shelley_winters | The Violet Hour

The Violet Hour

Shelley tugs the neck of the shirt up again, irritated. His clothes are all far too big, the shirt she is wearing as a pyjama top almost as long as a tunic, falling down to her thighs. A pair of his socks - an attempt to keep her freezing feet warmer - flop pathetically against the floor as she walks out of the bathroom, hair soft and clinging with static to her cheeks from overbrushing.

She had stayed there as long as possible, but you can't ever hide forever. As she closes the door behind her, she grits her teeth, determined. There are couches in the other room, and that's where she's headed.

The girl doesn't look at Ishamael as she makes silently for the other door.

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She doesn't open her eyes, silently and frantically trying to think. It's wrong. She mustn't, she hates him-

"...I hate you."

So she can't. Won't.

The pressure of his hand increased, venturing up her body as he leaned in closer to her face, his voice barely audible, thick and low.

"There is nothing wrong with it. No shame in a kiss, in a touch. Nothing to fear or be ashamed of."

Leaning forward only slightly, he kissed her once more.

...Oh. Oh, god. She can't stop it. She could never stop him if he really wanted - and she shakes at the thought of what he wants, it's too strange, too frightening - and now she isn't sure what to do. Struggling does no good, but she can't just let him kiss her because then...

Then what?

She has no idea. And that's what's terrifying.

In the violet light, his face hung just over hers as he stroked her body lovingly. Again, he spoke in that low voice. Little Lady Shelley was certainly enjoying herself, the way her back arched ever so slightly at his touch, and... well, it was certainly not the cold her breasts were responding to with the rest of her flesh flushed and warm...

Fuck, it was enjoyable to kiss her and touch her, and just a little bit more and...

"Do you not enjoy it? There is no shame in that or in the kisses. Nothing wrong with what we are doing or how we feel. Just..."

His face hung over hers, his lips barely above her own as he more firmly pressed his thumb up her body.

Her eyes squeeze tighter shut, not wanting to see how close...

"No."

(I deny you)

She grits her teeth, lips pressing together hard, and shakes her head desperately. Just... ignore it, deny it, and she can worry about how much she wants not to later. Later, when she can think.

His fingertips tarried on the thin silk covering her breasts, a soft pressing that meandered its way down her body. A slightly curious look as he spoke in a voice barely audible over the wind's whining, child-like cry.

"You cannot think of a reason, can you? Why don't you just try a little taste? If it is not to your liking then say so, and I will stop. Just try..."

She shudders, flushing hotly at what he's saying, head falling back against the pillows, and eyes flickering open for a moment. No, she knows there's a reason, she hates and he's bad and she mustn't...

The girl shivers again as his fingers move ever so slightly downwards. And does she believe him? Can she stop him if he's lying? No, but...

She can say no. She will. She stares up at him, determined and trembling.

"...I'll say. I'll-"

A small smile in reply, the triumphant gleam in his eyes hidden by the shadows in the violet light. His low voice purred as he finished her sentence for her.

"...Have a taste."

Ever so gently, he pressed his mouth to hers for a kiss. Not so gently, however, was the insistent pressure of his thumb as he traced it up body. Starting below the hem of her knickers, and tracing upwards her body instinctively arched into the touch. How very convenient for her to press her chest into the ministrations of his hand. The joy of running his thumb over her nipple--stiff from his earlier touches--was far beyond what he had imagined. How could it be otherwise for the pleasure was in the release of these tensions?

And how glorious the release when these months of tension would shatter like a bubble into the fires of their desire. For the mind was ever the body's puppet and to harness one was to harness the other--The dissolution of their two into one in the fires of passion while the cold wind howled all around.

The smallest noise at the back of her throat escapes before she can stop herself, hands curling around his shoulders and fingertips digging in slightly.

...Ohgod.

He stops kissing her for a moment, and she breathes shallowly, panicky and unable to summon words.

A ragged breath. That soft noise sent a shiver down his spine. The low violet light hid the predatory motion of him licking his lips in shadows.

A bit more.

A series of soft, sucking kisses to neck, shoulder, upper chest. His hand tracing across her body, kneading the soft silk and the flesh beneath. His mouth tracing up her body, neck, and then under her jaw before bestowing a final kiss on her lips.

"Oh-"

Shelley regrets that, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop making another sound. She wants...

It has to stop.

He kisses her again, briefly, and she holds back, trembling and waiting for space to see how much that promise was worth.

"S-stop, Elan. Stop."

A flicker of ire across his face in that violet darkness. Pulling his hand from her breast, and his mouth from hers, Ishamael rolled over and lay on his back beside her. It was a bitter-sweet, but he had planted the seed of doubt and the knowledge of what she herself feels in her heart.

"...Very well, my lady. I will be true to my word."

Shelley shuts her eyes, breathing unsteadily in the sudden space. He stopped. And in the sudden silence, she knows that if he hadn't, she couldn't have made herself fight him.

Stop thinking, don't even- she won't think about that. Not now.

Slowly, she turns on her side. Cooler sheets slide over her body as she moves that little bit further away. She'll feel the cold again soon.

Good.

His breathing is labored in the stillness as he glanced over towards her. A thin sheen of sweat on his body as he laid back with arms outstretched, the cold biting. The smile on his face was triumphant. The sensation of silk over her skin on his fingertips and lips was slow to fade and he cherished it while he could.

Oh, it had certainly been glorious. Hearing her ragged, unsteady breathing next to him, Ishamael was aware of one thing for certain. This had not been her victory, far from it. The seeds and thoughts and feelings planted in her brain would serve him far better than a wet spasm of pleasure.

He smiled.

(I win again.)

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The Violet Hour

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