Topic: Boots and Buckles

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:08 EST
((Contains situations of an adult nature.)) __________________________

As handsome as Rhys looked in his medieval garb, there were certain things about it that were a little too practical to make it easy getting him out of his new clothing. One such part of his get-up was his boots, which required the effort of both of them to get off. Hence the wonderful scene the pair of them would have presented, had anyone been able to see them - the Priestess of Avalon, her back to the Champion, his leg between her thighs as she heaved on his boot, trying to slide it from his foot without dragging him out of his seat in the same motion. She was also giggling, absolutely aware of how ridiculous they looked. "Stop tensing your foot, it won't come off unless you relax!"

As for Rhys, Nat's giggling was only aggravating an already aggravated Champion. "How am I supposed to relax when it feels like you're trying to pull my leg off"!" he snapped back, holding onto the chair with both hands so that he didn't end up on his *ss on the floor. "What the hell good are boots you can't get off?" Though he knew he looked good in the medieval get-up, he longed for his comfy pair of worn-out blue jeans and a simple t-shirt. "These things are a medieval torture device!" he complained further. Once he got started, it was hard to stop. He scowled, screwing up his face as he tried to tug his foot from the stubborn boot. "I don't know..." He paused as he tugged harder. "...why it has to be so..."

Nat let out a whoop of startled laughter as the boot suddenly shifted, his foot sliding free. Unfortunately, this sent her pitching forward into a rolling flail of limbs that only ended when she came up against the dry stone wall, his boot clutched triumphantly in her hands as she grinned up at him. "You were saying, dusha moya?" she asked sweetly, pushing herself to sit up as her brown eyes twinkled with teasing amusement. "Something about it being ....hard, perhaps?"

As she pitched forward, he went in the opposite direction, the momentum of the struggle to yank his foot from the boot sending him and the chair toppling over backwards to collide with the floor with a hard thump and groan. He laid there for a moment, stunned and annoyed, before climbing to his feet and scowling over at her, hands on his hips, one boot on, one boot off. For a moment, he was worried she was hurt, but his worries were quickly allayed by the teasing grin on her face. "You wish," he teased back, alluding not to the boot, but a particular part of his anatomy, though it could be argued that it was his head that was hard. He frowned down at the feet, wiggling the toes of his freed foot, while the other was still encased in leather. "I'm not wearing those again, just so you know."

She laughed, reaching to drum her fingers against the boot he still wore. "We can take them to a cobbler, have him fit them with buckles, rather than expect you to pull them on and off," she suggested. "But this is your ceremonial wear now. You cannot go without your boots." She leaned up behind him and pulled the chair back into place. "Now sit down, and let us get the other one off before you start sulking."

Too late. He was already sulking. He backed away from her like she was trying to torture him, rather than help him, lifting his hands in the air, palms toward her, to fend her off. "Oh, no, not again. You're not getting anywhere near me. You almost pulled my knee out! I'll do it myself," he announced stubbornly, standing slightly lopsided with one boot on and one off. "Buckles!" he exclaimed, belatedly. "They ever hear of laces" By the way, why no forks" They have modern plumbing, but no forks. It doesn't make sense. It's like living at a Ren Faire. I can take a shower, but I have to eat with my fingers. The hell is that?"

"I do not know, perhaps you should ask the Lady," Nat told him, just as stubborn as he was, rising onto her feet. She tossed the liberated boot underneath the bed, advancing on him as he backed away from her. "Avalon turns to her will, after all. Don't you think she has the right to keep most things as she remembers them?" Her finger poked against his chest as she grinned. "Sit down, Rhys, or I will knock you down."

"Oh, come on! Is she afraid someone is going to put their eye out?" He brushed her hand away from his chest and backed up further, backing himself right into a wall. "I'm warning you. What's the Lady gonna say when I end up on crutches because of those boots?" he asked, blaming the boots, rather than Nat. He leaned against the wall, a strained look on his face as he tried to pry the stubborn boot from his foot.

Pausing where she was, Nat laid her hands on her hips, watching him hop and strain, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. After all, there was a reason why noblemen throughout the ages had always employed someone to help them dress and undress. "You did not start complaining about them until it was time to take them off," she reminded him laughingly. "Now are you going to stand there looking ridiculous, or are you going to let me help you?"

"I don't....look....ridiculous!" he argued between stubborn hops and tugs, his face flushing as he fought a losing battle against the boot. Giving up at last and slightly out of breath, he finally dropped onto the chair with an annoyed huff and a few muttered expletives beneath his breath. He pouted up at her like a child. "It won't come off," he told her defeatedly. "It's like they're cursed or something."

She watched this performance with a lurking smile, obviously deeply amused by his stubbornness and just as deeply certain he was going to fail in the end. "Not cursed, love," she promised him. "Made perfectly for your feet." Leaning down, she curled her hands to his cheeks and brushed a soft kiss to his lips. "Just relax. Trust me." She let her fingers trail down over the leather of his jerkin, across his thighs, and finally turned her back to him again, lifting one leg over his to bend forward and raise his booted foot into the air. One hand curled beneath his heel, and she began to pull slowly, inexorably, daring the rebellious bit of footwear to fight back this time.

"I do trust you. It's the boot I don't trust," he pouted up at her even as she kissed his lips, gaze following her as her finger traveled down his chest and across his thighs. "You're trying to distract me," he accused, feeling the effects of her distraction, but one piece of tight clothing was enough to deal with at the moment. He cringed as she lifted his foot in the air and commenced to play tug of war with the stubborn piece of leather once again, grabbing hold of her hips this time so that neither of them went *ss over teakettle.

"Of course I'm trying to distract you," she admitted cheerfully, unable to quite deny the ripple of tension that flowed out through her from his grip on her hips. Even the most innocent of touches from Rhys could do interesting things to her insides. She gritted her teeth, slowly increasing the strength of her pull on his boot. "You're not ....exactly ....trying not to be ....distracted - oh!" With a swish of leather, the boot came free, and this time her momentum was already redirected, dropping her back into Rhys' lap with a triumphant laugh. "We won!"

He wiggled his foot this time, relaxing and moving with the leather as Nat loosened its hold on his foot and it seemed to come sliding off much easier this time. His gaze was focused on the view of her backside as she wiggled this way and that, his hands gripping her hips firmly, distracted by the view. "It's not my fault you're distracting," he replied, defensively. "Umph," he grunted, as she unexpectedly dropped into his lap, right onto the proof of his distraction, causing him a different kind of discomfort, catching her too late.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:12 EST
Realising a little late just what she had landed on, Nat lurched up, her amusement tempered with concern as she looked down at him, tossing the second boot under the bed with the first. "I am sorry, I did not mean to hurt you," she apologised hurriedly, but her concern didn't last too long, fading away into a smirking smile that touched to his lips once again. "It is not my fault you find me distracting," she countered his argument playfully, making as though to move away and leave him be.

The initial shock of her collision with his lap wore off, and though he tried to hide the smirk from his face, he mostly failed, reaching for her wrist to tug her back onto his lap. "I'd hate to have to explain to the Lady that I can't produce a successor because you injured the family jewels." Now that his feet and legs were free of the confines of those blasted boots, his mood had lightened.

"I am sure she would be able to find a Handmaiden or three more than happy to lend their healing hands to your recovery," Nat answered him through her own smirk of a smile, barely resisting as he drew her back onto his lap. Their heights were disparate enough that in this position she was not impossibly higher than him, able to loop her arm about his neck without either of them needing to strain to be close. "Or I could always kiss it better."

"Hmm..." He pretended to mull those two choices over in his, as if there was any real choice to make. "Having a couple of Handmaidens to do my bidding is a tempting thought," he teased, biting back a smirk. "Though you do still owe me a day of servitude." One arm slipped around her to circle her waist as he drew her closer, nearly on a level with each other with her on his lap. She was a tiny thing compared to him, but he knew that strength and courage wasn't measured by size.

"Which you seem to be saving up for some special day in the future," she murmured fondly, her forehead coming to rest against his as they gathered a certain quality of intimacy in their shared quiet about one another. "If I ever catch you with Handmaidens or any other woman, they will live to regret it," she promised him, her voice sweet, teasing, but holding that underlying assurity of truth. She loved him; she was never going to give him up.

His smile faded as he turned serious, which seemed to always invariably come to pass at one point or another. Either he was always taking things too seriously or not seriously enough. All things considered, there had been very little time recently to relax, but somehow, they always seemed to find time for each other. "Nat, you don't have to worry about that," he reassured her, sweeping her hair back from her face with a gentle brush of fingers. "There's no one but you. You know that."

"I know." Her smile gentled in the face of his caress, his reassurance, her own fingertips teasing along the line of his hair to bring her hand to rest against his shoulder. And slowly her smile deepened to a teasing smirk once again. "But does that mean you no longer wish to be reminded of how possessive I am of you? I was jealous of a girl on that aeroplane when you smiled at her; did you really think that would change as the months go by?"

"Jealous?" he laughed. "There's nothing to be jealous of. Do I have to get down on one knee again to prove how much I love you?" he asked, not quite understanding that her feeling jealous of other women wasn't the same as not trusting him. He'd been with countless women before, but there had only been a few who'd really made an impression, and they all paled in comparison to Nat.

"Oh, no," she laughed back to him, drawing her arms about his neck as he cradled her close on his lap, her bare feet dangling above the warm stone floor. "You never needed to prove anything to me. I know you love me, or you would never have come back." Her smile touched his. "Just let me be human and not trust other women with you. After all, you are quite the temptation."

