shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Shelley is shivering almost nonstop as they make their way back inside. The coat worked fine for a while, but the cold crept in eventually, faster after the snow soaked through her gloves and shoes, and she lost her hat in a furious duel to the-

Well, not to the death, apparently. It had felt a little like that at the time. She can hear her shoes squishing as she gets inside. Hear, but not feel. The cold has numbed her enough that she doesn't notice the wetness, thank goodness.

Clumsily, but no less fastidiously, she peels off the wet gloves to rub her icy hands together. Cold. Very cold.

The girl shudders, and begins peeling off her coat as soon as the door closes behind them. She suspects there is snow inside it.

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Her appearance did not seem to shake him from her reverie. As she sat almost dangerously close to the fire, Ishamael smiled faintly. He would wait.

He had world enough, and time.

Watching as droplets of water stained the loose robe, which billowed about her form loosely. Hinting, hiding at the gaunt pleasures beneath. There was something in frailty that gave birth to beauty.

Shelley closes her eyes as she leans as close as is comfortable, heat hitting her like a wall. Her back remains cold even as her knees warm up, and her face, flushing slightly, almost fever-hot. She winces as she holds near-numb fingers closer, the change in temperature causing an almost painful tingling.

It's better.

After a time, for though her coyness were no crime, he longed to sit beside her and feel the warmth. His bare feet slid across the stone floor as cold as ice. In his hands, he held both cups of cocoa and proffered one to her as he knelt to sit on the rug.

She was so very beautiful in the low firelight.

Shelley doesn't open her eyes, at first, though she can feel him moving beside her. But after a moment, it's too uncomfortable, and she glances cautiously sideways.

"...Thanks."

After she took the cocoa, he sat close to her and simply sipped his steaming mug. Outside the falling snow, silver and dark, silently filled the valleys and crevices that marked their play, obliterating all trace of their passing in the immutable white. Embers rose from the flames, spinning and spiralling like crimson snowflakes, and into the coals, Ishamael peered, imagining it some infernal landscape.

And so time passed as they sipped their cocoa, and listened to each other's breathing melded with the crackling of the fire.

It isn't so very long before Shelley shifts back a little. Her toes are still cold, and her back, but the skin facing the fire is uncomfortably heated in an odd hot-and-cold sensation.

The mostly-empty mug is placed on the hearth.

The loose folds of her grey robe swallowed his hand as it gently moved to her back, fitting itself to her body. Smiling he leaned closer, Ishamael made a soft, inquiring noise. A small pity that the neckline was not a touch lower, loose though it was.

Shelley shivers again, shifting uneasily. She doesn't look over, stubborn and careful. Instead she curls her chilled feet underneath her, hoping to warm them more effectively that way.

A soft noise as his hand slowly curled around her stomach. His chest pressed loosely against her back. His dark hair fell across one shoulder.

No quick movements. That was how one had to sneak up on small animals. To do otherwise was to frighten them away that one might otherwise have caressed with one's hands.

Shelley tries to shift away as she twists around to peer at him cautiously. She's not moving from the fire, but he can let go right now.

"W-what?"

The look on her face gives the impression she is steeling herself for a fight.

Closing his eyes, he spoke softly. His hand still remained loosely on her waist. She was tired, though the evening was early here, it would be well into the wee hours of the morning for them.

"You were cold. The evening holds a chill."

A log in the fire shifted. Sparks flew.

Shelley shifts away again, trying for hauteur. That makes no sense, and he has to know it. Keep calm, and she can argue easily enough, and- and maybe he'll leave her alone.

"I am sitting in front of the fire."

A soft smile as he shifted closer. His hand stroked her shoulder gently, warm fingers tracing through the thin robe on the cool flesh.

"A different kind of warming. We have had a long, frightening day, and even here with the fire on one side, there is a chill."

She twitches away again, nervous. No, calm down. Ignoring him would be better, but that's tricky.

Everything's tricky, right now. She looks away, stubborn and unsure what else to do.

"...Not helping."

His hand gently stroked her back--soft caresses--as he leaned ever so slightly closer. His voice was a low whisper.

"But it is not hurting."

Sparks buzzed about the fire, swarming on unseen convection currents.

Shelley considers for about half a second before giving in and twisting around to smack his wrist away.

"Stop. That."

She curls her knees up in front of her again, and glares, cheeks flaming. She won't let him- Well. Anything.

Creeping forward, Ishamael smiled softly as his hand caressed her back. A wary inquiring tone in his voice as if he were afraid he was. His dark hair shadowed his face.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Not yet."

She pushes his hand away from her again, expression stony. Don't give in, not even a little bit.

Leaning in closer, Ishamael put his arm behind her back, hand planted firmly on the floor. The other stroking her skin through the thin silken robe.

"I am... to say the very least, highly disinclined to hurt you."

His breath whispered in her hair as spoke.

"Tell me if I start to hurt you, and I will stop."

"Stop."

There's all kinds of hurting.

His head tilted as his hand froze. In the darkness outside the window, the wind stirred the still white snow.

(Desire itself is movement)

"...I mean you no harm, quite the contrary."

(Love is itself unmoving)

Shelley grits her teeth, fighting panic. He's too close again, and she shifts back, heat of the fire uncomfortable on the side of her face and one arm.

"And yet."

Shaking his head slightly, Ishamael rose to his feet.

"And yet the hour is late, and we both ought to rest lest our tempers turn foul."

Glancing over to the fire, Ishamael pressed index finger to his thumb as if snuffing a candle. The blaze extinguished soundlessly, leaving the room in chill darkness.

"We cannot leave it burning overnight, it is a hazard."

Offering a hand to her to help her up, he spoke softly.

"It will soon be far too cold to remain here."

Well, thinks Shelley, sitting in the sudden dark, it will now.

"Fine."

She ignores the hand, getting to her feet slowly - a little slower than she had to - making sure the end of the robe doesn't trip her, and not looking up.

Without the warmth and light of the fire, the room was shrouded in cold darkness. Silent as the tomb, they wandered through that darkness to their appointed rest.

Somewhere, Vashti was humming to herself as she undressed in the dark. Praying by her bedside to the Great Lord for allowing her to serve still, she took a deep breath and went to her appointed rest.

Somewhere, a servant was crawling, bleeding across the stone cold floor, his eyesight failing. He had to escape from... whatever those were... He had to... And there in that cold darkness, he found his appointed rest.

The soft moonlight gleamed on the still white wasteland outside. Empty and harsh, the snow burying all in its thick white shroud.

Between the footsteps and the soft sound of her robe trailing along the floor, Ishamael heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

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