03.18.3014: The Last Wall
Summary: Expecting the worst, Nitrim meets up with Cyrielle to learn what she wanted to speak privately about. She asks him if he's willing to give up his Khournas name. He gives her birthday presents.
Date: 10 December 2013
Related: Target Practice
Cyrielle Nitrim 

A non-descript hotel — Arboren, The Vale
Room description included in setting.
March 18, 3014

After departing Mott's, Cyrielle ran a few errands. Purchasing a few things. Primarily food and drink. To avoid having to order room service. The spread, laid out within the lavish suite, is comprised of hearty snacks and drinks- alcoholic and non. It's not as extravagant a suite as the night he helped her while drunk and missing her cane. It's still nice, however; more cozy than anything else. A small bedroom, a comfortable bath, a small lounge area, and a kitchenette. The message was sent once she had settled in.

Within the hotel room, Cyrielle has stripped out of her coat and boots. The slacks are still on as is the top; the former tied up around knee height. She's balanced on the edge of a sofa, some music network playing on the Infosphere display. Hands brace behind her and she's going through some exercises for her new leg. Just lifting and lowering it. The door has been left unlocked, should the Khournas appear.

Normally, the Khourni lordling that Nitrim is would announce his presence to Cyrielle upon his approach. Normally, he would send a message about when and where he would be arriving, but instead he settles for the simple message of where to appear and is arriving later than expected. Nearly a half-hour later than she said for him to be there, the hooded noble slips through the WayGate and weaves a path through the busy crowds in an attempt to lose anyone following him. A box in hand, carried like a courier attempting to make a package delivery, he takes the stairs up to the hotel room's floor and slips down the hall.

He stops before the door, a sigh coursing out from beneath the low cowl of his hood. His fist rises, and hesitates, until he eventually knocks against the door's wooden frame.

Still in the midst of her exercises and feeling a bit weary, Cyrielle lets her Awakened state slide over her. With white eyes gazing absently towards the InfoSphere display, she reaches out with her mind. Nitrim will feel her brush; tender and gentle, just in case it's not the man she's waiting for. There's an elated relief when yes, it is him.

It's unlocked.

Within, she'll be shifting back on the couch to get a better view of the door, turning to stretch out against it; or at least to stretch her leg out to rest it. When Nitrim does enter, he'll see that she's smiling as the Awakened state slides away. Her pleasure at seeing him is obvious even without the telepathic link.

When the shadows pull from the doorway and the heavy, wooden door swings back into place to latch with a resounding CRUNCH, Nitrim appears before her. Eyes to the wall, he turns his gaze over her head to the walls, the InfoSphere display, the kitchenette, and finally the table where he sets his box down. He looks everywhere but the Hollolas girl, and the dark lines on his face are a hard contrast to the smile she wears.

"Nice place." Nitrim murmurs, finally turning his gaze to her as he motions to her box. A deep frown crosses his lips, and his glance to the door is far more him finding his escape route rather than making sure it is closed. "Hey…look I've been having a bad feeling about this all day, Cyri, so whatever it is that you're feeling bad about, if it's something that I don't want to hear, can I just leave your birthday presents here and…" He motions to the door. "…I'll just make it easy for you?"

The smile falters… then fades. This isn't the meeting Cyrielle expected. She put enough effort into getting a room at a lesser-known hotel and masking her own comings and goings. It was even paid for with a disposible credit chip. The woman sits somewhat straighter, eyes sharply on the young man. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. When he does finally explain it, her eyes widen.

"What?!" Unthinking, she launches to her feet and makes it a couple of steps before she pitches forward. The mixture of surprise at his reaction and her own recklessness enables her to only let out a squeak of surprise.

Nitrim wasn't expecting that reaction. A look of confusion grimaces over his face as he tries to stop her retort, but the fact that she's surprised stops him. And now she's falling forward. Moving quickly, Nitrim steps forward and goes to one knee, catching her under her arms and giving her a shoulder to fall onto. Her weight is light; she's a skinny girl.

"Hey! Careful…" Nitrim laughs painfully, the lapel of his shirt dragged ot the side by her weight. "Are you okay?"

There's a soft grunt at the collision and Cyrielle grasps to Nitrim as she settles against him. Slight woman or not, it is a sudden burst of momentum and he'll catch all of her. Better than her wrists to catch her on the floor. The woman buries her face against his shoulder for a moment and when she lifts her head… she's blushing. "Yeah," she murmurs, eyes sliding to meet his… then away. "Sometimes I forget."