He rolled his eyes at her remark. Whatever he or other women thought of him was irrelevant. Hers was the only opinion that mattered. "Before I met you, the last woman to hit on me was a demon," he remarked, as if it was an ordinary and commonplace event. He didn't go into any further details, never really having told her half of what his life had been like before he met her, mostly because it no longer mattered. He sobered a moment as his thoughts turned back to that day not so long ago when he'd found himself in Glastonbury and the events that had led to it. "Why didn't you tell me about Hell, Nat?" he asked, that old familiar look of guilt in his eyes.

Her smile faded, her own guilt flaring in the depths of her eyes as she gazed at him. Hell. How do you know I have something to tell you about Hell" The memory of her torment there, though short in reality, seemed an eternity. "I ..." She hesitated, shaking her head. "There did not seem a good time to tell you. It was over, it did not affect you. Michael saved me so I could not be held over your head, used as a bribe by Abaddon." Her hand gently touched his cheek. "I did not mean to lie. But why should I hurt you with the knowledge of something you could not have changed?"

"You didn't hurt me, Nat. I hurt you," he admitted, with a sad, guilty frown. Though all of this was in the past and nothing could be done about it, it was still something that needed to be discussed so that it never happened again. "I shouldn't have left. I was trying to protect you, trying to keep you out of harm's way. I knew if Abaddon found out about you, he'd try to use you to hurt me. I thought if I left, he'd focus on me and leave you alone. I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry." He had, admittedly, already apologized for leaving her behind in his quest to destroy Abaddon, but that was before he knew about Hell.

"You did not hurt me. We drew the demons' attention to ourselves, Adam and I, while we were searching for you." She twisted, cupping his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes as she tried to show him how little he was to blame for everything that had happened after he had left her in Rouen. "We traced you to Lourdes, and we lost you," she told him firmly. "We did not think we had time to search for you in conventional ways, so Adam took something called a spirit walk. While he was under, the demons came for his body and found me. They took an opportunity that presented itself, that is all. They did not come looking specifically for me." She kissed him gently, willing him to believe her.

His brows furrowed as he absorbed this information, anger flaring at Adam for trying something so dangerous, guilt that the demons had tried to hurt her because of him. He opened his mouth to remark on Adam's stubborn stupidity when she silenced him with a kiss, not only distracting him from what he'd been about to say, but effectively soothing his anger. What was done was done and there was no undoing it, but he still needed her assurance she'd never try anything like that again.

He let her kiss him before gently pulling away and eyeing her pointedly. "Don't you ever put yourself in danger again because of me," he told her, leaving little room for any ifs, ands, or buts.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:15 EST
She met his gaze with a challenge of her own, reminding him with just a look that she was just as capable, just as skilled, just as stubborn as he was. "Is that an order, or a request?" she asked him in a warning tone, her eyes flashing with a hint toward the independent spirit that still resided inside, for all that she had surrendered herself entirely to him. "I will only swear to that if you will swear the same, and promise not to break it. And I do not think you will."

He scowled in response to her request. She knew him well enough to know he'd never make such a promise and they seemed to have reached a standoff, and yet, if she and Adam had not searched for him, things would most likely have ended in disaster. The frown softened, the anger fading, as he arrived at the heart of the matter. "I just don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you."

"Oh, my love." She drew her arms about him once again, wrapping him close in her affection as her lips touched his temple, his cheek, embracing him lovingly in the quiet that surrounded them. "Do you not think I feel the same way' I thought I had lost you once, and it tore me apart. You cannot ask me not to do everything in my power never to lose you again, not when I know you feel the same of me."

He had no answer for her. He couldn't very well promise never to die; everyone died sometime, though he hoped it wouldn't be for a very long time. He had a feeling the Lady would do everything in her power to make sure nothing happened to either of them, at least, not until they had secured the continuation of the line from which a successor would eventually emerge. There was no need to point this out. She knew it as well as he did. The thought of her having spent any time in Hell, suffering as she must have suffered, though painful, only filled him with resolve to never let anyone ever hurt her again. "You're never going to lose me, Nat," he told her, pulling her close. "Promise. Not so long as I can help it." He sealed that promise with a kiss, one that blazed with fervent love and devotion.

He swallowed her answering promise with that kiss, taking her breath into himself as he smothered her senses with everything that was him. She couldn't have argued, even if she had wanted to, somehow knowing that he understood his promise was echoed back to him as her lips parted with his. Adoration painted her kiss, tenderness and loyalty with an eye to the future, to the promise she would make in the years to come to protect his children with her life if it ever came to it. Though the words of the demonness still haunted her, and would until she dared to question Rhys, Natalya knew he was hers as she was his. Their future together was assured.

As things usually went with them, the time for talk was over. Whatever questions either had for the other would have to wait, too lost in their feelings for the other and the cravings of physical passion. He kissed her again, softer this time with tenderness and loyalty equal to hers, promising without words that his heart belonged forever to her. Breaking from her kiss, he swept her up in his arms, as light as a feather, as he moved to his feet, and carried her to the simple bed they shared in the privacy of the quarters the Lady had offered them.

Her lips were pliant beneath his, taking advantage of the break in his kisses to trail her own along the line of his jaw, enjoying the tickle of his sparse beard under her mouth. Her teeth found the lobe of his ear, tugging lightly with a teasing growl that spoke more of laughter than of passion, knowing that it was going to take yet more effort to get both of them out of their clothing than they were entirely used to. "Are you planning on quenching that other hunger now, my lord?" she murmured impishly, flicking her fingertip against the topmost buckle of his jerkin.

He growled a little in response to the tug of her teeth against his ear lobe, feeling a rush of heat flood his body, moving over her as he laid her gently back against the bed. "I am planning on having my way with you, wench," he teased back, eyes bright with playful mischief and desire, fingers tugging at her clothing, unsure how to get the medieval trappings off of her.

She passed a heated smile back to him, wrapping her arms about his neck to draw him down to her with a languidly fierce kiss, rising up to turn him onto his back in the same motion. "Let me make it easier for you, my lord," she breathed playfully against his lips, shifting back to slip from the bed and out of reach. With a secretive promise of a smile playing about her lips, her hands fell to the golden cord that crossed and wrapped about her waist, drawing it loose in a strangely provocative motion.

Breathless from that heated kiss, he found himself on his back, groaning as she pulled away from him, reaching for her even as slipped away from his fingers. He turned onto his side and leaned his head against a propped up hand as he watched her do a medieval version of a strip tease for his eyes only, an amused smile on his face. "Now something's getting hard," he complained with a smirk. And it wasn't his boots.

The golden cord fell to the floor to the tune of her laughter, the gently husky sound reverberating around the stone-clad niche of this open-air bedroom of theirs. Her hands slipped behind herself to untie the cinch of her bodice, and she peeled the rich green piece away, letting her gown hang looser from her slender form. "Only something?" she teased, her hands slipping behind her back once again to loosen the laces that held the blue gown closed. "Are you so far gone with passion you have forgotten which part of you is supposed to be responding, dusha moya?"

"Use your imagination," he replied, still smirking, watching her entranced as she slowly unwrapped herself from the covering of cloth that enhanced but also hid her loveliness from his admiring view. "God, you're beautiful," he remarked softly, eyes moving over her, though she was still mostly clothed, savoring every unhurried moment, pulse pounding with longing.

The rich linen slid down from her shoulders, uncovering the thin transparency of the rough silk chemise she wore beneath, the undergarment not so much hiding as hinting at what was only a single layer from sight and touch. She paused, laying the gown across the chair to her side, moving back toward him in a rustle of silk, unaware of the shadows that showed her body to him beneath the swaying silk. "Your turn, dusha moya," she told him, coming to a halt beside the bed, refusing to shed that last layer until he had shed at least a little of what he wore.

"You want me to strip for you?" he asked, reaching for her hand to pull her closer, obviously enjoying the show she'd been giving him and feeling a little bit lazy about reciprocating with the removal of his own clothing. He reached for her hand to pull her down to him, eyes dark with desire, needing to feel her close, aching for the sweetness of her lips against his.

She let him take her hand, lifting the hem of her shapeless shift to allow her ease to crawl onto the bed with him, to lean down and press her lips to his in slow acquiesance to the ache in them both. The kiss seemed to last an age, dazing her senses until all she could see or hear or smell or touch or taste was him. "I want to feel your skin under my hands," she breathed to him in a voice that thrummed with languid passion. "I want you, Rhys, always."

He rolled onto his back again as she climbed onto the bed, a hand sliding slowly up against her thigh beneath the thin fabric that covered her soft curves as her lips met his. Instead of satisfying his hunger, the taste of her kiss only made him want her more, his pulse pounding in his ears, the slow heated ache of desire rising inside him. "I'm yours, Nat. Forever yours," he promised with equal passion as his hands moved to awkwardly fumble with the buckles of his jerkin.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:18 EST
In a teasing parody of his lazy sprawl as he had watched her slip from her clothing, she rolled onto her back beside him, stretching out against the covers to tuck her hands behind her head, into the wayward tangle of curls he loved so much. Her eyes rested on him, knowing perfectly well how distracting the view of herself was in that position, perfectly laid out for the taking but for the fact that he wasn't undressed enough to do any taking just yet. Her knee lifted, toes running impishly against his thigh as the folds of translucent silk slid high to bare her own leg to the thigh. "More haste, less speed," she teased merrily, not even offering to lift a finger to help.

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, getting almost as annoyed with the buckles of his jerkin as he had with his boots. It seemed to take forever to get the damned things undone, and he was close to getting himself worked in a fit of frustration again as he rolled to his feet to try and get the thing off him. "It's like a god-damned strait jacket."

