[ embry slips away before she can plumb the depths of his pain. his mark appears worse than her own, enflamed where her gash merely simmers. had it been deeper from the start, or have they diverged in their treatment? she files that question and the matter of his duties in war away for later (does that make him a warrior? a knight, before he served his government through their council?)
at his offer, surprise flickers across her features before they settle and still. she should demur, saying it’s too bold an ask — and unbecoming, besides, for a man of his standing to lower himself on her behalf. instead, her mind recalls all larys has asked of her, in the dark of her chambers. this isn’t the same. it’s the obverse, helping her don armour rather than stripping her of it. the cloying heat tells her it matters not, as long as he stays close. ]
Just enough. [ annoyance, to warrant his gallantry, or boldness, for her to stomach it. amusement glints in her eyes, and she flourishes her hand in acquiescence. ] You may.
[ with practiced elegance, she lifts her skirts halfway up her calf, exposing sheer stockings, trimmed with lace (a matching set with her smallclothes). as modest as the manor saw fit to supply — that is to say, a meagre improvement on bare skin. alicent’s watchful eyes follow the sweep of his hair, bracing against the brightness of his gaze. ]
[ softly, ] Does the wolf’s mark burn your flesh? [ something to say — to offer — as her opposing hand finds his shoulder, gently balancing her weight. she thinks of her son’s flesh, cooking in the aftermath of dragonfire, and her smile falters. the memory cools any untoward desires, at least. ] Perhaps that’s the wrong word. [ She purses her mouth, considering. ] Heat might better suit.
[ it's a victory, being able to kneel at her feet, her stockinged foot resting on his knee as he fiddles with the metal clasp to loosen the ankle strap. there are times when he gets the strangest sense of déjà vu for a life he knows he's never lived, when he looks up from his familiar place on his knees between ash's feet and thinks he's looking at a king, the d.c. sunset haloing him like a crown, the light limning his nobility and inherent goodness. he gets that now, like he's a knight staring up at a queen, made to serve the unspoken desires that burn her very soul.
he flinches when her hand settles at his shoulder, the pressure of her fingertips pressing down against the wolf's claw marks sending heat rocketing through him and nearly taking him off balance — only nearly, though. the shoe drops but he stays upright, his hand clenched around her ankle with an unforgiving grip as he draws in a sharp breath, his face hot. heat might better suit, indeed. ]
You burn my flesh.
[ he catches her wrist and keeps her hand in place before she can draw her touch away, his accusatory tone light, one corner of his mouth quirking. the pain that sweeps through him is all too familiar, an injury he can't help but prod at because he likes to suffer, an itch he intentionally does not scratch because it feels sweeter to let it build and build and build. ]
The wolf got me there, too. I thought about telling you, but it's more fun to let you discover these things on your own.
[ his grip finally loosens around her ankle, her pale skin red and patterned with the latticework of her lace stockings. the smile he gives her is a return to his well-mannered charm, but with a creak of an open door; he's comfortable here on the floor, maybe too comfortable to be on time for breakfast.
he picks up the shoe, slipping her foot inside and working the leather strap around her ankle with tender care, his head bent in concentration, leaning with familiar ease against her thigh. when he breathes in he's transported again — she smells like lilies, like rosemary, fusing with the juniper on his breath as he exhales against her green dress. ]
Do you like the shoe? [ finished with one, he slides his hand upwards to rest at her calf in tandem with his lifted gaze, his eyes meeting hers. he cups the inside of her knee, gently but liberally lifting her leg so she can admire the shimmering gold in the room's light. ] Should I do the other?
[ impossible not to think of the last man who knelt before her and hoisted her skirts — arms corded with muscle, head bowed in worship. the same dark hair falling in his face. everyone wants for something, even the most gallant of knights. but what could this man, in particular, possibly want for, when she has no power here, no standing, no son on the throne or on dragonback.
only embry’s hissed breath and tight grip pull her from her reverie. she looses a sharp inhale, big eyes searching for the source of his pain. if not for his hand clasping her wrist, she would have tugged it away. instead, his hold pulls everything taut between them. you burn my flesh on a recursive loop in her skull. alicent has back-handed cole for less, but she relaxes her arm in embry’s grip, fingers splaying wider over the curve of his shoulder. what sort of man lets someone plunge their fluttering hand into his wound? ]
You must have had quite the close call. [ with the wolf. it seems less like fun to downplay his hurt and more like the red beds of her nails, a self-inflicted punishment. still, he smiles up at her, as though he can think of no better place to suffer. warmth blossoms in her chest, unaided by the searing ache in her arm.
her handmaidens haven’t dressed her in weeks. when they did, it never felt as intimate as this (as draping the white cloak over cole’s broad shoulders). that he asks for her opinion on how to proceed is nothing short of a wonder. an offer of escape and an invitation to continue, unmistakable even to her untrained eyes. her lashes lower as his palm slides higher. ]
[ finally, the slightest quirk of her mouth, ] It’s a bold choice. [ the shoe, gold and glittering. and his touch at the back of her knee. she lifts her free hand to reward him for it, pushing a stray hair from his eyes and carding it back into its elegant sweep. ] You ought to see it through.
