In Daylight
Jun. 5th, 2013 01:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eien_no_chouSome idiot drives his motorbike past the house and honks his horn, and Chiyo Tohsaka sends out a silent prayer that his brakes will fail on a steep hill. Screwing up her eyes against the sunlight she is now awake enough to register, she rolls over in bed, contently warm under the covers. It takes her a further few minutes to realise that there is another heat source other than herself in the bed, and she experimentally opens her eyes to find Rider not three inches from her face.
An irrational thought enters her mind concerning how long his eyelashes are, before she brutally shoves it to the side to address the actual concern here - she can feel that she is completely without clothes, and it would not be a stretch to assume that under the covers, Rider was similarly undressed.
-his tongue traces along her collarbone to taste the sweat there, teeth just grazing her shoulder as she gasps and drags the tips of her nails down every wave of muscle on his chest-
She does not blush - she’s no virgin bride, that much is certain - but she does sit up and press fingers to her neck. There’s not so much pain as there is sensitivity, and she knows she’s going to have to use extra makeup to cover the bruises, or else wear a scarf. Further inspection finds more on her arms and hips, fingerprint sized, and she’s reminded that his origin travels from earth to animal and then to human - a slight regression is not surprising. They intermingle with the larger bruises from the battle yesterday, but even they have faded.
Her prana has been restored.
-her fingers catch in his hair and tighten, holding on for dear life should he fuck her straight through the headboard. It’s uncertain whether the bed can stand up to his strength, but she’s determined to do so herself-
Walking may also be a problem, she discovers as she straightens her legs and feels them ache. She’s parched and thinks of the wine they drank, first one bottle and then another, and then she loses track of the evening entirely.
-he is raw power and she has to muffle her screams into a pillow because there is no other way to digest and pass on the sheer energy he gives off and passes to her, filling her up until she is overflowing-
It’s been seven years since her husband’s death, and longer still since the last time she’d woken to find someone warm and alive in her bed with her. Her husband’s illness took him from her long before death did, stealing him to private rooms that could be carefully monitored. That last day when she had entered and found him so still...
Rider does not move either. Not a flutter of dreaming eyelids, or the rise and fall of a chest, or the twitch of fingers, and for a moment a cold feeling slows her heart and settles in her stomach, but she crushes it. There is a difference. If Rider were dead, he would not be here, obviously. Perhaps the wine is still affecting her.
Rider wakes soon after, gracefully rolling out of bed and onto the floor. Half of the bedding goes with him, and he doesn’t bother to untangle himself. “You’ll want me to head out in spirit form, I take it.”
The grin on his face likely deserves to be removed with a slap. It’s to everyone’s benefit that Chiyo is mid-way through getting out of bed and dressing herself. “No doubt the servants have deduced what happened, but you don’t need to give them anything more to gossip about,” she says tying the obi of her yukata loosely. “I’m going to the bath. Do as you please.”
An irrational thought enters her mind concerning how long his eyelashes are, before she brutally shoves it to the side to address the actual concern here - she can feel that she is completely without clothes, and it would not be a stretch to assume that under the covers, Rider was similarly undressed.
-his tongue traces along her collarbone to taste the sweat there, teeth just grazing her shoulder as she gasps and drags the tips of her nails down every wave of muscle on his chest-
She does not blush - she’s no virgin bride, that much is certain - but she does sit up and press fingers to her neck. There’s not so much pain as there is sensitivity, and she knows she’s going to have to use extra makeup to cover the bruises, or else wear a scarf. Further inspection finds more on her arms and hips, fingerprint sized, and she’s reminded that his origin travels from earth to animal and then to human - a slight regression is not surprising. They intermingle with the larger bruises from the battle yesterday, but even they have faded.
Her prana has been restored.
-her fingers catch in his hair and tighten, holding on for dear life should he fuck her straight through the headboard. It’s uncertain whether the bed can stand up to his strength, but she’s determined to do so herself-
Walking may also be a problem, she discovers as she straightens her legs and feels them ache. She’s parched and thinks of the wine they drank, first one bottle and then another, and then she loses track of the evening entirely.
-he is raw power and she has to muffle her screams into a pillow because there is no other way to digest and pass on the sheer energy he gives off and passes to her, filling her up until she is overflowing-
It’s been seven years since her husband’s death, and longer still since the last time she’d woken to find someone warm and alive in her bed with her. Her husband’s illness took him from her long before death did, stealing him to private rooms that could be carefully monitored. That last day when she had entered and found him so still...
Rider does not move either. Not a flutter of dreaming eyelids, or the rise and fall of a chest, or the twitch of fingers, and for a moment a cold feeling slows her heart and settles in her stomach, but she crushes it. There is a difference. If Rider were dead, he would not be here, obviously. Perhaps the wine is still affecting her.
Rider wakes soon after, gracefully rolling out of bed and onto the floor. Half of the bedding goes with him, and he doesn’t bother to untangle himself. “You’ll want me to head out in spirit form, I take it.”
The grin on his face likely deserves to be removed with a slap. It’s to everyone’s benefit that Chiyo is mid-way through getting out of bed and dressing herself. “No doubt the servants have deduced what happened, but you don’t need to give them anything more to gossip about,” she says tying the obi of her yukata loosely. “I’m going to the bath. Do as you please.”