She laughed, amused all over again by his frustration with the unfamiliar fastenings, pushing herself up to kneel on the bed before him. Her hands reached to bat his away, pulling him close as her fingers took over the task of unbuckling him from his jerkin. "It means take your time," she told him through her smile, "and you will not waste any with anger or frustration."

"I thought the saying was 'Haste Makes Waste'," he commented, dropping his hands to his hips, feeling a little childish, like a boy who needed help from his mother, though he was a full-grown man. "Why do we have to wear this stuff anyway' It's the 21st century!" In time, he'd get used to it, like with anything else, but at the moment, all he cared about was getting the damned thing off. "They ever heard of a zipper?"

"Do you always complain so much when things don't happen instantly for you?" she laughed, drawing the jerkin open finally. Her fingers curled into the shirt beneath, pulling him down to her kiss. Her lips moved teasingly against his as she drew back. "Would you rather complain than get on with it?" Releasing him, she flashed him a very wicked smile, falling back against the sheets and pillows in an inviting sprawl of limbs and silk.

He frowned, brows furrowing at that thought. "Um, no, there are some things that shouldn't happen instantly." He wasn't going to point out any examples, as it seemed obvious enough - at least, to him - what he was implying. His point, however, was smothered by her kiss as he found himself pulled down toward her lips, her kiss taming his frustration once again, though it didn't last nearly long enough. His eyes followed her as she slipped away from him and fell back against the sheets, and there was that ache of longing making itself known again. "I'm not complaining," he pointed out. Not anymore anyway. He peeled the jerkin off, shaking it down off one shoulder and tossing it onto the chair to join her dress.

"Oh no?" she asked, enjoying the fasimilie of power he'd given her for the time being, knowing that until he was at least one more piece of clothing down, he wasn't going to be able to grant her wish of wanting his skin to touch and taste. She stretched again, a provocative, feline arch and reach of limbs that pulled the silk tight about her body for a moment before she relaxed back into the shapelessness of the chemise. "Enlighten me. What should not happen instantly?"

"Anyone ever tell you what a tease you are?" he asked as he dropped onto the bed on top of her, unable to hold himself back any longer and just watch while her body writhed seductively against the sheets. His hands slid against her sides, drawing the chemise upwards, as his lips found her throat and peppered her flesh with soft kisses. "What do you think?" he asked, between kisses.

"Frequently," she answered the question thrown down as he lowered to her. "But you're the only one who gets to do anything about it." Her hands rose from the mass of her curls, one to drag her nails teasingly gently through the short crop of his hair, the other to fist in the folds of his shirt as his mouth found lingering purchase on her throat. Her legs shifted as the silk that covered her rose, threatening to reveal the nakedness beneath as she moaned his name softly against his ear. "Oh, this," she breathed tenderly. "This should take an eternity."

He lifted his head at her reply, unexpected jealousy flaring, not unlike her jealousy of any woman who might look his way. "Oh, really?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "Should I ask who you've been teasing lately, besides me?" he continued, pulling away just far enough to tease and frustrate her. "Is there anyone I need to exorcise from your memory?" he asked, as his fingers slid higher along the length of her thigh.

"Mmm ..." The sound was half-protest, half-declaration of pleasure, throbbing from her throat as he drew back from her. Her eyes blinked open once more to meet his with a slow smile. "No one lately," she promised him. "I have not had to tease anyone lately." She blew him a kiss, selfishly enjoying the flare of his jealousy, knowing it to be not unlike her own. He trusted her, but not the men or women she could attract with her charms. She rose up onto her elbows, snapping her teeth wickedly close to his lips, grinning up at him impishly. "Well ....there is this angel I should push out of my mind," she mused wickedly. "After all, I saw him die, didn't I?"

"I'm not an angel, Nat. Not anymore," he replied, assuming she meant him. It was the truth, and besides, he hardly remembered what it had been like to be an angel anyway. He felt human; he'd always felt human, for as long as he could remember. Even when he'd been fighting Abaddon atop a mountain, he hadn't really felt all that different. He didn't really remember much of it, and when he tried, he only felt confused, but now was not the time for talk. Talk would only distract them, and he didn't really want to talk about what had happened at Gavarnie. There would be plenty of time for talk later. Frustrated by her teasing, but not in a bad way, his fingers traveled to her inner thigh and upwards to find the place between her legs he knew would leave her weak and begging.

"You are my angel," she argued softly, but that was all he gave her a chance to say. Utterly at the mercy of hands and lips that knew her body almost better than she did, she felt the background sizzle of promised desire explode into aching longing at his fingertips, her skin flushing that peaches and cream pink that betrayed the tender sensitivity of her arousal. She gasped, swallowing a cry with shuddering breath, reaching to curl her fingers into his shirt. "I want you bare to me, dusha moya," she breathed, unable to keep herself from writhing sensually at his touch. "Please ..."

"You're not the only one who knows how to tease," he whispered back, his lips close to her ear as he found the cleft between her thighs and teased at the tender nub of flesh with skilled fingers. His lips brushed her throat, feeling the rush of her pulse beneath his lips, ignoring the aching heat of his own desire in favor of coaxing her arousal. He leaned over her, sliding her chemise down over a bare shoulder as his lips following the curve of her neck downward in a trail of soft, lingering kisses.

"Rhys ..." This time her voice was caught between a whine and a moan, unable to deny him the sound of her pleasure at his particular brand of teasing. She couldn't lie still, couldn't suppress the gentle rock of her hips that told him without words what she wanted even in the grip of the rising tide of inevitable delight at his hands. Her lips touched against his hair as her face turned toward him, her eyes opening to watch his progress down over her skin, and a hand untangled itself from his shirt, taking itself lower to cup with possessively carnal intent the growing evidence of his own aching arousal.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:21 EST
A groan was torn from his throat as her fingers coaxed his own aching arousal, and it became evident that the word hard was an understatement. How long he'd been ignoring his own need was uncertain, but he was obviously more than ready for her. His eyes drifted closed a moment before he regained control of his own body, and his mouth found hers, his hands sliding against her curves to pull the chemise up and off her body. He pulled away from her lips just long enough to divest her of what he hoped was the last article of clothing before he kissed her again, deeply, hungrily, needfully.

The shadows beneath the rough silk had not lied to him; as he tossed the chemise aside, she was revealed to him, utterly exposed, strong and vulnerable, achingly feminine, and entirely his. She was breathless even before his lips found hers once again, her naked body arching up from the sheets to wrap herself close to him, moaning in frustration at the barrier of cloth that kept his skin from hers. Her hand left her teasing of him to join its fellow in tugging the laces of his shirt free, impatience making itself known in the tender pulse of her form to his. They were long past the need for words by now, but still communicating, heart to heart, in the throes of passion as yet unfulfilled.

He smiled a little against her lips, sensing her impatience, despite her teasing of him about the very same thing. He made no attempt at resistance. They were of one mind in this and would soon be of one body. He pulled back again, this time to help her with his shirt, tugging it over his head to join her chemise on the stone floor. All that now separated them was the loose pair of trousers that covered his legs.

As he sat up to rid himself of his shirt, she took the initiative, rising up onto her knees to press close to him, still teasing but with devastating purpose. As her hands found the delicious dipping and rising planes of his back and spine, drawing up and down, never quite touching the waistband of his trousers, her lips began to travel themselves, trailing softly moaning kisses from his mouth to his throat, to the strong line of his shoulder. Even the sway of her hair was a part of this tease, brushing against his skin as her knee slid over the sheets, pressing her thigh between his to heighten his sense of desire with that intimate friction.

Every touch, every kiss, every caress heightened his desire, until he could hardly bear it any longer. His hands moved over the soft curves of her body, touching her as she touched him, never tiring of her kiss or her caress, the soft warm feel of her beneath his hand as he teased and coaxed and caressed every soft curve of flesh, until he could stand it no longer. He kissed her again, before pulling reluctantly away from her kiss, just long enough to tug his trousers loose and let them drop to pool at his bare ankles on the stone floor beneath his feet. With the removal of his pants, his arousal was evident, never seeming to tire of loving her, no matter how often.

Confident enough with him now to dare teasing him when they were both vulnerable, Natalya reached out, wrapping her fingers about that arousal as though to lead him back onto the bed with her. "Perhaps we should pause here to parade you through the Temple," she murmured playfully. "Show all those Handmaidens who took me seriously this afternoon what they're missing out on." Her brows rose and fell with fond familiarity as she let her nose touch his, her touch more of a caress than a guide as they came together once more.

He smiled as she lured him back to bed, and he moved over her, press of warm flesh against warm flesh, hard angles fitting perfectly to her soft curves. "You want to cause a riot?" he teased, his nose touching hers. He didn't wait for an answer, aching to join with her, to bury himself deep inside her warmth, the only cure for the aching need that throbbed with urgency. He claimed her lips as he claimed her body, pressing himself against her and pushing her thighs open to welcome him as his lips kissed hers, tenderly at first, deepening the kiss as he teased her with his arousal.

He took her breath away and returned it with his kisses, swallowing her longing gasp as she felt the press of his desire to hers and yet not quite taking what was so freely given. Her back arched, pressing herself closer as the laugh brought forth by his tease fell away into the familiar cadence of tender moans. Her hands, so restless against his back, fell to his hips as they knelt together, pulling him as close as she could. "Ya tebya lyublyu," she purred into his mouth, forgetting in her pleasure of him to translate the words that came to her lips. "Bog, Rhys, pozhaluysta ....Ty mne nuzhen!" Please ....I need you. Words he didn't need translating, but knew deep in his heart to be absolutely true. She needed him as desperately as she needed air to breathe.

