Carnal Knowledge 2/12
anonymous
June 3 2010, 09:29:38 UTC
Since then, Solona had been haunted day and night by the thought that there was something she did not know and had not done. Not that there weren't opportunities in the Tower, of course. There were plenty of opportunities--for everyone else. The girls in the apprentice dormitories had tittered about it behind their hands to each other in front of their vanities in the bathing chamber. Sometimes at night one apprentice would sneak into the bunk of another, and then there would be soft sighs and muffled moans from beneath the covers. There might be two feminine voices gasping softly together as the blanket rustled and the other apprentices slept--or pretended to sleep, respecting the unwritten code mandating the polite illusion of privacy they attempted to maintain in their communal living arrangements--or dual masculine groans. Or there might be a combination of the two, blending together in a muted harmony that rang in Solona's ears until her hands sought her own body in academic investigation and attempted, with little success, to pluck those same notes from her own throat.
But no one had ever come slipping into Solona's bunk, nor entreated her to meet them in a hidden nook behind the towering bookcases in the library in the middle of the night. No girls giggled about their experiences with her when she was in the bathing chamber.
The other apprentices hadn't much liked Solona. Her insatiable curiosity had been off-putting for them. It made her blurt awkward questions and statements that others would have tactfully left unspoken. It made her disdainful of those who didn't seek every opportunity to broaden their knowledge, and also of those who failed to grasp concepts as quickly as she herself did. The only person in the Tower who seemed even remotely interested in her in a sexual capacity had been the templar, Cullen. He'd been attractive, and he'd spent a lot of time staring at her with a yearning look in his eye. But, elated from her triumph in the Harrowing, she'd offered him a chance and he'd refused, running away so quickly one might have thought she was casting Lightning at his backside.
She wondered if Lightning conducted through plate armor the way it did through most other metals. If so, why did templars wear metal armor, rather than leather? Did their boots have leather, or even wood soles to insulate them from the ground? And what happened if a target happened to be standing in water when a mage cast a spell using electricity? What if his companions also happened to be standing in water? Would it conduct to them as well, having the net effect of a Shock or even a Tempest spell, without the additional drain on the mage's mana?
And this is precisely why you are going to die a virgin, Amell. she thought scathingly.
She'd had only one true friend at the Tower, one person who admired her drive to learn, though he'd never excelled at it as she had. Jowan. He never seemed to mind her tendency to wander off on tangents, or the callously scientific detachment with which she pondered the potential for mayhem and destruction in the spells she learned.
For a long time, she hadn't understood why he never sought her bunk in the night nor invited her to seek his. When she had finally learned about Lily, she hadn't been upset. It never occurred to her to be jealous that Jowan had a lover. However, she'd been insanely jealous that he'd had an experience that she was still lacking. He'd been her friend, true, but if there was any one driving reason why she'd helped him when he came to her for assistance, it had been the possibility that in the process she might learn something new, experience something, even if only vicariously.
But Jowan had betrayed her. Not by virtue of being a blood mage, necessarily, but for having kept the knowledge he'd gleaned in the process to himself.
Carnal Knowledge 3/12
anonymous
June 3 2010, 09:30:33 UTC
The bastard had nearly gotten her sentenced to The Aeonar, where she undoubtedly would have been cut off from any further opportunity to learn anything, ever again. Instead, she'd been forced to leave the Tower in the company of the Grey Warden, Duncan, to join his order. Solona couldn't decide yet whether or not this pleased her. Certainly there would be plenty of new experiences, but just how intellectually stimulating those experiences were remained to be seen. Then, also, at the crux of her discontent there was the danger that she might die in the coming battle. Death, while being a very new experience indeed, would unfortunately bring a rather abrupt and permanent halt to her quest for knowledge, leaving her scarcely better off than the fate Knight-Commander Greagoir had had planned for her.
Anxiously, Solona rose from her seat near the campfire and began to pace. This was simply not acceptable, that she should finally get her freedom from the Tower and be allowed to venture out into the world, where there was so very much to learn, only to die before she had a chance to even begin.
