounging in the sun, soaking up the extreme warmth as if it were going out of fashion. Towards the end of the day or very early morning before the heat becomes too much, activity within the Weyr increases — residents and riders alike helping to load and unload arriving goods and visitors from dragons and regular trade caravans. Every other part of the Weyr branches out from this central location. Many of the lower ledges can also be seen from the bowl; most specifically those of the Weyrleaders and the junior queens.
If there were other ways to travel as quickly as a'dragonback, Darsce would probably opt for them. Not that she's uncomfortable with riding dragons, rather she is indifferent to the experience even while acknowledging that the beasts carrying her are sentient and politely thanking them. Her pleasure is all for being wrapped in those arms and going somewhere with Jethaniel. They emerge over… "Igen?" guesses Darsce, tipping her head back a touch further and turning her head towards his ear so the winds doesn't rip the word away before he can hear it. That one-word question sounds neither displeased nor ecstatic, merely curious. What's here that brings them? She's… never been here, so has no clue, but assumes Jethaniel has his reasons and she will soon find out. She has heard of the desert Weyr. As foreign and vast as the place is, it doesn't take a practiced eye to know that though it is dusk, during the day the sun must bake the place and there is little shade. She's… going to get a tan, isn't she?
Jethaniel nods to Darsce, his head still close enough to hers that she'll feel the motion as well as see it. The dragon glides toward the bowl, taking advantage of those air currents. Jethaniel doesn't try to explain further until they've landed - single words are one thing, attempting conversation is another - but he brushes a kiss to her cheek and keeps his arms around her. Nearer to ground, the bustle of the bazaar is more obvious, trader-caravans that cross the desert sands mingling with the merchants and crafters who call this region home in swirls of brightly-clad activity. There's the scents of various foods, sweet and spicy, fried and chilled, and music in styles both familiar and foreign. When the dragon has touched to ground, Jethaniel squeezes Darsce gently, then releases her so that he may unfasten himself. "Igen is known for the quality of its evening bazaar and stargazing," he says. His lips quirk slightly as he slides from the dragon, turning his gaze up to Darsce and offering his hands to help her dismount - not that she needs it, but he'll wait until she's standing with him before he adds, with a soft smile, "It… seemed suitable to provide for a focus on night-time activities."
Darsce's gaze returns below to that nod, eyes noting the activity - the very colorful and exotic activity to be precise - with interest. In Jethaniel's arms she gives a little shiver partly of excitement and partly because of his kiss to her cheek. Their landing is accomplished as she continues to look curiously at their new surroundings, her shedding of flight lines as well as her thanks to their transport rider done absently. She kicks a leg over and lets herself go, almost carelessly sliding down the brown's shoulder and aims herself for Jethaniel - hopefully she won't bowl him over when she lands on him. Hello! Hopefully you have quick reflexes, Jethaniel! She turns her attention to her husband with a slow smile and a drawled, "Night time activities, huh? I'm looking forward to seeing what you have in mind!" Whether he means stargazing or the bazaars, leave it to Darsce to put her own spin on his words. She does mean it though, regardless of her innuendo. His mind and interests fascinate her (not that anyone will believe that about her). "What's first?" she asks and her stomach promptly growls loudly. It must be those delicious scents wafting on the evening air.
Jethaniel's reflexes are sufficiently quick to, when he is expecting Darsce, gather her quite effectively into his arms. Having done so, he's in no hurry to release her, leaving it to the rider to unload their things. His smile remains as he nods to her, an agreement that concludes with a slightly lowered head, a certain shyness to the posture despite the earnesty of his gaze. "Indeed so; that is also my intention." He lowers his head a little further, that he may brush his lips to hers. When he lifts them again, he'll find that their luggage is unloaded, ready for them to take, and the Comet rider's ready to depart again and leave them to it. What's first? "Our room…" The rumble of Darsce's stomach interrupts Jethaniel, and he smiles. "…has been arranged. Shall we have our things sent there? We can sample the cuisine." Though hopefully the sample size will be larger than the bites of cake that constituted their dinners.
Darsce chuckles low in her throat as she lands in Jethaniel's arms instead of a pile of legs and riding gear. She makes no move to pull away either, even with the vibration of her treacherous stomach that he surely must feel as well as hear. At least she didn't belch? Her snicker is silenced by the kiss, which she returns with a brush of her own, iceblue eyes upon him. She's bemused by his shyness but rather than comment upon it, answers, "Yes please, and I'd like to be sent there too, as long as you're coming along; I am hungry." Is she referencing their lack of dinner? Or something else? Perhaps both! She hasn't taken time to eat all day but he is rather…delicious.
"I shall be coming wherever you are," Jethaniel assures Darsce. This statement is true on the face of it; any further meanings may be considered as artifacts of interpretation. It is furthermore true that Jethaniel's own face continues to be a smiling one. Another night, perhaps they'll wander the food stalls of the bazaar and see, bite by bite, what delicacies Igen has to offer. Tonight… their transit to that room will require an alteration of position to one more conducive to motion, but Jethaniel has found a local maxima of proximity, and so he lingers with it a moment longer. His head tilts for another soft kiss - the frosting's gone by now, so any sweetness must simply be Darsce herself - before his hands slowly drift from her to gather up their luggage. The direction he'll lead her is toward the caverns, so perhaps that's where they'll collect something to eat… should Darsce be so inclined.
