warriorborn | (no subject)

She brushes off his first comment. It does not apply to this situation as he is certainly not celibate. Despite their various interuptions and false-starts, it is clear that he is interested in her, physically.

"So I've come to understand," she says lowly, knowing full well that her own points of shame do not adhere to reason. "And yet, I want you all the same." She gives his hair a gentle tug before she separates them, taking the path of reason this time, knowing that they are mere steps away from someone who can discover them.

"And trust me, you will not disappoint me."

Perhaps it is because he feels so vulnerable in this moment, perhaps it is because her stepping away from him reminds him of his duties towards her, but the look Ninon gives him as she promises him he will not disappoint has him balking a little.

"Ninon..."

It is not right. He ought not even call her by her given name, were he properly following protocol — although that really doesn't seem to sit well with the Spirearch's family, as even the Spirearch himself insists on being called Addison — and the scandal that would ensue if anyone found out that he was sleeping with his charge would be astronomical.

But he can't deny that he wants her, desperately. He's been denying himself what he wants for so much of his life, that the prospect of potentially being able to have it, to have her, is somewhat overwhelming.

"It is for you to decide. And only you," she says with a gentle, uncharacteristically helpless shrug of her shoulders. She cannot and will not force him into something he doesn't want. It's obvious that he wants her but she also knows that the risks might be too great for him.

For that, she cannot fault him. She is royalty in her own right, the scandal may inconvience her for some time but it would not ruin her life like it will his.

"I will be in my library at midnight." She reaches up to touch his cheek and smiles before she moves forward towards the door, knowing on the other side of the door is a team of servants ready to prepare her for bed.

He swallows sharply when Ninon reaches up to touch his cheek, his own hand lifting to catch hers as she withdraws so he can bend over her hand and kiss her fingers, grateful and reverent even though he does not know exactly what he's going to decide in the end.

Letting her slip away, Benedict watches until she closes the door between them and then takes up his customary place outside her doors, trying to reach deep into himself to find that calm center that was so easy to sink into when he was at the Temple.

There is a certain thrill that comes with knowing what she knows about him now. Despite what she may have thought, he has no experience in the ways of women. It is an exciting prospect, to show him how to do... well any of it. To show him what pleasures and joys can be had and provided.

She's distracted all the while her maids work on undoing all their previous hard work, stripping her of her gown, helping her to bathe and unpinning her hair.

Soon enough, she's in her delicate nightclothes and robe, finally left alone and able to slip into her library. She takes a book from the shelves and begins to read, eager to see what his decision may be.

Benedict spends the entire time he is standing guard outside her rooms warring with himself, going over the same old arguments he's had in his head countless times already. She is quite obviously a woman grown, so that, at least, is not an issue he has to worry about. And yet, she is a good ten years older than he, if not more, and with that undoubtedly comes some issues he has not yet considered. Will she expect things of him he cannot give her? She already knows that he is a virgin, that he is utterly ignorant of what to do except in the most theoretical of senses. She has said it doesn't bother her, but it does bother him, and what else is there to say about that?

If they are discovered, she will never escape the gossip that follows her. Every man she speaks to will be a potential lover in the eyes of the ton, regardless of who he is or how old he may be. She will be painted as some sort of insatiable hussy, a woman who is slave to her desires so much that she does not care if she beds even one of the warriorborn.

Benedict's personal reputation will be ruined, but at least he can take solace in the fact that all he will be doing is confirming people's worst suspicions about him; he is already assumed to be ruled by baser animal instincts, so the gossip-mongers should be thrilled by his lapse in judgement. He will be stripped of his position, potentially even stripped of his commission with the Guard itself — oh, Addison will undoubtedly be furious, that he took advantage of the kindness offered him in such a way — but at least he can always return to the Temple if he has to. The monks will despair of his poor judgement, but they will welcome him back into the fold nonetheless, of that he is moderately certain.

