Post by Carbon Kiwi on Jul 30, 2011 14:33:49 GMT 10
Title: Sexual Healing
Rating: R
Couple/Character: Dedicate Rosethorn/(Mind-healer) Dedicate Cicelysong/Dedicate Lark
Event: Donkey discus
Words: 716
Warnings: Implied sex, implied threesome, interesting celebration of accomplishments
Summary: “It’s been weeks since a nightmare, and now I get the worst I can remember having.”
Notes: This isn't really how people expect therapy runs to end...
Rosethorn glared down at the journal she clutched in both hands. The images and text over the pages were scribbled and uneven, but successfully portrayed a dream plane made up of nightmares.
“It’s been weeks since a nightmare and now I get the worst I can remember having.”
“Describe the dream.”
Rosethorn breathed deeply and relayed her dream version of her last evening in Gyongxe, the night of their escape. Seeing Evvy’s scarred feet, Briar’s stoical face as tears stormed his cheeks and her near death. All the faces of the dead she couldn’t save—but had tried with all her might to do so anyway. The earth eating up the temple city, all the dead soldiers and Gyongxians and plants as she ran with Briar and Evvy. In the dream, the earth finally ate her as well even as Briar and Evvy ran on; she had screamed as her heart tore. Later, just before waking, she had grown as a rose in the neglected garden of Discipline Cottage and had stepped out of it confused and pained, but alive. She was grateful for that.
When she finished speaking, her breath was still even and she felt the streaked lines of tears on either cheek; she hadn’t noticed those.
Dedicate Cicelysong stared at her, gaze filled with intense inspection and heat.
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Other than last night.”
“Eating?”
“Like I used to.”
“Working?”
“Nearly as much as I could manage after dying.”
“Body functioning as you’d like?”
“All I could feasibly hope for.”
Cicelysong looked away for a second before her gaze slipped back to Rosethorn. “Sexual appetite?”
“Lark no longer has any complaints—not that she ever voiced them. Crane has been pleasantly surprised.”
Cicelysong was silent as she watched Rosethorn.
“Have I undone your work?” Rosethorn questioned, keeping the concern from her voice.
“I think it means we’re finished, Rosethorn.”
“For the day?”
Cicelysong shook her head and stood. She offered her hand and Rosethorn took it, standing to join her. She felt the familiar presence of Cicelysong in her mind and magic. At last the mind-healer took a small step back but kept possession of Rosethorn’s hand.
“You have finished your mind healing.”
Rosethorn felt the drying tears on her face as she stared at the woman who had begun as her enemy, turned begrudgingly to an appreciated counsellor, transformed into a friend and now interested her—in the slope of curves and expression of personally invested interest—as a potential lover.
She took a step forward until she was closer to Cicelysong than she had been before.
“Will I be crossing the line if I…?” she murmured as she placed her other hand on Cicelysong’s shoulder, fingers slipping into her hair. Rosethorn squeezed their joined hands. “I don’t think I can wait half a year.”
“Oh gods,” Cicelysong gasped, “I can’t either.”
She pressed her substantial curves against Rosethorn and locked their lips together, fingers threading through Rosethorn’s short-cropped auburn strands. It had been a long time in coming: Cicelysong moaned at the contact and steadied herself against Rosethorn.
Rosethorn grinned as she nipped at the woman’s lips. She was feeling more herself than ever.
“Just us two now,” she husked against Cicelysong’s neck as she worked her way up from the woman’s collarbone, “but then I’m bringing you home to Lark and we’ll show you how much we appreciate your help. You need payment of some sort, poverty vow or not…”
Cicelysong shuddered in Rosethorn’s arms, legs straddling one of her sturdy thighs. Rosethorn was almost worried she was finished already. She needn’t have worried, for Cicelysong gripped her around the waist with improved strength and attacked her mouth again.
At last, “Thank gods for the poverty vow.”
When Lark saw the two enter the cottage and took in their tussled appearances, her dark eyes lit up.
“Welcome home, Rosethorn,” she said clearly. Rosethorn could hear the extra depth to the statement. She—the part of Rosethorn lost in the blood and horror of Gyongxe—was home.
Lark turned to Dedicate Cicelysong. “And welcome back to Discipline, Cicelysong. Did I show you the best room in the cottage…?”