She looked over at her--what? New mentor? Companion? Commander? What precisely was he, now?--Duncan, where he slept on his bedroll. He was a kind enough man, she supposed. He'd saved her from Greagoir, after all. But he seemed much more concerned with her proficiency with things she already knew than he was with providing her opportunities to know more. He seemed a rather remarkable specimen, all told. Much harder and somehow more physically present than the other mages, or even the templars. He was a man who lived in his body, rather than in his intellect, or his spirit. That made him an excellent candidate, she was sure. She'd had a moment in the Tower when she'd nearly offered him the opportunity to help her crack the mystery of sex, but he was just forbidding enough that she had the nearly unheard-of (for her) impulse to think twice.
Perhaps she should have made the offer. After all, rarely did knowledge land conveniently in one's lap. Usually it had to be sought dedication and perseverance. Frequently it had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, beneath the light of examination. Besides, if there was anyone to blame for her present predicament, it was actually Duncan, not Wynne. All Wynne had done was open her eyes to the fact of the knowledge she was missing; Duncan was the one who had placed her in a position where she might die before she had a chance to acquire it.
Resolutely, she skirted the campfire and knelt beside his head, reaching out with the intent to jostling his shoulder to wake him. Before she could complete the gesture, however, she froze, unwilling to risk movement with the point of a dagger beneath her chin. Rather than the blunt request she'd intended to issue upon waking him, the only sound she could utter was a terrified squeak.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the dagger was gone, and Solona nearly collapsed in relief.
"I'm terribly sorry," Duncan said with casual courtesy, rising from his bedroll, as though he had accidentally trod upon her toes rather than taken her head off. "I'm afraid waking me without first announcing your presence is...generally not advisable."
"I'llkeepthatinmind," she whispered in a breathless rush, lifting a trembling hand to the underside of her chin. She was somewhat amazed when her fingers did not come away streaked with blood where the point of his dagger had pricked her skin.
"Was there something you needed?" he asked calmly, stretching.
Her temerity fled, Solona rapidly shook her head of pale, short, raggedly-trimmed curls.
"You must have had some purpose in waking me. There's no cause to be frightened, Solona," Duncan coaxed, sitting on the ground across from her with a kind smile. "I promise you, all appearances aside, I'm not actually in the habit of impaling my promising recruits."
Remembering Wynne's diagrams, the young mage flushed. However, it did help her recall her purpose in waking him, especially when she tried to visualize the theoretical anatomical parts on him and found the mental image far from unpleasant.
Carnal Knowledge 4/12
anonymous
June 3 2010, 09:31:18 UTC
"I'm troubled," she announced at last, her heart still racing. "By the upcoming battle, I mean."
"I see," Duncan nodded, suddenly solemn.
"I enjoy learning far too much, and I'm afraid that if I'm killed, I won't have the opportunity to continue to learn."
"I see," he said again, thoughtfully. "I wish I could reassure you that you're in no danger of dying, but I can't. We're going into a war, against an enemy that will devour this entire land if left unchecked. All I can do is assure you that if you do fall in battle, your sacrifice will not have been in vain."
"Yes, yes, I know all that," she waved her hand impatiently, frustrated that he should imagine her a weak-willed coward. "I'm not sure I'm particularly fond of the idea of dying for the sake of an ignorant, benighted, superstitious populace that came near to burning me at the stake as a child, but I'm certain that my opportunities to continue to learn will be as severely curtailed by the Blight as they would be by death. Therefore, I'll face the battle to come and die if necessary."
"Then what is your concern?"
"Before the battle, it's important that I learn and experience as much as I can. In case I never have the chance again."
Duncan shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not a scholar," he replied. "I don't see how I can really help you."