He needed no translation, knowing without being told that she wanted him, just as he wanted her. He moved with her, face to face, their bodies moving together as one as he leaned back onto his heels and drew her toward him, spreading her legs so that she could wrap herself around him and take him inside her, joining them together as one. "I want you, Nat," he whispered, his voice ragged with desire, as he drew her close to impale her upon him and quench the desperate hunger that was raging inside him.

She cried out as they came together, feeling him pierce her deep, leaving his mark indelibly on her heart and body as she gathered herself around him. Only one other lover in her lifetime, and she didn't even remember his name when Rhys held her so close, the memory of that first and only teacher wiped clean from her mind in the raw, burning reality of her soul's mate. The rhythm that took her body to new heights with his had been set in the ages before recorded time, when instinct and urges had ruled humanity, be they soft and gentle, or raw and primal with need. Shuddering in his arms, restless and eager with delicious abandon, she rose and fell, rocking to him as her lips peppered his with impatient, half-finished kisses.

He held her against him, supporting her weight as she rocked against him, bodies crashing together in a joint effort to quell that raw aching need that never seemed to lurk far from the surface whenever they were together. Almost as if they were both possessed by some primal hunger that could only be satisfied by the other - no one else. Despite all the women he'd slept with, all the women he'd loved, none of them lit a candle in comparison to her. She was beauty to his beast, the music that calmed his troubled soul, and lost in her embrace, nothing else mattered. He moved against her, in her, with her, driving himself to wild abandon until his climax finally burst inside him, an explosion of molten lava that filled her with its heat, rocking him to the depths of his being and causing him to cry out in agonized pleasure.

And she was not far behind him, lit from within with the fire of their coupling, burning with him as his heat filled her, sending her rocketing into the crackling grasp of her own lancing, white-hot ecstasy. She never failed to find pleasure with him, always sent beyond herself only to return to the gasping, groping finality of the loving aftermath, always curling herself somehow closer in the echoing finish to touch her lips to his skin once more and taste the sweat that slicked between them, mingling in her kiss.

As their bodies echoed with the ripples of pleasure that rolled in waves through their joined bodies, he laid her back against the pillows once again, rolling to his back to pull her along with him so that her body covered him, his arms around her waist to hold her close, heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath between each touch of lips. "Nat," he whispered between kisses. "Natalya," he corrected himself, her name as soft and musical as a song against his lips. Those three little words seemed to inadequate to describe the depth of love he felt for her, the connection to her soul.

The shuddering thump of her heartbeat warred with his as they lay together, as easily settled as his own, the closeness as calming in these quiet after-moments as it had been exhilarating in the joining that came before. Her curls tumbled over her shoulder to pool on the pillow beside his head as she lay over him, her lips playing tenderly to his as breath and sense came slowly back to her. "Rhys," she whispered back to him, one word to cover the myriad of feeling that rippled through her when she so much as thought of him. "I love you, milaya."

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:24 EST
He lifted a hand to slide his fingers through her soft fall of chestnut curls, a warm, fond smile on her face for her when she whispered his name, hearing the affection in her voice, knowing without needing proof that the love he felt for her was returned in kind and in full. He wasn't sure what the term of endearment meant and it didn't matter. Her meaning was clear enough. "I love you, too, baby." Not very good with words, especially terms of endearment, none seemed to fit her quite right, all of them too cliched, too overused, too sappy. "I wish I could find the words to tell you," he said with a soft sigh.

"You do not need words to tell me, milaya," she assured him tenderly, easing her fingers through the rippling short crop of his hair. Strange, how the human mind works. Here, in this moment, when she should have been content and happy ....this was when cruel words returned to taunt her mind, urging her gaze from his as she slipped to lie at his side, not wanting him to see the troubled look in her eyes even as she spoke. "Rhys, I ....I have to ask you something," she ventured in a soft tone, hating that she needed to ask at all, hoping he would not take her need to know amiss. "When I was taken, the demon ....she said something about a bargain you made to save the life of a woman you valued above your own. What was she talking about?"

As for himself, he found himself feeling strangely content and happy lying there beside her, knowing they were safe, that nothing could hurt them while they were in this place. It was an odd feeling, one he hadn't truly felt in a very long time, and one that didn't last long, her question bursting the bubble and reminding him of things that had happened so long ago he'd rather forget, things that no longer seemed to matter, except perhaps to her. He furrowed his brows as she moved away from him, this one question seeming to come between them, at least temporarily. So, the demons had used his own words against him and though vanquished were still causing them both pain with their meddling. "Nat, that was a long time ago, before I met you."

It wasn't really all that long ago, but long enough that he no longer felt the same. He had changed, and everything that had gone before no longer held sway over him anymore.

How could he know that his reply, as gentle as it was, caused more pain than it solved" She closed her eyes, remembering again the torment of those words. "Please, Rhys," she pleaded softly with him. "I know you do not love her any longer. I know I am secure in your heart. But that does not mean that I am not still haunted by a woman I have never met, and may never even put a face to. They used her against me, to weaken my heart and torment me in Hell. I need to know, so I can put it to rest."

He turned away so that she could not see the troubled look on his face, the pain the question caused him, like an old wound that had been picked open. He no longer loved Riley. She no longer held sway over his heart. He had given his heart to Natalya completely. The bargain he'd made with Abaddon had been made long before he'd ever met Natalya or knew of her existence. How should he explain to her how tormented he'd felt at the time, how he'd been willing to sacrifice himself just to be done with it, how he'd made a bargain with a demon, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to keep it. The only way to explain was to tell her the truth, but in order to do so, he had to travel back to a painful past that he'd rather leave behind.

He felt angry at the demons for using his own words against him and more importantly, against her, but what was done was done. "It's hard to explain," he started, unsure where to begin or how much to tell her.

She rose up onto her elbows, braced against the bed as she leaned over him, sharing her troubled gaze with his as she slid closer. "Do not be afraid of telling me," she murmured gently, touching her lips to his cheek. "Nothing can change my heart, and certainly no ghosts of your past."

He gathered his courage and met her gaze, never having told her much of what had transpired between himself and Riley, of his grief over Patrick, and his bargain with Abaddon to leave Riley alone and in peace. Because of Natalya, he was healing, but the pain and grief of Patrick's death haunted him still, and he could not hide that grief from his eyes as his gaze met hers. "We were part of a Triad. Me and Riley and John. Like our Triad. There was some prophecy or other that we'd stop the Apocalypse." He licked his lips nervously, unsure he'd be able to continue without losing his composure.

"We were supposed to be soul mates or something." He shrugged, knowing now that whether that was true or not, it hadn't come to pass. "We were engaged. We were happy, but this....thing was hanging over our heads. We went to New York to see John, and I don't know what happened. Everything fell apart. The demons were messing with my head, and....I kept having these dreams. Nightmares. I'd wake up night after night..." He closed his eyes, as if trying to banish the memory from his head. "We got a call one night. They killed someone else, a friend of hers, and....I don't know what happened. I felt like I was losing my mind. She couldn't handle it. She said she couldn't..."

His grief, though a mystery to her still, was raw enough even now to radiate out from him as he revisited that dark time in his life, sparking off her heart as she gazed down at him lovingly. Guilt flared in her as she realised how painful these memories were for him, and she berated herself, angry with her own insecurities for even asking him to clarify something she should have kept to herself. After all, what was her pain when compared with his? "Shhh ..." She laid her fingertips against his lips, shaking her head. "Enough, dusha moya, no more. I do not need to know anything that causes you so much pain."

It wasn't so much that he'd lost Riley that was causing him pain; it was the loss of their son and even though he knew, had been assured, that he and Nat would have children of his own, it was still painful to think of and harder to talk about. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but he needed her to know it wasn't Riley that had caused him to make the bargain with Abaddon. Not really. It was Patrick. "We were going to have a son, Nat, and they took that from us. From her. From me." He shook his head, as if it no longer mattered, lifting a hand to brush the wetness from his face. "Nothing mattered after that. I made a bargain with Abaddon to leave her alone. She'd been through enough, and it was up to me to finish it."

She gave him the silence to speak into, a silence charged not with distrust and judgement but with loving acceptance. She knew, beyond any shadow of any doubt, that he loved her, and her love for him caused her heart to bleed with his as he weathered through the storm of his painful past. It didn't occur to her to ask why he hadn't told her about the child; it was none of her business, truly, but knowing helped her to understand the truth that had been twisted to torment her in the darkness of Hell. Leaning close, she kissed away the tear that stained his cheek, curling her hand to his jaw, resting her forehead to his. "You are a good man, milaya, and it is finished. Abaddon and his minions cannot harm her any longer, and that is because of you." She sighed softly, closing her eyes to hide the pained regret she felt. "I am sorry I asked. I could have lived without causing you that pain."

He drew a shaky breath, letting her kiss the wetness from his cheek, the heartache slowly fading. "I should have told you. I tried to tell you, but..." He trailed off a moment, unsure if he should explain further or if he'd explained enough. He didn't want to talk about Patrick or Riley or what had gone before. He didn't want to talk about the dream of a future that was never to be. He didn't want to talk about the bargain he'd made with Abaddon, made mostly to buy himself some time and to ensure Riley's safety.

He didn't want to talk about any of it. It was over, done with, in the past. He wanted to forget it and move on. There was only one thing she really needed to know and understand. He'd tried to tell her so many times, but maybe he hadn't made himself clear. He looked up at her as she rested her forehead against his, eyes pleading with her to believe him and believe in him. "I loved her once. I won't deny it, but..." He broke off again, unsure how much to tell her, how much she needed to know. "It wasn't meant to be."