Because it's not everyday you get a new leg. Cyrielle recovers herself and starts to shift away, pushing herself from him to sit on the sofa again. There's a wince with the movement it brings of her leg, but she leaves one hand on his arm, tugging him after her. "Why… what… I…" She shakes her head slightly. "Nitrim, I think you have the wrong idea of this."

From his knees, Nitrim looks up to Cyri, allowing her to guide him back up to his feet. Suddenly exhausted, he looks the two of them over and reaches out to her hip, peeling away some fuzz from the carpet and dropping it to the floor. His lips quiver, curling just a little as he finds himself suddenly confused. "Cyrielle…at the TapHouse you were upset about having a late night at the Palace Towers." Nitrim replies to her, trying to be as clear as possible. "If something happened and you're just trying to find a way to tell me," His shoulder rises in a blithe shrug. "I'd rather not take it in the teeth, that's all. I've never seen you like that, and after you being angry about that horrible tabloid picture with Lady Evey…"

As Nitrim speaks and explains, Cyrielle's features wash over in an expression of dawning comprehension. She tugs gently at him, pulling him towards the sofa as she settles back into it. Pulling him to her, specifically. "I… I wasn't angry about the picture. I was worried. I know Lady Evey has an… interest in you. I became jealous." She bites her lip, red coloring her ears. It's an awkward thing to admit; jealousy. And something she's never admitted before.

"What happened with Advent… It doesn't have anything to do with us, except maybe that I shouldn't have brought up your name. He's… well, you can guess why he'd be angry at you." Cyrielle studies Nitrim for a moment, concern writ on her features. "Fuck's sake, 'trim… Why would I invite you to a hotel room if I had bad news or wanted you to leave?"

"Neutral location, away from the press, away from your family," Nitrim replies with a pained chuckle, starting to feel tired and foolish. Unlike the woman before him, he doesn't blush. Instead, he looks away to a neutral spot on the wall were he can bare his teeth like angry fangs to bite back the swell of openness he's allowed himself, rather foolishly. His hand comes to his forehead, rubbing gently. "I told you I was trying to figure my place out and the harder I push, the harder things get, and not pushing makes me feel like I'm just letting the quicksand eat me whole."

Turning back to her, his eyes find hers once more and he reaches out for her hand. The cold metal of his claw-like rings is an uncomfortable thing to bear; the very hard edges he's designed himself to associate with. "Lady Evey has someone else in mind, Cyrielle. When that picture was taken…I was telling her to not end up like me. Like what I've done to us."

There's a discomfort in those rings, yes, but Cyrielle has come to favor them. The cold of the metal and the rough edges have become things she associates with her drake. Never mind the memories she holds onto of the times he's used those claws upon her bare skin. She tucks her hand around his; smaller, yet she knows just how and where it fits. "I'm sorry I let myself get jealous," she murmurs, eyes upon their hands. She leans a shoulder into the sofa, slouching into the cushion.

Dark eyes rise to find his and she draws in a breath. "As I said at the taphouse… I really don't know why Advent called on me, but he did. He's… he has almost no control over his powers, 'trim. And they're entirely guided by his emotions…" Cyrielle shudders and draws her left leg up closer to herself. Instinctually making herself a smaller target. "Every time it got worse, I kept expecting the guards to pin it all on me and throw me in a cell."

"I don't understand why they didn't deal with it internally, as he's far from the first Awakened in his House." Nitrim replies quickly, shoulders lifting in a shrug as he steps closer, offering his weight to her for a lean to favor her new leg. "But…you told me you met while talking therapy and it makes sense why he would call you." Nitrim continues, squeezing her hand and turning it over so that he can stare down into her palm. "Better the devil you know. It makes sense."

"I suppose because he called for me," Cyrielle says, though there's the faint upward lilt of a questioning tone. "I can't say for sure. It's not my place to question royals." And she doesn't care to try, either. The woman does lean in against Nitrim, drawing in a slow breath. Drinking in his scent. It's been far, far too long. "Apparently… he has fallen for Lady Brienne and had spent a month in Arboren to attempt to court her. I suppose after the rumors… she told him she didn't know and blamed him for her not knowing, saying he should have been more direct." There's a brief shrug and Cyrielle lets her eyes close.

"He… were he to train his abilities, he would be terrifying on the battlefield. Even working through some breathing exercises with him, he still damaged a fair bit of furniture in the room."