"It's just that...the other apprentices make such a fuss over it. And Wynne...Wynne felt it was so important she had to give us lessons about it, and the Chantry seems to think they need to lie about it and...gah!" At his puzzled stare, Solona gave vent to an impatient growl, beating her fists upon her knees. "Sex! I need to have sex!" she blurted. "I may die when we get to Ostagar, but by the Maker's arse, I'm not going to die without knowing what sex is all about!"
Beneath his beard, Duncan's lips twitched, and Solona closed her eyes in mortified defeat. "Of course. You're laughing at me. Why not? Everybody else does, at least when they're not being tempted to bang my head against a stone wall repeatedly to shut me up. Come to think of it, I may try that myself."
"Why approach me?" Duncan asked, and when she heard no laughter in his voice, she dared a glance at him. He wasn't laughing. In fact, his eyes were inscrutably dark.
"What are my other options?" she shot back, embarrassment lending an acerbic bite to her tone. "It's either ask you, or drag the nearest soldier to the first available tent once we reach the encampment at Ostagar. And you certainly have been around long enough to have experience. Besides," she shrugged awkwardly, "you're...pleasant to look at."
There was a long pause as Duncan digested her explanation. "I'm not in the habit of bedding my recruits, either," he finally said, his words oddly clipped.
Insight into the psyches of others was not skill at which Solona was particularly adept, which she figured was why it was only now occurring to her that she had managed to offend him. "You're angry," she murmured at last, comprehension dawning. "I've...insulted you?"
"Nonsense," he said dismissively. "What man wouldn't be thrilled to have a beautiful young woman declare she wants to have sex with him as an intellectual exercise?"
Solona didn't know how to answer that. She was forever offending people, and rarely knew how to apologize with any semblance of grace.
Abruptly, his shoulders sagged a bit, and he sighed. "I've angered myself," he said, shaking his head. "I'm old enough to know better, and yet...I still fully intend to comply with your request."
"You do?" she asked wonderingly.
"Oh yes," he shrugged with something that seemed to approach self-deprecation. "It appears you aren't the only one who wishes to seize what experiences you may in the face of an uncertain future."
She stood there a long moment, staring at him. Duncan waited, watching her, as she came to the realization that she had no idea how to proceed beyond the moment of gaining his approval. He held out a hand.
Carnal Knowledge 5/12
anonymous
June 3 2010, 09:32:34 UTC
"Come here." At his tone, something deep within her belly plunged downward. She might have likened the sensation to fear, or nervousness, only she doubted either of those would feel quite so good. She turned toward him and had taken two steps forward before she even knew she had any intention of complying.
"Take off your robes," he instructed, his eyes intent and unreadable. He seemed to be taking her measure.
"Really? I mean, I--" Solona faltered, confused and suddenly unsure of her own wisdom in pursuing this whole thing. Her heart thundered in her chest as she contemplated standing before him in nothing but her flesh. How could she possibly expect to objectively observe anything in such vulnerable state?
At her hesitation, one of Duncan's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, challenging--or perhaps mocking--her. "Sex can take many forms," he said crisply, as though lecturing, "Certainly, there's the perfunctory coupling intended to dutifully produce a child, but if that's all you're interested in learning about, then I daresay the scope of your inquiry is pathetically limited."
That stung, and she felt the hot flush of injured pride creep across her cheeks. "It is not," she said, lifting her chin. "I wish to know everything."
Duncan rose, stalking toward her. He'd removed his breastplate, gauntlets and greaves to sleep, leaving only the long, robe-like garment he wore beneath the breastplate above a woolen tunic and loose trousers. As he approached, he began pulling at the assorted ties closing the garment.
"There's also lovemaking, naturally," he said with an erudite air, and now Solona was quite certain he was indulging himself in some amusement at her expense, making light of her curiosity. She ought to be offended, she knew, but instead she was simply riveted as he continued to speak. "A slow, gentle, exploration, usually intended to express tenderness and affection."
He stopped speaking when he stood before her, close enough to touch. One large, calloused, impossibly strong-looking hand slowly stretched forth and threaded through her shaggy hair. Breathless, she leaned toward the touch, yearning for fuller contact. His fingers slid through her locks...and clenched there.
