Sunday, December 18, 2016

Untitled #1

I walked through the room with some discomfort. I had thought that I was well now. I had thought that I had fully recovered from my illness. It was with some chagrin that I realized this was not the case. I looked at my 'to do' list with some dread. As I sat down with a glass of juice and looked at my pile of papers, I found myself weary and angry. I was tired from being sick and all the energy it has taken. I was tired simply because I was still sick. And I was angry because I had plans to do many things and a deadline that was fast closing. As I glared at the page before me, a hand settled on my shoulder.

"Must you be a perfectionist?" he asked me with a tone of gentle reproach and mild exasperation. I scoffed and was about to make a droll comment back when a wave of nausea rolled over me. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to breath through my nose. Discovering that having my eyes closed made the sense of disorientation worse, I opened my eyes and sighed with disappointment. "Did you not learn that you have limitations, dear girl?" he said.

"I don't like them," I answered sullenly. "I have stuff I need to do. Things to get done..." I started when he interrupted me.

"Things that other people can do for you. Things that are not critical and that were not part of your original plans even. Things that you should not add on. You should not pile on more work when you are just now well enough to be out of sickbed. You'll put yourself back in it with this attitude," he said firmly. My shoulders slumped and I sighed.

"It is not shameful to be sick or to ask for help, you know," he said as he began to massage my knotted shoulders, "I have been sick and in need of help. I even tried to avoid seeking it out. It made me surly and unpleasant. Father was quite ... concerned." I looked at my pile of work, feeling defeated. "Is it victory you seek? Do you seek it for yourself?" he said, noting how I tensed again and my attitudes towards my work. "I think it is not victory you are looking for. All this frantic work, it is flight. You are trying to run away from yourself again. What have we said about this habit of yours?"

"I shouldn't do it," I muttered. He shook his head and sighed. "Why do you put up with me? I'm so .. so fucked up and broken," I said bitterly. Hands that had been tender turned hard. His grip on my shoulders was suddenly like iron and painful. I gasped with surprise. He took hold of my hair and pulled my head back so that I was look up at him rather than where I had my work arrayed before me.

"One thing you are most definitely not is fucked up. Nor are you broken. I have told you you are not allowed this statement about yourself. This is not to continue," he said sternly looking down at me. Something inside me quailed before that hard expression in his face. For reasons I could not place, I suddenly found tears beginning to well up at the corners of my eyes. A desperate need to argue that he was wrong came to my lips. Before the words could spill out, he tugged harder at my hair, stilling them at the source.

"Those are lies that they told you. It is filth that will not cross your lips e'er again if I have any say in it," he said in an implacable tone, "Do you understand?" I blinked the tears rising out of my eyes and gave a small nod in what limited motion I had available to me. His expression softened as the anger that arose was set aside. In its place, came a look that was somewhere between pity, disappointment, and sorrow, but never quite fully reaching it. He let go of my hair and stepped around before me. As I moved to drop my head and attempt to hide my face out of the horrid sense of shame that came from being the cause of this look, he knelt before me.

His hands cradled my cheeks as he brushed his thumbs over where the tears had fallen. "There is no shame here," he said, "Not for you. Not here. You are wounded. It is unreasonable to expect someone with a broken leg to run a race when they can not even stand. You did not wound yourself, not even by misadventure or folly. They hurt you. They lied to you and then fed you yet more lies, claiming it was medicine."

I swallowed past a lump in my throat that had nothing to do with the minor rebellion happening in my guts. "Look at me," he commanded me softly, his tone tender. I looked from the point somewhere around the middle of his chest up to his eyes. He gave me a small smile. "Hey, there you are, pretty girl," he continued in that soothing, kind tone, "It is alright. You are going to be ok. You have to let yourself rest and recover." I closed my eyes as the urge to sob slammed into my chest. He smoothed the hair away from my eyes. "Be easy, dear heart," he soothed, "You have nothing to prove here. You are worthy of love. And care. And rest."

Tears escaped down my cheek. "But I have so much to do," I whimpered, "If I don't do it ..." He set his fingertips on my lips. It was a queer sensation to have them trembling against his still hand. I took a shuddering breath.

"You have done enough. Rest," he said. I opened my eyes and looked at him, caught up in a wave of utter misery. "Why do you punish yourself? Do you even know why?" he asked. I shook my head and started to look away. His hand against my right cheek stopped me from turning my face away. "Stop. No one is going to punish you for any of this. You are sick. You are not playing or trying to get away with fooling around and fobbing work off," he said.

"But I am going to be in trouble," I said in a voice that was childishly small and fearful.

"From who?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said, struggling not to wail in fear, "I just will be."

"Then I will protect you. Stop and rest. You need it. No harm will draw here nigh you," he answered. His solemn expression turned to a small, rueful smile filled with self depreciating humor, "I'm sure you can forgive me if I haven't a sword. My bare hands may have to do, or I'll pick up one of yours. You have plenty to spare."

I swallowed uncomfortably, somewhere between anxious tears and pure misery. And I realized that had been there lurking beneath the surface all day. "Do you trust me?" he asked. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak with out starting to cry. "Then go sleep and let all this work sit," he said, "I'll mind this and then come join you." I closed my eyes and shivered with this sense of terror. "I'll not leave you alone. You will never be alone," he said, rising up to press a kiss against my brow. With his lips pressed against a childhood scar that I never really liked, he said, "It will be alright. Just go sleep. You need it. Fight again tomorrow. It is another day." He wrapped his arms around me and I did my best to breathe through the tears that threatened.

[Not entirely in keeping with the original intent of the blog, but it remains. I have a feeling things are going to shift here going forward.]

Friday, December 16, 2016


I stood on the pedestal awkwardly. It was not of great height. It was not terribly narrow. Still, I was uncomfortable with this exercise, feeling a curious sense of dizziness and as though I was going to fall if I shifted my weight. A light shone down on me, blinding me to what was around me. I looked forward as I had been instructed, my head bowed slightly in a small gesture to some how hide something of myself. A thin wrap of some sort of soft fabric was wound about my shoulders. I held the edges of it tightly around me with my arms crossed before me. The gauzy white fabric was my only covering. My hair was unbound and fell across my shoulders and into my face. I could hear someone walking around me.

A voice that was stern, if not imperious, said from some distance before me, "Straighten up. Stand properly." I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my head some. The sound of something whistling through the air came moments before a narrow rod of some sort struck my shoulders. It was not painful, per se, but it startled me. I straightened abruptly with a yelp of surprise. A white wand a little wider than my pinky finger came before my face and tapped the underside of my chin. I lifted my head to avoid it. Standing at my full height and with my head raised, I felt uncomfortably exposed.

The walker began to move about me again. The white wand moved at the edge of the pool of light. The discomforting sense of dizziness began to arise again. I felt the wand tap the back of my left knee. "Do not lock your knees," the male voice said from before me again, "It would be a shame if all of this was for naught." I swallowed uncomfortably and did my best to relax my stance. The sound of the footsteps at their even pace suggested that they could continue their efforts for a long hour. I, however, was uncomfortably tense and felt ready to get down off of the low pedestal. "Do you know why you are doing this exercise?" the voice said again.

"Because I must learn grace," I answered.

"Incorrect," he answered. The white rod swished through the air and snapped me smartly across the buttocks. I yelped and reached a hand back to ward off a possible second blow. The fabric began to slip off of my right shoulder and I moved to pull it back up. "Leave it be," he commanded. "Answer my question," he said after a moment, "Why are you doing this exercise?"

"Because I must learn ... something," I answered. I felt myself tense in expectation of another switching. When nothing happened, I shifted my weight from my right to my left foot and did my best to relax my knees. 

"What are you to learn?" he asked and the walker began to move again.

"I don't know, sir," I replied with out bothering to hide my uncertainty or unease.

"My Lord," he corrected me, "It is my Lord, not sir."

"Forgive me, my Lord," I said, casting my gaze downward, "I do not know what I am to learn from this exercise, my Lord."

He made a thoughtful sound. The walker came to a stop off to my left. "Shall I enlighten you, my dear?" he said. There was some measure of amusement in his voice. A shiver ran down my spine.

"If it pleases, my Lord, I would be most grateful for his explanation and insight," I said, struggling with the urge to fidget with the cloth. He chuckled as the one who had been walking around me tapped their wand, possibly against their thigh or their hand. The sound was both ominous and exciting. A measure of confused anxiety rolled through me.

"You truly do not understand, do you?" the man somewhere before me in the shadows said. I was unsure if I heard marvelment or disbelief in his voice. I heard a sound as though someone was standing up out of a leather chair. Footsteps came forward. Dimly, I could see something of a person standing ahead of me. He was tall. He seemed familiar, though I could not place why. He moved towards my right, walking slowly. "You do not know why I have you here," he said slowly, as though he was considering his words with great care, "Perhaps a mirror would be necessary for this lesson." He stopped behind me. The person standing at my left walked away and then I heard something being wheeled forward in the darkness ahead of me. 

The mirror was an ornate thing. It was easily as big as I was tall and mounted in such a manner where when it was brought before me I could see myself easily in it. The daphinious fall of fabric from my left hand just over my bosom managed to some how modestly cover me but also reveal the curves of my body. The scars beneath it seemed but a trick of the folds of the fabric. The softness of my belly and fullness of my thighs was reminiscent of the Grecian sculptures of Aphrodite. I started to look away from the reflection. A hand reached forward from the shadows behind me and took hold of my chin. 

The grip was strong and did not allow me to turn my face away from the mirror. "Look closely, dear heart," he said behind me, "See what I see. Look at the softness of your skin and how it gleams in the light. Behold the fullness of your lips and the blush across your cheek. Note the way your hair lies upon your shoulder with that fine thread of silver through it, glistening like frost on autumn leaves. Tell me, do you not see beauty here?"

"I... I don't know," I answered uncomfortably. In the reflection, I could see his shoulder and part of his side as he stood behind me. His head was bowed slightly, his face hidden by a fall of long dark auburn hair. In the limited light that fell on him, he seemed to dwarf me even though I stood upon a dais that raised me up off the ground somewhat. He moved closer and the shadows on his face looked familiar, though I could not clearly see his face between the way the shadows fell, his hair being in his eyes, and his head half hidden behind mine.

"Your fair eyes are blind," he purred in my ear, "Open them so that you may see more clearly."

"My eyes are open, my Lord," I said, unable to keep the small, anxious whine out of my voice. He chuckled.

"Poor confused girl," he said and his hand slipped from my jaw to wrap about my throat. As he did so, warmth rolled over me. My eyes widened and I gasped. "Keep your eyes upon the mirror," he whispered, "Look and see what I see." As he spoke, I felt as though a caress passed over me. My eyes rolled and his grip tightened. He gave me a single firm shake. My eyes snapped open. I stared at my reflection.

I stared in fascination. My expression was one of pleasure. My body stood taught with aroused tension, my breath frozen in my throat as I found myself anticipating something more. "Do you see, girl," he said quietly in my ear, "The pretty little blush and the open mouthed smile of delight? The soft gaze and eager body? Do you see this?"

"Yes, my Lord," I murmured. I strained to see his reflection in the mirror. He gave me another firm shake. My eyes rolled as I shuddered with pleasure and gave a soft moan.

"Do not look at me," he said, "Look at yourself."

I looked in the mirror as though one who was hypnotized. Perhaps, in a way, I was. For, now I could not help but see how everything in me was bent towards him with yearning. I felt as though I was looking at a masterwork of some old world painter. It was a dizzying moment. His free arm wrapped around my waist as he stepped up close behind me. I took in a deep breath.