The things Darsce could respond with since yes, her mind goes there, are all left unvoiced; she merely smiles back at Jethaniel, obviously pleased. "Good," she drawls, making no sudden moves away from him either. Newlyweds! They're sure to attract every schemer and charlatan for miles because they certainly can be spotted that far away! She makes no protest about the caverns versus the bazaar; that can wait. She also didn't sleep last night so fatigue, even though she wants to deny it, exists, playing into that as well. As she moves with him, she give their surroundings a curious examination - especially the people, who, accents aside are wearing some very different clothing than she's used to seeing. It does get her mind percolating with design ideas and her fingers twitch to sketch them.
Igen Weyr - Living Caverns
Second only to the Hatching Sands in size — although its walls are not so nearly circular — the living cavern is filled with numerous tables, almost too many to count. Most bear markings by rank and Wing, though there are a couple of dozen free for anyone's use. The Weyrleaders and other ranking residents have the table farthest from the kitchen and hearths, although the hearths are kept as low-burning as possible, just enough to keep the stew pot that always hangs for late-night nibblers at a good temperature. Favored drinks, particularly iced klah and juice, are kept on ice and interspersed at various food tables scattered about, along with baskets of rolls and fruit. There are, of course, scheduled mealtimes, and at certain points of the day the available fare slides into the menu for the nearest meal, be it breakfast, lunch, dinner, or late-night snackings, but the staff has long since acknowledged that people will sit to talk and nibble here at all hours. In the cooler parts of the evening in particular, the cavern hosts games of chess, checkers, dragonpoker, and others. Several degrees are knocked off thanks to the Technician Craft's new cooling system. There are several 'places' that you can find a seat at.
Igen's bazaar is also, in less positive reputations, well-known for schemers and charlatans - though it's hardly as bad as Bitra. Still, the second-rate cheats need someplace to hone their skills. There'll be opportunities on this trip for them to sit with iced klah or other sorts of drinks and sketchpads. Jethaniel may even be capable of indolence, though this fact has not been tested. He has, at least, left large portions of their time unscheduled, though there are a few planned trips to elsewhere in the vicinity, taking advantage of the advantages to transit provided by dragons. The one who brought them here departs behind them as they enter the caverns, the air cooler both from the underground nature of the locale and the application of certain technological advancements. Those mechanical cooling devices are, in fact, the initiating factor in Jethaniel's knowledge concerning Igen, though he has further investigated the locale, particularly in the course of setting up this trip. As such, he knows where he's going, leading her through to the lower caverns, where he can make a brief check-in with a headwoman's assistant on duty and get a room key. He has both slept and eaten more than Darsce in the past day; while his arrival in bed last night was late, it existed, and he ate breakfast somewhere in the course of his morning… though that day has been sufficiently long that he would also be appreciative of food, even if his stomach is not yet providing auditory evidence to that effect.
Jethaniel? Indolent? Darsce will enjoy experiencing this! Likewise side trips and…forays into unknown. He obviously knows his way around here, a fact that earns him a thoughtful - and appreciative look from Darsce as the key is selected. Eating in a crowded caverns, however, does not appeal and so she has a suggestion, "Can we take a tray to our room?" She's at her limit of sharing her new husband with the public and who knows if someone will suddenly discover - oh look! There's Xanadu's steward! We must give him a proper welcome. She'd… like to avoid this for obvious reasons.
That indolence is, thus far, entirely theoretical… but Jethaniel is willing to make the attempt, particularly if it will result in Darsce's enjoyment. His knowledge of Igen is incomplete, but he has, in his usual fashion, done research into the situation before arriving at it. There will likely be aspects he has not researched, but thus far, he is proceeding according to plan. A formal welcome is not part of his plan, though his prior visits here have increased the risk thereof in addition to informing him. He has, at least, taken the precaution of not wearing any sort of fancy knot, so it would have to be someone capable of visual recognition of Xanadu's Steward, not in his native habitat. Nevertheless, Jethaniel nods to Darsce's suggestion of a tray. "Do you wish to make selections?" He's got the luggage, and the assistant who handed them their key can provide whatever logistical details are required as to the location of trays. The food is already available, Igen's culinary style applied under similar constraints of scale to those of Xanadu. It is not the fanciest food, but they will have other occasions for that, and at present, their palates may not be capable of mustering extensive appreciation.
Darsce's not wearing her headwoman's knot, either but any sort of welcome at this point might lead to questions and she's not in the mood to answer any. Another time when she's rested enough to be clever and not so maxed out on socialization, she'll amuse herself by making up outlandish answers to friendly questions. Tonight? She wants nothing more than to decompress with her husband in private. And so she'll slip away from Jethaniel's side with a murmur of, "Be right back," to fix them a tray. Igen's caverns offer less exotic fare than the bazaar, but it is enough differently seasoned than the dishes in Xanadu to be interesting. She chooses things on the lighter side; a heavy meal late at night isn't conducive to…sleep. Darsce is efficient and quick. When she returns, she has a tray laden with several small plates upon which are finger rolls filled with spicy meat and finely-chopped dried fruit and nut filling, a small bowl with thick, tangy yogurt for dipping, steaming soft rolls studded with nuts, fragrant with the scent of cardamom and spread with melting sweetened butter, slices of a mild cheese paired with slices of a pale orange-fleshed fresh fruit and two large mugs filled with some sort of ale. He has the luggage, she has the tray; she will follow his lead to find their room.
Jethaniel is similarly disinclined to questions, and he waits while Darsce navigates the crowd and menu. His eyes alternately linger on her and investigate the room, but the investigations are kept brief and the returns to Darsce frequent. When she returns to him, he smiles to her, hefting the luggage once more and leading the way back according to the directions he's been given. Igen is, relatively speaking, a small Weyr, but there are nevertheless opportunities to become lost. Fortunately, they do not; the door they ultimately reach is, in fact, opened by the key Jethaniel has obtained, and opens to reveal a relatively small but comfortable-looking guest room, its walls are painted with the layered shades of a desert sunrise.