Still not having quite reached a firm decision, Benedict finds his feet taking him through the door into Ninon's rooms without conscious direction from his brain, and when he slips through the adjoining door into the library, his heart is beating as fast as a Cat's in his chest.

Ninon understands the risks as well as he does, she turns them over in her mind over the time they are apart, distracted from her reading. It is reckless in a way she's never quite been. Defiant? Yes, she's had her moments but she is hardly reckless, as there have been no occasions for her to be.

The maids have long since been dismissed for the evening and after an hour, she falls back into reading, her thoughts settling despite the hour growing nearer. And when she hears the sound of the door clicking behind him, she's almost surprised to see him.

In all honesty, she hadn't been sure he would show. Setting her book down upon her lap, she shifts on the aptly named loveseat, sitting up straighter. And yet, she smiles.

"Benedict."

He hesitates by her door, his hands flexing at his sides, beset by nerves and terribly indecisive.

"I don't..." He breaks off and shakes his head at himself. There is no point in saying he doesn't know what he's doing, because it's more than obvious he has no idea why he's making the decisions he is, and she already knows he doesn't know what he's doing in that regard.

Swallowing, he musters up his courage and crosses the room in a few long strides, dropping to his knees in front of her so he can take her hands in his.

The smile she gives him is encouraging and undeniably pleased as he makes his way across the room towards her. He's made his decision and she cannot say she is disappointed.

When her hands are in his, she gives his a squeeze. "Do not be nervous," she says with a quirk of her lips and a sparkle in her eye that is unmistakable even in the low light of the room. "I will show you how and besides, you've always been a fast learner."

She brings one of his hands to her lips, kissing the back of it. "But only if you are certain you want this."

He laughs quietly, the sound a little more tremulous than he would like, and squeezes his fingers around her hands as she lifts one to her lips.

"Ninon, I have wanted you since I first saw you."

Well, perhaps not quite that long, as he has known who Ninon was since he was a child, but still. Since, at least, he grew old enough to know what wanting was, and to know that he would never have her. She was a safe woman to desire, because she was kept so far above him; it had not been a conscious decision to desire her, but since he would never have the chance to have her, he would also never have to suffer her rejection.

Now that he can have her, and has not been rejected, he's not quite sure what to do next.

"Would it shock you to know that I felt the same about you?" She doesn't give him a chance to answer, however. She leans forward to capture his mouth with her own, one hand leaving his so she may balance on his shoulder and pull him up towards her at the same time.

There was something about him, an energy that met with a unerving calm, one she'd seen in the training yards and in the manor alike. An magnatism she wanted to be around, one she could not help but be drawn to.

Her whole being wants him now, her body is abuzz with anticipation, eager to see what she can make him feel.

She leans in to kiss him the moment her question leaves her lips, but it does not stop Benedict from breathing a yes into their kiss. Yes, it does shock him to know that, and yes, he wants her to kiss him desperately.

He goes to her easily, letting her pull him in closer, his arms dropping about her waist to slide around her and cradle her close as he leans in towards her, acutely aware of the fact that she is wearing next to nothing at all, and he is still fully dressed in his uniform, his saber at his hip.

It saddens her to know that he thinks himself so undesirable even if she understands why. He's been conditioned to think lowly of his kind, having been treated as lesser. If she had her way, she would change that with all warriorborns but she does not have her way. And this particular warriorborn's feelings and sense of self-worth are important to her now, in this moment and the next.

She kisses him as he pulls her closer to him, tugging her a little more off the sofa as a result. She hums against his lips, fingers moving to slide through his hair just as he likes.

It is better to start with the familiar, to make moves he can antipiate and slowly progress further.

Through the weeks they have been indulging in this little dalliance of theirs, Benedict likes to think he's gotten fairly competent at this kissing lark. He is, at least, relatively comfortable doing it, has finally given up the constant fear that he will somehow bite her or nick her lips with his sharp teeth, which had been a not inconsiderable concern at the beginning.