At Cicelysong’s shake of the head, Lark gathered the hands of the two women and led them to her bedroom.
Rating: R
Couple/Character: Dedicate Rosethorn/(Mind-healer) Dedicate Cicelysong/Dedicate Lark
Event: Donkey discus
Words: 716
Warnings: Implied sex, implied threesome, interesting celebration of accomplishments
Summary: “It’s been weeks since a nightmare, and now I get the worst I can remember having.”
Notes: This isn't really how people expect therapy runs to end...
Rosethorn glared down at the journal she clutched in both hands. The images and text over the pages were scribbled and uneven, but successfully portrayed a dream plane made up of nightmares.
“It’s been weeks since a nightmare and now I get the worst I can remember having.”
“Describe the dream.”
Rosethorn breathed deeply and relayed her dream version of her last evening in Gyongxe, the night of their escape. Seeing Evvy’s scarred feet, Briar’s stoical face as tears stormed his cheeks and her near death. All the faces of the dead she couldn’t save—but had tried with all her might to do so anyway. The earth eating up the temple city, all the dead soldiers and Gyongxians and plants as she ran with Briar and Evvy. In the dream, the earth finally ate her as well even as Briar and Evvy ran on; she had screamed as her heart tore. Later, just before waking, she had grown as a rose in the neglected garden of Discipline Cottage and had stepped out of it confused and pained, but alive. She was grateful for that.
When she finished speaking, her breath was still even and she felt the streaked lines of tears on either cheek; she hadn’t noticed those.
Dedicate Cicelysong stared at her, gaze filled with intense inspection and heat.
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Other than last night.”
“Eating?”
“Like I used to.”
“Working?”
“Nearly as much as I could manage after dying.”
“Body functioning as you’d like?”
“All I could feasibly hope for.”
Cicelysong looked away for a second before her gaze slipped back to Rosethorn. “Sexual appetite?”
“Lark no longer has any complaints—not that she ever voiced them. Crane has been pleasantly surprised.”
Cicelysong was silent as she watched Rosethorn.
“Have I undone your work?” Rosethorn questioned, keeping the concern from her voice.
“I think it means we’re finished, Rosethorn.”
“For the day?”
Cicelysong shook her head and stood. She offered her hand and Rosethorn took it, standing to join her. She felt the familiar presence of Cicelysong in her mind and magic. At last the mind-healer took a small step back but kept possession of Rosethorn’s hand.
“You have finished your mind healing.”
Rosethorn felt the drying tears on her face as she stared at the woman who had begun as her enemy, turned begrudgingly to an appreciated counsellor, transformed into a friend and now interested her—in the slope of curves and expression of personally invested interest—as a potential lover.
She took a step forward until she was closer to Cicelysong than she had been before.
“Will I be crossing the line if I…?” she murmured as she placed her other hand on Cicelysong’s shoulder, fingers slipping into her hair. Rosethorn squeezed their joined hands. “I don’t think I can wait half a year.”
“Oh gods,” Cicelysong gasped, “I can’t either.”
She pressed her substantial curves against Rosethorn and locked their lips together, fingers threading through Rosethorn’s short-cropped auburn strands. It had been a long time in coming: Cicelysong moaned at the contact and steadied herself against Rosethorn.
Rosethorn grinned as she nipped at the woman’s lips. She was feeling more herself than ever.
“Just us two now,” she husked against Cicelysong’s neck as she worked her way up from the woman’s collarbone, “but then I’m bringing you home to Lark and we’ll show you how much we appreciate your help. You need payment of some sort, poverty vow or not…”
Cicelysong shuddered in Rosethorn’s arms, legs straddling one of her sturdy thighs. Rosethorn was almost worried she was finished already. She needn’t have worried, for Cicelysong gripped her around the waist with improved strength and attacked her mouth again.
At last, “Thank gods for the poverty vow.”
When Lark saw the two enter the cottage and took in their tussled appearances, her dark eyes lit up.
“Welcome home, Rosethorn,” she said clearly. Rosethorn could hear the extra depth to the statement. She—the part of Rosethorn lost in the blood and horror of Gyongxe—was home.
Lark turned to Dedicate Cicelysong. “And welcome back to Discipline, Cicelysong. Did I show you the best room in the cottage…?”
At Cicelysong’s shake of the head, Lark gathered the hands of the two women and led them to her bedroom.