If Darsce is getting lost it had better be with Jethaniel. She can deal with that. Tonight though, she's pleased not to wander the corridors overlong, entering their room with an audible sigh of released tension. She crosses to the small bedside stand, places the tray there straightens and sweeps the room with inquisitive casualness before her eyes return to Jethaniel. "Nice," she says with a half-smile pulling at her mouth. She's walking towards him while saying this, her arms lift to twine about his neck, draping over his shoulders while she tips her head back and watches him though her lashes with eyes half-lidded and lazy. "You know the best thing about the room is you, right?" And her mouth slowly melts the rest of the way into a warm smile for him.
They may, in fact, find occasion to get lost in the weyr's tunnels, though it is more likely to be described as exploration than an intentional loss of direction. Tonight, however, they are possessed of burdens not conducive to such travels and are furthermore disinclined to delay the acquisition of a private space. Jethaniel, once they have entered, leans back against the door to close it, resting there a brief moment before rotating such that he may place their luggage on the floor. There will be opportunity to unpack later. For now, he is glad simply to no longer be carrying it. He is also glad that he may lock the door to keep the rest of the world away, and after doing so, he is even more glad to turn to Darsce. Jethaniel takes a single step to meet her; only a single step, because with her approach, that is all that is required before his arms may encircle her middle and embrace her. He should, given her statement about the room, assess it further… but he is disinclined to remove his gaze from Darsce. His eyes remain on her until her conclusion obviates the need for him to observe the details of the space. He laughs. "Perhaps." He tilts his head toward hers, bringing it closer such that she fills a greater proportion of his visual field. "I find myself more interested in the fact it contains you."
If Jethaniel is involved, Darsce is definitely up for exploration! His laugh curls her already-smiling mouth even more and as he lowers his head she tilts hers to touch foreheads. "It appears fortunate we are both in it then," she comments with an amused chuckle, leaves a light kiss to the tip of his nose before leaning back so she doesn't have to keep looking at him cross-eyed. Here she simply falls silent, her expression grows thoughtful, perhaps a touch haunted although for the most part comprised of earnestness. She starts to speak a few times - nothing comes out but a sparkle of unshed tears rises in her eyes. "Thank you," she manages finally.
"Indeed so," Jethaniel agrees, quite readily. He certainly considers himself quite fortunate; his eyes are unfocused as his forehead rests against Darsce's, but what he nevertheless perceives is her. That he does so in blurred and imprecise fashion is merely accurate; it may, in fact, lend a sense of scale he considers quite appropriate. There is too much of Darsce for him to entirely encompass at any one moment, though his arms remain around her. His head lifts slightly as she leans back, though its angle remains directed toward her. His gaze remains on her, albeit in somewhat more focused fashion, and one of his arms shifts that he may trail his fingertips up along her back. Jethaniel's smile remains, tender and pleased, but as he observes Darsce's expression, the tenderness is joined by questioning. His arm around her waist tenses a little, holding her closer; his other hand drifts from the brush of fingertips to a full-palmed touch between her shoulderblades. He leans in again, touches the corner of one eye with his lips. "For what?"
The arms Darsce has about Jethaniel's neck curl more fully about him as she fights to regain her voice. In that time his lips touch her skin and she draws a steadying breath. When she does speak, it comes out in a rush of nearly incoherent words, "For marrying me. I'll try to be a good wife to you, Jethaniel and not.. screw up. Because headwoman is one thing - it reflects on Xanadu and you deal with Xanadu and I know our relationship puts you in an awkward spot sometimes when I do. But I know also that it's different now and things reflect more directly on you and I… I… I'll try? No promises on how well I'll succeed." She's saying all this with emotion trembling in the timbre of her tone, both the want-to-cry and the not mingled with laughter. It's… been a long day fraught with emotions of all sorts. She's fine, really! See? She's smiling through the sheen of her eyes.
Jethaniel, as he is lacking in coherent hypotheses, waits for Darsce to steady herself sufficiently that she may provide him with an answer. The question in his gaze remains, but there's no impatience to. He simply wishes to know, and his head lifts again as she begins to answer, so that he may observe the peripheral social cues of her expression and posture. The data is somewhat confusing; there's the smile, there's the gleam of tears. Her tone certainly indicates an intensity of emotion; the precise nature of that emotion is ambiguous. The words themselves are only somewhat more explanatory. That he married her, Jethaniel quirks his lips and ducks his head, words rising almost enough to be said before being held back because Darsce is still speaking. His expression, as she does, turns more serious, head slowly lifting to gaze steadily at her. He listens, holding her close, and brushes his lips gently to her cheek. "Darsce…" he begins, then dips his head for a moment before lifting it again to regard her earnestly. "I do not wish a good wife. I wish for you. If others wish to blame me for that, I will accept that opprobrium. The fact remains; you are not my slave." Nor is he hers; that aspect of the situation is symmetric. "I do not - will not - control you. I may ask." His lips twitch slightly. "I will ask, but not for that."
Heh, yeah Darsce is definitely lacking in singular expression of emotion tonight. On the one hand, she is euphoric and delighted and on the other she is humbled and awed - both because Jethaniel has made the choice he has. "I know…" she says almost fretfully of free will. Oprobium… is a word she's never heard but she can guess. It means when the stuff hits the fan… Darsce's resolve is to avoid that, but like all good intentions… stuff happens. In another shift of mood, her worry morphs into a faint smile as she considers Jethaniel's other words. "I'm rather good at being bad," she says with a semi-naughty twist of lips and a saucy wink before lightly teasing, "What'll you be asking for…exactly?"