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:26 EST
What he pleaded for, she gave him without a second thought. The faith she had in him blazed forth, not just in her eyes but in her smile, in the way her hand caress his shoulder, the way her body nestled close to his in the nested sheets around them. "I do not begrudge you that love, Rhys," Natalya promised him gently, laying kisses against his cheek and lips as she spoke. "That part of your life is over now. You are mine, and I have no intention of allowing anyone to take you from me or our children." Her lips pressed to his once again, warm and soft and fervently fierce. "I love you, Rhys, with all that implies."

The pain washed over him, like a storm slowly passing, fading away into the distance, along with the painful memories. It wasn't meant to be. He knew that now. He understood it now, where he couldn't before. All that was left was the grief from Patrick's death, and yet, he and Natalya had been promised children of their own, and with that hope came peace. "I love you, Natalya," he told her, returning her kiss with equal fervor, heart swelling with all that he was feeling for this special woman who'd come into his life, the woman he believed was his true soul mate. "I've never loved anyone the way I love you." And though he wasn't very good with words, that simple statement spoke volumes for what he was feeling.

And that simple statement thrilled her to the core, understanding the difficulty he had with words and knowing that each word spoken was to be treasured. Her lips curved against his in a sweetly tender smile, slow kisses laid against his mouth that did not linger but drew back only to return over and over again. "I have never loved anyone but you," she whispered to him, and the truth was there to taste on her tongue. No one would ever touch her heart the way he had, she was certain of it. Spring had come to the winter of her soul with his nerves on an aeroplane, and only the loss of him would return the frost.

He had told her once before that she had healed him, and while there would always be a part of him that missed Patrick and grieved for him, the wound was slowly healing. He'd let her into his heart, and it was because of her that he'd learned to love and trust again. He kissed her again, trusting her, believing her, opening his heart to her, letting his kiss tell her without words how much he loved her, how he'd never love anyone again the way he loved her.

He had opened his heart to her, and in return, she would open a little more of her heart to him. Drawing back, she stroked her hand against his cheek, the haunted look in her eyes only a memory but one that would remain for a long while to come. "In Hell," she said softly, "they did not torture me, or hurt me. Thye shut me away with my greatest fear." She sighed, refusing to look away as she confessed, needing him to know what it was that most terrified her, what he kept at bay. "I was all alone. There was nothing, no one there. I was completely isolated. I panicked and I screamed and I couldn't even hear myself. I could not bear that, to be alone again. So long as I have you, it will not happen. Will it?"

His expression softened, his heart aching for her and for the pain the demons had put her through in Hell, even if it was not physical pain. He had promised her once before that he'd never leave her again, and he'd meant it, but perhaps she needed to hear it again, to understand that he meant what he'd said, that his promise and his proposal had not been given lightly or in vain. "Natalya," he started, choosing to use her full name so that she knew he meant what he said. He lifted her hand from his cheek and kissed it before closing his hand around hers and pressing it against his heart. "You will never be alone again, so long as I live. I swear it. Never."

For whatever reason, whether her heart was more open to that promise, or perhaps she was simply able to let herself believe it, Nat felt his words strike deep inside her, a gentle grimace of smiling tearfulness twisting her expression in happiness. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice broken but clear. "That means the world to me, milaya. Thank you."

He slipped his arms around her and drew her close into his embrace, his own pain and grief and suffering forgotten in the wake of hers. He could only imagine what she'd endured in Hell because of him, and more than anything, he wanted to make sure no harm came to her ever again. It was his duty, not only as Champion of Avalon, but as her beloved, her soul mate, her husband-to-be. "I'm sorry, Nat. I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for Hell. I'm sorry for everything. I swear, I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Ever." His voice cracked with the enormity of his promise, with the love and devotion and dedication behind it.

"None of it was your fault, dusha moya," she assured him as he drew her closer, tucking herself to mould perfectly to his side, tiny feminine beside strong masculine in the softness of cotton sheets. "I made the choices that took me to each point along the journey, and even if I could, I would not change those choices. They brought us here." She smiled, turning her head to kiss his unblemished skin where once claws had left raised scars behind. "I cannot think of any better reward than to be your wife."

That brought a smile to his face, tears glittering in his eyes, but this time, they were tears of happiness, not of pain and sorrow. Despite everything they'd been through, all the hardship and the suffering, they had survived and they would survive because they had each other. "You know what happened when I drank from the Grail?" he asked, needing her to know one more thing, one thing that would perhaps solidify her faith and trust in him forevermore.

She shrugged, one shoulder rising and falling as she nestled her cheek to his chest once more, unable to resist touching her lips to the dark tattoo on his skin before she settled. "I know the theory," she murmured, "and what happened to me, but ....it is different for everyone, milaya. You do not need to tell me something so very personal. I will not suddenly accuse you of making love to someone else in your mind." She chuckled at the thought of accusing a dream of infidelity.

He chuckled a little, but not because he was amused at her remark, but because she couldn't have been farther from the truth. "That's not what happened, Nat," he assured her as he hugged her close against him, savoring the quiet of the moment and the warmth of her body so close to his. "I realized that everything I've ever done has led me to you, and if I were to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing because if I did, then we might not be together." He turned his head to look at her settled so snugly against him. "No regrets, Nat. We are exactly where we're supposed to be. Together."

She shifted, tipping her head back to meet his gaze, vaguely aware of how wrapped about him she had made herself in these quiet moments, how snug her body fitted to his. Her lips, still swollen from the fierce kisses shared during their lovemaking, curved into his smile, lighting up her eyes with the adoring, loving devotion she felt for him. "No regrets," she agreed tenderly. "I do not want to be anywhere else."

He smiled softly and pressed a tender kiss against her temple, the ache in his heart fading, replaced with loving warmth and affection. "We should get married here," he mused, his thoughts turning away from a turbulent past toward the future, bright with hope. "This is our life now. What better place to start our future but here?"

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:29 EST
"Ah, but Adam and Vadim cannot come to Avalon," she smiled back to him, understanding his reasons but not wanting their entire lives to revolve around the Lady. "And we cannot leave them out. The Grand Master can cross the portal, and I am sure the Lady could find a way to be there with us. In Glastonbury." Because she, too, wanted to be married in the place where their future had finally come together and forged the link between them for good.

"They can't?" he asked, looking surprised. Just when he thought he understood this place, something new presented itself that he hadn't known before. "But I thought..." He broke off, his assumptions obviously having been mistaken. "Glastonbury," he repeated, remembering that was where his dream of the future had taken place. "Where should we have the ceremony?" he asked, anxious to be wed, to make her his, to join their lives together once and for all and for always.

She laughed softly, rising up onto her elbows to lean over him once again, her skin warm even before the friction of motion against his brought heat between them. "Where do you think, milaya?" she asked him merrily. "There are only two places I can think of ....the Tor, or the Lady Chapel." Like him, she was eager to be married, but she knew it would take time to arrange things for that day. They had to at least visit Adam first, too.

"I suppose I'll have to wear those damned boots again," he remarked with a smirk as she leaned over him and he trailed his fingers through her fall of curls, mussed from their lovemaking. He pushed her hair back from her face, his fingers brushing a soft caress against her cheek. Wearing the boots was a small price to pay to make her his wife. "What's that mean, mila..." He struggled with the pronounciation. "I thought I was dusha moya," he teased with a smile.

She laughed, touching the tip of her nose to his with a playful quirk of a smile. "I will not make you wear the boots," she promised. "We will do this properly, though. I am far too much of a girl not to want a white wedding." Her smile deepened impishly, though she was being completely honest - even if making it happen proved extravagant beyond all sense, she was going to have the wedding he thought he couldn't give her. As he queried the latest endearment that had fallen from her lips, she chuckled softly, nuzzling a kiss to his lips. "Milaya," she corrected him gently. "It is ....I think, dear heart, dearest love. There is no direct translation."

"Dearest love," he repeated, his smile softening, the words touching his heart, amused by the affectionate brush of her nose to his. "You are not only my dearest love, but my only love," he told her, as he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers, pushing her hair back over a bare shoulder. "You're not gonna let me pay for any of it, are you?" he asked, both of them knowing he couldn't afford to give her much. Though she'd alluded to the fact that money wasn't a concern, he wanted to give her something, some token of his love, something that would show her and everyone that she belonged to him. A ring, maybe. Maybe if he sold his car, he thought to himself. He wasn't going to need it in Glastonbury anyway.

"We will pay for it," she argued lightly. "Together. Everything I am is yours, Rhys. Everything I have is yours. And everything that truly matters to me is right here." Her lips caught his for a moment, a shift of her body bringing her over him once again, intimately close as her lips parted from his. "I would marry you with string for a ring and a dog for a witness if I had to. But I fully intend to get you into a tuxedo, if it is the last thing I do."

His arms went around her waist as he found her on top of him once again, blanketing him with her body, their limbs tangled in a lover's embrace. He returned her kiss, his heart catching fire, as his body yearned for hers once again. He laughed a little at her remark. "I'll ask Adam if he can bark." If he could, he fully intended on bringing Adam to Glastonbury to be his best man, and he wasn't marrying her without a ring. He'd find a way somehow without relying on her for money. "A tuxedo, huh?" he asked, with a smirk. "Last time anyone got me in a tuxedo was..." He pursed his lips and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Never."

"Well, then," she said, as though this answered any and all questions on what he was going to be wearing to his own wedding. She dropped a kiss onto the end of his nose once again. "I will have to work hard to match my handsome bridegroom, I think. Perhaps I should make a female friend to help me with that."

"Long as I don't have to wear those damned boots," he smirked, adamant about that. It looked like they'd be going to see the cobbler, after all. His smile softened as he imagined her in a wedding gown. "You're going to be the most beautiful bride anyone's ever seen."

