07.15.3013: Sudden Realizations
Summary: While spending real quality time with Michael, Nimara realizes something earlier than she expects to and confesses it. Will she regret telling Michael?
Date: 13 July 2013
Related: None
Michael Nimara 

Private Bunk House in Obsidia
See poses.
14 July 3013

The later afternoon hours of Obsidia are marked by light showers from an overcast sky. It is also hot, the Crescent in always warm, but today decided to do that funny mix of swealtering heat… and frigid rain. Mother Nature may as well be, at That time of the month, at least for Obsidia. Go to the Vale? Oh they have decently normal weather, still rainy at the moment but otherwise the temperature is normal for rain. Go to the Spine? Well, no rain but warm and hot in the sun. Obsidia, however, seems to have either pissed nature off or just confuses nature at the moment.

Michael's "Private" bunk room, is actually just a semi vacant bunk room. It still has the four bunks, the desk with a computer terminal and 'sphere access, foot lockers for each, and enough space for four Khourni natives to throw a small party in… clearly the designers of the barracks knew their clients well.

Michael, surprisingly, isn't in his bunk room… and no one seems to recall seeing him recently. However, he has said that he goes unnoticed by most as he comes and goes so this isn't really to be all that surprising. She had told him she'd meet him here, so he'll be here… he may have just gotten caught up in something…?

It had all sounded like a great idea to come to Obsidia at the time, but Nimara was lovedrunk at the time and her brain wasn't functioning. Once the romantic high had disipated and reason and reality checked in the at front of her brain, she began to wonder why she agreed to come to Obsidia. The weather was twisted and miserably unpleasant. The people she had run into weren't the best in the Six's creation either. It frustrated her; for one, let's face it, Senators are spoiled, with their private caravans, escorts and comfortable surroundings. It's unlikely that Nimara had broken a sweat in ten years time.
Worse off, she actually left her Senator's uniform of white robes in exchange for something different: long, belled sleeves, splashed in scarlet, covered her arms and the blouse hugged tightly under her breasts, while flaring around her waist. Black, shiny leather pants — that were made more for swift movements of scouts than they were for their attractiveness — hugged her legs and slender, flat shoes, with no laces or buckles, covered her feet. Around her neck was a slender choker, adorned with a metal flower that sported a ruby and dangling, matching earrings hung from her ears. Her hair was held half-up with a cloth headband over her crown.
Stepping into the bunk room proved even more awkward. Did other people live here? If so, why had he insisted on coming to a place like this for privacy? Brown eyes darted for him; she was ready to learn now and being a stranger in a strange land, her cybernetic hand lifted to play nervously with the fingers on her right. "Michael?" she asked softly.

Michael steps into the room, and stops. Blinking. "Nimara? You're… earlier than I expected…" if she turns to look at him, he's in just a towel. His damnp hair loosely hanging in dark strands. His torso fully bare, the soft pink chest scar on his right side. The black towel around his middle fully covers though, from just about his hips to his knees and is tucked in a lazy style that hangs off him.

"I beg to differ," Nimara says, though to see him so disrobed has her brows lifting. "I'm on time. You're running late." She steps in gently, to notice the top of the body she had never seen before. Had she daydreamed about it? She does smile, however, but something grabs her attention. It's not the half-nudity of an attractive man. "What," she begins, though she's staring at the scar, "what happened here?" she asks as she steps closer.

Michael smiles softly and nods, "I suppose I am… I sweated through my clothing so badly, I decided to use sand paper to scrub clean… and by sandpaper I mean Khourni brand soap. Drakes would cringe if they were scrubbed with that stuff." then she moves closer, and he swallows slightly, he hadn't considered being this naked in front of her just yet. Her attention to his scar, causes him to turn around to show a matching one on his right shoulder blade, before turning back to face her. "Hostile bolt went through me, just above the lung… shattered the scapula so they had to set it and use that regrowth medicine. Very nearly killed me, along with the massive damage to my internal organs around the middle of me." he then lifts the cloth slightly, only enough to reveal a scar on his right leg. "That, is from one of those ribbons of steel the hostiles use… this also could have killed me if it had hit something just a few centimeters deeper."