Darsce knows, and at her statement to that effect, Jethaniel's nod is a satisfied one. There are likely to be moments when certain objects encounter a rapidly spinning device and are dispersed more widely than would be, given a calm and reasoned assessment, considered desirable. In future occurences where this juxtaposition of elements involves Darsce, some portion of the dispersed material is likely, regardless of validity of the attribution, to land on Jethaniel; his awareness and acceptance of this fact does not mean he intends to require Darsce's conformance to rotor usage best practices. His lips follow hers into smiling. "Not necessarily contradictory, but ambiguous," he answers her. "I may require clarification." He could ask for that? "I believe I will begin with asking for a kiss." Jethaniel does not actually wait for the answer before bringing his lips to Darsce's, though he's slow enough that she could interrupt him if she were so inclined… which he does not expect to be the case. What he expects is that his lips will press to hers with a touch whose duration is correlated to its firmness along what may, according to the initial sample, be a square curve.
"Mhm, exactly," Darsce agrees. Ambiguousness deliberately intended with satisfactory results. Reading his intent in words and actions, she makes no attempt to continue talking but participates with ardent enthusiasm, quite pleased with him taking the initiative. She'll always claim electricity is hot; if a square curve is also space-filling, then she may find that math is hot as well. That's… about all she'll know without further demonstration of applied mathematics. Her fingertips play lazily with his hair during the interim of that kiss and by the time he lifts his mouth from hers, she's breathless, but manages barely coherently to encourage him with, "You should…definitely…require…clari-" Each pause filled with brief, teasing brushes of her lips to his.
Jethaniel has wished to do this for hours and not had the opportunity. It is true that he has kissed Darsce multiple times today, but they have been kisses constrained by the fact they were being observed or because they were in motion and wished to arrive at their destination in a timely fashion. This time, there is no such limit, and though Jethaniel's lips draw away, they do not go far. He breathes; he brushes his lips to those teases, pursuing them eagerly but permitting Darsce her scattered syllables of speech. The analysis of his kisses may approximate a squared curve, but Jethaniel does not wish, in plotting this graph, to conduct his multiplication with himself. What he intends to do with Darsce… his hand on her upper back splays, the lower one drifting slightly further down. A projective analysis of her words establishes to his satisfaction what the remainder of this one will be, and as such, he instead seeks a deeper kiss once again, his lips pressing to hers and parting against them warmly.
Yeaaah, that last word didn't really need completion and thus, Darsce abandons it halfway through as Jethaniel's mouth descends upon hers. Her lips part in response to his and as the kiss deepens, her heart drums to a faster beat. "Hot," she mumbles against his mouth after the kiss has lengthened. She is still in her flight jacket, but that is not at all what she means, for her arms do not unwind from his neck nor do her lips move further away. Now where was she? Oh yes. She reapplies her lips to his, the tray forgotten, motivated by a hunger of a different sort. The day has indeed been long and the constraints frustrating with him so near and yet so far. She's not so much into math but tonight multiplication is a plus.
The desert climate of Igen has very little to do with the heat Darsce describes. A further peculiarity is that this excursion from a homeostatic neutral is not responded to by an attempt to return to the central region of temperature, but instead to increase the degree of exceptionalism. Jethaniel's fingers trail down, tracing the contour of Darsce's body first through that jacket, then down to below where it covers. His hand is closer, better approximating the curve of her body with how it presses. His lips are parted, a wordless sound murmured to her mouth. His speech is conducted directly to her, though there's a moment when his lips part just enough for a breath to escape. "…beautiful." There is no verbal attribution, but the look in his eyes may suffice to make things clear. If it does not, he'll explain further with his lips, returning hungrily to hers.
This is Darsce's wedding night. As such, she had a special scenario planned and an expensive, lovely nightgown packed. She was to bathe, don the filmy white garment and appear scented and soft, perhaps to candlelight and quiet music. Instead here she is, dressed in flight leathers, flushed of cheeks and heated with more than simply passion. Does she mind that her plans have gone awry? Nope! The warmth of Jethaniel's palm on her posterior makes that jacket all the more unwelcome and the murmurs against her lips coupled with that kiss makes her toes curl inside her boots. She'd recommend they seek a more comfortable spot to make out, but…she can't think with the renewed touch of lips to hers and it's a very good thing her arms are about her husband's neck for her knees buckle as he puts words to action.
Had Jethaniel been informed he was to wait, he would certainly have made the attempt, but he has been given no such indication. Rather the contrary; Darsce's reactions have been quite encouraging. His palm remains where it is, but his fingertips move with slow caresses that are, given the constraints of the joints, roughly elliptical in nature. The proximity of that contact reminds him, by contrast, that her jacket is inconveniently thick, and his other hand slips toward her front with some vague idea of assisting in its removal. He has not fully worked through the logistics of this plan, nor considered that it may require the temporary removal of her arms from around his neck. These issues will, Jethaniel presumes, be dealt with at some point; his immediate priority is for the press of lips, the use of his tongue to form what are not actually likely to be words, as there are no phonemes in common usage that involve the placement of his tongue outside his mouth. It's the weakness of Darsce's knees that causes a reprioritization for Jethaniel. Unwrapping Darsce from her jacket is temporarily abandoned to wrap his arm around her once more, and his lips draw away from hers slowly - then kiss at the corner of her mouth, because he is unwilling to stop kissing her, and so those brushes of his lips continue in a scatterplot along her cheek. His hands position themselves toward her waist, as if to dance. There's no music, but then, the only direction in which Jethaniel wishes to lead Darsce is that of the bed.
