[P] [m] take me back to the night we met

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: making out and sexual themes.

”Director!” Blanche was grinning as she put the final touches on her basket, ”You made it right on time.”

Brocade grinned and leaned on the stall-front as she snuck what he thought looked like a fresh loaf beneath the linen cover. It had been an idea that had come to him in the wake of… whatever the childrens Birthday had turned into. His daughters still walked through the tower on egg shells, and Tattersall had begun to distance himself with his work. The Birthday had marked something other than their birth – and like a fool Brocade had let it slip through his fingers uncelebrated.

They had officially been married for just over a year. Their relationship had blossomed just the way it had been ordained – a proper engagement created by the Queen, and then later, a ceremony befitting of their noble blood. Brocade smiled lost in thought and was forced to the present as Blanche barked at him, her stare enough to level a mountain.

”You in there?”

He coughed, sheepish, ”My apologies. My mind seems to have wandered.”

She had pushed the basket onto the table and gave her head a shake. ”Bring the rabbits later – any thing else you find will be turned to stew.”

She waved her hand, ”Now get out of here.”

Brocade bowed his thanks and grinned, ”As you command.”


If it had been up to him, Morgana would have sat behind him – her hands wrapped around his waist. Instead she rode Pythios alongside him, occasionally asking questions about where they were headed that he refused to answer. It had proven a mild summers day, with dew drops flecking their horses as they set out on their journey.

The basket had been firmly attached to Tonnerres saddle, and a bottle of wine could be heard sloshing about each time the horse fell into a trot. When they came over the final hillock he pulled the horse to a slow, twisting in his seat to smile at Morgana. Even from here she looked beautiful; windswept and wild, her eyes sharp and full of surprise.

Below them, a veritable sea of sunflowers rippled beneath them. Each blossom winked and bobbed, the broad leaves filling in whatever space had existed between them. Birds careened above the patch of flowers with a wild ferocity, snapping up bugs and chirruping their heartsongs with gusto.

Brocade held out his arms, ”Surprise!”

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There was very little needed to convince Morgana to take her horse out. She was terribly vain and adored the animal – she had chosen him long before he had been her private mount, stealing every chance to take the handsome stallion out and spoil him. A beautiful woman like herself required a mount of equal standing. While there were all those dark and gloomy looking horses among their collective, the shining, golden one she owned suited her far better. It was clear from the clean, long length of his mane and tail that Morgana took efforts to groom the animal. Even his tack, which was relatively simple in make, was well cared for.

She had always liked flashy things, even though she generally dressed in simple garb. Practicality had driven her for most of her life. It had been a long journey north, and she had spent an equally long time living in Portland. Much of her youth had been spent toiling and learning her trade and her craft.

Now, though, she was a married woman, and a mother. She could afford better garments and better pieces of gold.

Some of this was apparent. Though her clothing was made from an uncolored deerskin, it had been accented by bright red strips patterned to highlight the curves of her body. The belt around her hips, cinched by means of a large circular ring, sat comfortably below her exposed belly. With the season still hot, she favored the short skirt and fitted top. The latter, especially, was needed while she rode. Childbirth had changed her body, and while she kept most of her youthful glamour, some things would never be the same.

Brocade didn't seem to mind, though. She had known he would be the perfect husband, and so he was. They were a perfect couple. If things had gone as she imagined, they would have had a perfect family.

Everything had a cost, of course. They had paid a heavy price.

Morgana let him lead, unsure as to where it was he sought to take her. They had been busy for so long that moments like this were rare these days: the two of them alone, away from their responsibilities and duties. She was content to allow Pythios to trail Tonnerre and let herself forget (if only for a few hours) about all the things they would return to.

The field sloped upwards, and then down, towards what could only be describe as a spectacular sight. Morgana's eyes lit up.

“Oh Brocade,” she sighed, putting a hand on her chest. “This is beautiful, hun.”
O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?
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”I thought you would like it.” The sunflowers glowed before them, and he took her hand to lead her towards a clearing he had scouted a few days before. He squeezed her hand and smiled broadly, ”They match your eyes.”

It didn’t take long for the thick stemmed flowers to blot them out – the horses abandoned on the outskirts of the Sunflower Sunsets.

