She led him gentle into the arms of oblivion. Mastery pulled the world to her whim, and just as she coaxed him to let go she allowed herself the same freedom into instinct and pleasure and connection. Desire flamed for the sounds he made and for the slick pulse of his skin under her hands. She was both languorous and unhurried, shivering when his touch responded. The smallest sensations rippled, the cold long forgotten beneath the trail of warmer fingertips. Grass cushioned when she finally pressed him down and guided herself atop.
Below, darkness began to writhe, reaching like fingers from around his shoulders and ribs.
Surprise widened her eyes, flaring quickly to a curious intoxication. The ink on Tristan’s skin squirmed and stretched like a siren’s call, licking tongues of black flame towards her naked skin. This time the blossoming of resonance was not a reflection of him, but of herself. She discovered harmony in her own darknesses, even as she preferred the light, yet Nimeda did not like the parts of her not easily accepted by others. Neither did she deny them, though. Memories stirred, of blood and bubbles and the strangest lullabies, frissoning through her with a flare of unexpected kinship.
Captivation ran her fingers fearless toward the marks that reached for her. She recalled how Tristan had flinched away when she had touched them before, even then drawn by their ancient patterns and the stories they told. “Vánagandr, your blood is singing,” she murmured, entranced. Her breathing deepened like the realisation stirred something new in her, and her hand slid forward to find the anchor of that same monstrous heartbeat in his chest. Wonder snared, swept on a tide suddenly begging an urgency that flushed life to her pale skin. The swell of desire for him was almost enough to push her to the edge of release on its own. Instead, she finally found his newly darkened gaze.
Nimeda had never witnessed the eyes of the kin change before, the sun of them eclipsing to the blackest night of every promised ending. The gold flaked away to nothing. Enamoured and wide-eyed, she urged him closer until he pushed up to sit flush against her. The deep angle of him now hazed lust as her fingers traced the wet strands from his temples, trailing his cheekbone like a frame to the new blackness. She already knew the sting of Tristan’s instincts, yet it did not dim the surety of her touch any more than it buried the whim of her affection for what she beheld.
Trust received was given earnestly in kind, and as he had once asked her not to leave him to the chaos of the dreamcity, so she did not abandon him either to the volatility of a nature she had teased awake from the shadows. It was as beautiful to her as the alien shine of his usually golden gaze, though if it seduced her it was not without the thrill of fear. No leash waited for something she thought him better off to embrace rather than hide, but she was not ignorant either of what stirred. She would not push him harder than she thought he could go, though neither did she shy back from seeking that balance.
For a moment she searched the basalt blackness of his eyes much like she had earlier searched the gold, for a hint of the man who lived behind both. There was another hunger in her now, potent but unarticulated, and currently drenched in an incendiary desire. Nimeda did not seek such answers, though, just the freshwater taste of his lips. She murmured his name into them, unsure for which of them the anchor was meant as she sought his kiss. His heart thundered mesmerizing against her own chest, and she guided his hands to cradle the rhythm of her hips, then snaked her own up his shoulders, relishing that swirl of darkness.
Below, darkness began to writhe, reaching like fingers from around his shoulders and ribs.
Surprise widened her eyes, flaring quickly to a curious intoxication. The ink on Tristan’s skin squirmed and stretched like a siren’s call, licking tongues of black flame towards her naked skin. This time the blossoming of resonance was not a reflection of him, but of herself. She discovered harmony in her own darknesses, even as she preferred the light, yet Nimeda did not like the parts of her not easily accepted by others. Neither did she deny them, though. Memories stirred, of blood and bubbles and the strangest lullabies, frissoning through her with a flare of unexpected kinship.
Captivation ran her fingers fearless toward the marks that reached for her. She recalled how Tristan had flinched away when she had touched them before, even then drawn by their ancient patterns and the stories they told. “Vánagandr, your blood is singing,” she murmured, entranced. Her breathing deepened like the realisation stirred something new in her, and her hand slid forward to find the anchor of that same monstrous heartbeat in his chest. Wonder snared, swept on a tide suddenly begging an urgency that flushed life to her pale skin. The swell of desire for him was almost enough to push her to the edge of release on its own. Instead, she finally found his newly darkened gaze.
Nimeda had never witnessed the eyes of the kin change before, the sun of them eclipsing to the blackest night of every promised ending. The gold flaked away to nothing. Enamoured and wide-eyed, she urged him closer until he pushed up to sit flush against her. The deep angle of him now hazed lust as her fingers traced the wet strands from his temples, trailing his cheekbone like a frame to the new blackness. She already knew the sting of Tristan’s instincts, yet it did not dim the surety of her touch any more than it buried the whim of her affection for what she beheld.
Trust received was given earnestly in kind, and as he had once asked her not to leave him to the chaos of the dreamcity, so she did not abandon him either to the volatility of a nature she had teased awake from the shadows. It was as beautiful to her as the alien shine of his usually golden gaze, though if it seduced her it was not without the thrill of fear. No leash waited for something she thought him better off to embrace rather than hide, but she was not ignorant either of what stirred. She would not push him harder than she thought he could go, though neither did she shy back from seeking that balance.
For a moment she searched the basalt blackness of his eyes much like she had earlier searched the gold, for a hint of the man who lived behind both. There was another hunger in her now, potent but unarticulated, and currently drenched in an incendiary desire. Nimeda did not seek such answers, though, just the freshwater taste of his lips. She murmured his name into them, unsure for which of them the anchor was meant as she sought his kiss. His heart thundered mesmerizing against her own chest, and she guided his hands to cradle the rhythm of her hips, then snaked her own up his shoulders, relishing that swirl of darkness.
![[Image: thal-banner-scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/thal-banner-scaled.jpg)