Nimara had never once seen a real battle. Sure, she had some understanding, based on previous training and Gods, the reports, but she had never known someone. Ivy never talked about that and she never asked. Her father couldn't be bothered with her inquiries. She was more prone to the self-pitying of the loss of limb, but the Hostiles had had nothing to do with that. Hesitantly, as her curiosity consumes her, she reaches out when he turns to touch the scar on his back. She never made the connection, before he turned back around; her fingers on her right hand retreated. "I—I don't understand," she says, "I didn't think they sent squires into battle."

Michael doesn't seem to mind her fingers exploring his back and chest. He nods slightly and smiles, "Most knights do make their squires wait until they are fifteen or sixteen… some even seventeen. Roan has me wait until I was fourteen before she took me into the fray during one of the two skirmishes I was in." he pauses, "Lady Sir Johana felt it was good for me to get in battle, and she's encouraged me to continue participating… even if currently I am not able to join in. I still haven't seen her, but I am also not going to bother her. She has her own things to see to, and I get changes to orders or new ones via comm now and then." he shrugs slightly.

Nimara's lips press together thoughtfully for a moment. "It is the life of a Knight," she notes and there is a small smile, though hardly one without a touch of bitterness. "Most of the Senators fail to understand what it is like in battle. We sit comfortably for far too long. I once tried to suggest that Senators had to serve time, but I couldn't even live up to that standard."

Michael has been holding onto his towel with one hand, but he reflexively reaches for hers. Lets hope the towel stays put, for now it is. Then Michael smiles at Nimara, "You know though, at least have them visit the fronts… experience more than just the reports and the monocle cam recordings." then he notes that his towel isn't agreeing and his hand lets go, grabs hold of it before it's too late, and his other hand moves to her other hand, as if nothing happened.

Nimara's cybernetic reaches into his arm, the finger joints moving quickly and with as much agility as a normal hand, though if paid attention to, hydraulics make soft hissing sounds. Nimara's eyes, of course, wander and she begins to chuckle. "Why don't you go get dressed?" Were he anyone else, it would've been a different story. Sex was not unfamiliar to her; before, it had uses — information manipulation, contractual agreements and her occasional need to be validated — but none of those applied to him. He was different and she became less of an open shop because of it.

Michael grins slightly, "Yes, I suppose I should go to get dressed. Or… if you could promise not to peek, and turn around with eyes closed. I can dress inside of three minutes to decent. Five minutes for fancy… though my uniform is laid out on my bunk already."

"Oh, I suppose I won't peek," Nimara says. The woman turns around to show the cascade of black hair down her back. She was also able to hide her grin the whole time, girlish and juvenile, though she masked it in her voice. "The uniform is fine. I don't think I've seen you wear it yet." She really intended to keep her word — though she would remind herself she didn't technically promise — and her eyes edge over her shoulder. A tiny peek wouldn't hurt, right?

Michael slips off his towel, bending slightly to pick up the first article of his clothing, underwear. Tight fitting, but not revealing, short legged black stretch undershorts. He straigtens for just a moment, and glances to make sure she isn't looking… but, she is peeking after all. He doesn't play shy, and instead makes as if he didn't notice her. He'll let her peek, after all, he does kind of want her to want him… and this is a good way for her to start to daydream a little. On goes his clothing, quickly enough that she catches only glimpses of his ass, and perhaps the goods but not enough that she could take a moment to think and describe anything in words. When he's finished dressing, he moves up behind her and slides his hands down her shoulders to her arms, then down to her hands. "You peeked." is the soft, non chiding almost encouraging and playful voice.

Men weren't the only ones who appreciated conceal, reveal and imagination. And Nimara was a woman who was attempting to try commitment. There were challenges ahead, and there were things about the senator yet to be discovered — like her inability to control herself sometimes. She turns her head quickly, when he's able to see her again, and it's the flowing of her hair that gives her away. His gentility, the soft touch to her arms and into her hands makes her shoulders tense. Pale cheeks resemble the color of roses when he whispers. She leans her head back and turns, to closer rest upon his cheek. "Would you like me to apologize?" she asks softly.
Michael has partially disconnected.