"Or there's fucking," he growled, the hard consonant of that final word enunciated so clearly it struck like a tiny blow. He jerked her closer in a sudden movement that nearly pulled her off her feet, until only the smallest breath separated her face from his. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated up and down her nerves. That dropping sensation in her gut was back again, and getting more intense with each word he spoke. "Hard, fast, frequently arising from nothing more than the need to satisfy the urges of the body without regard to emotion."
He released her as unexpectedly as he'd pulled her close. "So...which will best fulfill the intent of your inquiry?" he pondered, his tone low and soft, making a caress of the words that stroked across her nerves. Casually, he dropped the long outer garment. "Whatever you choose, they all involve some greater or lesser degree of nudity. Oh, I suppose I could just throw your robes up over your head and take my pleasure, but I doubt you'd find that very satisfying, intellectually or otherwise."
"All of it," she breathed, her voice unsteady. She wished her pulse would stop pounding the way it insisted on doing. Forming syllables into words, and words into sentences, took every bit of her concentration, for her mind was wont to concoct images of the descriptions he'd rendered.
"All of it?" his brows lifted slightly, and she thought she saw a small smile flit across his lips. "That's ambitious of you."
She ducked her head, embarrassed by his amusement and her own eagerness. Then inspiration struck. She crinkled her eyes, attempting to emulate the flirtatious smiles she'd seen pass between apprentices in the dormitories. For possibly the first time, made light of her own inquisitiveness, using his own words against him. "What sort of scholar would I be if I limited the scope of my inquiry?"
Carnal Knowledge 6/12
anonymous
June 3 2010, 09:33:34 UTC
Something in the way he looked at her warmed in response to her attempt at flirtation. His dark eyes slowly moved down her body, taking in every curve outlined by her robes. He was definitely smiling. "You may just be in for more of an education than you expect," he warned, drawing nearer. "If you don't feel ready to remove your robes, you may undress me," he bade her. "And...do it with your senses, rather than your intellect."
Nervously, she lifted her hands to the laces of the tunic where they were tied at his throat and tugged. She felt the friction vibrating along the string as one end of the laces slid along the other. With trembling fingers she pulled the edges of his collar apart, then reached down for the hem of his shirt, intent upon lifting it.
"Stop," he said softly, catching her hands in his. Afraid she had done something wrong, Solona began to pull back, but he merely drew her hands back to his collar and set her fingers at the place where his shirt parted, revealing his skin. "Use your senses," he admonished again. "Sex is about sensation, not erudition."
Tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, she let her fingertips flutter over his exposed skin. He was warm, despite the cool night air, and his skin was surprisingly soft. Touching him was...pleasant. She wanted to feel more. Closing her eyes, she traced the ridge of his collarbone, the hollow above it, up to his neck where the bristle of his beard began. He obligingly tipped his head back and she explored the texture of his beard, coarse and wiry.
When at last she reached for the hem of his tunic again, it was with a purpose. She let her hands slide beneath it and pressed them to the skin of his abdomen. His skin quivered and twitched as her fingers brushed the sides of his waist. She could feel ridges beneath his skin, and she wanted to see them. When she lifted his tunic, he made no move to stop her, but instead ducked his head and raised his arms, aiding her in removing it.
His skin was striped with pale lines and marred by irregular, puckered scars, and yet it seemed perfect. Seeing the cause of those ridges her fingers had discovered, her eyes widened. The definition of his muscles beneath his scarred skin was wholly unexpected, and completely glorious. They descended from his chest to dip beneath the loose waistband of his trousers in a cascade of warm, living stone. She dragged her knuckles down his torso, feeling each ripple and bump, amazed at how hard and unyielding human flesh could be.