"I can only imagine what he had to say when you gave him my name." Nitrim replies, eyes shadowing over into something dark as he raises his gaze to Cyrielle's shoulder. Breaking a hand free from her grasp, he reaches out to the shoulder of her top and pulls gently against the fabric, letting it fall back into proper order. "This really is lovely on you," He laughs, distracted, but only to break the tension of Soleil's memory. "The Sauveur have a right to hate me. I was told earlier that some even think I provided her the drugs that she used to kill herself. That…is never something that helps to hear, but she's far worse off than I am now, isn't she?"

With a sigh, he untangles from her and takes a step back, brushing his hand throught he back of his blonde hair. His fingers curl, tugging at the short cut of hair in frustration. "Okay…so what was it you wanted to tell me alone, then?" He cuts to the point, restoring eye contact as quickly as he took it away. "You're saying then that this isn't bad news you wanted to talk about?"

"He… did not have much good to say and I didn't defend you." Cyrielle's brow furrows slightly at that and she looks down towards their feet. "I wanted to, but… I thought you wouldn't want to be defended. I told him he was right to feel as he did and that you would expect nothing less. We… settled that much at least with him saying that he hopes, for my sake, that you have changed."

As he steps back, her gaze lifts and meets his. Cyrielle's expression softens and she seeks to close the distance. Seeks to slide an arm around him. "Oh, Six no, Nitrim. I'm so, so sorry if you thought so…" She seems both distressed and abashed upon realizing the state she must have put him in. "It's just something… best asked in person, I think."

"Cyrielle…" Nitrim breathes deeply, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and tucking her in close. "The last woman and I did wrong to disappeared and got pregnant from the first man she found. The one before that? She killed herself. I -I- don't know how much more of that I can take because the only thing that makes me want to fight this feeling that I should just walk is that I refuse to let it end like this, and I'll be fucking damned if I hurt another person again." Nitrim lays his head against her shoulder. "I killed her, Cyrielle. I can't say I'm sorry and I'm done fucking up."

His weight grows on her shoulders, pulling her against him to avoid putting too much weight on her leg. Head turning, he presses a kiss to her jaw and closes his eyes. "I mean this. I do…" He trails off. "What did you want to ask?"

When he leans into her, Cyrielle's arms wrap around Nitrim. She pulls him in, shifting her weight to her left leg. She'll stand, if she must. Fingers press into his coat and there's a soft nuzzle of her head to his. "I know," she murmurs softly into his ear at the admission. "For what it's worth, I forgive you your transgressions. I know it's not much, but…"

The press of lips to jaw is returned, a soft breath escaping her. Cyrielle draws in a deeper one as she disengages from him. She steps back, balancing herself to stand upright. His hands are caught in hers, grip firm. Until he opens his eyes and looks at her. The woman's breath wavers slightly, but her stance is firm. "Nitrim… what would you say to my requesting that you…" A crack in her voice and she squares her shoulders. "That you be wed to me and become Hollolas. It is a true love match, so it isn't unheard of…" By the end, her words rush together and her eyes break away, falling towards the ground.

"I've got to forgive myself. I've got to, someday, and I will but…thank you." The words are hard to say, coming through his lips like a eulogy for himself and the dead he feels responsible for. The pain is a visible line of tension moving up the back of the man's spine, pulling taut and rigid as she pulls away to ask her question. By the look in her eye, he knows it's going to be a tough one.

A tough one it is.

Eyes going distant and vacant, Nitrim enters a look that has become known as his thinking place. It's the sort of relationship-terrible non-commital moment that doesn't inspire warmth, but it's who he is. Having to mask his emotions on the fly is a skill he's learned as a Khourni.

"Hey…" Nitrim speaks up after a painfully long silence, reaching out for her chin to draw her attention back to him. Swallowing, his lips flatten and his brows meet in the center, troubled. "I would do anything." Nitrim says with a gentle force, confidence returning with a bit of a battlefield face to him. "I love you and the Hand. My family will always be my family. If my father agreed, it would hurt only because I'd know he'd see me as better off without them, but we'd have each other and…" He frowns, letting a little bit of hard truth through. "I need your help. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I don't want to be that person anymore. I see the way they look at me; the way your father looks at me. I would be a good husband, but I want you more than I want this reputation, I swear."

The look he gains only sets Cyrielle more uncertain. This is why she had to ask in person. She knew it had to be done that way. A simple message… or even a vid-call wouldn't suit. It's a big deal, asking someone if they'd be willing to marry down. She lets him guide her attention back, lips parted just slightly. Her expression remains mildly fearful. Something does cross her eyes at the mention of being without his family, but she doesn't give voice to it.

