Post by devilinthedetails on Aug 1, 2018 7:49:02 GMT 10
Title: No Rush
Rating: R for sexual content
Prompt: Rush
Summary: Sarai is always in a rush; Zaimid never is. The story of Sarai and Zaimid's elopement.
No Rush
Sarai came to Zaimid’s quarters in a veiled swirl of silk and jasmine perfume. Once a house slave had seen her into his parlor and vanished with a sweeping curtsy, Sarai sat down—not on the divan opposite his or even beside him as he expected but instead plopping onto his lap as if it were a chair created for her comfort.
Before he could adjust to the shock of her on his knees, she tangled her arms behind his head and pressed his mouth down to meet her full red one. They had stolen kisses on their rides together but she had never visited him for his kisses before nor had she ever darted her tongue across his lips and slipped it inside when he obeyed her prompting to open them.
She probed the insides of his cheeks with more passion than skill but he still fond himself more aroused than he could remember another woman making him from a kiss. With the other women he had flirted with and bedded in Carthak and the Copper Isles, he had taken the initiative but with Sarai it was different. With her, he was reminded too much of a wild bird who had miraculously flown into his hand but who would flit away in a heartbeat if he startled her with a sudden motion, so it was she who slid her hands away from the nape of his neck to lower the top of her dress, revealing a bodice that strained to accommodate her ample breasts—a look that was fashionable and seductive but probably uncomfortable and impractical based on Zaimid’s understanding of female anatomy.
As she struggled to unlace the bodice, displaying ever more of her golden brown skin in the process, her fumbling fingers made him wonder if she was running to him not out of desire for him but in desperation to escape someone else.
“Why are you doing this?” he murmured, gently thumbing an exposed nipple. She quivered under his touch as he knew she would—he had been experimenting with how to pleasure a female ever since his days as a student of healing when he had decided for more than mere academic curiosity to enhance his knowledge of the opposite sex’s body—but there was something fearful in her movements.
“I want you to take my maidenhead.” She buried her face in his shoulder, and he could feel the shame radiating from her.
“You don’t seem to want that at all.” He coiled a luscious black curl around his finger and felt her shudder. “I won’t take your maidenhead from you, dear Sarai, unless you know in every part of your body and soul that you wish for me to do so. Your maidenhead is something you can never have again once it’s taken from you. I never want to see you sobbing with regret that you gave it to me.”
“I’d rather you take my maidenhead than be married to a puppet king in a sham wedding.” Sarai was weeping and mascara smeared her cheeks as she lifted her skirt, flashing firm thighs that Zaimid had to resist the urge to separate. “My regents are going to marry me off to a chid king already on the path to becoming a tyrant with his fits of temper.”
“You don’t need me to take your maidenhead in order to avoid marrying the child king.” Zaimid tugged her skirt down to at least cover her thighs. He was determined to protect what he could of her modesty even if she wasn’t. “In the scenario you describe, I’d be the lesser of two evils, and I won’t take advantage of that or you.”
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me when I’m offering myself to you.” Sarai clutched at his wrists, and he thought he saw a gleam of cunning in her brown eyes beneath the panic. “Take my maidenhead, Zaimid, and then we can elope to Carthak together, where I’ll be your loyal, loving wife.”
“You want me to take your maidenhead so I’ll be obligated to spirt you away from Carthak, don’t you?” Zaimid traced her chin with a reflective finger as he began to unravel the mystery of what Sarai was doing. Her flinging herself on Zaimid wasn’t just about impulse and desire; it was also about strategy and manipulation of his innate sense of honor.
“Maybe.” The gold in her skin flushed to rust. “I do care about you, though, and I’m willing to be your wife. I’m just desperate to escape this arranged farce of a marriage, and I’ve nobody to turn to except you.”
“I’ll help you, but I don’t need to take your maidenhead before I’m capable of feeling concern and responsibility for your welfare, Sarai.” Zaimid stroked her high cheekbones that would always be so majestic to him. “We’ll escape to Carthak together, and when we’re in Carthak, we can decide whether we’ll wed then. There’s no reason for you to rush into a marriage or anything else you might regret if given more time for thought.”
“You say that as you plot to sneak me away from my country.” Sarai’s laugh was caught somewhere between amusement and hysteria.
“There’s no rush for that either, my dear.” He tapped her nose, drawing from her a wobbly smile that teetered on the brink between hope and despair. “I’m a devout follower of the Graveyard Hag. I’ve no doubt she’ll hear and grant my prayers to allow us enough time to secret you out of the country and begin sailing to Carthak.”