Michael chuckles softly, "For what? Getting a slight look at me changing?" he nuzzles her cheek with his own. "Nimara, it's fine to be curious… you are attempting to commit to a relationship with me after all. No, there is no need to apologize. You can ask to see, and perhaps I will show… but for now, I think we should look into starting your dancing lessons."

Michael's words resonate, causing the half-drunk look and the hint of lust to fade from her eyes. She blinks, as if waking up. "Right," she says and slowly releases his hands to turn. "But I want to tell you something first." Her eyes glance down, looking at nothing, the way she does when she's uncomfortable with her own honesty. "You and I," she begins, "we've been with others and that's fine. Healthy, even." Her eyes lift. "But don't take my… chastity as indication that I don't want to. I'm not ready, because… I'm not used to it meaning something. Caring about the other. I feel like that's just going to be too much for me to handle." She reaches up, a palm resting on his cheek. "I've rushed things terribly in the past and I know how I am. I run when I'm scared. I don't want to run from you."

"I understand Nimara, and please don't feel pressured by me. I don't want you to feel scared, and I absolutely don't want you to run from this." Michael places his hand on her cheek, their hands now opposite each other. "Nimara, we both agreed that you will need to take this at your pace. If I start to push a little more than what you'd like… I certainly hope you keep to your word about telling me. That said…" he then leans in and kisses her.

How does he do that? The senator's shoulders untense, even before the kiss. Words that she needs to hear filter into her ears, taking the fears, the insecurities, the rampaging, feasting thoughts and eats them alive, until there is nothing but peaceful wind, a set of wings around her to hide her from the storm that is her mind. Then, he kisses her, as if to punctuate and she can only return it, full-mouthed and eyes closed, but she doesn't reach for more. Kissing him makes her drunk and she's got six days to not make a fool out of herself… so she plants a second, before pulling away. Shaking out her arms, as if to dust off the torrents, she smiles and nods firmly. "Teach me to dance, Young Master Michael."

Michael smiles softly at her after the second kiss. Then he nods, "Of course Senator Demoore, if you'll place your feet toes to mine. Then your right hand please." he raises up their right hands, and then places his left on the small of her back. "By the way, don't think I didn't notice… that outfit looks amazing on you. Very attractive, and at the same time elegant." Then once they are in position, he begins. "So, I will lead. What that means is I take the step and you step with me. The first step, is one backwards step." he pauses, "Okay, so the steps are simple enough to learn. Step back, then slide back, a step to the side, then I step backwards. then slide left, and finally return back."

Nimara's smile broadens at the compliment of her garments. "I have to do something with all my money," she says. "I don't even have a cat to spend it on." If anything, she's good at following instructions; the tips of her shoes nudge against his and she places her right hand in his, her left to his side. Then, her mouth begins to move, but no sound comes out; upon closer inspection, she's memorizing the steps. She looks back to him. "Like we're drawing a box on the floor?"

"Exactly like we're drawing a box on the floor. We'll practice this tonight, because you'll step on my toes a lot. " Michael smiles at Nimara, and then reaches out to tap something's screen. Music begins to play, softly and sweetly. Then Michael begins to take up the waltz, stepping with his foot, and then sliding his other in."

When he begins to move, Nimara follows. She never watches his face, but she concentrates on watching below. Her feet don't lift; they slide across the floor as she follows him. All the concentration she has leads her to follow him without tripping, but she is barely there. "This feels.. so rigid," she says.

Michael takes the final step and it slips. It throws him so off his balance that he falls backwards and since they are so entwined… she's coming too. "Ack!" he calls out, and lands with a slight thud on the ground. His body catching hers easily without any grunt.

And she was doing so well! When he slips backwards, Nimara falls with him, landing on top in a crumble. Her plastic arm slams down first, catching the parts of the blow that he didn't. Not hurt, she begins to laugh once she's on top of him and slowly pushes herself up, but not entirely off him. "Who's teaching who?" she teases, looking down at him.

