(Sorry for the delay. Hope people are still reading, I like criticism so I was kinda waiting. It hurts so good)
It felt like he was awake moments before his eyes could catch up with him. A pale Nord body is splayed lazily across his bed, Furs of brown and white curled around his covered limbs. He yawns, as expected, Vilkas now feeling his lungs reach their filling point while his arms stretch and relax. His ceiling looked the same... it was dark in here, Vilkas thinks, yet it feels so warm and light. Cozy, even. White eyes scanned the far wall, craning his ache-less neck. There was a scattering of potion bottles and scrolls of paper at his bedside, on a cluttered nightstand and dim candle.
This was something he hasn't felt in a long time. Unawareness, a glimpse of tranquility. Being half awake by peaceful sleep, and not by some wicked curse.
Someone had been here, he thinks. And just like that his rested mind kicked back into gear, memories flooding back to him of caves and deathly halls, brotherly hugs and discovered love. He surprised himself, Vilkas smiling and closing his eyes again, remembering his purity. No more jerking awake and lunging for prey, no more unblinking nights until the sun returned. No more waking with a fierce need to mate only to rub himself raw just to fit into his armor.
But then he remembered the mer that had promised to be there when he woke. Vilkas couldn't stop himself from grinning, wondering if he'd have the nerve to tease him about betrayal-that being said if he could say anything it all. He remembered the nightstand beside him, a faint gust flickering the candle back to life and casting a warm glow on the rolled up papers at his side. Vilkas' knuckles dragged across the wood, he grabbed a scroll and thumbed it open, rolling on his elbow to have a look.
His smile faded with surprise, seeing artfully sketched hands and bodies in charcoal, both rough and delicate. The body was thin, male, and in relaxed poses. Vilkas' heart thumped loudly against his chest when he opened the next scroll, biting his lip to either smile or gasp-or anything. It was a sketch of Vilkas' sleeping face, His hair sprawled messily behind him, his lips parted and his nose turned towards the pillow. So his Harbinger had definitely been here..for a while.
Gods, whether or not he should have felt embarrassed to have been drawn in his sleep like some kind of beautiful woman, It roused the poet within Vilkas. How he wished he could do something like that, express himself to the Harbinger- or in any way impress him. Vilkas lay reclined on his elbows in thought, staring yet his mind thinking of when he touched those warm hands, how even now he lay charmed by the ghost of him that lingered wherever he went.
And so humanly unaware of the approaching footsteps from down the hall. When their eyes suddenly met it feels like no time at all had passed for Vilkas because he couldn't find any to think up something to say. But the Artist was happy to see him roused, and it showed.
“Ah, He's awake... Hello there, sleepy one.” His voice sounded so soothing, playful even. As he watched Vilkas raise his tired head. He looked beautifully at peace, his soft black hair disheveled and shirt buttons undone. Inviting himself in, he sees Vilkas smile for him and it's all the reassurance he needed to know that his Nordic companion is feeling well.
“Nnngh...what time is it?” Vilkas sighs as he stretches, feeling open as the Bosmer knelt at his bedside.
“Don't you mean 'what day is it?'”
Vilkas' eyes widened in alarm, suddenly looking at the other man's features. Different clothes, his hair pulled up- he looked very different than he last remembered. His thoughts where cut short to the sight of the mer extending his hand, the artist's fingers running across his jawline.
“You've been asleep for a solid two days.” He whispered, as if it was nothing.
“Two days?!” Vilkas reached up and rested his longer hand over the mer's, feeling his own stubble had grown out and rough.
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timeasmymeasure
Purity 10
Date: 2013-03-18 03:02 am (UTC)It felt like he was awake moments before his eyes could catch up with him. A pale Nord body is splayed lazily across his bed, Furs of brown and white curled around his covered limbs. He yawns, as expected, Vilkas now feeling his lungs reach their filling point while his arms stretch and relax. His ceiling looked the same... it was dark in here, Vilkas thinks, yet it feels so warm and light. Cozy, even. White eyes scanned the far wall, craning his ache-less neck. There was a scattering of potion bottles and scrolls of paper at his bedside, on a cluttered nightstand and dim candle.
This was something he hasn't felt in a long time. Unawareness, a glimpse of tranquility. Being half awake by peaceful sleep, and not by some wicked curse.
Someone had been here, he thinks. And just like that his rested mind kicked back into gear, memories flooding back to him of caves and deathly halls, brotherly hugs and discovered love. He surprised himself, Vilkas smiling and closing his eyes again, remembering his purity. No more jerking awake and lunging for prey, no more unblinking nights until the sun returned. No more waking with a fierce need to mate only to rub himself raw just to fit into his armor.
But then he remembered the mer that had promised to be there when he woke. Vilkas couldn't stop himself from grinning, wondering if he'd have the nerve to tease him about betrayal-that being said if he could say anything it all. He remembered the nightstand beside him, a faint gust flickering the candle back to life and casting a warm glow on the rolled up papers at his side. Vilkas' knuckles dragged across the wood, he grabbed a scroll and thumbed it open, rolling on his elbow to have a look.
His smile faded with surprise, seeing artfully sketched hands and bodies in charcoal, both rough and delicate. The body was thin, male, and in relaxed poses. Vilkas' heart thumped loudly against his chest when he opened the next scroll, biting his lip to either smile or gasp-or anything. It was a sketch of Vilkas' sleeping face, His hair sprawled messily behind him, his lips parted and his nose turned towards the pillow. So his Harbinger had definitely been here..for a while.
Gods, whether or not he should have felt embarrassed to have been drawn in his sleep like some kind of beautiful woman, It roused the poet within Vilkas. How he wished he could do something like that, express himself to the Harbinger- or in any way impress him. Vilkas lay reclined on his elbows in thought, staring yet his mind thinking of when he touched those warm hands, how even now he lay charmed by the ghost of him that lingered wherever he went.
And so humanly unaware of the approaching footsteps from down the hall. When their eyes suddenly met it feels like no time at all had passed for Vilkas because he couldn't find any to think up something to say. But the Artist was happy to see him roused, and it showed.
“Ah, He's awake... Hello there, sleepy one.” His voice sounded so soothing, playful even. As he watched Vilkas raise his tired head. He looked beautifully at peace, his soft black hair disheveled and shirt buttons undone. Inviting himself in, he sees Vilkas smile for him and it's all the reassurance he needed to know that his Nordic companion is feeling well.
“Nnngh...what time is it?” Vilkas sighs as he stretches, feeling open as the Bosmer knelt at his bedside.
“Don't you mean 'what day is it?'”
Vilkas' eyes widened in alarm, suddenly looking at the other man's features. Different clothes, his hair pulled up- he looked very different than he last remembered. His thoughts where cut short to the sight of the mer extending his hand, the artist's fingers running across his jawline.
“You've been asleep for a solid two days.” He whispered, as if it was nothing.
“Two days?!” Vilkas reached up and rested his longer hand over the mer's, feeling his own stubble had grown out and rough.