(no subject)
COMM: oncoming_storms - exhaustion
VERSE: canon
WORD COUNT: 350
The sheets of the bed were a cool contrast to the skin of the woman laying with him. Her fingers traced arcane patterns along the bare skin of his chest, leaving warm blue trails along his skin that faded after a few seconds- he had learned that her kind reacted in such a way when they touched. A veritable mood indicator for their kind as the colours of the 'touchtrails' changed in differing circumstances.
"You should sleep, my Lord," she whispered in a voice that rang like chimes. "You have been busy, and it does you no ill to put aside your thoughts."
He chuckled at her. She was always requesting him to relax or to sleep - though often it was less for his benefit than it was for hers. She had grown fond of him as he went about his machinations, and he had chosen to make her his, for a time. 'Relax' was her way of bedding with him, and sleep was often her means of encouragement towards later misdeeds.
"I will later, my dear," the Master said as he stroked her strawberry blond hair. "I know better than to tire myself needlessly."
She giggled, a faint and high pitched series of notes. That was another feature of their species: they spoke through music, sopranos and tenors, chimes, flutes, pianos. In all the worlds, this one was a gem, for its people were a natural symphony. Ironic, in its way, as they had no concept of songs or instruments. They were unaware of music as a whole.
"So you say, but I have seen your handiwork. You do things no man here would dare for fear of exhaustion." She nestled herself close and kissed the side of his face. "I am honoured to be yours, Master."
A wicked grin spread across his face at the mention of his name, one that came as a deep, dark, twin set of notes that rumbled and echoed in the room. In their language, it was a name to inspire fear. "I know." Perhaps, when he was done with his affairs there, he would let her live.
VERSE: canon
WORD COUNT: 350
The sheets of the bed were a cool contrast to the skin of the woman laying with him. Her fingers traced arcane patterns along the bare skin of his chest, leaving warm blue trails along his skin that faded after a few seconds- he had learned that her kind reacted in such a way when they touched. A veritable mood indicator for their kind as the colours of the 'touchtrails' changed in differing circumstances.
"You should sleep, my Lord," she whispered in a voice that rang like chimes. "You have been busy, and it does you no ill to put aside your thoughts."
He chuckled at her. She was always requesting him to relax or to sleep - though often it was less for his benefit than it was for hers. She had grown fond of him as he went about his machinations, and he had chosen to make her his, for a time. 'Relax' was her way of bedding with him, and sleep was often her means of encouragement towards later misdeeds.
"I will later, my dear," the Master said as he stroked her strawberry blond hair. "I know better than to tire myself needlessly."
She giggled, a faint and high pitched series of notes. That was another feature of their species: they spoke through music, sopranos and tenors, chimes, flutes, pianos. In all the worlds, this one was a gem, for its people were a natural symphony. Ironic, in its way, as they had no concept of songs or instruments. They were unaware of music as a whole.
"So you say, but I have seen your handiwork. You do things no man here would dare for fear of exhaustion." She nestled herself close and kissed the side of his face. "I am honoured to be yours, Master."
A wicked grin spread across his face at the mention of his name, one that came as a deep, dark, twin set of notes that rumbled and echoed in the room. In their language, it was a name to inspire fear. "I know." Perhaps, when he was done with his affairs there, he would let her live.