I could smell the scent of the deep forest on him. The cold bite of the winter wind and the astringent tang of pine mingled with the musk of fallen leaves and their slow decay. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, relishing the earthy scent. Somewhere in it, I could discern the sharpness of whiskey. "It is you," I sighed.

"Open your eyes," he murmured in my ear. I opened them, seeing his face through the veil of his hair and mine. My head rested lightly on his shoulder, my body arched slightly. "Do you understand?" he asked.

"I will try, my Lord," I answered, sounding almost as intoxicated as I looked. His thumb passed lightly over my pulse. For a moment, it pressed firmly against it. I took in a breath and shivered with pleasure.

"There is no try. You will learn," he said.

"Yes," I answered dreamily. His expression, which had been deadly solemn and serious, turned to a look of mild bemusement.

"My dear, sweet girl," he said with a chuckle, "So confused. But willing. You can be lead to water after all. Now to get you to drink." 

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Hilde & Gunther: Second Courtship (Pt 3)

Hilde looked up when her squire walked into her office with a puzzled look on his face. Timothy was a clever young man of Avalonian extraction. He adapted well to the dramatically different life that happened at the Embassy and in the 'modern' world. Thus, when he found a bit of parchment sitting on the sheaf of reports that she was waiting for on his desk, he was caught off guard. Unable to resist curiosity, he looked at it and his confusion deepened. As he approached her desk, he muttered the stanza out loud in a wondering tone:
The mone mandeth hire lyht,
So doth the semly sonne bryht,
    When briddes singeth breme;
Deawes donketh the dounes,
Deores with huere derne rounes
    Domes forte deme;
Wormes woweth under cloude,
Wymmen waxeth wounder proude,
    So wel hit wol hem seme,
Yef me shal wonte wille of on,
This wunne weole y wole forgon
    Ant wyht in wode be fleme.
Hilde tipped her head slightly to the left and regarded the young man before her. He looked up from the parchment and then held it out to her in bewilderment. As he set down the stack of reports on the corner of her desk, Hilde looked at the writing and recognized Gunther's uneven penmanship. "His calligraphy is atrocious," she said with a fond smile. Timothy noted the smile with a bit of hope. Since the curious events of the last three months, Hilde was now far more solemn than before. "I should remind him that interoffice mail isn't for ... this," she said as she turned back to the computer, the smiling fading slowly.

Timothy recognized the silent dismissal and walked out of the office. As he was shutting the door, the knight in question gave a small cough. Timothy jumped with surprise as he looked over and realized he was quite possibly in Gunther's way. He opened his mouth to say something when Gunther placed a finger over his own lips and motioned the squire to step aside. The dark haired knight pulled some nameless wrapped item from his jacket pocket and set it at the threshold of the door. He then gave the door three solid raps before briskly walking off. Hilde called out for the nameless knocker to come in. When the door didn't open, Hilde stood up and walked around her desk.

She opened the door to see her confused squire looking off in the direction that Gunther had vanished in and the white paper parcel at her feet. Hilde leaned down. As she picked it up, she felt something solid within the tissue paper. She untied the single blood red ribbon that bound it shut. Soon, she was holding a set of throwing spikes that could double as hair pins. Hilde ran a fingertip down the length of them, noting with approval the intricate metal work. Again, she smiled. As she reached back and pinned her hair up in a knot with the spikes, her smile grew. She walked back into her office to her work.

At five thirty, Hilde's shift ended. Placing the last of the paperwork in its appointed file, she ignored the door to her office opening. She looked up when Gunther walked up to her desk. He sketched her a small, almost imperceptible half bow. Hilde shook her head with a rueful smile. "That is going to get you into trouble one of these days," she said dryly. Gunther held a hand out towards his wife in a silent offer to help her out of her chair, despite the fact that she was across the desk and half out of it on her own. "One would suspect that such courtesy is a sign of plotting," Hilde said. Gunther's dark eyes flashed with something suggestive, though his expression was one of polite interest, an utter mask of propriety. Hilde chuckled.

Gunther stepped to Hilde's side and offered his arm, as he had done for several days before hand. Deciding to humor his apparent whimsy, Hilde set her right hand upon his wrist. Arm in arm, they walked from Hilde's office down the hall. "You would know better," Gunther said as they went around a corner in the hallway. He turned and stopped before her. Reaching up, he pulled one of the throwing spikes out of her hair. Gunther flipped it up into the air over the back of his hand. Hilde reached up to catch it. Gunther caught her wrist in his left hand as he caught the throwing spike in his right.

He placed the cool steel spike across her palm before closing her fingers over it. "It is well made," he said, "Shapely and well formed from iron." Hilde reached back to replace the spike in her bun when her husband gave her a sly smile. Hilde narrowed her eyes in a look of suspicion. Gunther's smile turned to a grin and she rolled her eyes, scoffing in annoyance. "I have something for you," he murmured as he leaned forward. He pressed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. A person behind him cleared their throat. Gunther straightened and looked over his shoulder.

A captain stood behind him with a look of mild annoyance. Gunther stepped aside. As the superior officer passed by them, Hilde's cheeks were tinged with a faint blush. The man shook his head as he continued down the hall towards his office. He muttered something mingling annoyance with amusement in his tone but his words were indistinct. Gunther looked at his wife and gave her a boyish grin. Hilde's look of mild embarrassment turn to one of irritation and Gunther laughed. He took her by the hand and walked down the hall.

As they made their way down a flight of stairs, Gunther was talking about a project he had assigned to one of his subordinates and the minor frustrations that came of it. Hilde had tuned him out as her thoughts turned to her own work. Caught in her thoughts, she didn't realize where they were headed to until they stopped before one of the doors into a training room. Gunther opened the door and gestured for his wife to enter before him. No sooner than she had crossed the threshold did Gunther shoved her squarely between the shoulder blades and knock her forward off her feet.

Hilde fell to the ground and rolled forward. She came up in a half crouch and glared over her shoulder at Gunther. Gunther's grin had returned. He tossed one of the short swords in the rack beside the door towards her. Hilde caught it as she straightened. She swung it in a circle with her right hand before bringing it forward to guard position. Gunther picked up one for himself and tossed it up into the air. He turned sharply on his heel and caught it behind his back before turning to face her and bringing his weapon forward with a flourish. Hilde scoffed at her husband's dramatics.

"Force a win," he said. Hilde's expression turned to one of pure irritation. She hated the game of using live steel and combat like chess. She hated it even more that the goal of the 'chess' match was to keep the opponent fighting but also creatively (and convincingly) deliberately lose. Hilde dropped the sword to the side.

"Done, now let's get dinner," she answered. Gunther laughed and came forward. Hilde stepped to the side, gripped hold of his sword arm, and threw him to the ground. He started to try to evade when she took hold of the sword's hilt just beneath the quillions. With a mighty pull, she ripped it out of his hand as she kicked the one she dropped out of his reach. Gunther looked up at her, mesmerized by the look on her face. There was the simmering suggestion of anger, irritation, and a humorless look that she nearly always wore when she hit the point that she was ready to force a situation to her will. It was a synthesis of looks he had seen on her face in past lives and one she had worn in this prior to her full Awakening. As he stared up at her, Gunther found himself unable say something witty or droll. All he could think of was how fierce she looked and the urge to kiss her lips until the stony expression melted hammered in his head.

Deciding that he wasn't going to prove an opponent after all, Hilde stepped away and fetched the sword she kicked away. Gunther said quietly, "Falcon eyed, Hnoss, I am at thy mercy." Hilde looked over her shoulder. Gunther rose to his feet and approached her slowly, careful to present himself as clearly as possible that he was not a threat. Hilde turned her attention back to restoring the weapons to their proper placement.  As she started out the door, Gunther caught her left hand in his. Hilde glanced over at him and the amorous light in his eyes managed to cut through her frustration with her dinner being delayed. She gave a tiny half smile before walking out of the room, slipping her hand free from his grasp.

Gunther's heart leapt. Hilde wasn't given to being intentionally flirtatious. Still, that subtle look did more to thrill him than someone giving a lavish description of romantic exploits. He swiftly darted out the door and caught up with her. Walking at her left shoulder, he leaned forward and muttered in her ear, "Doth thou favor me, green maiden? Was that fetching smile my own reward?" Hilde walked a little faster, giving her husband no answer as she made her way down the hallway. She stopped at an elevator and pressed the call button. Gunther moved to wrap an arm about her waist. Hilde set a restraining hand on his arm. He looked briefly at her hand and then to her face.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Filled with people on their way to various places in the Embassy, it was obvious that shift change was in full effect. Hilde stepped in, well aware there was no room for Gunther beside her. His expression turned puzzled as she leaned slightly to the side and pressed the button for the floor she desired. As the doors closed, again, she gave that bare hint of a smile that would have put the Mona Lisa to shame. Gunther looked at the indicators to gauge what direction the elevator was going. An arrow indicated it was ascending.

Gunther darted to the stairwell halfway down the hall. As he stepped in and began to go up the first flight of stairs he met, he found himself stymied by a pair of high ranking knights talking as they walked casually up the steps. Gunther resisted the urge to grind his teeth as he was forced to take a more sedate pace up to the next floor. When he reached it, he moved quickly down to the elevator. He arrived just as the doors were closing. For a brief moment, he saw his wife's sly expression. He looked over and saw that the elevator was now descending. "Damn it," he said before hustling down the stairs. Again, he met someone who slowed his passage. When he reached the second floor below, Gunther stepped into the hallway and looked towards the elevator.

A knot of people had exited the elevator and were retreating down the corridor towards the second floor officer's lounge. He walked quickly after them. As they went into the lounge, Gunther tried to peer around the man walking ahead of him to see if his wife was with them. Inside the officer's lounge, a pair of carts with choice menu items from the mess hall were arrayed at the far wall from the entrance. The officers he saw before him were in the midst of carrying on their conversations and getting their meal. One looked over and saw Gunther with his puzzled look.

"She went to the fifth floor," he said, immediately knowing who the sergeant was looking for. Gunther swore under his breath as he walked out of the room and back to the stairs. As the other man watched Gunther leave, he looked over at his companion. "I think after months of his needling her, she just might be getting even," he said. The red haired man beside him scoffed.

Gunther ran up three flights of stairs. As he did so, he questioned why she didn't get off the elevator earlier. He was a little irritated by the time he had reached the floor where their apartment was located. Gunther exited the stairwell and looked down the hall towards their apartment. He could nearly have sworn he saw the door close as he laid eyes on it. Gunther walked swiftly to it. He reached for the handle. When he tried it, he found the door locked. "What are you up to, woman?" he muttered as he checked his pockets to find his keys. He dropped them, picked them up, and unlocked the door.

As he opened the door, he found the apartment was dark. This was something of a surprise considering it was nearly summer and still daylight outside. The gloom enforced by the lined curtains on the windows briefly stymied his vision. It was a very brief moment of night blindness, but one that happened none the less. The ray of light cast into the apartment from the hallway through the open door seemed garish to him as his eyes adjusted. Gunther stepped in and shut the door quietly behind himself. "Brynhildr," he called in a quiet tone.