Michael laughs softly, and looks up at her. "Darn it… I was hoping for a deep passionate kiss, and then a little of what we're not doing." his playful tone is followed with a grin, of course he's teasing slightly.

"If I kiss you," Nimara says, still chuckling, "you know what's going to happen and I will never learn, and we'll always end up like this. It's hopeless, isn't it?" Her voice takes a dramatic tilt. "I am doomed to make a fool at myself at this wedding, and you," she says, tapping his slender nose, "don't give two rats about that." And yet, she doesn't roll off him, despite the words.

Michael looks slightly hurt at her, still playful in his demeanor. "I do care about that, and you won't make a fool of yourself." he smiles at her, reaching up to her arms. "You know you want to kiss me… I can see it in your eyes." he's teasing her, it's obvious. "However, I want to teach you dancing… so you'll have to decide which is more important right this minute." another grin to say, ball is in your court.

"But the rules have changed!" Nimara declares, dramatic as ever. She places her palms on either side of his face, hoisting herself up and leaning more weight on the left than the right. "Before, I could kiss you and be safe, because we were outside or in public." Careful, Nimara. "Here, there's no one but you and me." SHe inclines her head, some black hair falling around her neck. "And then there's all this learning I have to do, because if I kiss you… it was hard enough to stop the last time."

Michael nods slightly at Nimara, and shifts slightly so he can sit up now. "I see… so then, lets get back to work. I certainly wouldn't want to distract you so much that you can't dance with me at the wedding. I mean, what's a kiss anyways?" all said in an airy tone, as if trying to fein not caring, and purposefully failing at it.

The urge. It was there. It probably still is there, as the words seem to strike her. While she doesn't smash her face into his, the drama goes full tilt. "What's a kiss? Do mine mean nothing to you?" Oh, she tries so hard to be serious, but the quirking grin gives her away. She begins to move from him, feining her deep offense.

Michael begins to stand up, pretending to at first be fine with her mock offence. His tone shifts, from airy to deadpan. "They mean, absolutely…" he pauses for dramatic affect, perhaps even effect depending on if she phsyically reacts before he speaks again. "everything to me." he finishes. Smiling at her.

Nimara hadn't gotten to standing up quite yet; she had gotten as far as sitting on the floor, leaning on her cybernetic. When he begins to move, she watches him, eyes widen, her grin curled and curious. She hadn't gotten to play with him like this before and when she watched him, the way his words fell out of his mouth, he said the perfect thing. So perfect her breath caught. Reaching with her right hand, she reached for his wrist to bring him down to her. "Come here," she says.

Michael lets himself be pull guided to her, coming to sit with his legs to the side and his torso supported just above her lap. His smile is there with him, since it isn't usually given leave of duty in her presence.

There were certainly sensual ways for her to say it. Definitely more graceful. When he comes down in front of her, she reaches up with her right hand for once, placing the mixture of plastic and metal to his cheek. "Fuck dancing," she says, and she leans forward, pressing her mouth against his firmly, with a fierce draw of air through her nose.

Michael chuckles softly just before their lips meet. He leans into the kiss for a moment, then pushes gently into her. Shifting his weight to overcome her balanace and bring her under him on the floor. His kiss is like the other nights'. However, there is also a sense of control… he is holding back a little, for her sake. He knows she was trying, and he does respect and support her.

It became the nightly occurance, and Nimara fell into it, frail to his movements. When he adjusts to slide her down to the floor, she falls like a feather, slowly yet gracefully, with her mouth moving over his the whole time. Soft, eager kisses move over his becoming-familiar lips, her tongue taking small, frequent tastes. Sounds sounds of affection, 'twixt with pleasure, come from her throat, and with her under him, there's no way to lean back, to pause.

Michael does the leaning back for her, he studies her eyes. "Nimara… I can't rush you… I won't rush you." his tone is firm, and he does give her one more kiss before he starts to make as if standing up. If she doesn't stop him, he'll stand and offer his hand to help her up.