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at his offer, surprise flickers across her features before they settle and still. she should demur, saying it’s too bold an ask — and unbecoming, besides, for a man of his standing to lower himself on her behalf. instead, her mind recalls all larys has asked of her, in the dark of her chambers. this isn’t the same. it’s the obverse, helping her don armour rather than stripping her of it. the cloying heat tells her it matters not, as long as he stays close. ]
Just enough. [ annoyance, to warrant his gallantry, or boldness, for her to stomach it. amusement glints in her eyes, and she flourishes her hand in acquiescence. ] You may.
[ with practiced elegance, she lifts her skirts halfway up her calf, exposing sheer stockings, trimmed with lace (a matching set with her smallclothes). as modest as the manor saw fit to supply — that is to say, a meagre improvement on bare skin. alicent’s watchful eyes follow the sweep of his hair, bracing against the brightness of his gaze. ]
[ softly, ] Does the wolf’s mark burn your flesh? [ something to say — to offer — as her opposing hand finds his shoulder, gently balancing her weight. she thinks of her son’s flesh, cooking in the aftermath of dragonfire, and her smile falters. the memory cools any untoward desires, at least. ] Perhaps that’s the wrong word. [ She purses her mouth, considering. ] Heat might better suit.
no subject
he flinches when her hand settles at his shoulder, the pressure of her fingertips pressing down against the wolf's claw marks sending heat rocketing through him and nearly taking him off balance — only nearly, though. the shoe drops but he stays upright, his hand clenched around her ankle with an unforgiving grip as he draws in a sharp breath, his face hot. heat might better suit, indeed. ]
You burn my flesh.
[ he catches her wrist and keeps her hand in place before she can draw her touch away, his accusatory tone light, one corner of his mouth quirking. the pain that sweeps through him is all too familiar, an injury he can't help but prod at because he likes to suffer, an itch he intentionally does not scratch because it feels sweeter to let it build and build and build. ]
The wolf got me there, too. I thought about telling you, but it's more fun to let you discover these things on your own.
[ his grip finally loosens around her ankle, her pale skin red and patterned with the latticework of her lace stockings. the smile he gives her is a return to his well-mannered charm, but with a creak of an open door; he's comfortable here on the floor, maybe too comfortable to be on time for breakfast.
he picks up the shoe, slipping her foot inside and working the leather strap around her ankle with tender care, his head bent in concentration, leaning with familiar ease against her thigh. when he breathes in he's transported again — she smells like lilies, like rosemary, fusing with the juniper on his breath as he exhales against her green dress. ]
Do you like the shoe? [ finished with one, he slides his hand upwards to rest at her calf in tandem with his lifted gaze, his eyes meeting hers. he cups the inside of her knee, gently but liberally lifting her leg so she can admire the shimmering gold in the room's light. ] Should I do the other?
no subject
only embry’s hissed breath and tight grip pull her from her reverie. she looses a sharp inhale, big eyes searching for the source of his pain. if not for his hand clasping her wrist, she would have tugged it away. instead, his hold pulls everything taut between them. you burn my flesh on a recursive loop in her skull. alicent has back-handed cole for less, but she relaxes her arm in embry’s grip, fingers splaying wider over the curve of his shoulder. what sort of man lets someone plunge their fluttering hand into his wound? ]
You must have had quite the close call. [ with the wolf. it seems less like fun to downplay his hurt and more like the red beds of her nails, a self-inflicted punishment. still, he smiles up at her, as though he can think of no better place to suffer. warmth blossoms in her chest, unaided by the searing ache in her arm.
her handmaidens haven’t dressed her in weeks. when they did, it never felt as intimate as this (as draping the white cloak over cole’s broad shoulders). that he asks for her opinion on how to proceed is nothing short of a wonder. an offer of escape and an invitation to continue, unmistakable even to her untrained eyes. her lashes lower as his palm slides higher. ]
[ finally, the slightest quirk of her mouth, ] It’s a bold choice. [ the shoe, gold and glittering. and his touch at the back of her knee. she lifts her free hand to reward him for it, pushing a stray hair from his eyes and carding it back into its elegant sweep. ] You ought to see it through.