Yeahno. Darsce said nothing because… heh. Her mouth has been busy. She's quite satisfied with what Jethaniel's tongue is doing; hers flirts with it. Silence is yet not achieved for soft vocalizations of both desire and encouragement emanates from the back of her throat. The jolt of her knees giving way causes her lashes to flicker, lids heavy, her response slow as though emerging from the depths that weigh her down. She knows how to dance and follow a lead. If Jethaniel is moving, she is following. Her arms slip down, curling around his waist, while her mouth turns to find his again. Who needs to see? The general direction should land them in the proper place. The edge of the mattress touches the back of her knees and she goes with it - flopping backwards and no, she's not letting him go so she'll drag him down with her if she can. One hand claws ineffectually at her jacket fastenings. She is hot. It is also hot in here. Help?
Their precise placement on the bed is unimportant; the goal is merely for them to become horizontal on a padded surface, and so Jethaniel is quite willing to kiss Darsce again as he guides her in what he believes is the correct direction. The plan he has set in motion concludes successfully despite the lack of oversight. Success consists of Darsce bringing him with her on that fall back to the bed. The tumble parts his lips from hers, and then he kisses at her chin as his head tilts down to observe the jacket she still wears. It's rather excessive, and so he shifts his weight to hold himself over her on one hand and his knees, the other hand reaching down to work at fastenings. He is somewhat more effectual at it than Darsce, progress enhanced by a superior view - though his hair is falling forward to tickle at her neck - and the fact that, given that view, he may observe the lines of tension and bracing points her grasp creates, and thus collaborate with Darsce's hand to undo those fastenings.
To be off of her feet! That alone is enough to bring a groan, more of relief than pleasure, from Darsce's lips. Her satin wedding pumps matched her dress, but were totally inappropriate for standing for the ceremony and dancing in later. Once off of them she uses the toe of one boot to pry the other from her foot, then repeats the process allowing those ankle boots to fall with small twin thumps to the floor beside the bed. All the while she's touching her lips to wherever she can - Jethaniel's shoulder, his forehead, the top of his head while he's working on her jacket, shivering at the tickle his hair makes brushing her neck. Once her jacket falls open, she shrugs deftly out of it. Her sleeveless blouse at least allows for the air to cool her somewhat and there's another sigh for that, but primarily it is the brush of touch to her exposed skin that prompts this. She hasn't been idle while that jacket is being taken care of; her hands loosen Jethaniel's shirt and slide underneath, hands curved about his ribcage slowly skim upwards, appreciating the lean muscle over bone structure until her arms are entirely under his shirt as her hands slip to curve around his shoulders and draw him close enough to brush her lips to one of his ears and breathe, "I love you; I want you." Isn't that obvious? Yes, but she says it anyway.
It may, given the circumstances, be considered appropriate that Darsce has been swept off her feet. Once he is reminded by the thump of footwear, Jethaniel's own boots are nudged off to join hers on the ground. The brushes of her lips quicken the breaths that pass his, and he encourages the loosening of his shirt with changes to the angle of his torso. Once Jethaniel has assisted Darsce out of her jacket, he's eager to be drawn down against her, the fabric of their shirts - even in combination - far too thin to block the radiant warmth of these exothermic bodies. Hot? Oh yes, and Jethaniel wishes to bask in it as the desert lizards do Rukbat's light. Darsce's words may certainly be considered obvious, but the hearing of them nevertheless makes Jethaniel shiver, a moment of held breath and then its slow release. He kisses at her shoulder, just inside the curve of the blouse's neckline. "And I love you," he answers her. His head tilts up, brushing a kiss to her jaw as his eyes trace over the shapes of her face until they are caught in the iceblue of her own eyes. The smile of his lips curves to a deeper one as his gaze lingers. "I want to love you." The statement is both obvious and earnest. "In… both an overarching sense, and… tonight."
Darsce's arms twitch a touch tighter at the touch of lips to that sensitive curve to her shoulder, though by the time their eyes meet she's released him enough that he may move away enough to look down at her. His comment - both the earnestness and the wordiness prompts a slow-spreading smile to form. "Please do," she manages and this time it is not a sensuous drawl but rather an earnest - almost shy invitation from her. Her arms slip from his shoulders the rest of the way, reluctantly traversing down to the small of his back, trace around his waist where her fingertips linger on the flat of his belly with a barely-felt caress before she withdraws them. Unhurried, her fingers move down the front of her blouse, undoing the buttons. The material parts revealing the lacy scrap of her bra while her hands move lower to unfasten both her shorts and the leather flight trous she's worn over them. Her hands push them both down with a slow, deft twist of hips to the point she can simply shed them with a languid flex of one leg then the other while bracing on her elbows. It's a leisurely process to the point of drawing it out to tease his patience until with a final shrug of slim shoulders to free herself of that blouse, she is clad in nothing but the lacy bikini she'd worn under her wedding dress. The entire time her eyes have remained locked on Jethaniel's and though she is silent, they say plenty, things that, if put into words, simply wouldn't have the same substance.