Benedict has spent his entire life compensating for what he is, being extra careful of his strength and his speed, and this is just one more instance where he must be aware of the fact that he is different from those around him.

He tips his head back as Ninon runs her fingers through his hair, pushing it back out of his face, her nails scratching in a way that never fails to send a little shiver of pleasure tripping down his spine.

It hadn't been difficult to figure out how much he liked the way her fingers felt in his hair, especially when she drew her nails across his scalp, lightly. Now that there should be no interruptions, she decides she might see what other things can make him shiver in that same way.

Humming softly, she breaks from the kiss, drawing her lips along his jaw and down his neck, tasting his skin with lips and a little tongue. The hand not in his hair lets go of his, moving to the fastenings of his uniform, eager to loosen it just a little.

They do not have all night like she wishes they could, she wonders if it wouldn't be wise to keep some of his many layers on this first time. "To think I thought this uniform attractive and now I simply want to be rid of it."

He huffs a little laugh as she complains about his uniform, feeling a little dazed already just from the wet heat of her mouth on his throat, and hurries to help her divest himself at least of his jacket.

He shrugs out of it and lets it fall to the floor without caring, leaving him in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, everything primly buttoned and starched as it befits a proper guardsman to be. In this instance, however, he feels just as irritated towards it as she does.

"It is not supposed to be attractive," he protests, still smirking, abandoning his ethersilk waistcoat for the time being so he can instead reach for her again.

"Then whoever designed it for you failed miserably," she murmurs appreciatively, leaning back to watch him undress for a moment before she's back to kissing along his neck.

When his hands return to her body, she reaches down to once again, guide one of them up to her breast. This time, however, he will not find layers of fabric or a bodice in his way, just a simple silk nightgown, one whose fabric is laughably thin and should leave close to nothing to his imagination.

"I'll be sure to pass along your criticism," he replies, watching her move his hand like it might belong to someone else.

The only reason he refrains from saying something laughably stupid like 'you're so soft,' when she places his hand on her breast again is because he feels like he might have swallowed his tongue. She is soft, and warm through the silk of her nightgown, and he rubs his thumb wonderingly over the flesh in his hand as he tries desperately to look less poleaxed than he feels.

He is not ignorant of the anatomy of a woman, having been an excellent student both at the monastery and in the guard, but he is more used to looking at diagrams or the bodies of his fellow guardsmen, whom he can view with a far more detached, clinical air. After all, when one is practicing field medicine in the stress of a combat situation, it is rather irrelevant if the body beneath your hands has breasts or not.

This is wildly different, although his heart is racing just as much as if there were gauntlet fire screaming past his head.

As a woman, she cannot imagine what it might be like for a man to touch a woman in such a way, for the first time. And despite his efforts, he cannot hide the wonderment in his expression as she guides him to touch her.

She hums softly, approving of his touch, wanting to encourage him. Pulling back from his neck, she moves to slip out of her open robe, her hand slipping out of his hair one last gentle, playful tug. "Feel free to explore, Benedict. With your hands, your mouth, whatever strikes your mood best."

Not only is Benedict a well-educated man, who found the subject of medicine one of the more fascinating courses he was obliged to take, but he grew up quite close with his female cousin and has two sisters of his own. Surely, the female form has lost most, if not all, of its mystery for him.

He was dead wrong.

Sparing her a glance up beneath his eyebrows, his mouth quirked wryly, he quickly turns his attention back to the sight of her shrugging out of her dressing gown, leaving her in just her nightgown, shrouded in a cloud of silk that looks as insubstantial as the clouds he's flown through in an airship. Feeling a little blasphemous for putting his big rough hands on her when she is painted in such pure whites and golds, he nevertheless does, settling his palms at her waist as he has before, starting out in safe territory before exploring anywhere else.