He moved into the living room area of their apartment cautiously. As he did so, Hilde watched him from the small closet near the door, hidden in the deepest shadows and behind a filmy curtain that replaced the louvered door that was originally there. "Brynhildr," he said, walking towards the door to their bedroom, "Talk to me." Satisfied that he was truly unaware of her location, Hilde stepped out of her hiding space and crossed the room stealthily. He stood in the doorway of their bedroom, looking at the bed with an expression of frustrated confusion.

Hilde slipped up behind him. As he turned, reaching instinctively for the knife at his back at the feeling of someone behind him, Hilde lightly reached up and covered his eyes with her hands. Gunther stilled. His puzzled expression turned droll. "Is that really the best you can do?" he said dryly. Hilde pressed herself against his back, smiling at how his actual knife pressed against her hip.

"Keep your eyes closed," she said in a husky purr. Gunther shut his eyes. Lightly, she ran her fingertips down along his jaw to his throat. As her hands passed down to his shoulders, she could feel tension coiled within him. Hilde let her hands glide over his right shoulder and on to his chest as she stepped in front of him. A faint scar on his chin made him look as though he had a Cary Grant cleft chin in the right light. His expression was still, though the faint suggestion of a smile curved his lips.

Hilde took a step back and lightly tugged him forward. Gunther followed meekly along, crossing his arms as he stepped forward. Hilde stepped away from him. As she disrobed, Gunther gave a soft noise of long suffering patience. She laughed. "Don't open those eyes," Hilde said, "Or you'll ruin the surprise."

"Surprise?" he asked mildly, "I've seen every inch of you, dear." Hilde said nothing as she opened the package she had sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed. She lifted the leather 'armor' that an eager and excited 'fan' had sent her. As armor, it was patently ridiculous. The forest green leather bodice had strategic gaps in coverage that served to exaggerate her cleavage and her waist. The tooled leather that was fashioned in panels that made up a skirt that only barely covered her thighs was lined with a buttery, soft fabric of the same color. She laced up the bodice after slipping the affair over her head. Taking a moment to settle her breasts more comfortably in the bodice, Hilde then paused a moment to glance in the mirror across the room. Looking it over, Hilde was affirmed in her assessment that her gift of 'armor' was little more than leather fetish gear, though it was quite well made and pleasing.

Hilde straightened and looked at Gunther, who wore a quizzical expression. He could smell the oil and the leather. He heard the noises of how the material sounded as Hilde manipulated it. Hilde smiled at him. "Open your eyes," she said. Gunther did so and his expression moved from confusion to surprise to something between lechery and amusement. He stepped towards her, reaching his right hand out to fondle her chest where it was left bare by the leather.

"Terrible armor," Gunther said as he ran his fingertips along the neckline of the bodice and over the swelling of her breasts before journeying back up to her shoulder. "I hope you didn't pay for it." Hilde laughed. Gunther hooked a finger in the lacing of the front of the bodice and tugged on it hard enough to pull Hilde forward a pace. "And I thought you were upset with me for making dinner late," he continued, raising his dark eyes to look into her green ones. Hilde was about to come back with a sardonic comment but Gunther kissed her before she could voice it.

As he reached around her waist, he laughed at the discovery that the 'armor' was backless. "Let me get you out of that before someone sees you," he chuckled, "It would be an embarrassment to the realm." Hilde scoffed. Gunther's hands were busily at work unknotting the front lacing when a knock sounded at their door. Gunther ignored it but the knock came again. He turned away, pausing for a moment to look over his shoulder. He gave a wry smirk and snapped his fingers on his left hand. The candle sitting on their dresser flared to life. He grinned at the sight of Hilde in her fantasy 'armor' by the candle light. "Maybe you'll have a side quest for me when I come back," he called over his shoulder as he stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

Gunther opened the front door of their apartment. He found a page waiting with a small parcel. "You ordered this, sir?" the young man said. Gunther looked at the box for a moment, not entirely sure what was about it. He took the package and pulled a silver Avalonian coin from his pocket. He handed it to the page, who was surprised by it. He started to state his thanks when Gunther nodded and started to shut the door, turning the package over in his hands. He opened the small box. Inside, he found a trio of steel rings fashioned to look like claws. Gunther lifted one of the rings out of the box and put it on.

He smiled when he discovered that it gave him the effect of having three claws on his right hand. He closed and opened his hand. When he reached the bedroom, he found Hilde leaning against the foot of the bed. Gunther held up his hand and Hilde smiled when she saw that he had her gift to him. "Is this your fault?" Gunther asked. Hilde gave a small nod. Gunther stepped up close to her and lightly brushed one of the metal claw tips along her left cheek. At the feeling of the cool steel against her skin, Hilde took in a small breath. Gunther watched how her breasts rose and fell with each, small, quick breath she took as the claw tip pressed a little harder into her skin when he reached her jaw.

As Gunther set the other two claw tips against his wife's chin, her eyes fluttered closed. "You little minx," he said, "you deceived me." The warmth in his voice made Hilde's smile turn from pleasure to fond amusement. He dragged his clawed fingertips along the side of her jaw, pressing just hard enough to leave the beginnings of a faint mark behind. "You wicked little thing," Gunther said, smiling and not bothering to conceal his amusement, "What am I to do with you?" His finger tips slipped under her chin and pressed upward lightly.

Hilde opened her eyes and looked at him. Amused satisfaction was what he expected. The smoldering look of desire, however, sent a thrill of lust through him. He wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her to him even as he reached around her shoulders with his right. Gunther pulled the throwing spikes from his wife's hair and dropped them to the ground. They chimed against each other but it was ignored as he ran his hand through her hair. "Well?" he asked. Hilde reached up and set a hand on either side of his face. Standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed him.

There was no games of resistance or dominance behind her kiss. Only a slow, seductive kiss that set a flame burning within him. When Hilde finally broke the kiss, Gunther looked at her with a careful, almost wary expression. "What do you seek, min swete? What is it you want from me?" he asked. Hilde smiled and moved to kiss him again. Gunther abruptly grabbed hold of her hair, preventing her from reaching his lips when she was but a breath away. "What game are you playing, Brynhildr?" he asked, realizing that this sensuous and suggestive behavior was a departure from what she typically engaged in. At the unexpected pull on her hair, Hilde closed her eyes and an expression of pure pleasure washed over her face. Gunther was torn between lust and caution, unsure what to make of his wife's sudden boldness.

Hilde opened her eyes after a moment. "Everything, huseband," Hilde answered. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Give me your love, your cruelty, and your hunger," she said, "You've given me your arms, your name, and my child. Give me more." Gunther became stone still as he looked intently into her face. He let go of her hair and stepped back, releasing her from his arms. As he contemplated her, he took the claw rings off and slipped them into his pocket. Hilde stepped towards him. Gunther held up a hand and motioned for her to wait.

He had given her many gifts over the last several months. His aggressive efforts to court his wife had taken a decidedly more martial effort than they had when they were courting before marriage. Instead of gifts of jewelry and flowers, he had given her weapons. Weapons of stealth and cunning that Hilde could secret upon her person. Whispers had gone around about how Hilde's ardor seemed to have cooled towards her husband and speculation was made as to what could have angered her. Gunther was almost inclined to believe the rumors if it wasn't for the fact that she was more than willing to be happier with him in private. Still, there was a measure of reserve that remained between them. Now, Gunther found she had moved in an entirely different direction with out warning.

As Gunther looked at his wife, he attempted to puzzle out what was going on. Hilde, however, had made up her mind as to how she was going to proceed. Thus, when she began to remove her 'armor' in a deliberate fashion, Gunther was surprised. Piece by piece, she stripped off the leather. As she dropped it to the ground at his feet, Gunther dimly recognized the symbolism of the act. "Come to me, Morgansonne," she said as the last of the outfit fell to the floor. She held out her right hand invitingly. "I have put up my arms," she continued, "I do so for no one. And yet I have for, thee. Come to me."

Moving as though in a dream, Gunther took Hilde's hand and stepped up to her. As she guided him into a kiss, Hilde's left hand took hold of his t-shirt. She mentally counted her good luck that everything fell on 'casual Friday' and she didn't have to worry about a pesky button-down shirt slowing her down. She pulled it free from his jeans while they kissed and did her best to work it up his torso with one hand, for Gunther did not let go of her right. He wrapped his right arm hard about her shoulders, holding her tightly against himself.

With a soft groan, Hilde's husband broke the kiss and let go of her right hand as he moved his head to the left. The stubble on his cheek pressed against her smooth skin, making her smile as he maneuvered his face so that his lips were against her ear. One of his large hands took hold of her hip and effectively trapped her against him. "What is it you give me, hearth-warder mine?" he asks. Hilde laughed and attempted to continue her efforts to remove his shirt when Gunther didn't move. Pinned against him and unable to take the shirt off him with out actively resisting him, Hilde found herself at an impasse.

"What is it you want?" Hilde answered. Gunther took a deep breath. He could smell the sweetness of that perfume that came with her arousal. He could smell beneath that the earthy scent of her skin and all that was human of her. He closed his eyes, doing his best to commit the moment to memory as completely as he could while he tried to find the best way to phrase what he had sought, what he had hungered for through lifetimes.

"You," he answered, "To possess you completely. Mine alone. No man, noble, or king to take you from me. For you to love me and fear me. All this and I am your slave." Hilde did not tense or move as he spoke. She gave no signs of resistance or rejection. Indeed, she leaned against him and he could feel the blush that sprang over her cheeks and fanned across her chest.

"I can not be foresworn," Hilde said. Gunther scoffed, expecting her to give her usual reminder of how a hasty oath between themselves could risk the anger of those above them. He was surprised when she said, "I have pledged to honor and obey you, Gunnar. I trust you not to force me to abandon my other oaths." Gunther leaned back and looked down at her.

"And?" His expression was calculating. He was wary that she was engaged in some elaborate ruse. While others had forgotten her cunning, Gunther did not. It was more than mere coincidence that she served both house Viridis and Morrigan. She earned the title of Victory's Guardian long ago on the basis of that cunning. As she gazed up at him, adoration shining in her expression, mingled with lust, he was almost ready to believe she truly had surrendered.

"I love you as Jord loves her children," Hilde said, setting her left hand against his chest. He gazed down at her expectantly. Hilde wanted to say the words, but she felt awkward voicing them. She dropped her eyes as her discomfort became apparent in her expression. Gunther took hold of her chin and forced her head upward, making her look him in the eyes. As he gazed into their depths, his calculating expression slowly turned sly. For, he could behold that there was some measure of distress moving in them. Silently, Hilde looked up at him. He could see a plea in her eyes and expression, a quiet cry that she not be forced to say the secret she kept within that troubled her so.

Gunther's sly, knowing smile turned triumphant and cruel. Hilde began to look away as a deep blush colored her cheeks. He tightened his hold on her chin and she closed her eyes. "Oh no," he said in a tone rich with amusement and holding a promise of something more, "You don't get to run now, green maiden. Say it. Out loud." Hilde's blush spread farther down her chest and over her shoulders. Gunther chuckled at his wife's intense discomfort, idly wondering if there may actually be a full body blush from this predicament. "Open those pretty eyes, min swete," he added.

Hilde took a breath to steel herself against his look of amusement. When she looked at him, Hilde had a terrible sinking feeling deep within. It reminded her of the time some classmates from school had thrown her into the deep end of the pool, when she didn't yet know how to swim. She opened her mouth and no sound came out. Gunther waited with a hellish light in his eyes. She knew he meant her no evil but it didn't change how a part of her recoiled from it even as another part was thrilled. "You frighten me, Gunnar," she said in a small voice, sounding more anxious and vulnerable than she had intended and feeling herself in utter turmoil actually voicing the words, "You ... " Hilde found that her courage failed her when she tried to clarify her statement.