Only just enough, for Jethaniel does not wish to go far. He smiles for her answer; he is most assuredly pleased. His back arches as her fingers trace down along it, the fabric of his shirt settling back as Darsce's touch departs. It's rumpled, rolled up on itself, and the hand he reaches to undo the buttons must first find where they've twisted in the fabric before he can unfasten them. Find them he does, and the shirt is undone. He shrugs one shoulder back to draw it away, lets it fall to the bed as he slides his other arm out. His shirt gone, Jethaniel brushes his fingers to Darsce's stomach, trailing them up along the silken softness of her skin until they encounter the lace which yet adorns it, then slipping to the side to encourage her blouse to fall away entirely - but she makes him wait for that while she handles trousers and shorts, and for a moment Jethaniel's hand rests between blouse and bra, caressing according to one of the patterns of the lace against his fingertips. They are led to the local maxima of the planar contour, then slip away so that Jethaniel may reach to unfasten his belt and trousers and push them down to leave him in only undershorts. Those are - for the moment - permitted to remain, though the reason for that allowance may simply be that Jethaniel is distracted before its completion. His lips part, a wordless, half-voiced sound of approval, and then Jethaniel kisses Darsce. The brush to her lips is a brief one; a beginning. He follows it with another to her chin, and though his eyes part from hers, his gaze is still on her as his lips touch just above her collarbone, then just below on the other side. Above that wisp of lace; below it, and along her stomach, changing his position as is necessary so that his lips may continue their progress.
Under the lace he's tracing with fingertips, there is movement: the rise of her ribcage as Darsce draws a long, slow breath, the formation of gooseflesh. Her eyes do not leave his even when his lips touch hers; her lashes drift down partially, following his progress to her chin, though it's mostly his dark hair in her field of view. Her fingers twitch in the wish to run through it, but she's still propped on her elbows and he's moved on. At those kisses to her collarbone, her head falls back, exposing the column of her throat, the quickening pulsebeat at the base is as telltale as the soft moan that escapes her lips while her eyes slide shut the rest of the way. Her torso arches to meet his lips as they descend, her fingers curl into the coverlet, the muscles in her abdomen tense and she murmurs an almost-protest for his deliberate pace. Now who is teasing whom?
There are very few who would believe Jethaniel capable of teasing. In between the kisses, his lips display an inclination to return to the contour of the smile that never leaves his eyes. They twitch for that moan, but Jethaniel is quiet save for the sound of his breath, quicker than the level of exertion would indicate and the sounds of the bed as he shifts. It's quiet enough to hear the whispers of kisses, though they do not communicate in words. Those tensed muscles receive their kisses, unhurried although he assuredly heard Darsce; there is nothing else to which he is listening. His lips brush down to those panties, centered just above them, and then he kisses below, at the curve of her inner thigh, and rests his head there for a moment to listen for the sound of that pulse, his exhalations warm against her skin as he takes the time to see Darsce; hear her; feel her. Jethaniel indulges himself in this, though even through the fabric of his underwear it's clear enough he has other desires than the touch of lips, than that of hands as his palms caress up her outer thighs, trailing until they reach the lacy line of those panties and lingering for long moments - breathe in, breathe out - before his fingers hook over the material of her undergarment and draw it down.
Darsce wouldn't have thought it heretofore; perhaps he will surprise her. She obviously has enjoyed flirtatious teasing with him. The problem of not seeing him at this angle is overridden by desire; if that's not obvious it will be soon. Her lids are weighted too heavily to lift anyway. Swept off her feet? Perhaps drunk on Jethaniel would better describe the rush of dizzy that sweeps her. Her thighs part to enable those kisses, her indrawn breath, though not close enough to merge with his exhalation, nevertheless mingles audibly with the sounds of those kisses and the shifting he does to reposition himself. The pulse he listens to while his head is pillowed near the hollow of her thigh afterwards races, quickening further as his hands skim upwards and her hips flex without thought to assist the removal of that wisp of undergarment.
There is an interesting definitional question to be had here - is intentionality a requirement for an action's attribution as teasing? If so… what motivations are conducive to that description? The slowness with which Jethaniel draws down those panties might be ascribed to caution; the material is delicate. He guides them past her hips, down her thighs to where his hand may curve to the back of one leg to encourage it to lift and slip free. After that, his hands glide back up her legs, and Jethaniel once more begins to kiss in a wandering course of approximation unconstrained by externalities such as clothing. If he teases Darsce, he teases himself as well. Jethaniel's breathing is irregular, the urge that quickens it held imperfectly to a slower rate, arranged to occur in between the touches of his lips. It is with a particularly ragged exhalation that the kisses stop, and Jethaniel tugs down his undershorts and kicks them carelessly aside as he reverses his route across Darsce. He lingered before; now, he does not hesitate, a single shift of position sufficient to bring his body into alignment over hers. Yet another kiss, as he presses down against her, and this one seeks her lips.
Intentionality is only a requirement for deliberate teasing; the motivations of which vary. Jethaniel's leisure, though unintentional, teases a variety of reactions from Darsce: while her legs cooperate without hesitation - she wishes to be free of constraints - flexing so the lacy garment may be drawn down to where it hangs about one ankle until a move of her leg leaves it behind, forgotten. The reverse trail of kisses curl her fingers until they form fists that gather the coverlet into them and her breaths, too-quickly taken, are uneven and audible ones. The interruption of those kisses draws Darsce's head up slowly, the muscles in her neck seemingly unwilling to comply, to see where- ahh! He is on the move towards her. She reaches with one hand for the hooks between her breasts - she wants nothing between herself and Jethaniel - she's miscalculated though, and his nimble maneuver brings him to her side so that she fails to remove that other lacy scrap in the time he's realigned himself. His mouth finds hers; she is distracted from her task. With a sigh, she melts into him, after a moment her hand slips from between them so her arm may curl around his waist, while the other shifts so that her elbow is no longer holding her up and she sinks onto her back while her hand slides across his shoulders to find his hair. This. She wants nothing more than this.