Lifting her eyes, she encountered the buds of his nipples, erect and centered atop a wide, flat pad of muscle. When she touched one, it became harder, smaller, and Duncan let out of low, subsonic groan. At the sound, she felt her own nipples tighten beneath her robes. She withdrew one hand to touch her own breast, felt the hard peak beneath the material. It was exquisitely sensitive when she touched it, even through her robes, and when she rubbed it a soft sigh of pleasure slid from her lips and her eyes fluttered shut.
When she opened them again, Duncan was watching her, his gaze riveted on her hand covering her own breast, his eyes hungry. At his look, everything from her waist down clenched in a delicious surge of warmth and tension. Duncan reached out, his hands deftly making short work of the ties of her robes and parting them to the waist. His hand slipped inside and slid up her ribs to cup her breast.
"Oh!" Her lips opened in a gasp, and she forgot to stare at him as her eyes snapped shut and her head fell back. It startled her to feel a corresponding pulse between her legs as his thumb passed over her nipple. The heat of his hand felt like a brand compared to the chill of the air on her exposed skin and she found herself arching a little to press her breast more firmly into his warm, calloused palm.
Now the soft sighs and moans that had drifted from the bunks in the dormitory made more sense, she thought wonderingly, astonished to hear an uncontrollable whimper emerge from her own lips as his fingers plied her nipple and his palm molded the soft flesh of her breast. He bent over and if his hand had been warm, his mouth was nothing short of a wet inferno engulfing her nipple.
But no one had ever come slipping into Solona's bunk, nor entreated her to meet them in a hidden nook behind the towering bookcases in the library in the middle of the night. No girls giggled about their experiences with her when she was in the bathing chamber.
The other apprentices hadn't much liked Solona. Her insatiable curiosity had been off-putting for them. It made her blurt awkward questions and statements that others would have tactfully left unspoken. It made her disdainful of those who didn't seek every opportunity to broaden their knowledge, and also of those who failed to grasp concepts as quickly as she herself did. The only person in the Tower who seemed even remotely interested in her in a sexual capacity had been the templar, Cullen. He'd been attractive, and he'd spent a lot of time staring at her with a yearning look in his eye. But, elated from her triumph in the Harrowing, she'd offered him a chance and he'd refused, running away so quickly one might have thought she was casting Lightning at his backside.
She wondered if Lightning conducted through plate armor the way it did through most other metals. If so, why did templars wear metal armor, rather than leather? Did their boots have leather, or even wood soles to insulate them from the ground? And what happened if a target happened to be standing in water when a mage cast a spell using electricity? What if his companions also happened to be standing in water? Would it conduct to them as well, having the net effect of a Shock or even a Tempest spell, without the additional drain on the mage's mana?
And this is precisely why you are going to die a virgin, Amell. she thought scathingly.
She'd had only one true friend at the Tower, one person who admired her drive to learn, though he'd never excelled at it as she had. Jowan. He never seemed to mind her tendency to wander off on tangents, or the callously scientific detachment with which she pondered the potential for mayhem and destruction in the spells she learned.
For a long time, she hadn't understood why he never sought her bunk in the night nor invited her to seek his. When she had finally learned about Lily, she hadn't been upset. It never occurred to her to be jealous that Jowan had a lover. However, she'd been insanely jealous that he'd had an experience that she was still lacking. He'd been her friend, true, but if there was any one driving reason why she'd helped him when he came to her for assistance, it had been the possibility that in the process she might learn something new, experience something, even if only vicariously.
But Jowan had betrayed her. Not by virtue of being a blood mage, necessarily, but for having kept the knowledge he'd gleaned in the process to himself.
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Anxiously, Solona rose from her seat near the campfire and began to pace. This was simply not acceptable, that she should finally get her freedom from the Tower and be allowed to venture out into the world, where there was so very much to learn, only to die before she had a chance to even begin.
