warriorborn | (no subject)

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."

He can smell her, the change in her body as she grows more excited by the prospect of bedding him, and while he's not entirely familiar with such a scent in a woman, he can tell already that he's going to grow quite partial to it. Ninon smells lovely at the worst of times, the subtle scent of her skin one that he really only associates with good things, even if she sometimes frustrates him or irritates him, and that overlaid with the heady, musky-sweet smell of arousal is making him a little light headed.

Carrying her to her bed, he moves to place a knee on the edge of her mattress, bending to set her carefully down on her bed and remaining braced above her on his palms and that one leg, hovering over her as he frowns at her slightly, breaking the playful moment.

"I am afraid of hurting you," he confesses, thinking of his sharp teeth and her soft skin. He wants to put his mouth on her everywhere, but the chances of him scratching her are not insignificant. Obviously, having spent his entire life with these fangs in his mouth, Benedict is quite good at knowing how to work around them, but he's never done this with anyone before, and there's a first time for everything.

Perhaps most women might be intimidated or put off by the fact that he could smell her arousal, which was growing each moment, with every one of his actions. Ninon would not take umbrage with it. After all, it wasn't as though he'd be able to hide his own arousal for long. Perhaps it put them on an even more level playing field and in the end, he would know how she was truly feeling.

As he sets her down on the bed, she looks up at him as he expresses his very real concern, the moment slipping from playful to more serious. For a moment, she thinks he worries about hurting her in a way a man might hurt a woman the first time they are intimate and she almost laughs.

But then she remembers who he is, what he is. Shifting beneath him slightly, she reaches up to touch his face, thumb tracing his lips. She so rarely sees his teeth, he keeps them so well-hidden from the world, a symptom of the prejudice he lives with. "Darling," she murmurs softly. "I am no stranger to pain." She is a woman, after all. "But I give you my word to tell you if you are hurting me, if that will ease your worry."

Slipping her thumb against his lips a little more, she wants to coax his mouth open so she can see his teeth. "Just remember, that the sounds I might make are ones of pleasure and not agony. There's a very fine line. "

Benedict continues to frown at her, despite her reassurance that all is well, totally unsure of all this even though she seems blithely unconcerned with the fangs that will be making very close friends with rather intimate parts of her anatomy.

"You don't know that," he responds somewhat peevishly, "I haven't done anything yet."

She might make sounds of agony, she doesn't know.

Still, he obligingly lets her part his lips, her thumb slipping between them so she can poke and prod at his canine teeth. Benedict is scrupulously careful about his teeth nearly every moment of the day. It is one of the reasons he is so soft-spoken, why he murmurs asides to those around him instead of loudly declaring his thoughts, why he smiles with his lips together and huffs quiet laughs through his nose instead of braying out his amusement with the unselfconscious abandon of humans. There is nothing he can do to hide his eyes, short of wearing sungoggles day in and day out, but at least he can keep others' attention away from his mouth.

Whatever heat she'd been feeling moments ago is gone now, his worries are like a splash of cold water. She cannot fault him for having them. How could she? And she cannot say that she is well-versed in what it is like to be physically intimate with a warriorborn and what instinct might drive him to do, should he lose his concentration (like she wants him to). And yet...

"You are not a beast, Benedict," she reminds him firmly, her thumb slipping from his lips as she refuses to inspect him like a farmer might inspect his dog's mouth. "You are more controlled than most men I have ever met. And you have proven yourself capable of kissing me without harming me." There's a prickle of disappointment (that she hides very well) that comes with what she is about to say.

"However, you need not let your worries ruin your enjoyment of this. I am quite capable of bringing pleasure upon myself." She offers him a wicked smile, accepting that this liaison may have its limitations but she will not put an end to it simply because he is cautious about using his mouth or hands. "You may watch if you like."

She pulls her hand away from his mouth, chiding him for believing himself incapable of restraining himself, and while he does appreciate the sentiment and her firm convictions, he also think that perhaps she should acquaint herself with the teeth that will be brought so close to her body. So, instead of letting her hand drop completely, he catches it and lifts it one more to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm as she continues to speak, offering to let him watch her pleasure herself.

That is a very interesting prospect.

"I am a scholar above all things," he jokes, trying to lift the mood once more now that he's brought it crashing down to the Surface. "And I do enjoy watching you."

Carefully, slowly so that she may pull her hand back if she so wishes, he shifts his grip on her hand and draws it back to his lips, opening his mouth so that he can very gently press her thumb to his sharp teeth. He leaves it there, giving her the choice to press harder or to pull back, watching her seriously over their entangled fingers.

"I thought you would be tired of it by now," she teases softly, letting him make his attempt to elevate the mood if only because she desperately wants him to be more at ease. Intimacy and sex are difficult enough as it is without one or both persons being tense.

However, before she can get to it, he keeps her hand at his mouth, after having kissed her palm. Watching with a curious expression, it is clear what he means to do after a moment, her thumb now pressing against his teeth. She feels no urge to pull her hand away, although there is a modicum of fear knowing what those teeth might be able to do. However, she does not doubt his restraint. After all, it'd taken her this long to get him in her bed, hadn't it?

She carefully sides her thumb over the sharp edges, like one might touch a knife, light and gentle, cautious not to make a quick move. "I trust you." Is that what he needs to hear from her? Because she thought he knew this by now. "The choice is yours."

"Never," he protests stalwartly.

He feels painfully vulnerable, perched as he is over her with his mouth hanging open, her thumb brushing over his teeth. Even though he put her hand there, he all but forced her to touch them, he cannot help but feel uncomfortable with the whole thing, his deeply-ingrained habit of keeping them away from others warring with the knowledge that it's a stupid way to behave, and she doesn't care about his teeth.

Mentally squaring his shoulders, he forces down the discomfort welling in him and focuses instead on the look on her face, the soft tone of her words.

"I would like to watch you," he confesses after a moment, licking her thumb almost playfully as he pulls away enough that he can speak without her fingers garbling the words. "Though I would also like to touch, I think."

"At the risk of sounding like a besotted idiot or a poet of some sort... I think you are perfect."

She pulls her hand gently away from his mouth after he tells her that he would like to watch her but to participate in some way. If that is the compromise they need to make, she is willing to make it. There is time, she hopes, to push boundaries later. With experience, comes confidence, so in time; he will come to trust his own restraint, she hopes.

"You will need to undress me first." It's an almost laughable request given that all she has on is one silky shift and nothing else.

It's not that he never believed her interest in him — that would be difficult to do, as Ninon has been the instigator in nearly all of their affectionate moments, most notably the very first time she kissed him just on the other side of that door in her library — but he almost feels like this is the first time he can really believe it.

The pink in his cheeks has nothing to do with shame right now, and when he rolls his eyes and huffs, the expression he wears is far more bashful than he thinks a man his age should be looking.

"I know I don't have any experience with this, but I'm fairly certain that's my line," he murmurs, letting himself sway down enough that he can kiss her, soft and chaste as is his wont.

If he's going to undress her, he's going to need both hands free, so once he's had his fill of kissing her for the moment, he shifts his weight back until he's kneeling over her — he pauses for a second to set this moment indelibly in his memory, the way she looks sprawled beneath him with her hair loose about her head and her nightgown doing very little to cover her at all — and then slowly, carefully, starts to tug the silk she wears higher up her body.