The lace of that bra is fine and delicate, but as Jethaniel presses himself to Darsce, he finds it - in comparison to her skin - unpleasantly coarse. It is an interruption, an obstacle to what he desires. It is not a sufficient interruption for him to cease kissing, his lips parting against hers to further disrupt her breathing. He stays with her as she sinks back to the bed, and while the motion results in modifications to the depth of the kiss, they are, when considered in comparison to the overall depth, slight. Jethaniel's fingers brush once more against the lace of that bra, but this time they have the intention of removing it, though not the appropriate access to be effectual at that goal. He has no desire to establish distance, necessary for his intended task or not; perhaps Darsce's attempt has loosened the hooks sufficiently that he can nevertheless succeed. If he does not… he nevertheless has what he wants. His body, pressed to Darsce's, held by her. The places he investigated with kisses have all led to this conclusion; spot-checks on her body, points that form lines and planes and contours, and now he feels all at once by using his body as an instrument of assessment. His findings are articulated in the moan he makes against her lips as her fingers slip into the tousle of hair whose neatness, despite a careful combing, barely lasted through the ceremony.
Darsce will vouch for the fact that there is no comparison between fabric and skin. The finest silky sisal is nowhere near as smooth as skin; the Berber fleece not as supple nor as warm, the sheen of lamè cannot compare to the delicate rose-glow infusing the translucency of ivory. And Darsce… has taken extremely good care of her skin, pampering it, protecting it from harsh elements (save for that one unexpected sunburn). She's lost herself in Jethaniel's kiss, her breathing felt as erratic puffs from her nose warm against his cheek. Her fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his head, leaving it in further disarray. It's too bad her eyes have drifted closed, the unruly look on him is totally hot; she likes it. The material under his fingers parts, and springs to either side so perhaps Darsce's fingers managed to undo a few hooks. She responds by wriggling closer to him with a sigh of pleasure, arms curling more securely about him, her tongue encouraging him, her legs seek to twine with his; an invitation to assess her as deeply as he'd like to.
Jethaniel is, for the moment, unconcerned with why that lacy garment yields, merely pleased that it does. In comparison to Darsce's skin, his own may also be considered rough, for there have been times when he's worked in those harsh elements and he has not taken, with himself, nearly the degree of care she has. It is, nevertheless, a supple organ, sensitive in what it tells him of the contact with her and, while comparatively less sleek, smooth against hers. The bodies radiate heat through the skin; they are hot. Jethaniel's current appearance may not be perceived by Darsce, but her like is nevertheless quite apparent. His lips work against hers, and so does his body, hips shifting as his legs slide against hers and seek the alignment that will let him assess her deeply, eagerly, wantingly and havingly. There; his lips pause in their kissing for a moment, remain parted to moan, and then he resumes his efforts. His hips move - slow, intent, a rhythmic beat to accompany the tonal patterns of their voices in sigh or moan.
Darsce likes Jethaniel's skin juuuust fine. She prefers it against hers, to be precise. Her eyes may be closed, but she perceives him by Braille, fingers running through his hair, murmuring incoherent approval for the texture and length. Her body ripples sensuously against his as he moves, positioning herself helpfully, instinctually finding the optimum placement of her hips. She moves, arching to meet him. Control? It is difficult and for a moment her mouth leaves his while her head tosses from side to side, almost frustrated until that moan of his, at which point the fingers in his hair curl, grasping a gentle handful and her voice joins his. Her eyes flutter half-open, iceblue seek him, dimly note the disarray she's made of his careful combing, a smile flits across her mouth and fingers release his hair, curve about his neck to exert pressure that will bring his head closer; her lips find his once more. Patient. She can be that now that they are…together, but the tempo of that beat is not at all fading.
While Jethaniel's previous intentionality may be ambiguous, his actions now have no intent to tease. His seeking is with the goal of finding, and Darsce's near-frustration an unnecessary spur, for his desires are in alignment with hers. His eyes are open enough to see that, then close as their bodies reach the same alignment as those desires. What Darsce sees on his face is pleasure, open-mouthed as if her hand draws on the expression directly instead of simply being a different part of the reaction. As she draws his head down, his eyes open enough to seek hers, to assure himself of the response he hears, he feels. While his motions begin slow, they are deep, firm. This tempo will not fade, will not weaken. It will accelerate, but - Darsce finds his lips, and the derivative of the rocking of Jethaniel's hips undergoes a discontinuity, finding a faster rate and settling there as his lips and tongue work with hers to form phonemes that may only be expressed by their joint efforts.
Darsce matches her pace to Jethaniel's; unhurried once more, but not with the intent to tease him. Nay, she is willing to move slowly, deliberately extending this time hanging so close to bliss to the point where sensation becomes exquisite, all coherent thought is lost and actions are dictated by primal impulses. It's hot, in fact if there were a cavern fire right this minute? Darsce would quite likely burn down with it. Her body acts of its own accord, responding to Jethaniel's, moving to the beat of his drum. Both hands sweep up his back to curl in his hair as she applies herself single-mindedly to kissing him soundly and sensuously, all the while encouraging him with both her voice and the arches her slim body makes to meet his motions towards hers. Her breaths come in short gasps, but air is not a priority at the moment; being closer yet to him is all she can think about.
Jethaniel holds on to control, but only barely. He makes the effort not because he wishes to stop what he is doing; far from it. He holds to a scrap of thought despite his urges because he wishes to continue. There exists a tipping point; once reached… the thought of what happens then is one he avoids, for the consideration of it would, under the current circumstances, make it manifest. He seeks to draw out the moments of this, the thrum of sensation and the building pleasure. He cannot prevent it from building; not while his hips move, flexing to meet Darsce's according to the guide of instincts. Not while his lips press to hers, breathing in the air she gasps out and panting his own against her. He does not wish to prevent it, but he seeks to slow it, to increase it only a little, only halfway there, pleasure turned to Zeno's Paradox that will build, and build, and somehow become ever more exquisite as it does, as every nerve echoes the same signals. He would make this moment last forever - but Zeno's Paradox is resolved in calculus by the taking of a limit, and Jethaniel reaches a limit of how long he can delay his gratification. The graphed approach sharpens; his pace quickens, shuddering into a drumroll.