Slowly, like he is either unsure of what he should do and what he is allowed to do, or unsure of where to start, he slides his hands over her torso over her nightgown, familiarizing himself properly with the shape of her without her usual finery as he leans in to drop a doting kiss to the join of her neck and shoulder, a low hum vibrating in his throat.

His silence is almost unnerving in its intensity. But Benedict has never lacked intensity in most things. It was his fierce gaze that first attracted her to him. This was not the first time it had been solely focused upon her nor was it the first time it made her shiver with pleasure and want. But it is the first time she feels almost... shy because of it.

His eyes rake over her body, she feels her heart flutter, and when he looks back up at her, she lets out a soft breath, nodding in approval. He starts off safe, of course, his hands at her waist. Immediately she feels her body react, skin covering in excited goosebumps. His mouth vibrates against her skin and she makes her own soft sound. "That feels perfect."

She will speak, she will encourage him.

As finely-tuned as his senses are, and as strongly attuned to her as he is, the goosebumps that crop up along her skin in the wake of his touch are noticed immediately, and they bring a smug little smile to his face.

Hey may not know what he's doing, but at least she seems to be enjoying it.

Now that his confession has lifted the weight of his irrational shame from his shoulders, Benedict feels far more relaxed about this whole thing, and after a few minutes of remaining kneeling at her feet, he rumbles a discontented noise and lifts his hands from her to coax her arms over his shoulders so that when he puts his hands back on her hips and leans abruptly back, she comes with him.

Standing in one smooth motion, seemingly unencumbered by her weight in his arms, he lifts his head from the hinge of her jaw so he can smirk at her.

"If I am to explore, I require more room," he says mildly, like he hasn't wrapped her legs about his waist as he stands, like she isn't all but naked in his arms as he strides confidently towards her bedroom. He is, after all, quite familiar with the layout of her chambers after all this time serving as her guard.

How delighted she is when he moves to lift her easily off the couch, when he explains to her that if he's going to explore her body, he will need more room for such a task. It sends a thrill through her and has her obediently wrapping her legs around his waist as he directs her to. This is how she imagined Benedict being with a woman: confident, playful and eager. Already, she was enjoying herself despite him being a novice in everything.

Without hesitation, he starts them the short distance to her bedroom, seeming to have dropped his concerns of being caught or the lack of propriety of it all. No one would interrupt them, to be sure, she was always quite strict about letting anyone into her rooms when she was sleeping. And while certainly no rest will be had this night (if she has her way), no one else will know that.

"By all means," she murmurs amusedly, leaning in to brush her lips against his, her body already heating at the ideas of what he might do to her, what she might do to him. "Do what you must."

It is unlikely they will be caught at this hour, for she has dismissed her servants already, and even though the party is only just now really breaking up and there will therefore be some traffic in the halls as people wind their way either home to their own houses or through the Manor to their own rooms, he highly doubts someone will poke their head into Ninon's rooms to check on her, even if he is not standing guard at his post outside her doors.

The impropriety is something he has not forgotten, but she clearly wants this with him, and he is tired of denying himself the things he wants. If this is going to be some secret, hurried dalliance — as it will be, by necessity — then he might as well let himself enjoy what moments of it he can.

"What I must, hm?" he murmurs, letting her kiss him and slowing down with his pace so that he does not bump them into anything while he's distracted by her lips on his.

Her servants will blessedly either be retired for the night or helping the party's guest to their own rooms or out of the manor completely. They will be too distracted, hopefully, to bother her or to notice that her guard is nowhere to be seen. After all, he could very well be in the library, closer to her bedroom as a higher measure of security, given the manor's foot traffic.

For now, she's not truly focused on anyone else but Benedict and the way it feels to be in his strudy arms like this. Her mind wanders to what it might be like to be pressed against a wall and ravaged by him. Heat is already spreading through her, her body reacting to where her mind goes and the way it feels to have him so close with the chance of him having to move away.

"You know I trust your judgment. I am eager to see what paths you take to explore."