She looked over at her--what? New mentor? Companion? Commander? What precisely was he, now?--Duncan, where he slept on his bedroll. He was a kind enough man, she supposed. He'd saved her from Greagoir, after all. But he seemed much more concerned with her proficiency with things she already knew than he was with providing her opportunities to know more. He seemed a rather remarkable specimen, all told. Much harder and somehow more physically present than the other mages, or even the templars. He was a man who lived in his body, rather than in his intellect, or his spirit. That made him an excellent candidate, she was sure. She'd had a moment in the Tower when she'd nearly offered him the opportunity to help her crack the mystery of sex, but he was just forbidding enough that she had the nearly unheard-of (for her) impulse to think twice.
Perhaps she should have made the offer. After all, rarely did knowledge land conveniently in one's lap. Usually it had to be sought dedication and perseverance. Frequently it had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, beneath the light of examination. Besides, if there was anyone to blame for her present predicament, it was actually Duncan, not Wynne. All Wynne had done was open her eyes to the fact of the knowledge she was missing; Duncan was the one who had placed her in a position where she might die before she had a chance to acquire it.
Resolutely, she skirted the campfire and knelt beside his head, reaching out with the intent to jostling his shoulder to wake him. Before she could complete the gesture, however, she froze, unwilling to risk movement with the point of a dagger beneath her chin. Rather than the blunt request she'd intended to issue upon waking him, the only sound she could utter was a terrified squeak.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the dagger was gone, and Solona nearly collapsed in relief.
"I'm terribly sorry," Duncan said with casual courtesy, rising from his bedroll, as though he had accidentally trod upon her toes rather than taken her head off. "I'm afraid waking me without first announcing your presence is...generally not advisable."
"I'llkeepthatinmind," she whispered in a breathless rush, lifting a trembling hand to the underside of her chin. She was somewhat amazed when her fingers did not come away streaked with blood where the point of his dagger had pricked her skin.
"Was there something you needed?" he asked calmly, stretching.
Her temerity fled, Solona rapidly shook her head of pale, short, raggedly-trimmed curls.
"You must have had some purpose in waking me. There's no cause to be frightened, Solona," Duncan coaxed, sitting on the ground across from her with a kind smile. "I promise you, all appearances aside, I'm not actually in the habit of impaling my promising recruits."
Remembering Wynne's diagrams, the young mage flushed. However, it did help her recall her purpose in waking him, especially when she tried to visualize the theoretical anatomical parts on him and found the mental image far from unpleasant.
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"I see," Duncan nodded, suddenly solemn.
"I enjoy learning far too much, and I'm afraid that if I'm killed, I won't have the opportunity to continue to learn."
"I see," he said again, thoughtfully. "I wish I could reassure you that you're in no danger of dying, but I can't. We're going into a war, against an enemy that will devour this entire land if left unchecked. All I can do is assure you that if you do fall in battle, your sacrifice will not have been in vain."
"Yes, yes, I know all that," she waved her hand impatiently, frustrated that he should imagine her a weak-willed coward. "I'm not sure I'm particularly fond of the idea of dying for the sake of an ignorant, benighted, superstitious populace that came near to burning me at the stake as a child, but I'm certain that my opportunities to continue to learn will be as severely curtailed by the Blight as they would be by death. Therefore, I'll face the battle to come and die if necessary."
"Then what is your concern?"
"Before the battle, it's important that I learn and experience as much as I can. In case I never have the chance again."
Duncan shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not a scholar," he replied. "I don't see how I can really help you."
"It's just that...the other apprentices make such a fuss over it. And Wynne...Wynne felt it was so important she had to give us lessons about it, and the Chantry seems to think they need to lie about it and...gah!" At his puzzled stare, Solona gave vent to an impatient growl, beating her fists upon her knees. "Sex! I need to have sex!" she blurted. "I may die when we get to Ostagar, but by the Maker's arse, I'm not going to die without knowing what sex is all about!"
Beneath his beard, Duncan's lips twitched, and Solona closed her eyes in mortified defeat. "Of course. You're laughing at me. Why not? Everybody else does, at least when they're not being tempted to bang my head against a stone wall repeatedly to shut me up. Come to think of it, I may try that myself."