"I think my father is fearful of any of his children being wed. Not one of us has yet had the beginnings of banns and… should I be first, I'm his youngest. I imagine that's a difficult thing." Cyrielle cannot be certain of that; it's only a guess. She swallows and tilts her head in a small nod. "I know you'd be a good husband. And I know you're improving… I hate myself for doubting you, Nitrim. It wasn't fair of me."

"I haven't shown a lot of people that they shouldn't doubt me." Nitrim lowers his head, brow twitching as he makes a painful point of it. His lips part, hesitating, but the words finally draw out. "It was fair, but you didn't want to, which means you're honest with me. That'll go away in time, but it's sweet, and fair, and Six it's fucking honest." With a faint smile, he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth and turns to walk. Hand taking hers, he leads her over to the sofa.

"I really like the time I spend with your brother, and I get the feeling that Alix would accept me. Ephraim thinks your father might actually like me, he just doesn't want me to see it. I'm not so sure." Nitrim continues, dropping to the sea and tugging her towards him, wanting her near. "I want to be with you. Hollolas or Khournas. I need to be me and maybe…" Nitrim flattens his lips. "…maybe a new life is what I need. A fresh start."

"Of course I'm honest with you," Cyrielle says, giving a small shake of her head. Allowing him to lead her to the sofa. She gladly falls into a seat next to him. Instinctually, she curls into the Khourni lordling. "I love you and part of love… is to be honest, regardless of how painful it is. It just might take some time to get there…"

Turning into Nitrim, Cyrielle drapes an arm across him. Her fingers curl over his shoulder and she settles in with a small sigh. "I barely know Alix, myself. She… came to the family more recently. I do think father likes you, yes." She leans away- barely. "Have I told you that I'm off AMP?"

"You didn't tell me, but I noticed." Nitrim replies, shuffling sideways on the sofa until his hip presses tightly against Cyrielle's. Turning at the waist, his arm snakes under hers, head pressed to her temple as the two bodies form a pretzel of arms and a warm, emotional cocoon for the two to hide in…with a hand to her backside no less. "I didn't bring it up because I dosed that one night. I've had the chance to dose again, but I haven't. I'm proud of you for kicking the drug, and…I'm pleased that I'm in control of my addiction, at least more than I was; more than I was that night at Reena's charity rave." He laughs harshly against her neck. "//Fuck, I can't believe when I called you to the floor I'd forgotten about your cane. I can be an imbecile."

Tugging her leg to glide over his hip with a bit more greed than needed, a smile finally comes to Nitrim's lips. His eyes shut closed and a comforted sigh washes over the smooth, lightly-tanned skin of her neck. It's the sigh people make when they've found somewhere comfortable to rest after being on their feet for hours. "I brought your birthday presents."

"I wanted to be done with it even before the surgery," Cyrielle admits softly, shifting as he guides her body. Letting him do so, finding those comfortable niches to settle into. They're getting to that point where they know each other's bodies well enough to instinctually find where the pieces fit. "So I didn't bring any with me to Eden…" A soft shudder runs through her at the memory. "It wasn't easy and the real test will be when they stop issuing pain killers for my leg."

She tilts her head against his, settling in as her eyes slide closed. Savouring the closeness; the thing she's missed most the past few days. "I'd forgotten about that," Cyrielle murmurs, exhaling a soft chuckle. "Well, soon there won't be a need to remember it." The last brings mild surprise, "Even… as worried as you were?"

The crown of Nitrim's head turns to look to the kitchen table, where the indistinct box rests. With a puff of breath, Nitrim brushes a stray lock of Cyrielle's hair away from his eyes and flashes a grin at it. "Worried, yes, but it doesn't change that I love you and…well, really, there's no sense in returning any of it. Besides, I'm a horrible fish-hook of a man and it would have burned you to no end, especially how my birthday is soon around the corner."

Nitrim Khournas isn't above subtle wounding, apparently.

The sofa creaks around the two as Nitrim turns back to Cyrielle and presses a gentle kiss to a soft patch of skin just behind Cyrielle's ear. One hand gently caressing her forehead and tucking her hair away from his lips, he continues. "So the question is, do you open them now that we're not going to spend the rest of the night hating each other, or do we leave it sitting there on the table like a red button over a glass case and I get to watch you fidget, wanting to open it?"