She moved to step back from him, looking away and finding herself beginning to tremble with the enormity of it all. Gunther moved forward with her. He gripped her to him with one arm about her waist and took hold of a fist full of her hair. Gunther pulled her head back in a harsh gesture. Hilde's eyes widened as she gasped in surprise. Gunther's mouth covered hers as he kissed her boldly. Hilde's response was to try to push her way out of his arms even as he drew a noise of pleasure from that kiss. Gunther laughed and abruptly let go of his wife.

She stumbled back and tripped over the tangled mass of leather at their feet. As she began to fall, Gunther darted forward and caught her. Hilde stared up at him, wide eyed and shocked. "Mmm," Gunther said thoughtfully, "This is a good day. You've brought me victory." He grinned. "I should ... reward you for your efforts," he continued as his tone turned suggestive. Gunther swept Hilde off her feet and set her upon their bed. As he looked down at her, he noted the contradiction between her look of distress and the desire in her eyes. Gunther chuckled and pulled his shirt off.

He dropped it to the ground and swiftly removed the rest of his clothes, looking down only to untie his shoes. Gunther climbed into the bed and pulled Hilde close to him. Her expression changed from unease to pleasure at the feeling of his skin against hers. A delicate shiver passed over her as her husband's hand passed lightly up from her waist to her breasts. With a careful touch, Gunther traced his hands over the scars she bore. Some were souvenirs from their past, rough games of love. Others were bitter reminders of how she had been truly tortured by Shaller. Even fully awakened, Hilde woke from those nightmares troubled and on the verge of terror.

Gunther looked at her scars and leaned down towards her waist. His lips settled lightly upon them. Hilde was uncomfortable with his tender attentions. She reached to dissuade him from it when he took hold of her wrists and held them firmly at her sides. He looked up at her face. Her face was a caught somewhere between pleasure and shame. "They are signs of glory and courage," he said. Tears brightened her eyes. Gunther rubbed his cheek against her stomach, smiling. "No frail flower art thou, green maiden," he said with a tone of deep affection and rising lust. Though Hilde was ready to deny his statement, Gunther did not let her and bit her right side.

The feeling of his teeth against her skin made Hilde start as she gave a long gasp of surprise. Gunther felt how her hands opened against his wrists and smiled. He ground the skin of her waist between his teeth, turning that gasp into a small whimpering sigh. Gunther ran his tongue lightly over the bruise forming there. He let go of her wrists and rose to his hands and knees. Hilde looked up at him, all traces of shame gone from her expression. He moved so that his face was over hers. They looked at each other.

Hilde's expression was guileless and open. As Gunther smiled down at her, he realized that she was not attempting somehow to play indifferent or prove her will stronger than his own. "There is one ... other thing," Gunther said. Hilde paled a little at the darkness in his eyes. Something inhuman moved within them. She had felt something of Gunther's more bestial side in the past with their sparring sessions and when he put her through her paces before giving her the release of orgasm. It had always seemed as though he held something back. Now, however, she was surprised that Gunther's dark eyed gaze had not changed to the eerie gold of a wolf's eyes.

He looked down at her with a smile that was wolfish, suggesting hunger and some other, dangerous thing. Gunther's smile grew as Hilde stared up at him uneasily. "A kiss," he said in a honeyed tone that held a threatening note beneath it. Hilde swallowed uncomfortably. When Gunther lowered his head and his mouth touched hers, he reached out with his ability to command the body's processes. His mind was focused upon one goal, giving his wife such a potent and powerful rush of pleasure that an addiction of sorts would form. What began as a simple open mouthed kiss, turned into Hilde giving a little cry of animalistic pleasure and lust as the Avalonian magic took hold and began its work.

It burned through her senses, bringing everything into sharp focus. As Gunther slowly lowered himself so that he lay upon her, Hilde writhed and gasped, gripping the fabric of the sheet below her in sudden fists. She had no words, for they ceased to matter. There was only arousal, pleasure and lust. And the awareness that Gunther had caused this. A part of her flailed in terror that her command over herself was to be lost. Then Gunther ran his right hand up her side. Thought was washed away with the sensation and she gave a strangled groan.

He ran his tongue along her cheek, tasting the sudden tears that rolled down them. Hilde gasped and spasmed beneath him. Gunther sat back on his heels. This brought an immediate reaction from his wife. She stared up at him with a look as though she had been drugged, for she had been though in unconventional means. Her expression was first confusion. Then it turned to pained desire. She reached for him. Gunther caught her wrists and slammed them down onto the mattress at either side of her head. Hilde softly sobbed, both satisfied by his action and desperate for more. She squirmed beneath him and tossed her head, yet more tears falling as she whimpered, too far gone in the effects of what he was doing to find words.

Slowly, Gunther leaned close to her. He took a deep breath and sighed. His lips landed softly on her shoulder and Hilde froze. He nipped at her skin and she shuddered with a shakey groan. He left a trail of love bites down from her shoulder to her left breast. As he dragged his tongue slowly over her erect nipple, Hilde gave a pained whine. Hilde arched, desperate to feel his skin against hers. "Ah, gods, please," she gasped when he moved away from her, her voice sounding as though she was nearly on the verge of tears. Gunther smiled. He hadn't anticipated her simply surrendering to the full force of his will.

She began to exert something of her knightly strength when Gunther said, "Lay still, Brynhildr. I'm not done yet." Hilde gave a soft sob as she struggled against the urge to break free of his hold and grasp him to her. Gunther let go of her wrists and chuckled at how she closed her hands into fists in an effort to control herself. He ran his left hand from her right wrist down to her hip. Hilde moaned. She shuddered with a tormented expression on her face. When he dug his nails hard into the skin of the outside of her upper right thigh, her eyes opened as she threw her head back with a gasp.

Slowly, he raked his nails down from her hip to her mid-thigh. Her eyes rolled as she gave a strangled noise. Her husband watched the way she trembled with the effort not to just wrestle him down and slake her lust upon him. Softly, he gave a contented sigh. He could see very clearly how difficult it was for her to resist both the effects of what he had done and continued to do through each touch and what her body was screaming for. While Gunther had played games of control with his wife, he did not press the matter as hard as he was this time.

He watched as his wife's considerable will began to waver in the face of how expertly he toyed with her. His hands wandered over her, one leaving the fine furrows that came of how he dug his nails in as the other left faint burns behind. She moved from somehow managing to be quiet despite the fever pitch of her lust to becoming much louder. When her gasping and moaning was loud enough that Gunther debated if a gag was necessary, he remembered he could command her silence and grinned. He watched how she shuddered when he leaned away from her and was confident that he had wrenched several orgasms out of her.

Hilde looked at him with a desperate, pleading look in her tearful eyes. While Gunther realized he could have simply stopped things entirely at that moment and left her in writhing, lust filled anguish, he suspected that it may have proven the thing that would break her control and resulted in the possible shift in power of the situation turning into something of a fight. As much as Gunther was intrigued by the idea, he decided to put that sort of game off for another, more private setting. Instead, he smiled at her. She closed her eyes with a pained noise, believing in error that he was simply going to let her lie.

"Just when I think you can not be more beautiful," he says, reaching over to brush a length of hair from her face, "the flower of house Viridis becomes yet more lovely." Hilde shuddered at the faintest of his touch. With deliberate, exaggerated gentleness, Gunther slowly guided her so that she was positioned to his liking. His wife's control slipped as she arched against him, but Gunther let the matter go. Frustrating her hunger for more forceful contact, he slowly and gently began to fuck her. Hilde's noises of pleasure were mingled with little cries of frustration. After a time, though, the sounds were all that of pleasure when his own desire for harshness became such he couldn't put it aside. Somewhere in the midst of his more forceful action, he took her head and pressed it to his shoulder, muffling her cries with his body.

Caught in the madness of lust and desperation, Hilde bit Gunther's shoulder as her body was wracked with her final orgasm. The sharp pain of her bite made Gunther bare his teeth in a sudden guttural noise of pain and pleasure. Hilde shuddered powerfully in his arms and then collapsed bonelessly to the mattress. Gunther looked down at her as unconsciousness rose up to claim her. As her eyes rolled and shut with a weak noise, Gunther's vision blurred as he reached his own point of climax. Gunther stiffly stretched out beside Hilde. He wrapped himself about her, smiling at her unconscious noises of pleasure. Gunther pressed a kiss against her forehead and let the strange command over her body that came from his will pressed so hard against hers slip away.

He smiled at how she laid defenseless in his arms, exhausted by the struggle against herself and Gunther's manipulations. Satisfied with how the entire interlude resulted, Gunther closed his eyes. Deep within his psyche, the monster that demanded he possess her fully and bend her completely to his will even as she would fight him quieted. He did not feel the need to wake her and continue to sexually torture her, to draw the pained expressions or little frustrated sobs out of her. Feeling truly satisfied for the first time since he had Awakened, Gunther drifted off to sleep.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Obvious disclaimer is obvious.

This is reposted from my Facebook account.

just because i'm sex positive, it doesn't mean that i endorse a lack of consent. i may write fiction that involves nonconsent and consensual nonconsent. the latter is a thing and it is out there. it is part of the sex positive thing. the former, however, is straight up assault and the only place it could be 'ok' is in fiction, because fiction is not real and no one is being hurt. this is why murder is ok in fiction but not in real life. 

Saturday, May 7, 2016


I tried to forget it. I tried to put out of memory the feelings that came from his touch. It wasn't out of shame. It wasn't out of a lack of desire. It was frustration. The misery that was my constant companion soured all delight that I encountered. It whispered lies that I didn't deserve it, that I didn't earn it. Each time my mind wandered down those paths of memory, I felt the edge of hunger sharpen and then depression come to blunt it by hammering the metal so that it was a useless impersonation of that painfully keen edge.

Sitting in the entry room, caught in my thoughts and struggling with the desire to flee because I felt so unworthy, I didn't notice when he arrived. It was warm in here. My shawl was stifling, but I held it tightly about myself like a security blanket, questioning why I had come. The sound of his footsteps on the tiled floor were precise, clipped sounds as the hobnails of his boots struck the floor. When he approached my right side, I looked over. I thought that I would find him attending business. I thought that I'd find him too busy to do anything other than give me a brief glance as his attention was drawn away to another pressing matter. Instead, I saw him gazing solemnly at me.

There was something I couldn't identify in his eyes, some type of heat that seemed familiar but alien at the same time. He wasn't dressed in the clothes that he usually wore this time of year. His hair was the color of golden ripe grain that looked almost brassy when the light coming in the window struck it. It was long enough that it did not fall in loose wave but in a near stick straight fall down his back with a few stray locks falling into his face. His shirt was near identical to what I had seen him wearing when he left to go hunting months ago, I vaguely wondered if it was the same. His jeans weren't skin tight but they still managed to show off the strength in his legs as he walked towards me. His movements were slow and measured as he approached me.

I watched him, unable to keep myself from feeling a quick surge of lust. He stepped out of the brilliance of the window's offerings. As he reentered the dimness of the room, his expression changed ever so slightly. The faintest curl of a smile touched his lips and my chest tightened. There, wearing the face of the gentle grain lord, I realized, I saw the hunter. I blushed and then blanched so quickly I found myself turning dizzy. His brilliant gaze was focused solely upon me, despite the others in the room and the courtier who called for his attention. I bolted to my feet. I had told myself I would sit and wait, that I would speak with him. But his fierce gaze and rapid approach set something primal in me to believe that flight was necessary.

