Kirabel Val'thras

Rising of the Sun

First time had been disorienting in her waking, feeling the press of lips to the back of her neck in a morning-light wake up and the strangeness of having someone at her back when before she had been met with a chill reminder of an empty side of the bed. It caused breath to hitch, soon intimately aroused in a wash of warm breath was the mumbled greeting that tickled the little hairs at the nape, drawing her back into an embrace that had banished all prior nervous doubts.

The second, however, left Kirabel with the slowly forming acceptance of one who could certainly get used to this - to him.

Only the faintest hues of pale violet peaked picturesque in waning anticipation of the coming sun. A hazy twilight hush that cast about the room where two were entwined. As he was also an early riser, Daxion’s fingers would find the presence of a toned thigh lounged lazily across his own. The shift of her weight with reluctance uncurling lithe curvature from the welcoming comfort of warmth he provided, giving a drowsy smile as she inched up to let lips press affectionate along a no doubt stubbled jawline before nipping at the lobe of lover’s ear.

“ I can already hear birds outside.”

And indeed there they were, chirping away in anticipation of the day. Rolling to the edge of the bed with a tossing back of covers, arms reached above that champagne crown with fingers meshed, back arched with taut appeal. Silvery strands brushing against hips as nude frame glided graceful and bare feet padded silent across the floor. A glance was cast over her shoulder, hoping to catch a gifted sight of everything Knight-Master but more so to see if he was indeed stirring. Easing towards the bathroom, a silkened robe was tied by a sash about trim waist. Hair collected from it’s bedded tumble to be set in a loose bun atop her head. There was no glass grabbed, instead mouth was set beneath a Gnomish ( not Goblin )  piped faucet, to let swallow down several gulps of water before swishing it about her mouth.

Still that sun had yet to show itself, but that inkwell lavender was nearly gone as she took another look towards the window, but it couldn’t hold her attention for long as verdant sights found themselves drawn like a magnet towards Daxion.

“ I’ll leave you to wake yourself up and do what you must. Meet me downstairs?”

Easing towards the bedroom door, it was opened and out into the hall she stepped, in an afterthought head poked around the doorway.

“ Try not to get lost.”

A wink given before tactician took herself down the hall, not bothering to feel a least bit worried by all the lording faces that peered down at her from dusty portraits.

Out on the back veranda he’d find her, should he have gotten lost there was a blushing maid to guide him to the porch. The stone table, with a mosaic pattern of a crouching lynx, was laid out with breakfast dishes: eggs with diced peppers and ham, bacon, a platter of fresh fruit, and cinnamon sugar rolls. A pitcher of juice, mint leafed water, tea, and coffee were on a drink cart set to the side.

At Daxion’s request the night prior, a single chair was set up with a musican’s bow laid across the seat. In a stand, lovingly cared for and polished was a deep red wooded cello that called to Kirabel even when nerves suddenly started to get the better of her. It wasn’t until his arrival, that the noble military official registered she had even sat down. The edges of her robe having been spread to reveal toned legs that had wrapped ardent throughout the night, in his place an instrument that much like an old flame knew the pressure of inner thigh and the sensual weight of fingertips to stringed neck. Riling up her bow, she pointed the end at the table in indication that he should eat and the look given was smoldering, chin prideful lifting as she accepted his challenge or was it fear of helicoptering bits?

Regardless, the scroll rested momentarily against cheek as head bowed, then with a drawing of tightened hair to strings. The thrumming summoning was not light and airy, but keening in it’s cat and mouse beckon of sound. Deep, cavernous barrel of notes moving to not usher in a quiet night but the rising of a brilliant sun whose gilded rays were both pleasure and pain depending on how one chose to look at it. Skimming fingers across fret, body moving in a holding sway as she had become a slave to this musical dagger dance. So the sun began to rise, dove-grey beaten back by periwinkle roseate shades as light, life-giving and hopeful skimmed over the waters that came to meet the estate’s backyard in a lapping rush; autumnal leaves blazing triumphant. As the song came to a plucking end, a little breathless both from the blood that pumped in a course beneath dusky tanned flesh, strands having broken free still unbrushed and curling about a face that glowed with a very shy smile as eyes rested on the man seated, or perhaps not, at the table.

“ Your move, Knight-Master.”