She laughed softly, settling over him once again, letting herself shudder a little in wicked pleasure as their flesh met in teasing concord for a moment. "Oh, dusha moya, only in your eyes," was her counter, her lips playing against his with every word as her fingertips teased through his hair. "But it is only your opinion that will matter."

Yes, he was biased, but he was allowed to be. He would have insisted further but the lips playing against his along with the warmth of her flesh against his was having an effect on him that was not very conducive to speech. His eyes drifted slowly closed as her lips touched his, losing himself to her kisses over and over. "Nat," he whispered as her fingers toyed with his hair, eyes drifting open, dark with desire. "I want you." Again and again and forever.

"Already?" she murmured back to him, her voice thick with playful laughter, deliberately teasing him with feigned disbelief even as her body rocked with slow purpose over his, betraying her own readiness for more. "Are you sure you do not want to rest first, milaya? You have had a long day."

"I'll rest later," he assured her with a smile, hands sliding along the smooth curve of her hips. She had yet to wear him out. It was perhaps a goal to be met. He had, however, worn her out, and because of it, she'd lost a wager and owed him a day of servitude, which he had not forgotten. "Maybe you should have brought some of your toys," he teased, his body stirring to life at her slow rocking encouragement.

"Mmm, perhaps I should," she agreed, that familiarly husky tone finding her voice, leaving her just a little breathless as she felt him responding to the tease of her motion over him. "Or perhaps you should send for a Handmaiden to find you something to play with." Her eyes sparkled wickedly with amusement at her own suggestion, her legs splitting apart to straddle him as she pressed her lips to his with slow, fierce intent.

Whatever remark he was about to make was muffled by her kiss, along with a groan, his body rising to her teasing. He returned her kiss with equal heat and passion, prying her lips open to explore her mouth, savoring the taste of her on his lips and tongue, as his hands slipped around her hips to grab hold of her rear and pull her closer, tighter against him.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:31 EST
Did the Lady know that this was how her Champion and Priestess spent the time they took to absorb all they had heard and seen in the past few days" If she did know, clearly she had no objection to it. For who could, truly, object to a bond so fierce and tight constantly renewed with a touch or a look or a kiss" Nat's soft laughter faded as Rhys drew her down into a kiss deeper, more purposeful than her own, her lips parting in a tender gasp as he took hold to press her down against him. Her arms slipped, forearms sliding against the sheets about his head as her fingers gently scratched through his hair, declaring her full intent and devotion in a single moan that filled him with the taste of her.

He needed no reason to want to make love to her again other than simple desire and the need to be close - as close as he could possibly get - and to show her with actions and not words how much he loved her, wanted her, needed her. Encouraged by her moan, his body reacting to her kiss, her touch, her obvious desire, he took her again. Slowly this time, moving with her and in her, slowly stoking the flame of passion that burned inside them both. He pulled her hands over her head, fingers linked to hers, as he rocked his hips achingly slowly against her, while his lips locked onto hers, kissing her deeply, langorously, exploring and tasting her with mouth and lips and tongue.

No matter how he came to her, fast or slow, hard to gentle, rushed or soothing, nothing could ever compare with the way it felt to be taken by Rhys. She had spent years learning the art of being submissive, but it had always been a struggle ....until Rhys came along, and she had surrendered to him without even a hint of that struggle. She had always been happy, eager, to be dominated by him, to embrace her own weaknesses as he made them strengths in the act of lovemaking. Here and now, pinned beneath him, her hands captured and kept from enjoying the body that rocked over hers, teasing her with every brush and slow thrust, resistence was the furthest thing from her mind. All she could think of was him; how much she loved him, how desperately she wanted every part of him, how eager she was to be his in every sense of the word. And even in the inevitable, inexorable rise to that predictable but oh-so-wonderful pleasure, it was only his name on her lips. God had no place in their bed.

And like her, all he could think of was her - pleasing her, showing her how much she meant to him, imprinting himself on her heart and her mind so that he ruined her to anyone but himself. She belonged to him, in every sense of the word, and he had given himself to her - heart, mind, body, and soul. At that moment, it was as if time stopped; nothing else and no one else existed but them. Everything and everyone who had come before was forgotten in this moment of shared hearts and bodies, of passion and pleasure the likes of which he'd never known. Theirs was a blessed union, blessed by Heaven, and a gift from the Lady of Avalon to those she cared for most.

In the tumbling shock of delighted pleasure and satisfied desires that marked their shared rise and fall, Nat smiled, her lips parting beneath his once again to widen that smile into a possessive grin. Her fingers flexed between his as she forced her eyes open to look up at him, to revel in the unguarded wonder of his face in these short, vulnerable moments in the wake of something close to divine. "Mmm," she whispered teasingly through her staggered breath, feeling every inch of herself tingling just for him. "So tempting to just start again without a break, isn't it?"

Breathless himself, waves of pleasure rippling through him to the core of his being, he answered her question with another kiss, lips warm and tender and showing no sign of stopping. "What's stopping us?" he asked, breaking from her lips to brush a kiss against her neck, just below her ear. Fingers still linked to hers, savoring the feeling of connection, their bodies tangled together, joined together as one, he was reluctant to part, wanting to hold her forever safe in his embrace.

Her moan turned to a soft laugh and back to that tender sound as his lips traced to her neck, to the pulse that beat just beneath the skin, sensitive and wild with exhilaration at his closeness. Her own lips brushed his ear as she breathed out against him, unable to keep herself from a slow undulation that did nothing but hightlight how very close they were. "Rhys," she whispered, her fingers flexing once more in his grip. "Let me touch you."

As her lips brushed his ear, his breath caught in his throat and he felt his body stirring to arousal all over again, even as his climax slowly faded, passion easily rekindled as though he could never get enough. How could he possibly resist that request when his body was burning for her touch' Yearning to touch and be touched, love and be loved. Just the way she whispered his name was enough to send a shudder of desire through him, and he knew he couldn't deny her request. Why would he want to' No matter how many times they made love, each time was new and different, just like the first time, and it never seemed to be enough. He loosened the grip he had on her fingers, giving her unspoken permission to do as she wished, lips finding hers again in a slow, lazy kiss.

This time, it was Nat who held control, Nat who lead them in this dance they were becoming more adept at by the day. She, who laid him down on his back; she, who peppered his lips with kisses; she, who extorted him to lie still as she went about worshipping the body that encased the other half of her soul. She took her time with hands, and lips, and tongue, covering him with herself, pushing, always pushing to see how much he could take before he had to take control once again. Always bringing him just to the brink, before retreating and taking that moment of satisfaction away with her.

He had never been very submissive by nature, part of him always needing to be in control. Maybe it was fear; maybe it was a matter of trust, but until he'd met her, he'd never really let anyone own him or trusted anyone to take control over him so completely. He had to admit it was strangely arousing to submit himself so completely, to know that she wanted nothing more but to love him and please him. He found himself stretched to his limits, very nearly losing control more than once, so close to the brink of desire it was enough to drive him to near madness. He'd never been one to beg or plead, but he pleaded with her now, unable to stand it any longer, pleasure teetering on torment. "Nat, please..." he whispered, eyes pleading with her, fingers tangled in her hair, body screaming for release. He thought if she teased him much longer he would die of longing.

"Please?" she repeated, dark eyes dancing with stormy intent, playful wickedness exuding from her as she toyed with him. No part of her skin was touching his, but still she teased, drawing a single curl of her hair over the sensitive groove of his hip, along the throbbing line of his arousal. "Are you asking, or demanding, my lord Champion?"

She was pushing her luck with her teasing, and if she didn't or wouldn't satisfy him, he wasn't afraid to take what he wanted. He reached for her as she drew that teasing curl of hair over him, missing as she slipped away from his grasp. "Don't tease," he warned, growing impatient, happy to let her toy with him until he couldn't wait any longer, and he was nearing that point. The point of no return, the point past which pleasure became pain if it wasn't relieved.

"Oh, but it is so much fun," she giggled back to him. What he couldn't know was that having him so impatiently at her mercy was just as arousing for her as it was for him, knowing that at any moment he could snap out of his reluctant patience and make that warning demand into the kind of punishment she would gladly court every day if he let her. She let her curls cover him, slithering in silken motion over his heated skin until her eyes lifted, meeting his in impishly cheeky challenge. And very slowly, her lips parted, blowing deliberately cool air over his sensitive flesh.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:33 EST
There was only so much one man could stand and he had just about reached his limit. She elicited yet another groan from him as she teased him further, his body aching with desire and unable to withstand much more. He tensed beneath her, his whole body tensing, every muscle, ever nerve ending on fire, fighting against the desire to ravage her, afraid that in his state of arousal, he might hurt her. His fingers caught hold of the bed sheets, bunching them in his curled fists, his back arching as she teased him into a frenzy of agonized pleasure, holding his breath as he tried to withstand this brand of torture.

"Do try not to pass out, milaya," her voice called to him through his frenzy of determinedly stubborn resistance. "Would it not be a shame to miss the finale through your own stubbornness?" Her hands returned to him, gliding up over the outside of his thighs ....and retreating before they touched anywhere that might possibly push him any higher. That breath was repeated, warm then cool, deliberately ghosting over the most sensitive part of him.

"Nat, please..." he repeated, his voice not much more than a hoarse whisper of breath. "Please, I can't..." He shuddered as he felt her breath tease his flesh with a whisper soft caress that was both calming and enticing. "Please, I need you..." He looked to her with that pleading expression in his eyes that told her he had just about reached his limit, that he could hold on no longer, feeling like he was about to explode.

As his pleas touched her, she crawled over him, holding her body high, only letting the barest of brushes touch her skin to his. She leaned down, gazing into his eyes, knowing he must be close, so close to crossing that boundary she wanted to see him cross. "I won't break," she whispered to him, her chocolate eyes dark with loving lust and longing of her own. "I'm yours, remember" However you want me."