I took a step backwards away from him. The subtle smile grew as I retreated back another pace. When he was nearly at arm's length away from me, I turned on my heel and ran blindly. I darted around a confused servant. My shawl caught on the edge of a door frame as I stumbled into it. Not caring that I lost it, I bolted out into the brilliant light of day. Dazzled by the light, I froze for a moment. That even, deliberate pace behind me didn't slow or quicken. I knew, however, that he was drawing close again. With a shiver, I ran with my heart hammering in something somewhere between terror, anticipation, and excitement.

Soon, I had reached the treeline. By the time I had passed deep enough into the trees that I thought I might be somewhat hidden from that gaze that could see so deeply into me, I slowed to a walk. I stepped behind a tree and closed my eyes. I bowed my head and tried to make my ragged breath more even. I heard a noise behind me. I raised my head and held my breath. He whistled merrily as he walked into the wood. I turned and peeked around the tree's trunk. Beneath the dappled light of the sun, I saw him walking along the path I left behind me in my wild flight. He stopped several feet away from me, looking at where I hid. His whistle died on his lips as he grinned at me.

"Fly away, little bird," he called to me with a note of challenge in his voice, "I will still catch you." I swallowed past a lump in my throat. He reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. As he did so, he called, "Run, little girl, while you can." I watched him pull it free from where it was tucked into his jeans and my mouth went dry. He took a step towards me as he shrugged it off of his shoulders. I gasped, suddenly feeling like I needed to run, like the feelings rising up in me were dangerous but not as dangerous as the one who evoked them. He laughed as I turned and fled.

Stumbling over roots and debris on the forest floor, I ran where I could and clambered elsewhere. Soon, I found myself on something that resembled a path. I then pelted down it into the dimness of the deep forest. After having run until my lungs burned and my legs were sore, I leaned against another tree and tried to rest. I trembled with the storm of emotions roiling around within me. I closed my eyes and slowly dropped down to crouch at the base of the tree. In the half light of the deep forest, I heard the sound of woodland animals quietly at their lives. High above me, birds twittered and did their courtship rituals. I was so focused on trying to catch my breath and quiet my anxious mind, I did not notice the sounds of someone approaching me from ahead of me on the path.

When it did register that someone was there, I looked up and found him standing a few feet before me. I squawked in alarm and tried to scramble back away from him, only to run into the tree behind me. He walked up to me, grinning at how I tried to find my feet. He loomed over me with his hungry, knowing smile. Slowly, he knelt down before me. His large hands reached forward and caught my wrists. With irresistible strength, he pulled my arms away from my chest, where I had curled them protectively before myself and brought them to my sides. He smiled with approval at how my breasts rose and fell with my quick, unsteady breaths.

He leaned forward, nestling himself between my legs. His face was a breath away from my own. I closed my eyes and my breath caught in my throat at the desire I saw there. "Oh no," he said in a tone that was quiet and filled with promise, "You can't escape that way." His mouth settled over mine and I froze. Slowly, he kissed me with all the knowledge and intimacy that came from how he had pleasured me in the past, from how he studied me and my responses to everything. As he kissed me, I began to relax. He chuckled softly, allowing me a moment to catch my breath before kissing me again. He let go of my wrists and wrapped his arms around me.

He pulled me forward and I fell against him. "You can't run from me," he purred in my ear and I shuddered. With a twist, he pinned me to the ground. As he sat on my hips, I stared up at him and felt like there was fire pouring through my veins. He reached forward and took hold of my shirt. As he slipped it off over my head, he grinned. "You can't run from your hunger either," he said before leaning down and taking my right nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard on it and I gave a low moan. As he rolled it between his teeth, I shuddered and moaned louder. He raised his head and looked down at me.

He stood up and kicked off his boots before stripping off his pants and underwear. I stared at his erection, my heart hammering even as I could feel my sex twitch. He ran a hand lightly over himself as he looked down at me. He knelt and pushed my skirt up. His soft laugh of triumph when he discovered that I was with out panties made me shiver. He parted my thighs and licked my clit. I groaned. With a low sigh of pleasure, he did so again. Slowly, he teased and nibbled at my clit as I squirmed beneath him and whimpered. When he slipped a finger deep in me, I gasped and moaned. Relentlessly, he rubbed my g-spot as he worried at my clit with his teeth.

I sobbed softly and tangled my fingers in his hair. He lifted his head for a moment to look at me. His hungry expression looked near possessive as he leaned over me. Powerfully, his hand pumped my sex. Soon, I shuddered and writhed as an orgasm arose. I gasped and groaned as it broke. I gave little cries as he continued with greater force. Wrenching orgasms out of me with his hands, I sobbed and writhed before him in the dirt. Bringing me to the edge of one that left me barely able to breathe, he stopped. I moaned and sobbed in protest.

He knelt and lifted my hips up to meet his. As he thrust into me, I loudly cried out. With almost savage force, he drove into me. I grasped at the air and wept with pleasure. I arched and he pushed me down into the stones beneath us. He pressed his face against my shoulder, breathing hard in my ear. I tossed my head, unable to help the orgasms that shook me. I sobbed and soon began to scream with them. The noise of my shrieks echoed off the trees around us, but he paid it no mind. As he bit down on my shoulder, I gave a long, keening wail that dropped down into a low moan. He continued to thrust into me as my strength ran out of me. Soon, I lay limp before him, shuddering. My cries gradually quieted and I was just choking with the ragged breaths I made. He had pushed me past where I could think clearly, where I could control my responses, and into where there was only pleasure. I lay helplessly beneath him as he drove me deeper into that place. As unconsciousness rolled over me, I felt my body shuddering with orgasms that crushed the breath out of me and all I could do was moan.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Hilde & Gunther: Second Courtship (Pt 2)

Once inside their bedchamber, Gunther set Hilde upon her feet. She watched him shut the door and lock it. As the weak moonlight was blotted out by clouds, the room grew darker. Hilde stepped towards the bed. Gunther's hand grasped her left wrist and he pulled her hard towards him. Hilde allowed herself to 'stumble' into him. Where Hilde expected his opening gambit in love play was to put her into some sort of shoulder lock, Gunther surprised her with a kiss against the back of her hand. He nuzzled her open palm as he slipped his free arm beneath the cloak to wrap around her waist.

In the darkness of the room, Hilde's cheeks colored. Gunther let go of her hand and cradled the back of her head in the palm of his hand as he guided her forward into a slow, sensual kiss. His gentleness, which would have made another relax, served to heighten Hilde's tension. Gunther broke the kiss and looked down at his wife. She stood still with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open as she took in a slow breath. Her willow withy colored hair was in all disarray as it tumbled over her shoulders and his hand. He smiled. As desperately as he knew she wanted to appear hard and distant, Gunther could see through the moments where Hilde's mask slipped that she was helpless to resist him, just as he was unable to resist her.

"Dame Rothstein," he said softly, "you have me at your mercy." Hilde's eyes opened and she looked up into his face. Despite the shadows and weak light from the skylight overhead, she could see that Gunther's usual expression of amusement  when he said such words was replaced with a look of tenderness. He lightly brushed a lock of hair from her face. Unsettled by his atypical gentleness, Hilde began to duck her head and look away. Gunther firmly held her against himself and watched as she tried to find some way to evade what he had evoked within her.

Gunther slipped his fingertips beneath her chin and guided her gaze back to his eyes. "I would do it all again," he continued in that quiet tone of conviction, "all of it and more. Just for this moment, Brynhildr." Hilde blushed girlishly. Gunther's smile of amusement arose and Hilde's blush deepened. "Brynhildr, the terror of foolish young men, blushes at my words," he chuckled, "She who happily, boldly beat her would be suitors into shameful submission now turns demure. Amazing what a few lifetimes will do." Hilde moved to punch Gunther in the shoulder when he tightened his hold about her and trapped her arms at her sides. He pressed his lips against her brow, murmuring, "I have caught you. What shall I do with you?"

Moving blindly through the dark room, Gunther and Hilde made their way to their bed. Hilde tried to will her racing heart to stillness. She tried to push aside the nervousness that rose up within her as they bumped into the bed. Gunther's warm hands opened the cloak's clasp and pushed it off her shoulders. As the woolen fabric fell to the floor with a soft noise, Gunther sighed. "Too much fabric in the way," he said with mild disappointment. As he tugged at the lower hem of her shirt and worked it free from where she had it tucked into her jeans, Hilde ran a hand over his chest. Beneath the worn flannel, she could feel the cut of his muscles and how they moved as he worked on beginning to undress her.

"Gunnar," Hilde said in a tone that was a ghost of a whisper. Gunther froze and looked intently into her face. "Why me?" she asked. Gunther's expression brightened as he smiled. He moved to kiss her when Hilde set her fingertips upon his lips and leaned away from him. "Why, Gunnar?" she said, finding herself suddenly dizzy with anxiety over what the answer could be. Gunther caught her hands in his own, brought them together, and pressed them to his chest over his heart. Hilde could feel his heart beat quickening like her own.

"That is why," he said. Hilde looked from their hands to his face. A lock of hair fell into his dark eyes, giving him a rakish air as an errant beam of moonlight cut through the night to fall on his face. Gunther's hands moved to rest on her hips. "This is why," he continued as he pulled her hips hard against his. He pressed his face against the hollow of Hilde's neck and took in a deep breath, savoring the scent of her skin and the perfume of sandalwood and rose that betrayed her rising arousal. A shiver passed through Hilde from her head to her toes. Gunther gave a husky chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her and snarled his right hand in her hair.

Firmly, he turned her head so that she was looking directly at him again. "Because, Brynhildr," he said in a tone that was almost a growl, "I need you. I burn for you. Let Avalon crumble. Let the world become ashes. It is nothing with out you." Hilde blushed again and tried to look away but Gunther's hold didn't allow her. He turned and leaned forward, pressing her down to the bed. Slowly, they laid down. "You are mine," he said before he kissed her. After a time, Hilde found herself becoming breathless and yet Gunther's hungry kiss did not fade. Pushing them past the edge of what non-Avalonian's could bear, Gunther kissed her as though he were trying to drink her soul from her lips. When he broke the kiss and propped himself up on his arms, Hilde took in a deep breath.

Her hands reached for him to draw him into another kiss, when Gunther pushed them aside and pinned her wrists to the mattress beside her head. With a soft groan of frustration, he muttered something she couldn't make out as he bowed his head and rested his brow against her left shoulder. His hands slipped from her wrists to travel down her forearms and then up to her shoulders. He took hold of the lapels of her flannel shirt. For a brief moment he hesitated, considering unbuttoning it, and then he pulled the fabric apart. As the buttons popped off, a wash of cool air moved over Hilde's stomach and sent a shiver through her.

Gunther unhooked Hilde's bra and pushed the cups aside to place a kiss over her heart. Hilde wrapped her right leg over Gunther's hip as his hands slipped under her back. He looked briefly at her face, noting how her eyes were closed in pleasure and the guarded caution he had seen earlier was washed away.  He leaned back, pulling Hilde up to a sitting position as he did so. Hilde's arms wrapped around him as she sat up.