"Why approach me?" Duncan asked, and when she heard no laughter in his voice, she dared a glance at him. He wasn't laughing. In fact, his eyes were inscrutably dark.
"What are my other options?" she shot back, embarrassment lending an acerbic bite to her tone. "It's either ask you, or drag the nearest soldier to the first available tent once we reach the encampment at Ostagar. And you certainly have been around long enough to have experience. Besides," she shrugged awkwardly, "you're...pleasant to look at."
There was a long pause as Duncan digested her explanation. "I'm not in the habit of bedding my recruits, either," he finally said, his words oddly clipped.
Insight into the psyches of others was not skill at which Solona was particularly adept, which she figured was why it was only now occurring to her that she had managed to offend him. "You're angry," she murmured at last, comprehension dawning. "I've...insulted you?"
"Nonsense," he said dismissively. "What man wouldn't be thrilled to have a beautiful young woman declare she wants to have sex with him as an intellectual exercise?"
Solona didn't know how to answer that. She was forever offending people, and rarely knew how to apologize with any semblance of grace.
Abruptly, his shoulders sagged a bit, and he sighed. "I've angered myself," he said, shaking his head. "I'm old enough to know better, and yet...I still fully intend to comply with your request."
"You do?" she asked wonderingly.
"Oh yes," he shrugged with something that seemed to approach self-deprecation. "It appears you aren't the only one who wishes to seize what experiences you may in the face of an uncertain future."
She stood there a long moment, staring at him. Duncan waited, watching her, as she came to the realization that she had no idea how to proceed beyond the moment of gaining his approval. He held out a hand.
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"Take off your robes," he instructed, his eyes intent and unreadable. He seemed to be taking her measure.
"Really? I mean, I--" Solona faltered, confused and suddenly unsure of her own wisdom in pursuing this whole thing. Her heart thundered in her chest as she contemplated standing before him in nothing but her flesh. How could she possibly expect to objectively observe anything in such vulnerable state?
At her hesitation, one of Duncan's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, challenging--or perhaps mocking--her. "Sex can take many forms," he said crisply, as though lecturing, "Certainly, there's the perfunctory coupling intended to dutifully produce a child, but if that's all you're interested in learning about, then I daresay the scope of your inquiry is pathetically limited."
That stung, and she felt the hot flush of injured pride creep across her cheeks. "It is not," she said, lifting her chin. "I wish to know everything."
Duncan rose, stalking toward her. He'd removed his breastplate, gauntlets and greaves to sleep, leaving only the long, robe-like garment he wore beneath the breastplate above a woolen tunic and loose trousers. As he approached, he began pulling at the assorted ties closing the garment.
"There's also lovemaking, naturally," he said with an erudite air, and now Solona was quite certain he was indulging himself in some amusement at her expense, making light of her curiosity. She ought to be offended, she knew, but instead she was simply riveted as he continued to speak. "A slow, gentle, exploration, usually intended to express tenderness and affection."
He stopped speaking when he stood before her, close enough to touch. One large, calloused, impossibly strong-looking hand slowly stretched forth and threaded through her shaggy hair. Breathless, she leaned toward the touch, yearning for fuller contact. His fingers slid through her locks...and clenched there.
"Or there's fucking," he growled, the hard consonant of that final word enunciated so clearly it struck like a tiny blow. He jerked her closer in a sudden movement that nearly pulled her off her feet, until only the smallest breath separated her face from his. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated up and down her nerves. That dropping sensation in her gut was back again, and getting more intense with each word he spoke. "Hard, fast, frequently arising from nothing more than the need to satisfy the urges of the body without regard to emotion."
He released her as unexpectedly as he'd pulled her close. "So...which will best fulfill the intent of your inquiry?" he pondered, his tone low and soft, making a caress of the words that stroked across her nerves. Casually, he dropped the long outer garment. "Whatever you choose, they all involve some greater or lesser degree of nudity. Oh, I suppose I could just throw your robes up over your head and take my pleasure, but I doubt you'd find that very satisfying, intellectually or otherwise."