"I don't want to hurt you," he explained as he looked up into her eyes, having held himself back by sheer force of will so long, it was bordering on pain, a throbbing ache that would not be denied. She was so close, close enough to touch. What was it she wanted from him' Did she want him to lose control? Did she want him to take her forcefully, to ravage her body like he'd ravaged her mouth' He was close, so close to losing control, and it scared him.

Bracing herself on one hand above his head, she drew a single fingertip down the center of his chest, keeping up that teasing, constantly on the verge of giving him some release before snatching it away once again. "Sometimes I need to be taken, to be shown," she murmured to him softly, the tip of her nose circling his but never quite touching. "I need you to lose control, milaya. A little pain is nothing to that ache."

He wasn't sure what she meant, but it seemed clear what she wanted. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as she teased him further with a single fingertip, his heart pounding hard in his chest, blood feeling like it was boiling in his veins, like molten lava burning him from the inside out. He was on the verge of losing control; all that was needed was one tiny touch to push him over the edge.

They had been through so much, crossed so many lines, seen one another in so many different lights, but there was always this one place, this one state that remained a mystery to her. She had never seen him completely at the whim of his instinct and desire, never seen him detached from thought, enveloped in his own primal self, but oh how she wanted to. She wanted the caveman in him to claim his mate, to feel claimed to the deepest, most primal level of her being. He was wavering, she could see, teetering on the edge of giving in and relaxing the control he held over himself completely. That tiny touch came in the form of that single fingertip, dragging the very lightest edge of her nail to the pinnacle of his arousal, deliberately following the line of a very sensitive vein.

If she wanted to torture him, she was succeeding, and that final torturous touch was what finally pushed him over the edge. Pleasure had become pain, agony, and that one innocent touch was like fire against his flesh. Already aching with arousal, he could stand no more, a groan torn from his throat, as he lost the struggle for control. He grabbed hold of her wrist with one hand and flipped her over onto her back, wasting no time in claiming her now that he had surrendered to the more primal urges of the flesh. He spread her legs beneath him and sheathed himself inside her, driving himself deep and hard into her exquisite warmth, covering her with his body as he drove himself against her in a frenzy of desire.

And he was rewarded for that rush into the unthinking, incoherent determination of the primal and instinctive. She was ready for him, small, delicate, achingly feminine to his tall, strong, dominating masculinity as he drove into her, infected by his reckless desire. She cried out, wildness flaring in the depths of her eyes, urging her to writhe with him, to embrace the feral desperation that coursed through her veins as she welcomed his frenzy with her own, lit up, burning for him in a way no other man had ever or would ever see.

She had lit a fire in him, set the beast in him loose, and he didn't hold back, not this time. Bracing himself with a hand on either side of her head, he thrust himself deeper, harder, faster, working himself into a frenzy of untamed and feverish passion, his face a mask of desperate longing, demanding relief, taking what he wanted and what he needed. His breath mingled with hers, mere inches from her lips, eyes wide with desire as he crashed against her, riding her body to his ultimate climax.

The possessive clutch of her hands to his back left her mark there as he drove into her, scratching his skin even as he bruised hers, sharing the subtle caress of pain in the midst of pleasure with outspoken cries of unabashed, unrestrained ecstasy. She painted his lips with her breath, filling the air with the sound of her pleasure above the steady slap of their bodies battling one another to reach that ultimate moment of absolutely abandon. She was growling, moaning, writhing without shame or shyness, as much a display for his eyes as she was expressing the indescribable wonder of sensation that flooded her body, throwing her head back as stars exploded in her mind, loosing a scream that hopefully wasn't going to bring anyone running to see what was happening as he forced her to the peak and pinnacle.

Her scream didn't last too long as he smothered her lips with his own, swallowing her scream amidst a kiss that was as unrestrained and primal as the taking of her body, claiming her, making his mark upon her, ruining her for any other man besides himself. When she closed her eyes, he wanted her to see him, always him and only him, forever. His hands moved to her hips, clasping tightly as they rode the final cresting tide together, his climax exploding with fiery intensity, causing him to groan against her lips and break away to gasp for breath as his body shuddered and quaked with the force of his release.

She clung to him, riding out the wave of powerful pleasure that linked them deeper than before, deeper than she had ever even considered joining herself with anyone before. Ravished in body and spirit, heart and mind, there was no one left in her but him. Nothing but his face, his voice, his touch, the way he made her feel. With a groan, she fell back against the bed, the rock of her body slowing to a gentle undulation beneath his as the ecstasy ebbed away, leaving her breathless and contented, absolutely certain that she belonged entirely to the man she loved.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:36 EST
He slowly returned to himself, pulse pounding, body aching, filling her with the warmth of his release, as he looked down on her with astonished wonder, never having felt so intensely raw, wild, unrestrained, and he hadn't even completely let go, keeping a light rein on himself so that he wouldn't lose complete control and risk hurting her. He drew a deep breath and rolled onto his side, arms going around her to pull her along with him. She wasn't getting away this time, not for anything. He pushed her hair away from her face, and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, and finally her lips, each kiss as tender and gentle as their love had been wild and consuming.

He said nothing for a moment, only quietly watching her, afraid to say anything or he might lose control of his emotions, so close to the surface. He'd never met anyone like her, never loved anyone like her, and knew he never would again. He'd wanted to imprint his memory on her, but instead, it was her who'd burned herself into his brain, into his mind, into his heart, forever. There was no one else for him and there never would be again. "Did I hurt you?" he asked her finally, when he could coherently form words.

She was quick to shake her head, her smile rising faster than the words that stuck for a moment in her throat, refusing to come out and break her deeply joyful silence. "No," she managed finally in a tender whisper that caressed against his lips as lovingly as her fingers over his skin. "No, you didn't hurt me. That was ....you are incredible, dusha moya." Her lips lingered against his for a long moment, as soft now as they had been hard only minutes before. "Did I hurt you?"

He smiled against her lips, knowing that she was the incredible one, and touched his fingers to her cheek, softly caressing. "No, you didn't hurt me. Drove me crazy, but didn't hurt me."

"I told you I would not break, didn't I?" she purred triumphantly, ridiculously pleased with herself for having finally driven him to mark her as she had asked him to only a few days before. He hadn't been able to bring himself to do it then, but now" It was done, and she was fizzing from the inside out, all for him. "I may be small, but I am ..." She frowned faintly, trying to place the word she was looking for, and settling on one that sounded almost right. "Foxy?"

He laughed, a happy sound, considering the tears that had been shared only moments before the intensity of their latest coupling. "Foxy?" he echoed, his voice ringing with amusement. "I think you mean feisty."

"Do I?" She blinked slowly, lifting her head to look down at him lovingly. "Am I not foxy' Is it not something you want in your wife, this ability to be sly and cunning and wear a bushy tail?" Her lips curved into another teasing smirk, daring him to find the right answer to that question.

He laughed again, relaxing against her, all the tension in him draining away. For the first time in his life, he felt truly happy, and it was mostly because of her. "You are foxy and feisty, but I can do without the tail, unless it's all you're wearing," he told her with a smile, eyes crinkling in amusement. He sighed contentedly, as he brushed a fingertip against her cheek, turning wistfully serious. "You won't ever leave me, will you, Nat?"

"Never, dusha moya." Perhaps it was cruel, to make that promise, but she knew exactly what she meant by it. Her nose gently brushed his, her fingers teasing against his hair as she met his gaze. "Even if you cannot see me, I will never leave you," she told him fervently, laying a hand over his heart. "I'm in here, and I am not going anywhere."

There had been others who'd made their mark on his heart, but they were gone, one dead, the others forgotten. None of them had ever worked, for whatever reason, but then none of them had been Natalya. "I love you with everything I am, Nat, and I don't ever want to be without you," he told her, touched by her promise, sealing his own promise with a tender kiss.

"Ya tebya lyublyu," she murmured against his lips, slipped from where she lay over him to nestle close against his side. Again, she was the one worn out first, it seemed, but it was almost guaranteed that the longer they were together, the greater her stamina would become. One day, she would wear him out first. "You have ruined me for any other man," she accused him softly through her smile. "You're the voice in my head telling me what I should be doing; you have been for months."

He smiled as she nestled close and he wrapped her in his embrace, drawing her close, satiated, lazy, and drowsy with contentment. "Good, because you're mine, and I'm not sharing," he told her smugly, brushing his nose against her cheek as his lips touched against hers yet again. "You believe in love at first sight, Nat?"

Love at first sight. It was such a romantic concept, that you could meet someone's gaze and lose your heart to them in a single instant without ever even knowing their name. It was also a concept she had been deeply derisive of for most of her life, refusing to believe that it was at all possible for anyone in their right mind to be ruled by their heart. Until ....Her lips quirked in a soft smile beneath his, her eyes fluttering open to gaze into his eyes as they lay together. "I didn't, until I met you."

"I thought I did once," he admitted with a soft smile that hinted at a past sadness that lingered but slowly fading. "But I didn't really know what it meant until I met you." As much as he tried to hide his vulnerability beneath a rough exterior, deep inside he was a hopeless romantic, an idealist in a chaotic world, forever yearning for a happily-ever-after, but perhaps he had finally found it in her. "You saved me, Nat." She'd saved him from so many things - pain, loneliness, grief, despair - but mostly, she had saved him from himself.

"We saved each other," she corrected him gently, her fingertips tracing his lips, lingering for a moment on the curve of his jaw before lowering her palm over his heart once again. "Without you, I would still be nothing. Whatever it is that called me to have you upgraded will always have my undying gratitude."