She ran her hands over his back as she pressed her cheek against his chest, trying to commit to memory the feeling of that moment. Lightly, Gunther pushed her away from him. As he pulled his shirt off over his head, he silently damned social conventions that demanded they wear clothing. He threw it aside and then froze as Hilde's cool hands wandered over his sides and up along his spine. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his chest. Face pressed against his body, Hilde took a deep breath and relished the smell of her husband's skin. He felt warm, almost hot to the touch like someone who was feverish. As her hands moved over his back, she could feel the scars there like some kind of tale in braille that spoke of a life hard lived. For a moment, Hilde felt a deep sense of comfort.

"I could just hold you forever," she murmured. Gunther chuckled softly as he stepped back. He looked to the candle in the sconce near the head of their bed. With a flicking gesture, he used his superhuman command of Flame to set it alight. The sudden burst of light dazzled Hilde's eyes. In that moment, Gunther's hands cupped both sides of her face and he tipped her face upward. The blush of the candle light made her pale skin seem almost flushed. "If we could forget..." she started when his left hand moved so that his fingertips covered her lips.

"Don't think, Dame Rothstein," he said, "Feel." Hilde took a small breath to steady herself and gave her husband a lop sided smile. Gunther stepped back and took the remainder of his clothes off in silence. As Hilde watched him, she couldn't help but appreciate how the light played over his shoulders and the flickering shadows made him seem more of a thing of dreams than a man. When Gunther straightened, he looked over at his wife and found himself unable to think of anything more in the moment than watching how the light played over her lily white skin. His breath caught in his throat when she stood.

Hilde stepped up to him and set a cool hand on his bare chest, covering the valknut tattooed there. She laid her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. Comforted by the solidity of the man in her arms, Hilde breathed quietly. With a small motion, she found her way to pressing her lips against his. Gently, they kissed. Gunther's body heat seeped through the denim of her slacks and Hilde unconsciously pressed herself harder against him in a primal attempt to feel greater warmth in the chill room. His hands gripped her hips and she gave an unintentional noise of pleasure. "Mine," Gunther muttered into Hilde's mouth as she broke their kiss to take a breath.

Hilde made a small noise of delight and shivered. "Yours," she sighed in answer. Gunther's hands moved to unbutton her jeans and she pushed them away. She stepped back and sat down on the bed. As Hilde kicked off her boots, Gunther struggled with the urge to push her back down on the bed and rip each stitch of cloth off of her. His wife looked up briefly from her work unzipping her jeans and caught the expression of hunger in his eyes. She dropped her eyes with a sudden maidenly blush.

A sly, wolfish smile came over him when she stood and her pants dropped to the floor. She looked up just as Gunther came forward. He stooped and lifted her up in both his arms. Hilde gave a little, almost nervous sounding laugh when he dropped her naked form squarely on to their bed. As he crawled onto the bed with her, Hilde began to move aside to give him room. Gunther suddenly reached out and grappled her, pinning her in place. As he raised himself up on his arms, Gunther's mind raced.

Part of him howled to handle her as roughly as he had in the past, much to her delight. Another part of him saw the uncertainty that came from his gentleness and wanted to try this new facet to see its edges and fractures. As he deliberated what to do, Hilde squirmed beneath him. A quick grin flashed over his face at her mild discomfort and how her efforts to make herself more comfortable felt against him. Slowly, Gunther lowered himself until he was close enough that a deep breath would have made his chest touch Hilde's breasts. The look of amusement returned when he realized that the closer he came to her, the shallower Hilde began to breathe.

With deliberate daintiness, Gunther traced his index finger of his right hand along Hilde's jaw. As he did so, he allowed his supernatural command over the body's functions touch her. Where his fingertip passed, Hilde had a sensation of pure pleasure. She closed her eyes and shuddered with a sigh. Her breasts pressed against his chest and that electric sensation washed over her. "Ah, gods," she groaned. Where her legs were trapped between his, Hilde found that she simply couldn't lie still for the want of feeling more of his skin against hers. Gunther ran his fingertip over her lips and Hilde took in a shuddering breath. Acting on some primal impulse, Hilde opened her mouth and caught his fingertip lightly between her teeth.

"You're not trying to stop me, are you?" Gunther asked with an ominous chuckle. Hilde opened her eyes and looked up at him with a mixture of frustration and lust. He began to pull his finger from her mouth when Hilde bit down slightly harder. Gunther shifted his weight slightly, moving so that he sat squarely on her hips. As he did so, Hilde's eyes rolled with pleasure and she bit harder even as she moaned with pleasure. "Your precious control, Brynhildr, doesn't matter here," he said while he leaned back.

Hilde gave a harsh sigh, though Gunther couldn't tell if it was relief that there was less of the overwhelming sensations or disappointment for it. Hesitantly, Hilde touched his finger with the tip of her tongue. Her hold on his digit became less harsh as she smiled and caressed him again with her tongue. Satisfied that she had somehow taken control over the situation, Hilde raised her right hand and began to reach up to caress him. Gunther deftly pulled his hand away from her face as he ran his left hand up her side, making her gasp and arch slightly.

Gunther firmly grasped her breast and Hilde nearly sat up with a small, strangled noise of alarmed arousal. As he let his fingernails dig into that soft flesh, his wife's right hand slapped the mattress and gripped hold of the sheets while she made a guttural noise of pleasure. Stopping before he had even done enough to leave the faintest of bruises behind, Gunther watched the expression of tormented ecstasy on her face. His touch lightened and Hilde's eyes opened wide with surprise again. He traced where his fingernails had left small half moons behind. Hilde gave a pained whimper that Gunther recognized.

"All that fight," he said with amusement, "and I'm just taking it away. Byrnhildr Jordsdottir, you don't really want to fight me, do you?" Hilde looked up at him, shivering as he took his hand away and set it on his thigh. "You could push all of this away," he continued in a tone rich with suggestion, "You could fight me right now, but you're not. Aren't you going to fight me, Green Maiden? Pit your pride against my lust." Hilde breathed slowly, desperately attempting to figure out what the correct answer to his question was.

"I ..." she started when Gunther placed both hands on the mattress to either side of her head. He moved slowly, stretching out over her in an almost serpentine motion. As the aphrodisiac like effect of their skin touching increased, Hilde's comment was forgotten with a gasp. Reflexively, she wrapped her arms about him. She threw her head back and gave a small, keening cry as an orgasm rolled through her. Gunther pressed his face against where her left shoulder and neck met. Hilde gave a small sob of pleasure.

As they rolled over and her husband's arms wrapped around her, she felt tears on her cheeks as she struggled to draw breath in the face of how her body spasmed with pleasure. Gunther's hands slid down her back. He took hold of the backs of her thighs and guided her in parting her legs. Hilde's embrace about his upper back to her grasping his shoulders. "Quietly, Brynhildr," Gunther muttered in her ear. Hilde's weak sounding moan as she dropped her head down to his shoulder made him smile.

As he sheathed himself within her, Hilde straightened with a strangled cry, her hands pressing Gunther's shoulders down into the mattress. Gunther reached up and pulled her harshly to his chest. Hilde's eyes rolled as she made an animalistic noise sounding almost pained. Pinning her against himself with his left arm and holding her hips hard against his own with his right hand, he thrust into her with a hard motion. Hilde sobbed. Her thoughts were lost in the onslaught of arousal and pleasure that came with each breath and slight motion. Somewhere within her, a part of her insisted she shouldn't be so wanton, though all of her body screamed for more.

Gunther turned his head and caught Hilde's ear between his teeth. Hilde cried out and Gunther gave her a single swat on her buttocks. As she squirmed and took in a deep breath, Gunther did something unexpected. A low, inhuman sounding growl came from him. It was a noise that was entirely out of place, and yet it fit perfectly. Hilde shuttered and wept with the strange combination of arousal and confusion. Gunther thrust slowly into his wife as he slowly bit down harder on her right earlobe.

"Mercy," Hilde said in a tone that was such that most would have taken it as pure agony. Gunther opened his mouth and Hilde began to raise her head. He grabbed hold of the hair at the back of her head. With a harsh motion, he pulled her head to the side and bared her neck. He bit her neck over where her pulse was pounding. Hilde gave an anguished sob as her hands spasmed on her lover's shoulders. "Mercy," she whined, "Give me mercy..." Gunther ignored her words, noting she had not called out the safeword, and raked his nails down her back. "Ah gods..." Hilde gasped in a strangled tone.

Gunther's voice was hot with his own arousal and filled with his own dark hungers when he said sharply, "Mercy is for the weak." As thrust into her faster and harder, Hilde struggled to breathe and found herself seeing stars as her body seemed to take a mind of its own and writhed atop her husband. Becoming frustrated with their position, Gunther rolled them over again. Pinning Hilde beneath him by the shoulders, Gunther pushed himself up away from her. For a moment, Hilde lay still and shuddering. She stared up at him with wide, tearful eyes. On the right side of her throat, the bruise from his bite was livid in the golden candle light. Her breasts heaved with each gasping breath, one bearing a faint bruise from his grasp earlier.

Lust was plainly written in her face as was something like pain. Gunther looked down at her and smiled. Hilde paled slightly at the naked predatory light in his eyes. Resisting the urge to slake his lust upon his bride with all violence, Gunther leaned down. He opened his mouth and dragged his tongue over her cheek, tasting her tears. He kissed her, grinning at how she moaned into his mouth when he did so. When he raised his head, Gunther couldn't help his noise of hunger, a sound that was only slightly more human compared to his growl earlier. Holding her on the edge of yet another orgasm and unconsciousness, the man felt a rush of power for how she stared at him with both desperation for more and dread of it.

"You fear this," he said huskily in her ear, feeling immensely satisfied with how she squirmed and moaned as he did so. "You fear pleasure," he continued, setting the tips of his right hand against her cheek. Hilde shrank away from him with a pained whimper even as he felt her clench around his erection. "Most of all," he said as he traced the curve of her face and over her jaw, "You fear how much you need it, Harbinger of Joy. You fear it will consume you." Hilde tossed her head with a frustrated noise.

Gunther lightly took hold of her jaw and forced her to look directly at him. He smiled triumphantly at how the expression of dread deepened and how her breath caught in her throat. Gunther covered her mouth with his own. He gave himself over to his lust. Soon, Hilde was at a place where she normally would have screamed with pleasure. Gunther, however, did not allow her enough breath to do so, thus she only gasped. Increasingly deprived of oxygen, Hilde weakened beneath him. Sensing her drawing near a point where only her force of will would have kept her conscious, Gunther raised his head. He sucked in a lungful of air and then gave a harsh, guttural groan as he came. Gunther watched as Hilde's face was a mask of pleasure, she gave weak noises as she tried to catch her breath, and shuddered with a final, hard orgasm before she slipped into unconsciousness.

Gunther gave a satisfied little half growl of pleasure as he rolled off her. He sat up and pulled the tousled blankets from the foot of their bed up over the pair of them. Gunther allowed the magic of lust fade from his touch. Still, when he ran a hand lightly over Hilde's cheek, she shuddered with a weak orgasm and moaned. He smiled and wrapped himself about her beneath the soft fleece covers. He felt her twitch. Softly, he chuckled.

(Author's note: I'm not entirely thrilled with how this turned out. That said, I finally have the second part of the series up. It only took me a few months to write.)