"All of it," she breathed, her voice unsteady. She wished her pulse would stop pounding the way it insisted on doing. Forming syllables into words, and words into sentences, took every bit of her concentration, for her mind was wont to concoct images of the descriptions he'd rendered.
"All of it?" his brows lifted slightly, and she thought she saw a small smile flit across his lips. "That's ambitious of you."
She ducked her head, embarrassed by his amusement and her own eagerness. Then inspiration struck. She crinkled her eyes, attempting to emulate the flirtatious smiles she'd seen pass between apprentices in the dormitories. For possibly the first time, made light of her own inquisitiveness, using his own words against him. "What sort of scholar would I be if I limited the scope of my inquiry?"
Reply
Nervously, she lifted her hands to the laces of the tunic where they were tied at his throat and tugged. She felt the friction vibrating along the string as one end of the laces slid along the other. With trembling fingers she pulled the edges of his collar apart, then reached down for the hem of his shirt, intent upon lifting it.
"Stop," he said softly, catching her hands in his. Afraid she had done something wrong, Solona began to pull back, but he merely drew her hands back to his collar and set her fingers at the place where his shirt parted, revealing his skin. "Use your senses," he admonished again. "Sex is about sensation, not erudition."
Tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, she let her fingertips flutter over his exposed skin. He was warm, despite the cool night air, and his skin was surprisingly soft. Touching him was...pleasant. She wanted to feel more. Closing her eyes, she traced the ridge of his collarbone, the hollow above it, up to his neck where the bristle of his beard began. He obligingly tipped his head back and she explored the texture of his beard, coarse and wiry.
When at last she reached for the hem of his tunic again, it was with a purpose. She let her hands slide beneath it and pressed them to the skin of his abdomen. His skin quivered and twitched as her fingers brushed the sides of his waist. She could feel ridges beneath his skin, and she wanted to see them. When she lifted his tunic, he made no move to stop her, but instead ducked his head and raised his arms, aiding her in removing it.
His skin was striped with pale lines and marred by irregular, puckered scars, and yet it seemed perfect. Seeing the cause of those ridges her fingers had discovered, her eyes widened. The definition of his muscles beneath his scarred skin was wholly unexpected, and completely glorious. They descended from his chest to dip beneath the loose waistband of his trousers in a cascade of warm, living stone. She dragged her knuckles down his torso, feeling each ripple and bump, amazed at how hard and unyielding human flesh could be.
Lifting her eyes, she encountered the buds of his nipples, erect and centered atop a wide, flat pad of muscle. When she touched one, it became harder, smaller, and Duncan let out of low, subsonic groan. At the sound, she felt her own nipples tighten beneath her robes. She withdrew one hand to touch her own breast, felt the hard peak beneath the material. It was exquisitely sensitive when she touched it, even through her robes, and when she rubbed it a soft sigh of pleasure slid from her lips and her eyes fluttered shut.
When she opened them again, Duncan was watching her, his gaze riveted on her hand covering her own breast, his eyes hungry. At his look, everything from her waist down clenched in a delicious surge of warmth and tension. Duncan reached out, his hands deftly making short work of the ties of her robes and parting them to the waist. His hand slipped inside and slid up her ribs to cup her breast.
"Oh!" Her lips opened in a gasp, and she forgot to stare at him as her eyes snapped shut and her head fell back. It startled her to feel a corresponding pulse between her legs as his thumb passed over her nipple. The heat of his hand felt like a brand compared to the chill of the air on her exposed skin and she found herself arching a little to press her breast more firmly into his warm, calloused palm.
Now the soft sighs and moans that had drifted from the bunks in the dormitory made more sense, she thought wonderingly, astonished to hear an uncontrollable whimper emerge from her own lips as his fingers plied her nipple and his palm molded the soft flesh of her breast. He bent over and if his hand had been warm, his mouth was nothing short of a wet inferno engulfing her nipple.
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