"Michael," Nimara says, looking at him from the floor. Her chest is heaving a little more, her eyes a little wider, but after a moment, they settle. Desire knows no patience, but there's something else there in her eyes. "You can't rush me if I'm the one making the move, now can you?" She smiles to him. "I appreciate what you're doing, believe me, I do, but…" Her eyes move to the side for a moment. "I want.. this. Just this. Nothing more. I'm not asking you, you know, show me what's under the towel."

Michael stops from getting up, and looks at her for a long moment. He slowly lowers himself back down. Still leaned back to regard her, it isn't that he's skeptical, he's cautious. He, however, can't fully hold back for long… and he moves into kiss her again. Taking a breath, and saying "You'll have to remove the towel… my hands are busy." as his slide up under her, one stopping middle of her shoulders, the other going to her hair and his fingers begin to entangle them.

Nimara's arms slowly slip around him, her mouth meeting his when he lowers himself to her mouth. Her kisses are full, and define warmth, but she pulls away long enough to look at him. Her hand reaches to stroke the side of his face. "Look at me," she whispers. When he does, her mouth opens to say something, and then her mouth slams shut. Her eyes widen a moment and then her teeth begin to scrape over her lip. There, she almost looks frightened, when confusion isn't in her eyes.

Michael looks into her eyes, his own reflecting a small amount of fear, but that fear isn't wild and free. It is just the deep center of a very solid rock of gray blue. "Nimara, you don't have to worry with me… I am here, I will always be here… perhaps not in this bunk room as I hope to have a place of my own at somepoint. But here, with you. By your side." he continues to look into her eyes, just letting her have the time she needs and showing her that he isn't going anywhere.

"That's not it. No," Nimara says, and her eyes begin to flutter. "That is it. It's the fact that I know that. How can I know that after a week?" she asks, her eyes watching him. He's had the answers before, and by the Six, she needs them now. "I know you'd follow me anywhere… and godsdammit, I think you know I'd follow you blindly and how can you know that after a week?" She looks up, her mind reeling between the emotion and reason. "And I feel so overwhelmed when I'm with you like this. I keep wanting to say something, but it's too early. It's too early." Her eyes move back to him, "It's just infatuation, right?"

"Infatuation would mean that we don't feel connected on a level deeper than just sex. Sure, it's been a week only… but we've refrained from the bed this long, after all the desire we've both shown. We keep having to agree that we'll pace ourselves… is that just our fear that if we don't, we'll finally admit what we know?" his own eyes had started to roam, but return to hers. "Nimara, how does anyone know? The just know… it isn't some scientific equation one plots on a board. The answers just click, especially when it's right, when it's meant to be." he pauses, for once his answers might seem a little lacking. "If you feel it is too early, then don't say anything. If you want me to stop, tell me. I don't want you to rush, to feel uncomfortable, or to run from this. I want you here, with me, like I am with you."

"I'm falling in love with you."

Even while in his arms, all she could fell was her invulnerability. What she had been saying before hadn't been clear. She was questioning that very thing, feeling it inside her chest. It was the feeling she had the night before, the feeling that reason kept screaming at her not to say. But there it was, a woman who knew nothing about the subject, and she spoke it so suddenly, so honesty that it shocks even her. "You don't have to say it back. I don't expect you to. I won't be hurt if you don't feel the same way, but I felt like I might be sick if I didn't say it." And there she watches his eyes, in absolute haunted terror.

The words sing into his ears, and something in him… some darkened, metal caged part of him stirs. That poem, his reason to fight and win and come back, begins to pick up its tune and send his heart into his throat. How many years has it been since he's hear those words, directed towards him? That rusted over portion of his heart, where love resides cracks its shell. "I'm falling in love… with you, Nimara." the words don't come out halted, or rushed. They flow in their own time and sound completely genuine. A single slit of light, shines brightly though the cracks, and they find their outlet in his eyes as he looks at her.