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Hilde & Gunther: Second Courtship (pt 1)

Hilde stood at her post, watching the night move over the snow laden fields of her farm. Where those who had taken up the duty of guarding their little community from harm, they did not expect Hilde to spend a time in watch. It was near time for the next assigned watchman to come but Hilde found herself wishing it wasn't. Things between her and her husband had become difficult after she finally remembered herself. A part of her yearned to go to Gunther and ask him to forgive her curtness. Another part of her was filled with anger at how she had yoked herself together with him, feeling that she accepted him too quickly. The conflict within her turned into conflict with him. Gunther was happy to fight, joyous even. This only angered her more, to the point where she had not spoken to him in three days and refused to lie in their bed. Now, she regretted her refusal even as her anger over her husband's unbridled joy in their argument roiled within her.

The sky had taken on the shades of deep blue that came with the stars. Hilde shook her head at the distant lights of the town across the valley glowing orange on that hill. Footsteps sounded behind her. Hilde said nothing as she silently argued with herself. The wind shifted and she smelled Gunther's scent on it. "You hate me even as you love me," he said, "You lust for me even as you revile me. Gone is the woman who gladly sank into my arms at night. But I am happy for our parting because you have come into my life again." Hilde closed her eyes against the emotions that rose up in her, against the pleasure that came with the sound of his quiet, solemn voice.

"Go away, Gunnar," she said, unable to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. The facade of maintaining the image of doting adoration since the day that she returned to her senses was making her weary. Gunther moved closer. She heard the sound of fabric being moved. Then he set his cloak about her shoulders. Warmth was caught in that fabric and Hilde found herself feeling thankful for the small comfort it gave her against the night's cold. Then she forced the feeling aside.

Gunther's arms settled about her waist with the familiarity of their five years of marriage. Hilde stiffened, though she wanted to lean back against him. His voice was low and sounded almost soothing as he spoke to her with his lips nearly against her left ear. "Hearth-warder mine," he said, "What can I give to make you look on me with favor?" Hilde trembled for a moment. She wasn't sure if it was the chill night air, her internal chaos, or pleasure that she struggled to will away.

"Nothing," Hilde answered, her tone sharper than she intended. The part of her that wanted to turn and bury her face against his neck was pained and wanted to take back her words. Gunther reached up and pulled the cloak tighter about Hilde's shoulders as the wind picked up. "What do you want?" she asked quietly.

"You," he answered, "Only you. I would leave Avalon to follow you through the nine worlds and beyond. Either to hunt you or to be at your side." He stepped around in front of her. Hilde opened her eyes and looked up into his face. An awful stillness was in his expression as he gazed at her. "You are angry," he said, "with me?" A sharp word was on Hilde's lips until she realized what he was asking. "I will lay Doombringer between us," he continued in that careful tone, "We shall lay chaste as children. For as long as you will it."

"You're hurt by this," Hilde answered him. Gunther said nothing, merely looking at her. "I'm not angry with you," she said after a moment, looking away from him. Gunther started to reach to lay a hand against her cheek and then he halted, his hand just barely away from her skin. He started to pull his hand away when Hilde leaned her head against his hand. Hilde's eyes closed as she rubbed her cheek against his palm. An unintentional look of bliss crossed over her face.

Gunther's right hand settled against her left cheek and he turned her face towards his again. His mouth brushed lightly against hers, more of a mingling of breath than a kiss. His unexpected gentleness shook something deep within her. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she closed her eyes tighter. "Why do you fight this?" he asked as he brushed them away with his thumbs.

"It is in my nature to fight," Hilde answered, doing her best to keep her tone neutral. There was the slightest quaver in her voice. If Gunther had not been paying close attention to his wife, he would have missed it. But now, he was keenly aware of how her breath caught before she spoke and the faint tremor of tension that ran through her. "This is not how it should be," Hilde said and again regretted the words as they left her mouth. Gunther saw the small expression of pain flicker over her face. Concern for her erased the pain that came from her words in his heart.

"How should it be then, my love?" he asked. Hilde opened her eyes. She looked up at him, her expression turning to miserable anguish. "What is it that thou hast wished for in the depths of thine heart, bride of mine?" he said as his tone turned both more formal and yearning.

"Go," she said in a small voice, "let me be." Hilde closed her eyes again and brought a hand up to cover her face. A small sob shook her. Gunther let his hands fall to his sides. Thinking he was about to walk away, Hilde turned and sank to her knees as her tears burned their way down her wind chilled cheeks. "I shouldn't be like this," she gasped, "I shouldn't feel this way. Ah, gods, why? He has weakened me." Her face covered with both hands, Hilde wept at Gunther's feet, too caught in the force of her conflicted grief to notice he was there.

"Brynhildr Jordsdottir is one of the strongest and most courageous knights I have ever known," Gunther answered, "The only one who can truly harm her, who can break her, is herself. Which I fear she is doing now."

"Go away!" she shrieked, her head whipping up and her face turning towards him, "Don't look at me like this." Gunther knelt beside Hilde. She closed her eyes and turned her face away from his look of loving compassion. Another sob struck her and Hilde hit the ground with all of her strength. Slowly, carefully, Gunther gathered her into his arms. Hilde, who had begun to weep again, let him. "I am undone," she said with a choking sob, "all by you." "All by you," she repeated weakly.

"Shall I leave then?" he asked. Hilde's reply was lost in her sobs but she threw her arms around him in a desperate effort to keep him by her side. "What is wrong?" he asked.

"I need you," she said in a tone thick with self loathing, "I need no man. But I need you. If you are gone, then I am nothing. What good am I? I am a weak, worthless woman. Ruled by my fickle heart rather than my head. I am tolerated, nothing more." Gunther smiled and held her close.

"Is that what the problem is?" he said, unable to help his amusement. Hilde moved to shove him away. "Be still," he commanded, amusement replaced with something sharper. Hilde hid her face behind her hands, shaking with tears that she hated. "It seems that Hilde's heart remains," Gunther said fondly, "As does her pride. But, perhaps that tender heart has always been there, guarded by your anger." Gunther laid his cheek against the top of Hilde's head. He sighed, relishing the feel of her in his arms and the way the scent of her shampoo mingled with the bitter notes of wormwood and rue that hung about her like perfume. "It is good that tender heart is there," Gunther said slowly, "It is the most charming thing about her."

"It makes me a liability," Hilde answered bitterly.

"No," he said, "It is your hidden strength. Others underestimate you on account of it and they are fools for doing so. Only your supple, gentle heart, kept our daughter alive and McManus's family. Only the anger evoked in that heart at the injustices of the world could reform countless lives through the Daly project, and the grief of his death." Gunther placed a kiss on her head before leaning back. His hands settled to either side of her face and turned her head until she was looking directly at him. "I shall woo you, Brynhildr," he said, "With all the fierce determination that has lead me to chase you through the ages. I shall show you that your heart is a thing of beauty, like a knife's edge in moonlight."

"We are married," Hilde replied flatly.

"I am wedded to Hilde, but Brynhildr's heart is not entirely mine," he answered in a tone of mild reproach, "I would have all of you, Green Maiden. And show you the strength you fail to see. I may be a monster, but I am civilized. I wear the mask of a man very, very well. So you have told me. I know that you are drawn to the monster within me. You watch me with hunger because of it. Only a woman of incredible strength can stand me. I have broken others. You, however, do not break. You thole your wounds but you do not break. You do not understand this. I shall show you through your bleeding wounds."

"I bear no wounds, Gunnar," Hilde responded warily.

Gunther smiled. "Oh, but you do, my love," he answered, "great ones pouring heart's blood. I shall drink that blood even as I help you bind them. You have loved me for my cruelty and hated me for my kindness. You do not realize, it is all cruelty. To deprive the masochist of the blow they ache for is greater torment than whipping."  Gunther kissed Hilde slowly and gently, but with force that would have been irresistible to someone who didn't have the strength of Avalon in their veins. Hilde gave herself over to the kiss despite herself, unable to push aside the desire for comfort that came with his kiss.

When he broke the kiss, Gunther stood. He looked down at Hilde, kneeling in the snow, and he smiled wider. "You are such a pretty sight," he said. Hilde's expression morphed from something vulnerable to one of annoyance. Gunther laughed and Hilde's annoyance deepened. He held out his hand to her. "Come, hearth-warder mine," he said, "The night is cold and I offer you a warm place to lay your pretty head. We shall lay chaste as children, if you wish, but it is my right as your husband to lay with you. I know you have no desire to be foresworn." Anger flickered in Hilde's eyes as she looked up at him. "Ah," he said contentedly, "My joy is complete." Hilde rolled her eyes and started to her feet on her own. Gunther stooped slightly and abruptly swept Hilde off her feet. "And the bride groom shall carry his new wife over the threshold so that she might not stumble and bring ill luck upon their house," Gunther continued.

Hilde found herself on the verge of arguing with him but decided that it was more effort than what she wished to engage in. As Gunther carried her lightly down the lane back to the longhouse, the man who was to relieve Hilde at her watch stepped to the side as they passed by. They soon came to the doors and found them opening as they reached them. Gunther's demeanor was merry as he walked the length of the hall to their sleeping chamber. Hilde's expression of irritation was ignored by her husband when he paused to speak with the man who was their chamberlain. Gunther's hold on Hilde tightened impercetibly before the farmer's eyes, but Hilde was aware of the silent message. She set her head on Gunther's shoulder and sighed with exasperation.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

Hilde & Gunther: Awake

Hilde hit the punching bag. The back swung away from her. On the return swing, she kicked it before hitting it again. Relentlessly, she pummeled the heavy bag. In her mind's eye, she saw the face of the man who had raped her when she was a teen. Each blow, she envisioned her strikes hitting him. Her anger made her vision take on a faint haze of red. So focused on her strikes, Hilde didn't notice when Gunther walked into the training room.

He watched his wife as she beat the bag with sufficient force that he was glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of it and wondered what the Urban knights had done to make it durable enough to withstand an Avalonian's fury. A small snarl twisted her full lips and her eyes were narrowed. Hilde's long hair, the color of willow withies, was in the process of falling out of the messy bun she had it tied up into. The fly away bits gave her something like a halo, which made Gunther smile. Dressed in one of his band t-shirts and a loose pair of pants, she wasn't exactly in her finery. That didn't stop his heart from quickening at the sight of her. If anything, it served to heighten his attraction to her because she didn't care how she looked.

Gunther waved off a squire's offer to take his duffle bag. Gunther dropped the black bag on the floor. The equipment he had used in his mission clattered with its landing but the sergeant paid it no mind. He looked about the room at the equipment and his eyes fell on the red oak staves that were standing near a large window that looked out on the courtyard of the embassy. The brown haired man crossed the room and picked out two that he decided was sturdy enough. He briefly considered taking the metal ones but chose the wooden ones for the additional level of control they demanded.

He walked up to Hilde. She ignored his approach and the noise of him dropping the staves. He reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. Hilde, so caught up in her meditation of revenge, turned with her right fist raised ready to strike. Gunther smiled at the sight. His wife's expression moved from a mixture of rage and some undefinable emotion that came over her when the past was brought up to irritation. "You need a fight," he said. She turned back to resume beating the heavy bag when Gunther tripped her.

Hilde hit the ground and rolled away from him. As she came up to her feet, she glared at him, anger simmering in her eyes. Gunther picked up the staves. He tossed one at her before bringing his own to bear. Giving her a moment to get to her feet, the former Morganite attacked his love. Blows were traded with increasing ferocity in eerie silence. For each attack, there was a counter attack. Then, by dumb luck, Gunther got a blow past Hilde's defenses and struck her on her right bicep.