His confidence in the patroness of Carthak proved not to be misplaced or presumptuous for she did indeed bless them with the time they needed to escape from the Copper Isles and the arranged marriage that threatened to ensnare Sarai. Despite her appeals for him to save her from her homeland, she still wept bitterly into her handkerchief as the Copper Isles faded from view.
“It wasn’t a perfect place, and I’d no choice but to run away from it, but it was my home, and I did love it very much.” Sarai gave a small, soft eulogy as she stared at the distant speck that was all that was visible of the land where she had been born and bred.
“We’d be sad creatures indeed if we could only love and mourn perfect places and people.” Zaimid squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to explain your tears to me, Sarai. I understand them.”
“I should be kissing you in gratitude for rescuing me, not crying until my face is splotchy and my eyes scarlet in a poor thanks.” Sarai twisted her handkerchief, realized what she was doing, and then tucked it into a pocket, her brown cheeks pink as sunset. “I’m sorry for weeping like this, Zaimid.”
“With me”—Zaimid bent to whisper in the shell of her ear—“you never have to apologize for your feelings. I’ll always respect them and you.”
“Because we’re going to be married?” Sarai blinked at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes.
“Whether we marry or not.” He cupped her chin and felt the undried tears. “As to whether we’ll marry, you should think about that during our voyage and as long as you need to once we’ve arrived in Carthak. There’s no need for you to rush your decision as I told you before. There’ll be time enough to plan the wedding in the Graveyard Hag’s temple should you wish to marry when we’re in Carthak.”
“You’re a true gentleman.” Sarai kissed his cheek. “I wish every man were as gallant as you. The world would be a better place.”
“For everybody except me.” Zaimid bowed and brushed his lips against the tips of her fingers. “I cringe to imagine the fierce competition I would face to win your heart.”
“I think”—Sarai shot him one of the tantalizing grins that had made him fall in love with her—“you’d find a way to win my heart with your valor anyhow.”
He must indeed have managed to win her heart with his valor when he stole her from the Copper Isles because after they exchanged the vows that made them man and wife in the Graveyard Hag’s grand temple, she tore at their clothes with a wild abandon as soon as they were alone together in their bedroom. Savoring her passion for him, he caught her hand and tickled the palms with his lips, teasing her with his tongue as he said, “There’s no rush, my love. We’ve the rest of our lives to spend together now, and I intend to slow down to treasure every moment with you.”
Rating: R for sexual content
Prompt: Rush
Summary: Sarai is always in a rush; Zaimid never is. The story of Sarai and Zaimid's elopement.
No Rush
Sarai came to Zaimid’s quarters in a veiled swirl of silk and jasmine perfume. Once a house slave had seen her into his parlor and vanished with a sweeping curtsy, Sarai sat down—not on the divan opposite his or even beside him as he expected but instead plopping onto his lap as if it were a chair created for her comfort.
Before he could adjust to the shock of her on his knees, she tangled her arms behind his head and pressed his mouth down to meet her full red one. They had stolen kisses on their rides together but she had never visited him for his kisses before nor had she ever darted her tongue across his lips and slipped it inside when he obeyed her prompting to open them.
She probed the insides of his cheeks with more passion than skill but he still fond himself more aroused than he could remember another woman making him from a kiss. With the other women he had flirted with and bedded in Carthak and the Copper Isles, he had taken the initiative but with Sarai it was different. With her, he was reminded too much of a wild bird who had miraculously flown into his hand but who would flit away in a heartbeat if he startled her with a sudden motion, so it was she who slid her hands away from the nape of his neck to lower the top of her dress, revealing a bodice that strained to accommodate her ample breasts—a look that was fashionable and seductive but probably uncomfortable and impractical based on Zaimid’s understanding of female anatomy.
As she struggled to unlace the bodice, displaying ever more of her golden brown skin in the process, her fumbling fingers made him wonder if she was running to him not out of desire for him but in desperation to escape someone else.
“Why are you doing this?” he murmured, gently thumbing an exposed nipple. She quivered under his touch as he knew she would—he had been experimenting with how to pleasure a female ever since his days as a student of healing when he had decided for more than mere academic curiosity to enhance his knowledge of the opposite sex’s body—but there was something fearful in her movements.
“I want you to take my maidenhead.” She buried her face in his shoulder, and he could feel the shame radiating from her.
“You don’t seem to want that at all.” He coiled a luscious black curl around his finger and felt her shudder. “I won’t take your maidenhead from you, dear Sarai, unless you know in every part of your body and soul that you wish for me to do so. Your maidenhead is something you can never have again once it’s taken from you. I never want to see you sobbing with regret that you gave it to me.”
