A Healthy Dose of Exercise (3/?) - Bethany/Aveline
anonymous
October 7 2011, 03:21:52 UTC
It amazed her that a woman so powerful could move with such speed and grace. It's what had started this. Honest interest had turned to fascination and then blossomed into infatuation. She knew she was hopelessly addicted to these sessions, that the chance of anything ever happening was so remote as to be barely a dream, but she could not pull away.
So she watched as Aveline flowed through the garden like liquid fire. Blade swept high, shield low. Thrust and parry, advance and retreat. It was a formal dance done with such primal passion that sucked her in. Soon, sweat was pouring off Aveline's body. Her arms glistened, her chest heaved under a clinging tunic and her skin flushed with exertion. That tunic clung to every graceful curve, showing off her glorious form.
Bethany's breath quickened and her cheeks flushed as dark as Aveline's. Her heart raced as Aveline twisted and parried and feinted. She clutched at the book, raising it as a shield, as if somehow vellum and leather could protect her against such a force of nature. Aveline dropped low, nearly into a split in some arcane defensive posture and she had to bite her lower lip just to keep her dignity.
Aveline flowed out of that with alarming grace, her tunic straining against her chest. With her shield thrown wide, her blade upraised, every muscle stood out with perfect clarity, the only thing marring it were those filthy, terrible rags. Bethany had to fight the urge to encourage the seams to split and the fabric to part. She yearned to tear them free, to set that beauty loose.
Left hand clutching the book, her right hand balled in her skirts. It was just too much to bear. Just that touch, her fist through fabric, nearly made her cry aloud. Biting down, grinding her teeth, she barely managed to pull her hand away. She'd much rather pull away the skirts, but she couldn't. Not here. Not now. But soon - very, very soon.
Aveline lashed out with her blade, her tunic pulling taut against her chest and stomach.
She reached for her staff, fingers wrapping around the well worn wood. She needed to go. Now.
Aveline paused, sword level and then lowering. Her eyebrow arched speculatively.
Did she know?
“Bethany?” Aveline asked. It sounded like surprise and suspicion in her voice.
“um... yes Aveline?”
Aveline cocked a hip and rested on her sword hilt. “Would you care to spar?”
So she watched as Aveline flowed through the garden like liquid fire. Blade swept high, shield low. Thrust and parry, advance and retreat. It was a formal dance done with such primal passion that sucked her in. Soon, sweat was pouring off Aveline's body. Her arms glistened, her chest heaved under a clinging tunic and her skin flushed with exertion. That tunic clung to every graceful curve, showing off her glorious form.
Bethany's breath quickened and her cheeks flushed as dark as Aveline's. Her heart raced as Aveline twisted and parried and feinted. She clutched at the book, raising it as a shield, as if somehow vellum and leather could protect her against such a force of nature. Aveline dropped low, nearly into a split in some arcane defensive posture and she had to bite her lower lip just to keep her dignity.
Aveline flowed out of that with alarming grace, her tunic straining against her chest. With her shield thrown wide, her blade upraised, every muscle stood out with perfect clarity, the only thing marring it were those filthy, terrible rags. Bethany had to fight the urge to encourage the seams to split and the fabric to part. She yearned to tear them free, to set that beauty loose.
Left hand clutching the book, her right hand balled in her skirts. It was just too much to bear. Just that touch, her fist through fabric, nearly made her cry aloud. Biting down, grinding her teeth, she barely managed to pull her hand away. She'd much rather pull away the skirts, but she couldn't. Not here. Not now. But soon - very, very soon.
Aveline lashed out with her blade, her tunic pulling taut against her chest and stomach.
She reached for her staff, fingers wrapping around the well worn wood. She needed to go. Now.
Aveline paused, sword level and then lowering. Her eyebrow arched speculatively.
Did she know?
“Bethany?” Aveline asked. It sounded like surprise and suspicion in her voice.
“um... yes Aveline?”
Aveline cocked a hip and rested on her sword hilt. “Would you care to spar?”
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