The silence was broken when Hilde gave a cry of pure anger. Gunther was then working to keep his furious wife from pummeling him. A few people chuckled. The sound of their amusement pricked Hilde's senses and only deepened her fury. The sergeants fought and Gunther realized that something about Hilde's mental state had changed. In her gaze, she somehow went from a brilliant burning glare that she usually gave him when they were arguing to something cold, if fusion could be cold.

Her body movements lost the slight hesitation that they held when she fought him. Instead, Gunther found himself facing the full force of his wife's blows. When the stave in his hand broke into two in his hands from a blow from hers and the end of her stave was beneath his chin, forcing his head up, Gunther looked at her. This was not the Hilde he had come to know, this was something different.

"You never could beat me with sticks, Gunnar," she said. Gunther's eyes widened slightly when he realized all the different fractured parts of Hilde's soul had finally settled together into their proper order. Hearing the words of Brunhildr out of the mouth of the woman that incarnated as Brunhilde in this life time with all the disgust from that first life present mingled with the irritation of the present life, Gunther began to smile like a man who had won the county fair's greatest prize. Hilde gave him a look of annoyance.

When she turned and looked about the room with her new eyes, she spotted the pair of squires who had been amused with Hilde's unexpected ferocity against her own husband. One of them hastily looked away. The first locked eyes with the woman who had been known as perhaps the gentlest of the Viridis knights. That anger in her eyes made him pale. As she passed them by on her way to the locker room, Hilde said quietly, "Never laugh at me, unless I have made a joke." The shaken squire stammered something. Gunther walked up to the pair.

"Now she's truly Awake," he said, "This is where things get interesting." Gunther picked up his gear and looked over at the broken stave laying beside the others. He shook his head. When he walked to the armory, he couldn't stop thinking about the wildness in Hilde's eyes or the way her cheeks were flushed with her effort. He found himself feeling a hunger to make this changed Hilde cry out again, a part of him wanted it to be a cry of ecstasy. But the monster that lurked with in him wanted to hear that cry of pained fury again and again. Gunther closed his eyes and took a deep breath, envisioning himself in bitter cold water. He did his level best to calm himself. Then someone nudged him in the shoulder and he heard Constantinius say with something that could almost pass for wry amusement, "I don't think that's the proper way to salute an officer."

Gunther's eyes snapped open and he looked over. The Tombknocker that, in life, was Hilde's grandfather, looked at Gunther with a droll expression as Gunther shifted the bag of gear in an attempt to cover his improper salute. "Go deal with your issue," Constantinius, "I just wanted to make sure that you were aware I had received the report. I'll stow this stuff. Gives me a break from paperwork." Gunther gave the dead man a grin. "If you have to, make it a son this time," Constantinius said to him as he turned to walk off.

"I'll give it my best effort," Gunther called over his shoulder as he left to seek his wife. Gunther found her in their apartment. With all the stealth he could muster, he had entered the apartment and stolen to where he could watch her as she scrubbed the oven, clearly still angry with something. Gunther suspected it was himself and he couldn't be any more delighted than he was. He gazed longingly at the curve of her hips and the way they felt in hand. Hilde suddenly stopped her cleaning and straightened. She threw the wash rag into the sink full of scaldingly hot soapy water.

"Gunnar," she said flatly. Unsure if she had noticed him or not, Gunther's breath caught in his throat and for a brief moment an unfamiliar feeling touched him, it was that of being outmatched by the knight before him. "Him and his damn pride," she snarled as she shut the oven with a slam, "Always have to be the center of attention. Won't leave me alone for five fucking minutes." She picked up her wash rag out of the water and turned, clearly ready to scour the counter top between them with an unholy fury. Hilde's eyes narrowed. "You," she said in a tone thick with loathing. She flung the steaming rag at Gunther's chest as she spat viciously, "You interrupted me. You always interrupt me. You don't have the damn simple courtesy for an excuse me, do you?"

The wet, hot rag struck him with a slap, leaving a wet patch against his chest. Gunther had the grace to at least wince in discomfort from the painful heat. Hilde knew it was nothing more than a show. Previously, this mollified her anger to some small extent. Now, however, Hilde ground her teeth, knowing that to her husband, the scalding heat of the wash water was to him like tepid bath water. A part of her wanted to let things go. A part of her desperately wanted to just go back to her cleaning. That part, however, was ruthlessly quelled, as Hilde said, "Don't have a damn thing to say, do you?"

Gunther gave a slow, hungry smile. Hilde shook her head. "Oh no you don't," she said, "Not this time." He started around the corner of the counter when she moved with shocking speed. Surprised by her rush, Gunther found himself barely able to stop his face from slamming into the polished speckled black granite. "You.." she started when Gunther twisted out of her grip and kicked her feet out from under her. Hilde hit the ground and started to roll to her feet when Gunther dropped down upon her.

He sat squarely in the center of her abdomen, grabbing her wrists as she moved to throw him off of her and pinned them at the center of her chest over her wildly pounding heart. Hilde twisted beneath him, but her husband moved with her, still managing to keep her pinned. "What the fuck do you want?" she demanded, "Why won't you leave me the fuck alone to finish shit?"

Gunther looked Hilde over and he gave a small, almost contented sounding sigh. "You," he answered, "I want you." Hilde was about to spit some sort of angry retort when Gunther leaned down and kissed her. With that kiss, something inside her switched. She tried to pull her wrists out of his hold, but he pressed harder. Gunther could smell how her scent had switched from wormwood to sandalwood and rose. He grinned as he kissed her again, sliding his hands up her forearms to her shoulders and then into her hair.

He repositioned himself so that his hips were squarely over hers and his erection was pressing against her. Hilde gave a small sound of frustration when he broke the kiss. As he sat back, Hilde watched him. Where previously she would have lain still and simply stared at him, this time, she sat up as soon as he was sitting on his heels. She took hold of the neckline of his shirt and pulled him to her. Gunther pushed her back and she made a noise that sounded closer to anger than lust.

Soon, they were wrestling on the floor. When things had come to an end, somehow they had managed to tear each other's shirts and given each other bruises that were forming over their arms and torsos. Gunther was atop Hilde, breathing hard as he stared down at her with his dark hair falling into his eyes. He leaned down and ran his tongue over the edge of her right shoulder, relishing the taste of her sweat and the delicate shiver that passed through her. Her hands took hold of the ragged tatters of his shirt and tore them off his shoulders.

He took hold of her right wrist and pressed it to the tiled floor beside her head. His voice was husky with arousal and a pleasure that ran deeper than mere sex when he said quietly in her ear, "Hild me, Green Maiden mine." Hilde arched against him and wrapped her right leg around him. Gunther relaxed his hold when suddenly she moved and he found himself pinned on the ground with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Be wary of what you seek," she answered, sounding delightfully breathless. Gunther started to sit up and they were wrestling again. By the time Gunther had managed to have Hilde pinned again, it was only by the perverse quirk of fate that bodily mechanics worked against her. Gunther's grin was reckless. Hilde's fight to assert dominance in the situation was hard but he realized he was beginning to wear her down. Slowly he lowered himself down so that his face was but a breath away from hers.

"Victory shall be mine," he purred. Hilde's shoulders twitched before she tried to wrench her wrists out of his grip. Taking the warning as presented, Gunther did the unexpected thing and released her wrists. Her arms flung out with the force of her motion, which was harsher than necessary for she had anticipated resistance. Gunther took hold of Hilde's head with both of his hands and he kissed her. It was a hard kiss that bruised her lips. As she began to become breathless, Hilde softened beneath him, her hands falling lightly on his back.

He pushed the kiss until their bodies were screaming for breath and then a bit farther, treading past the limits of a non-Avalonian boldly. When he finally broke the kiss, Hilde took in a deep gasping breath. Gunther breathed more quietly and slipped his hands beneath her armpits. As he stood and lifted her up, Hilde decided that amorous combat was the field that she would conquer him on. Gunther continued to lift Hilde until he held her high enough so that her breasts were well positioned before his face. Hilde wrapped her legs around his waist, shifting the dynamic so that he no longer needed to use all his strength to hold her.

He wrapped an arm about her waist and held a hand between her shoulders. Gunther closed his mouth over her right breast. Where she had expected him to give her love bites, he caressed her nipple with his tongue. Hilde gasped as she wrapped her arms about his shoulders. Gunther blindly carried her through the apartment to their bedroom, knowing the room like the back of his hand. In the bedroom, his feet encountered one of his wife's slippers laying in the middle of the floor. With a small growl, he kicked it aside on is way to the bed. He lowered her to the bed and held still, enjoying the way she was wrapped about him.

He nuzzled her right breast as she lightly ran her fingertips over a scar on the back of his right shoulder. His left hand clamped down hard over her mouth heartbeats before his teeth sank into the soft flesh. Her cry of surprised pain was muffled. Gunther felt tension run through her as he slowly bit harder. Hilde's soft caress turned into hands pressing at his shoulders to push him up and away from her. Gunther dragged his tongue over her rapidly bruising flesh as his right hand moved down to her hips.

Hilde shuddered and gave a confused moan of pleasure as he pushed the sweatpants down her thighs. Heat began to burn in his lips as he kissed and nibbled his way up to her throat. His inhuman command of heat lead to small burns beginning to form where his mouth had passed. When he reached her throat, the heat was such that she was again attempting to push him away. He muttered against her neck, "Fight me. Win and you'll be free." Hilde hesitated in her resistance and Gunther bit her neck. Muffled against his hand, Hilde gave a loud cry of pained ecstasy. Gunther lifted his head and looked at her.

Caught somewhere between the urge to fight him and the desire to surrender, she looked up at him with wide eyes. Gunther slid his right hand down her body and into her panties. As he caressed her clit, Hilde nearly sat up right in shock at how cool his touch was. With the skill acquired from years of learning his lover's body, Gunther brought her to the edge of orgasm and stopped. As he teased and tickled her, he watched her eyes. Lust won out over her desire to fight and soon it turned to pained need.

Gunther stood and pulled Hilde's remaining garments off with casual violence. Rather than turning off that greedy need for his touch, the abruptness of his divesting her of her clothes made her shudder with pleasure. Gunther took off his pants and stroked his erection with a hand made damp with his wife's juices. She started to sit up and reach for him when he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled them to meet his. Thrusting in with a single, powerful motion, Gunther bared his teeth in a hiss of pleasure.

There was no tenderness in their amorous combat. He rode her with the violence that burned within them both. Hilde writhed beneath him in such a fashion that a lesser man would have struggled, but Gunther had no such problems. Her nails raked against his back, drawing blood where they passed.
She bit down on his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood in the end, an effort to muffle the screams of pleasure he ripped out of her with his harsh fucking. By the time his climax had reached him, Hilde was struggling mightily to remain conscious, though each orgasm weakened her further.

Hilde stared owlishly at him when he stretched out beside her on the bed, his knightly gifts healing the wounds she left on him. "Still fighting?" Gunther asked with a tone of dark amusement. He could see in her eyes that she was on the verge of calling on her knightly gifts to push past the lethargy that was spreading through her in the afterglow of their sex. Gunther's smile turned to a grin of satisfaction as he watched the struggle within her. Calling on his own gifts, he said with the force of a Royal command, "Sleep."

As her lids fluttered shut, Gunther was nearly sure he could see her final conscious thought in them. It was exhausted defiance. Her breathing took on the slow even rhythms of deep unconsciousness shortly later. Gunther sat up and pulled the blankets over them. "Thank goddess for the Urban knight's building habits," he said with a satisfied grin as he lay back down, "Tonight is probably going to be much louder. She's mad." He chuckled, pleased with his victory, however temporary it was.