There's a soft snort at Nitrim's jab and Cyrielle shifts, moving a hand to his side. Fingers curl in and she makes a solid attempt at tickling him. "Well, lucky for you, drake, I am well and truly in love with you and you'll be receiving your gift. Don't worry."

She doesn't persist in the tickling for long; just enough to get her point across. Lifting her chin, Cyrielle does look over towards the table. There's a soft growl under her breath. "There's a caveat to that," she offers, leaning back to bring him into view. "and that is… how badly do you want to see my reaction to the gifts?"

It's a rare secret, but the slithering drake of Volkan is ticklish, and despite the fact he's risked life and limb to fight the Cantosans, he can be undone by a fluttering of fingers under his arm. A jabber of syllables yodels over his lips as her fingers catch him, prompting a rather undue bite of his teeth down on her shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to get the point across. It stops and he's pulled into her view.

"Ahhhhhhh I knew it," Nitrim replies, grinning like the snake he is as he reads her facial expression. As he sits, he works at removing his jacket. "It would be under your skin the whole night, wouldn't it? I want to see your reaction very badly. I think you're going to love it. There's one item not in the box, though. I removed it at the last second, I'll save it for the finale."

There's a roll of the shoulder once his teeth part it, but Cyrielle is grinning nonetheless. It's a full shattering of any tension that may have been present before. All worries, concerns, and discomforts well past. Now they can return to being friends- and lovers.

The Hollolas girl shifts away enough to let him free himself of his coat. Cyrielle's eyes do slide over towards the box, where it had been set to rest. "As I doubt I'll ever understand how your mind works, yes… I am very, very curious."

"Oh, you should be happy that my mind isn't something you can pick apart. It's a jagged, rusty place with plenty of stray nails for you to snag your elbows on. You're getting a pretty good look into it, though." Nitrim replies as the coat is thrown over the arm of the sofa, leaving him in a loose-fitting, sleeves shirt in a dark gray color. Tattoos and scars open to view, he reaches out with his power to float the box over towards them. "I'm so used to lying to people though, I come across like I'm lying even when I don't think I am anymore. It's a horrrible, yet sometimes necessary habit."

As the box comes to a stop on the coffee table, Nitrim turns and slides his booted foot behind Cyrielle's back on the sofa, scissor-trapping her with his legs. He motions to the box. The time has come. "Happy Birthday, Cyrielle."

"Cat said something about how you… form cubby holes in your heart for people," Cyrielle murmurs as they settle in together. She curls into that place formed between his legs, letting the box fill the space in the middle. "I don't want to be that, 'trim." It's a serious thing, but she feels perhaps it's a good time for it. Serious, but placed at a light-hearted moment; to show it's not something needing immediate resolution.

"You have all of me. I want all of you."

Leaving that there, she reaches for the lid to open the box. Nestled in the bed of black fabric rest a few items, but it's the chain-and-scale maille that she reaches for first. Cyrielle is being very reverent about each; she knows this is a big deal for him, as much as it is for her. There's a quirk of lips as she looks it over. "You'll make me regret asking if you would become Hollolas for me," she teases. "Turning me into a drake." The hairpins follow; these bringing a mild fascination. She's rare done much with her hair, but by the interest in the pieces… it's clear that's not a specific preference. It's clear thoughts — concepts — are at work as she turns them over in her hands.

Eyes lowering to the box, Nitrim scoots in close to meld against her shoulder as she pulls out the first two items. Watching with gentle eyes and far //less/ strain than he had on his shoulders as the night began, her comments bring a smirk to the corner of his wicked lips. "Like it or not, either way, the other's influence would enter the house if we were wed. Someone's getting a storm witch, and someone's getting a drake, and both are going to be a little bit of both." Nitrim muses, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Catriona sees more than she should," He pauses against her shirt. "But…you're right. I hide. You're a bigger part of me than I show. A much bigger part of me, but it's hard not to worry that our fathers will deny us; it's like I want to keep my cards hidden. I shouldn't."

The next item in the box is from something closer to the Hollolas lands. A charm bracelet in braided, salt-hardened leather that forms two coils is besotted with little charms: a feather here, a coin there, a key on one side, and all of the charms are in a rather ship-like brass color. Lastly, at the bottom of the box is a black skirt with a hem that is ruffled; calf-height on one side and ankle-height on the other. The waist of the skirt is wrapped in a wide black belt. The gift brings a chuckle from Nitrim as it is brought out.

"You know how I love how your stomach gets kinda concave when you stretch out?" Nitrim smirks. "I saw this and thought that you'd look great in it."