“I’d rather you take my maidenhead than be married to a puppet king in a sham wedding.” Sarai was weeping and mascara smeared her cheeks as she lifted her skirt, flashing firm thighs that Zaimid had to resist the urge to separate. “My regents are going to marry me off to a chid king already on the path to becoming a tyrant with his fits of temper.”
“You don’t need me to take your maidenhead in order to avoid marrying the child king.” Zaimid tugged her skirt down to at least cover her thighs. He was determined to protect what he could of her modesty even if she wasn’t. “In the scenario you describe, I’d be the lesser of two evils, and I won’t take advantage of that or you.”
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me when I’m offering myself to you.” Sarai clutched at his wrists, and he thought he saw a gleam of cunning in her brown eyes beneath the panic. “Take my maidenhead, Zaimid, and then we can elope to Carthak together, where I’ll be your loyal, loving wife.”
“You want me to take your maidenhead so I’ll be obligated to spirt you away from Carthak, don’t you?” Zaimid traced her chin with a reflective finger as he began to unravel the mystery of what Sarai was doing. Her flinging herself on Zaimid wasn’t just about impulse and desire; it was also about strategy and manipulation of his innate sense of honor.
“Maybe.” The gold in her skin flushed to rust. “I do care about you, though, and I’m willing to be your wife. I’m just desperate to escape this arranged farce of a marriage, and I’ve nobody to turn to except you.”
“I’ll help you, but I don’t need to take your maidenhead before I’m capable of feeling concern and responsibility for your welfare, Sarai.” Zaimid stroked her high cheekbones that would always be so majestic to him. “We’ll escape to Carthak together, and when we’re in Carthak, we can decide whether we’ll wed then. There’s no reason for you to rush into a marriage or anything else you might regret if given more time for thought.”
“You say that as you plot to sneak me away from my country.” Sarai’s laugh was caught somewhere between amusement and hysteria.
“There’s no rush for that either, my dear.” He tapped her nose, drawing from her a wobbly smile that teetered on the brink between hope and despair. “I’m a devout follower of the Graveyard Hag. I’ve no doubt she’ll hear and grant my prayers to allow us enough time to secret you out of the country and begin sailing to Carthak.”
His confidence in the patroness of Carthak proved not to be misplaced or presumptuous for she did indeed bless them with the time they needed to escape from the Copper Isles and the arranged marriage that threatened to ensnare Sarai. Despite her appeals for him to save her from her homeland, she still wept bitterly into her handkerchief as the Copper Isles faded from view.
“It wasn’t a perfect place, and I’d no choice but to run away from it, but it was my home, and I did love it very much.” Sarai gave a small, soft eulogy as she stared at the distant speck that was all that was visible of the land where she had been born and bred.
“We’d be sad creatures indeed if we could only love and mourn perfect places and people.” Zaimid squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to explain your tears to me, Sarai. I understand them.”
“I should be kissing you in gratitude for rescuing me, not crying until my face is splotchy and my eyes scarlet in a poor thanks.” Sarai twisted her handkerchief, realized what she was doing, and then tucked it into a pocket, her brown cheeks pink as sunset. “I’m sorry for weeping like this, Zaimid.”
“With me”—Zaimid bent to whisper in the shell of her ear—“you never have to apologize for your feelings. I’ll always respect them and you.”
“Because we’re going to be married?” Sarai blinked at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes.
“Whether we marry or not.” He cupped her chin and felt the undried tears. “As to whether we’ll marry, you should think about that during our voyage and as long as you need to once we’ve arrived in Carthak. There’s no need for you to rush your decision as I told you before. There’ll be time enough to plan the wedding in the Graveyard Hag’s temple should you wish to marry when we’re in Carthak.”
“You’re a true gentleman.” Sarai kissed his cheek. “I wish every man were as gallant as you. The world would be a better place.”
“For everybody except me.” Zaimid bowed and brushed his lips against the tips of her fingers. “I cringe to imagine the fierce competition I would face to win your heart.”
“I think”—Sarai shot him one of the tantalizing grins that had made him fall in love with her—“you’d find a way to win my heart with your valor anyhow.”
He must indeed have managed to win her heart with his valor when he stole her from the Copper Isles because after they exchanged the vows that made them man and wife in the Graveyard Hag’s grand temple, she tore at their clothes with a wild abandon as soon as they were alone together in their bedroom. Savoring her passion for him, he caught her hand and tickled the palms with his lips, teasing her with his tongue as he said, “There’s no rush, my love. We’ve the rest of our lives to spend together now, and I intend to slow down to treasure every moment with you.”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!