Now that it was out, staring at her in the face and punching her guts, Nimara simply stares forward at him. In the end, she knew what he was going to say before he said it; arguably, he had started falling for her at the bazaar. That was something she couldn't grasp then and definitely not now. Her chest rose and fell, the vulnerability slowly engulfing her and ready to drown her in seconds. She had taken her heart, something she had done a very good job at protecting, and placed it in front of him, exposed, bleeding and beating. "Youwhat?" she asks finally, blinking, "Whno." She closes her eyes. Reason had no place in this conversation anymore. "I.. what do we do now?"

Michael takes a moment, to just breath. There is a flood gate of emotion chomping at the bit right now, and even the slightlest release of control and tears, sobs, wails, and cringing will ravange his body in the most unseemly and frightening way. So the pain and grief isn't gone just yet… good for him to finally find out. "We continue on as we have been, we're falling in love with each other that we've known over the last week… changing ourselves or our relationship, would alter who we're falling for, and how." this he knows, this answer is solid. He leans down to kiss her lips, mostly because it's her lips and he likes to kiss her… a small part of it was to double check that she does exist right here, right now.

"It makes no sense," Nimara says, her head leaning back to rest on the floor again and her eyes closing. Suddenly, her smile blossoms and she even starts chuckling a bit, if only to relieve all the tension in her. He had said it plainly and that settled with her: they were falling in love. And that didn't mean that she was going to fall to pieces and die right there in front of him. Opening her eyes slowly, she says softly, "Make me laugh. Make my mind stop for just one second. Please."

Michael grins slightly at her, "A naked blonde walks into a bar with a dog under one arm and a two foot spiced and dried sausage under the other. The barkeep walks up to her and asks if she'd like a drink. The blonde responds…" he's cut off by some raucous cheering going on down the hall, and then pounding on the door. "Goooo Mikey!" comes the wild hoots and wolf whistles… damn them to the drakes, as his cheeks turn the shade just above his house's color red. "Ignore them… please ignore them…"

The joke hadn't done it because he didn't reach the punchline. But the banging on the door sure did and almost immediately, Nimara begins to laugh harder than he's ever seen. It's not the cackling she had done at the bar, but more of a deep, relieving laughter. And gracefully, she snorts when she does so. Through her laughter, she barely manages, "Should I bang my heels on the floor and start hollaring, 'oh yes?'" She almost cringes back away from him, playfully, as if he may retaliate.

Michael flusters a deeper red, and then burries his face into her shoulder. "And you said us falling in love makes no sense… how can I not, when you're this amazing?" he chuckles slightly, "Could always make it honest…" she doesn't see his playful grin, but his tone might be teasing.

When he leans down against her, her laughter softens, replaces with a soft, affectionate sound. "Aww," she says, a smile in her voice. A hand reaches up, to go through his hair. Her artificial arm moves around his back. It was a sweet moment… until his last comment. In response, deft fingers reach into his side, tickling quickly. "You're bad," she says.

Michael shifts slightly and rolls over, pulling on her to bring her up ontop of him. He instictively pulls away from the tickling, and he smiles up to her. "Then kiss me once more, and then we actually practice dancing!"

Nimara laughs aloud again when he flips her over, now she on top. "As you say, my Knight," she says and she leans down to kiss him once, sweetly and quickly. Finally then, she rolls over and begins to push herself up. Brushing the floor from her blouse, she rolls her shoulders and nods once, her smile there, natural and thought-free. "I think you're right."

Michael laughs softly, and then stands to join her. Hitting something on the desk to start up the music again, which gets more hoots and whistles from the hall way. He then reposes them into the dance form and smiles at her, "Shall we then, my Maiden?" he asks softly. He intends to spend what time until early morning, when all the other bunkers have gone to sleep, they have teaching her to dance.

The hours passed. She stumbled over his feet more often that not, and nearly fell over twice, but near the morning, she actually started to look like a dancer. Her face was full of affection, soft smiles and her eyes found his more often than not, with a thrumming of her heart. He had been worth the risk and she had much to share with him, much things to feel. She would be late to the office, possibly late to the senate, and for the first time in her life, she didn't care. For the first time in her life, she was falling and she would finally let someone catch her.

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