"I think Catriona is one of the few who has been intimately close to the old and new you," Cyrielle murmurs, tilting her head in against his as his lips find the skin revealed by her top. "There's… no reason, even politically, that our fathers should deny us. You're the youngest of your family and while I'm the youngest of mine… I'm main-line for the House and we're a solid tie into Arboren interests. Valtans aside- they mine the seas. We rule it." She cares little for politics, but some things… well, the flash of Cyrielle's teeth show enough.

The charms on the bracelet are allowed to slide through her fingers, a smile coming to her lips with each. This, she wraps around her left wrist immediately and holds her hand out for Nitrim to assist in securing it. The skirt, then, earns a soft chuckle once she sees it. Cyrielle studies the fabric and the cut of it. "I'll have to try it on later," she murmurs and something, in that tone, does easily imply that it will be the skirt and… only the skirt.

Nitrim makes quick work of her bracelet, and the thought of it alone brings the young drake to pull aside just a little more of Cyrielle's top at her shoulder, revealing her bare upper arm for a warm press of his lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He replies, teeth baring against her skin for a love-drunk laugh. "Speaking of Catriona, and I agree with you, by the way, but when we are wed I'd like her to be there as part of our support. It would be a trick arrangement, but to even get her out at the after-party would be important to us, wouldn't it?" Nitrim pauses. "Have you considered accepting a hand-maiden?"

As his legs squeeze around Cyrielle, drawing her closer to him, his belly arches into a strange U-shape to allow his hand access to the pocket of his trousers. No doubt the last present, the one he held off, is about to be brought out. When his hand rises before her face, it is wrapped with the leather cord of a silvered shell-like pendant. The center of it is an omni-glass bead with a strangely blood-red coating inside that moves as the pendant swayed. Filled two-thirds of the way with the liquid, which coats the glass walls briefly until it recedes, it could be only one thing.

"It's air-tight and the glass is nigh-indestructible, but you could get in if you tried hard enough." Nitrim explains. "I have a ritual I could show you, and when the stars are right you could use the blood to send your feelings to me wherever I am." Nitrim pauses, letting the words settle in. "Alive or not. Or so the ritual says. You'd be going on faith that I'd feel it."

"I'd be glad to have her there," Cyrielle affirms, with a small tilt of her head. "I'm sure we can figure something out- our families have to know we have friends in low places, as it were." There's a twitch of a smirk there. "A hand-maiden?" Brow furrows and she gives a small shrug. "I'd… never thought of it before. It always felt… frivilous? Like something I don't deserve." Or really need.

Eyes track the necklace as it dangles for a moment and as he speaks, she lifts her hands to accept it, palms cupping around the pendant. Cyrielle brings it nearer for inspection, fingertips drifting over the central focus. She bites into her lip, lifting her eyes to him as her fingers curl around in, arm moving in so that she can clutch it to her chest. There is, yes, a bit of something shining in the corners of her eyes.

The gift, and Cyrielle's reaction to it, blanket the two on the sofa in a moment of silence. Nitrim's smile fades and his head lifts to watch her reaction; just as she suspected. With a bit of worry to his own eyes that the gift is too much, he quells down the feeling of pride that washes around inside of his stomach as she clutches it to her heart. It's a sacred moment; something that should pass by destroying the glow with the wrong comment. He tries to speak, but not a single word tumbles out from his lips.

Smiling grimly, Nitrim's lips force into a flat line as he reaches out to Cryielle's cheek for a quiet caress. His fingers travel up from the corner of her mouth to brush past the hair at her temple, and his arms envelop her head, bringing him close to his chest.

"You're not in a cubby." He whispers to her. "You're not."

It's not too much, no. In fact, paired with the words he offers, it may be just enough. Cyrielle presses into his chest, setting the necklace carefully into the box and moving the whole of it to the floor with just a light shuffle of the contents. Freed of the barrier, she shifts her weight to her left leg on the sofa and leans forward into the Khournas.

The kiss offered is one both passionate and loving. No telepathy is needed to know the emotions contained; it's one of those kisses that is only ever shared when in love. With that tender meeting, however, there's a slow wakening of other hungers. Desires.

They've had little time together over the past months. Too difficult to evade watching eyes and responsibilities. Sure, there have been vid-calls, but nothing can replace flesh. Even as Cyrielle captures his lower lip lightly between her teeth, she's sliding hands under his shirt; pushing the fabric away.

They have the room for the night, but little sleep will be had.

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