Post by Lisa on Nov 8, 2010 10:01:45 GMT 10
Title: Conductivity and Conduct
Rating: PG-13
Length: 756
Category: Tortall
Summary: A side-story to Out of Nothing at All, this is one of the many in-between moments, when they were caught between affection and decorum.
Peculiar Pairing: Thayet/Wyldon
“Jonathan’s got a meeting with the minister from Galla,” Thayet whispers, obscuring the lower part of her face with her fan. The rest is hidden behind an elaborate mask, peacock feathers standing out against her crow-black hair. “Tomorrow morning, just after dawn.”
“And how is this relevant?” His voice is lower than hers, almost inaudible. He finds it strange that years of practicing battle-pitched commands could give him the vocal control to whisper so softly that it makes her shudder.
“He’ll retire early tonight,” she replies. She stands in front of him, slightly to one side. To any outside observer, they are merely two nobles standing near one another, watching the costumed dancers carefully maneuver the steps of a lively gavotte. His mask and comparatively simple costume keep him anonymous, although anyone can easily recognize the queen by the beauty of her gown and hairstyle. “Will you come to my quarters, after he leaves the ball?”
She had removed herself from the king’s bedroom only three months prior, over a domestic disagreement he felt reluctant to weigh in on, even during Thayet’s angriest moments. In his near-addiction to her, the benefits far outweigh the potential accusations of treason.
“I don’t think you realize what you’re capable of doing to me,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. His mouth hovers near her ear, and he has to fight for self-control, to prevent his lips or teeth or tongue make the contact he aches for.
“I know very well,” she says, her lips curving into a hint of a smile. “I believe you demonstrated it quite efficiently just one week past.”
“That, my love, was just the tip of the iceberg.”
She steals a glance backward, and he recognizes the lust in her eyes. There is a history between them, a longing for everything that is forbidden by law and station, by their own marriage vows given to other people. And a desire to wish it all away, a tradition of pretending the rest of the world ceases to exist when they are in each other’s arms.
“Would you like to dance, sir?” she asks, her voice louder than before. Thayet has reached this point in every ball they’ve been to before – when she cannot bear the quiet conversation and must finally touch him. Usually he declines the offer.
He agrees this time. It is far easier to dance with her at a Masque, because he does not have to fight to keep his expression neutral, his posture guarded. It will not do to have others witness friendship between the queen and the voice of the Conservatives at court – let alone witness everything beyond friendship that they have shared. He worries that anyone will read in their expressions an entire chronology of their events, from their first kiss in the Royal Forest to the numerous times they’d made love.
He’s surprised, as always, at the heat between them when their hands touch. “When can we leave?” he asks huskily. The problem with touching Thayet is that once he starts, it’s impossible to stop. It makes him wonder at his own greed, as he is not by nature such a selfish person. But where she is concerned, he finds himself unhappy without everything.
The thought of his wife, raising their daughters without him, comes as an unwanted surprise in his mind. She told him to stay in Corus, knowing full well what he had done. Knowing that the youngest princess was likely his. And he had listened to her, realizing that he had destroyed what was the greatest thing in his life.
And his penance was to fall back into Thayet’s bed, asking for more and more while the king unknowingly raised a child that wasn’t his?
Wyldon takes a deep breath, pushing every surge of passion aside. “Tonight isn’t good for me after all, Thayet,” he says, his voice quaking uncharacteristically.
She falters in her step – as uncharacteristic as his shaky tone – and looks up at him with mouth slightly agape. “Are you…?”
“Yes,” he says firmly. “I’m putting an end to this.” He knows it’s not for good. They’ve never been able to stop completely, because he always sees her troubled expressions and tries to help her, tries to ease the pain of her unhappy marriage. Every time he receives her confidences, he receives a bit of her love.
Perhaps that is what makes him shake with unease – not the idea of losing her altogether, but the fact that he already carries so much of her with him.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 756
Category: Tortall
Summary: A side-story to Out of Nothing at All, this is one of the many in-between moments, when they were caught between affection and decorum.
Peculiar Pairing: Thayet/Wyldon
“Jonathan’s got a meeting with the minister from Galla,” Thayet whispers, obscuring the lower part of her face with her fan. The rest is hidden behind an elaborate mask, peacock feathers standing out against her crow-black hair. “Tomorrow morning, just after dawn.”
“And how is this relevant?” His voice is lower than hers, almost inaudible. He finds it strange that years of practicing battle-pitched commands could give him the vocal control to whisper so softly that it makes her shudder.
“He’ll retire early tonight,” she replies. She stands in front of him, slightly to one side. To any outside observer, they are merely two nobles standing near one another, watching the costumed dancers carefully maneuver the steps of a lively gavotte. His mask and comparatively simple costume keep him anonymous, although anyone can easily recognize the queen by the beauty of her gown and hairstyle. “Will you come to my quarters, after he leaves the ball?”
She had removed herself from the king’s bedroom only three months prior, over a domestic disagreement he felt reluctant to weigh in on, even during Thayet’s angriest moments. In his near-addiction to her, the benefits far outweigh the potential accusations of treason.
“I don’t think you realize what you’re capable of doing to me,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. His mouth hovers near her ear, and he has to fight for self-control, to prevent his lips or teeth or tongue make the contact he aches for.
“I know very well,” she says, her lips curving into a hint of a smile. “I believe you demonstrated it quite efficiently just one week past.”
“That, my love, was just the tip of the iceberg.”
She steals a glance backward, and he recognizes the lust in her eyes. There is a history between them, a longing for everything that is forbidden by law and station, by their own marriage vows given to other people. And a desire to wish it all away, a tradition of pretending the rest of the world ceases to exist when they are in each other’s arms.
“Would you like to dance, sir?” she asks, her voice louder than before. Thayet has reached this point in every ball they’ve been to before – when she cannot bear the quiet conversation and must finally touch him. Usually he declines the offer.
He agrees this time. It is far easier to dance with her at a Masque, because he does not have to fight to keep his expression neutral, his posture guarded. It will not do to have others witness friendship between the queen and the voice of the Conservatives at court – let alone witness everything beyond friendship that they have shared. He worries that anyone will read in their expressions an entire chronology of their events, from their first kiss in the Royal Forest to the numerous times they’d made love.
He’s surprised, as always, at the heat between them when their hands touch. “When can we leave?” he asks huskily. The problem with touching Thayet is that once he starts, it’s impossible to stop. It makes him wonder at his own greed, as he is not by nature such a selfish person. But where she is concerned, he finds himself unhappy without everything.
The thought of his wife, raising their daughters without him, comes as an unwanted surprise in his mind. She told him to stay in Corus, knowing full well what he had done. Knowing that the youngest princess was likely his. And he had listened to her, realizing that he had destroyed what was the greatest thing in his life.
And his penance was to fall back into Thayet’s bed, asking for more and more while the king unknowingly raised a child that wasn’t his?
Wyldon takes a deep breath, pushing every surge of passion aside. “Tonight isn’t good for me after all, Thayet,” he says, his voice quaking uncharacteristically.
She falters in her step – as uncharacteristic as his shaky tone – and looks up at him with mouth slightly agape. “Are you…?”
“Yes,” he says firmly. “I’m putting an end to this.” He knows it’s not for good. They’ve never been able to stop completely, because he always sees her troubled expressions and tries to help her, tries to ease the pain of her unhappy marriage. Every time he receives her confidences, he receives a bit of her love.
Perhaps that is what makes him shake with unease – not the idea of losing her altogether, but the fact that he already carries so much of her with him.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!