Vignette, take two!
DISCLAIMER: Please, please, please - none of the following is public IC knowledge. If you wish your character to somehow find out, feel free to check with me and I can do some asking - but be aware that this guilty pleasure involves more than just my character, and so it's very important that you ask before assuming IC knowledge. Ta!
ETA: Also, adult themes within, yo.
Oh, the guilt.
What would my Father do... what would Mother say... what would become of me!
Each creeping step that Bailie takes draws another 'what if' to the fore, putting the young Lady on edge as she navigates the corridors and caverns of High Reaches in the first hours of a new day. Though most are sleeping, there's always sound coming from the kitchens as cooks finish the last of the supper dishes, or get started on the new day's menu...
I wonder which it is? Dishes or breakfast?
Her attention doesn't stray long as she sneaks on, her posture hunched for these brief moments of the journey back to her bed.
Oh, the pleasure.
Sefton's hand trails along her collarbone, shifting curls to expose the bare skin of her neck. Leaning back onto both hands, Bailie's eyelids flutter closed as she relishes his touch; her lips part in a languid smile reserved for these moments only. His kiss is soft, and as his lips curve a smile against her skin she shudders at the tickle of stubble.
A crashing sound from the kitchens brings her back to reality, just in time to sidestep a small display table by a large oak door in the wall. A wave of relief surges over her, and she lets go of a deep breath in one heavy sigh. Continuing on her way, she tries to quicken her pace a little - her heels start to click on the stone floor. Onto her toes she goes, changing her gait to suit.
Oh, the /pleasure/.
Groomed fingernails seek tufts of those tousled ebon curls, fingers entwining themselves in the so-often scorned lengths to gently direct his lips up to hers. "Oh, /Sefton/," she murmurs, brushing the lightest of kisses. He knows what to do, as her lashes flicker open just a moment to give him glimpse of the longing in her dark eyes.
A creak, this time, as the door she'd passed not seconds ago starts to open. Her cue to hurry, Bailie hop-skips the few steps around the corner, and - voila! She's in the bowl. The stars twinkle down at her as she rolls her head back, again relieved to have escaped capture. For a moment, she pauses to rest against the bowl wall, the cold stone against her hot skin sending a shudder through her.
Oh, the /guilt/.
Although there's plenty of room in his bed, Bailie nestles her head against Sefton's chest, basking in the warmth of his body heat. There's no need for blankets with her skin pressed to his at every opportunity, from her leg bent over his thighs to her chest and arm draped over his torso. Blood rushes through her, surging in delightful waves with every laboured breath.
She knows she has to leave soon.
Bailie pushes off the bowl wall, blush rising in her cheeks as dark eyes peer across the moonlit scape to find her way 'home'. Even out here, she remains on her toes to keep her heels from clicking, and the effort brings a grimace to her features after awhile.
This is the last time. she vows, resolving to honour her father, and her Bloodline. As the cold of the night starts to creep through her clothing and bite at her skin, her eyelids flutter closed again, and she shudders; it's almost like he's touching her again. One last breath is drawn to counter the pang of guilt as she resigns that this time surely won't be the last, and then she's inside again, in the Caucus commons.
Oh, the /guilt/.
It's almost painful, lying in his arms as waves of adrenaline pump wonderfully through her veins, and sharp thumps of guilt rack her chest with every other breath.
Towards the barracks, she creeps, to tuck herself quietly into bed.
What /would/ my Father do...
ETA: Also, adult themes within, yo.
Oh, the guilt.
What would my Father do... what would Mother say... what would become of me!
Each creeping step that Bailie takes draws another 'what if' to the fore, putting the young Lady on edge as she navigates the corridors and caverns of High Reaches in the first hours of a new day. Though most are sleeping, there's always sound coming from the kitchens as cooks finish the last of the supper dishes, or get started on the new day's menu...
I wonder which it is? Dishes or breakfast?
Her attention doesn't stray long as she sneaks on, her posture hunched for these brief moments of the journey back to her bed.
Oh, the pleasure.
Sefton's hand trails along her collarbone, shifting curls to expose the bare skin of her neck. Leaning back onto both hands, Bailie's eyelids flutter closed as she relishes his touch; her lips part in a languid smile reserved for these moments only. His kiss is soft, and as his lips curve a smile against her skin she shudders at the tickle of stubble.
A crashing sound from the kitchens brings her back to reality, just in time to sidestep a small display table by a large oak door in the wall. A wave of relief surges over her, and she lets go of a deep breath in one heavy sigh. Continuing on her way, she tries to quicken her pace a little - her heels start to click on the stone floor. Onto her toes she goes, changing her gait to suit.
Oh, the /pleasure/.
Groomed fingernails seek tufts of those tousled ebon curls, fingers entwining themselves in the so-often scorned lengths to gently direct his lips up to hers. "Oh, /Sefton/," she murmurs, brushing the lightest of kisses. He knows what to do, as her lashes flicker open just a moment to give him glimpse of the longing in her dark eyes.
A creak, this time, as the door she'd passed not seconds ago starts to open. Her cue to hurry, Bailie hop-skips the few steps around the corner, and - voila! She's in the bowl. The stars twinkle down at her as she rolls her head back, again relieved to have escaped capture. For a moment, she pauses to rest against the bowl wall, the cold stone against her hot skin sending a shudder through her.
Oh, the /guilt/.
Although there's plenty of room in his bed, Bailie nestles her head against Sefton's chest, basking in the warmth of his body heat. There's no need for blankets with her skin pressed to his at every opportunity, from her leg bent over his thighs to her chest and arm draped over his torso. Blood rushes through her, surging in delightful waves with every laboured breath.
She knows she has to leave soon.
Bailie pushes off the bowl wall, blush rising in her cheeks as dark eyes peer across the moonlit scape to find her way 'home'. Even out here, she remains on her toes to keep her heels from clicking, and the effort brings a grimace to her features after awhile.
This is the last time. she vows, resolving to honour her father, and her Bloodline. As the cold of the night starts to creep through her clothing and bite at her skin, her eyelids flutter closed again, and she shudders; it's almost like he's touching her again. One last breath is drawn to counter the pang of guilt as she resigns that this time surely won't be the last, and then she's inside again, in the Caucus commons.
Oh, the /guilt/.
It's almost painful, lying in his arms as waves of adrenaline pump wonderfully through her veins, and sharp thumps of guilt rack her chest with every other breath.
Towards the barracks, she creeps, to tuck herself quietly into bed.
What /would/ my Father do...