He smirked, unable to stop himself from teasing her, his male ego getting the best of him. "You couldn't resist my devastatingly good looks," he teased, though it was more than likely the obvious terror in his face at the mere thought of flying. "You realize you may have to distract me again on the way back." Assuming they'd be returning to the States at some point, though that had not yet been discussed or decided.

"I seem to recall telling you at the time that you looked sweet, downing drinks at the terminal bar," she countered his tease with a grin of her own, nipping a gentle kiss to his chin. "Do not worry, dusha moya. I will keep your mind off everything but me, I promise."

"Sweet?" he scoffed. "I was trying to get drunk so I could work up the nerve to get on the plane without having a panic attack." He smiled at her reassurance, settling back against the pillows, feeling worn out and with good reason. He tucked her against his shoulder and held her close, as his mind drifted to thoughts of home. "Adam's going to be pissed I haven't called back."

"Let him be pissed," was her philosophical response as she settled in beside him, curled close to enjoy the wrap of his arms about her. "He can try to be pissed at me, but I doubt he will manage it. I think he is a little afraid of me." She smirked faintly. "Unless you want him to tell you off."

"It's not that, Nat. It's just....He thought I was dead, and then he gets a phone call out of nowhere, and..." He frowned a little, as a thought came to mind - something that had been niggling at the back of his mind for a few days, but had been pushed aside when they'd come to Avalon. "What happened after I died?" he asked, knowing it was most likely a painful topic of conversation, but something he'd been wondering about.

Natalya Bristol

Date: 2012-11-05 13:40 EST
She frowned, lowering her gaze as her arm hugged tighter about him, not wanting to go back to that dark place even in her mind but knowing he deserved to know the truth of what had been said and done. "They abandoned us," she murmured softly. "The angels. They left me alone on the mountainside, with ....with your body. If Adam had not been on his way to find us, I would have stayed there until I died." She nestled closer, reminding herself of his vibrant life there in her arms as she spoke. "We buried you, in the consecrated ground by the river. Adam took most of your personal effects ....I don't think he wanted to leave me alone. I think he thought I woulddo something stupid." She snorted softly, bitter in remembrance. "I promised not to until after I had finished my duty, and ....he went back to America the next day. He said something about looking after your property and having your death registered there."

He turned thoughtful as she relayed what had happened after his supposed death. He remembered being wounded, dying in her arms, telling her goodbye, asking her not to forget him, but what had happened after that was a blank. "I'm sorry," he found himself apologizing, regretting having caused her any pain. He wasn't all that concerned about his belongings, as he had so few, and the wheels of government moved slowly. It hadn't been that long since his showdown with Abaddon at Gavarnie, and he figured Adam had gotten very far yet in disposing of the few meager possessions that were in Rhys' name. His apartment, his car, Dylan's house in Pennsylvania. He briefly wondered what had happened to the body they'd buried. Had he been resurrected" Rhys blinked out of his thoughts as something else came to mind. "Did he tell anyone I was dead?"

She frowned deeper, thinking over this question. She had been in a bad enough state herself; trying to remember what Adam had told her only a few days ago was proving harder than she had thought it might. "He said something about going to New York, to Brooklyn," she said finally. "Something about needing to tell ....Gina, I think."

"Gina?" Rhys repeated, bolting upright in bed at the mention of that name. "Jesus Christ. He's going to tell Gina"!" Whoever Gina was, she was obviously someone important to him to cause him such a reaction. "Is there any way I can make a phone call from here" I need to get in touch with him before he gets to Gina." Little did he know it was too late. Adam had already been to Gina's and was still there.

Nat let out a low yelp of shock as Rhys' abrupt change in position rolled her violently onto her back. She looked up at him in wide-eyed amazement. "Milaya, he has been in American for more than a week now," she reminded him gently of how long he had been dead. "He will already have reached this Gina. Perhaps he is still in New York with her, perhaps he has told her you are alive again."

Rhys frowned apologetically down at her, realizing his hasty reaction almost knocked her from the bed. "Sorry, Nat," he apologized, looking remorseful. He laid back onto the pillows and turned to face her, remorse turning to worry. "I just don't want him to worry her needlessly. She's been through enough," he tried to explain, though it was only a partial explanation. He reached to pull her close again, pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead. "I guess I'm being stupid."

Her smile was understanding as she rolled onto her side to face him, allowing him to draw her in once again. "It is never stupid to worry for a friend who has suffered in the past," she assured him quietly, hugging her arms about him as they lay together in the warm rumpled sheets. "But do not worry quite so much, milaya. I do not believe Adam will let this Gina suffer for long, if she is open to him."

Rhys arched a brow, wondering just how much Adam had told Nat about Gina. Though Adam had never said a word, Rhys had known about his friend's feelings for Gina for years. "Did he tell you about her?" he asked, trying to sort it all out in his head. "Gina and John were engaged," he explained. "She came to see me at the diner in Brooklyn before I..." He broke off with another frown. Before what? Before I wound up in Rhy'Din" Before I remembered who I am' Before I met you? Before everything.

"No, he didn't tell me anything about her," Nat told Rhys gently, nose to nose with him as they talked. "But a man has a particular way of talking about a woman he loves. You know them both, my love ....did you never notice the way his eyes soften when he thinks of her, how he half-smiles at the thought of her" I have never met this Gina, but I know Adam loves her. Do you think her heart would be open to him, or is she turned cold after the loss of this John?"

Rhys relaxed a little at Natalya's gentling touch and the soundness of her logic, as he considered her question, pausing only a moment before answering without doubt. "No, she wouldn't turn cold. Gina's a sweet soul, maybe the sweetest person I know. She loved John, but he's gone and..." His voice trailed off again, as he considered the idea of Adam and Gina. "If it hadn't been for John..." If it hadn't been for John, Adam and Gina might have been together a long time ago. "You really think they might be together?" he asked, doubtfully, knowing that even though Adam had stepped aside for John, he still cared for Gina.

Nat's smile warmed further, her lips tracing a soft kiss to his as she nestled close. "The only way to find out, I think, is to visit them in America," she pointed out thoughtfully. "When we get home. Do not forget, dusha moya, time may not have moved on while we are here. It is likely still only a day since you last spoke to him."

"Nat, we can't go to New York," he pointed out with a frown, even as she kissed his lips. "There's a warrant for my arrest, and you're wanted for....whatever you're wanted for." Unless Adam had already had him declared dead. In that case, maybe Adam might be able to arrange to get them back into the country on fake IDs. He was FBI, after all. "He better not have sold my car," Rhys complained, not for the first time, as if this was of utmost importance.

"I'm not wanted," she assured him. "I am just ....suspected and under investigation." Not that this was apparently anything she was worried about. "Rhys, do not forget - you are under the protection of Avalon now. There are so many people in so many places who can keep you from falling afoul of the innocents who do not know what you have been protecting them from." Her thumb smoothed over his brow, teasing his frown into relaxing smooth once more. "And I can get us new identities if we need them. After all, you've already met Abigail Shuttleworth, haven't you? And she is always welcome in America." She grinned, ignoring his comment about his car. If she was right, Adam was more likely to turn the car into a shrine than even consider selling it.

Rhys chuckled when she reminded him of the ridiculous alias she had been using when he'd first met her. "If you're Abigal Shuttleworth, then I'm James Bond," he remarked with a grin, the dark mood lifting again. "The only thing that bugs me is what happened to my body' I mean, I'm obviously not a ghost, so..." He sighed, the frown returning, but it was thoughtful, rather than troubled. "Was I rezzed or what?" Though puzzled about what had happened to him after he'd died, he felt relieved at the reminder of the resources that were available to them because of Avalon. He was only just starting to realize how powerful and how broad the Knights' reach really was.

"I do not care," was her honest reply. "You are here, alive, and with me. I do not care if you are a resurrected body, or an entirely new creation. Only that you are you, and you are mine." Selfish even as it seemed to her, she was going to keep saying that until she was blue in the face. She was never letting him go. Her hand stroked gently over the shoulder she had first known scarred and now was utterly unmarked. "Whatever happened, you have been renewed."

He smiled softly, touched by her words and the feeling behind them. He brushed his fingers against her cheek in a tender caress, realizing it didn't really matter what happened to his body or what had happened to him after he'd died. All that mattered was the woman lying beside him. "I came back for you," he told her, not for the first time, but maybe for the first time knowing deep inside himself, without anyone having to confirm it, that it was true. "I love you, and I'm never gonna leave you."

"I call you dusha moya and I mean it, Rhys," she told him, her smile only visible in the gentle sheen of her eyes as she looked up at him. "You are my soul. I have lived seven days without you, and I was nothing. When you go, I will go with you." And it was a promise he couldn't stop her from making, though she had a qualifying statement to add. "So that means no dying until our children are grown up and with children of their own."

"I have no plans on dying again for a very long time," he assured her, circling her in his arms and drawing her close with a soft, contented sigh. "I guess you're just stuck with me." He brushed a kiss against her forehead, affectionate and protective. "Maybe if we're lucky, we'll live long enough to know the Lady's successor."

Her smile reached her lips as she settled beside him with a low, happy sigh of her own. "That is a nice thought," she agreed quietly. "It would be lovely to see the Lady be released in our lifetime." But she knew she would be happy just to see their children full grown and happy in their own lives, to know that the future laid out for them had been fulfilled and the promises made kept.

"It would, but whatever happens, Nat, we're always going to be together, and that's all that matters." He said the words with conviction, needing to believe them. Whatever happened in the future, there was one thing for certain - nothing and no one was ever going to tear them apart ever again.

((Spongiflorious mongaloid thankazoids to the wonderful player behind Rhys!))