There's… a mathematical solution to this situation, isn't there? Some equation with beginning position, velocity and time, perhaps? Though distance…may not be in there as separation from Jethaniel is the last thing Darsce wants right now. The formula for this expenditure of energy - at least for Darsce - results in eventual fatigue, bordering on physical exhaustion only in part due to the sleepless night before the long day she's had with naught but champagne and a tiny bite of cake for sustenance. Her zenith is reached, marked by physiological manifestations that wrack her frame while her arms cling to Jethaniel, leaving her breathless and her brow perspiring. Regardless of trembling weakness of her limbs, there is a luminous quality to her expression of pleasure and though she needs to take several deep breathes to say it, and the words are quiet when she does, she nevertheless means them wholeheartedly, "I love you, Jethaniel."
There are always mathematical solutions. Sometimes they have not yet been discovered, and often they are not necessary for action in the situation, but mathematics is a field of inquiry created from theory and brought through physics into an explanation of the world. The only mathematics Jethaniel is doing now are applied ones, and he is guided through them by instinct, not equations. He solves for X with his body pressed to Darsce's, with his breath turned to panting and groans that accompany those moments when, in the course of experiencing physiological manifestations, he breathes at all. Afterward, he remains pressed close against Darsce - and continues to pant - shifting just enough that he can trail his fingertips softly along her cheek. He is assuredly fatigued - she'll feel that in the slight quiver of his hand as the muscles protest even this much motion - but his expression admits nothing of that exhaustion, instead warm with pleasure, with the smile that touches his lips and lights his eyes. "I am very glad," he says, earnest. "I love you." He tilts his head in, to brush his lips to hers between those breaths that replenish their oxygenation, then draws it back with the same smile, and adds a quiet, "Darsce." It constitutes its own sentence - possibly its own paragraph - and Jethaniel regards her with pleasure before suggesting, with a tilt of his body, that they roll such that he is no longer atop her; the inversion thereof is more sustainable.
Hm, really? And how would that Darsce-paragraph go? Her lashes have lifted as she’d spoken her avowal, regarding him with the iceblue hazy with adoration. She turns her head as his fingers brush her cheek and kisses the tips of them before returning her eyes to him. She moves with that roll easily guided to lie atop him, snuggling her head on his shoulder and then her whole body relaxes completely with a deep sigh. Totally drained is she, replete and warm in his arms. “I have everything,” she murmurs drowsily. “I am the richest woman on the planet.” Her head turns enough so she can press a kiss to his bare shoulder. She sighs blissfully, “I can die happy now.” She…sounds like she means it.
A paragraph of Darsce would likely involve description. Jethaniel could tell her his observations of her? Perhaps he will, sometime. For now, he simply embraces Darsce as she settles against him, pleased to have her close. The weight of her, the warmth of her, the smoothness of her skin; all these things please him, and his fingers trail lazily along her back. The tray of food is still on the nightstand, but Jethaniel does not reach for it, instead occupying his hands with wandering caresses. That she has everything is, of course, an overstatement. An exaggeration for effect, and he smiles. The hypothesis concerning her demises makes his fingers pause for a moment. "I would prefer you did not." Those fingers resume their motions, and he tilts his head to kiss the top of hers. "The universe is expanding; I may find more to give you."
He should tell her sometime. Because…perspective! Darsce lies draped upon her husband in a sleepy languor, lulled by the steady beat beneath her ear. One hand is curled over Jethaniel's shoulder, the other moves so she can idly trace his jawline with one finger. "Alright, I won't then," she agrees easily. Her finger reaches his ear and moves around the backside of it with a featherlight touch that wanders to his temple and continues to the corner of his eye. "I have all I need," she assures him dreamily as her finger moves to trace the brow above that eye, she notes, "You have kind eyes. I look at them and…" The confession is interrupted by a yawn midway, her lids heavy. Her fingers move across the hair over his forehead a touch clumsy as her hand grows heavier. It comes to rest on his opposite cheek, her arm eases onto his chest, then goes still as her eyes close completely and her breathing is that regular and steady sort of one fast asleep. The tray… still forgotten. Tomorrow she will wake up ravenous. Perhaps she will even want food… after.
Jethaniel does, in fact, have a certain perspective on Darsce. She also has one on him. These perspectives are partially defined by their proximity, though there are other factors. He should indeed attempt to share that perspective through an explanation of his observations. Sometime… perhaps he will. For now, his head remains tilted toward her, conducting those observations as her finger conducts a tactile assessment of his face - the day's worth of stubble on his jaw, the touch around his ear that makes his breath catch for a moment, the wander to eyes that see, but seldom themselves, and for now, they remain on Darsce. "I have what I want," he assures her in turn, and as her hand passes across his forehead, he tilts his head such that he may brush his lips to her wrist. Given the current state of his hair, it is ambiguous whether her touch neatens it or disarrays it further. He has no objections to either; he merely enjoys the touch. "…I love you." His voice is quiet, as she drifts to sleep. "I am glad you look." Jethaniel's arms curl in around Darsce, holding her, and those eyes close as his own breathing steadies to a slumbering pace. Tomorrow, he'll open them again, and show Darsce… whatever she wishes.