When they found the place he gathered a blanket and unfurled it tidily. He stamped about the surface to get rid of any lumps, and then took up the basket to set it directly in its centre. ”I had Blanche help me put the food together – you know how good of a cook I am.” That was to say, he couldn’t cook at all. ”I made sure that she included your favorite.”

It was hidden beneath a carefully wrapped wine bottle, but the scent of the fresh bread had his mouth watering.

They settled together, curled amongst the flower stems and wide broad leaves.

Here there was nothing beyond their little circle. There was no children, no responsibility. Brocade nestled in close so that they could lean comfortably against one another. He kissed just behind her ear and smiled softly, "Been awhile since it's been just the two of us, hm?"

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Surrounded by the tall flowers, the rest of the world shrank away. She was conscious of where they had left the horses, and of the space between themselves and the nearby shore, but if she pretended all that remained was the yellow blooms and cerulean sky overhead.

Morgana fluttered her eyelashes at Brocade's compliment. “Well you are a charmer,” she said, already impressed by his decisions thus far.

Their life had, for a long time, revolved around their duties and their children. In the aftermath of their daughter's death, Morgana had stepped away from her role as a Sanctus Apprentice in order to focus her energy on her family. This was, at least, the story she made certain everyone heard. No one needed to know about how close she had come to true ruination, consumed by ire and a grief so terrible that she had considered doing far darker magicks than that which stole her child from her.

The fact that Brocade had gone to lengths to ensure they had a decent meal was appreciated, as she knew that he was more likely to present a raw carcass than properly roast the meat. Salsola had spoiled its people with their Last Suppers and easy access to prepared foodstuffs.

She helped him unpack, removing the rough, grainy bread and bottle. There were other smaller containers – one with a very soft, creamy butter, and another containing an equally limited amount of raw honey. There was something meaty hidden beneath the rest of the goods, but Morgana allowed Brocade to keep the surprise hidden. Organization was vital in all things, and Morgana made efforts to do so even now. She took a small, bowl-like goblet from the basket and uncorked the wine.

Morgana asked after she sniffed the contents. “Here, let me pour you some.”
O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?
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He grinned at her praise, ”And you are surprised?” The Director couldn’t help the affectionate rumble that built in his chest as she uncorked the wine. The scent of berries permeated their picnic as each glass was filled, and Brocade drank deeply before reclining even further on the blanket that they had lain out. The sky was the perfect shade of blue, each fluffy cloud drifting lazily by as the couple ate and talked.

"Now," He smiled again so that his expression glittered excitedly, "The main event."

Deep in the basket Blanche had hidden a portion of smoked meat. As he unwrapped it the scent of it made his mouth water, and he held it aloft as if to inspect how it had been made. He was no chef, and just as likely to eat his food raw - but there was something beautiful about the shiny skin and the way the cure made the meat glisten. With a knife he made deft work of slicing it before arranging it on the platter (just how Morgana had taught him) and then took a piece to sample.

When most of the food was gone and they had drank most of the wine, Brocade snuggled up to Morgana so that he could snake his head into her lap. He quite liked when she ran her fingers through his hair, or smoothed the scarred velveteen of his cheeks.

”Mmm, you’re soft.” He inhaled sharply, ”And you smell good.”

He snuffled at her with a laugh before reaching for a piece of bread. He broke this in two and passed it to her with a languid smile.

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Morgana laughed, light and airy. It had been a long time since the two of them had been alone like this – the addition of children had complicated their lives. When they were small it had been easier, though marked with tragedy. The assistance of the de le Poer siblings had helped in overseeing the brood while Morgana healed. She still felt that cold, black part in her soul left by the loss of her daughter, but each day it was easier to go on. Now that the children were practically grown, she could loosen her grip on them. They weren't perfect, but they had been the first for both herself and her husband – surely they were permitted some mistakes.

The wine tasted good, even if it made her thirsty. She drank while they talked, touching on his patrols and her crafts, on the things which made them beyond their family.

A huge portion of meat was drawn from the basket, and Morgana eyed it hungrily. She had once lived a life where she had known true hunger – traveling alone, learning from traders, studying under the tutelage of a witch-woman who claimed to know her family. Now, she wanted for nothing. Her home was large, she owned a handsome stallion, and her garments and accessories now numbered in the dozens. Salsola had made her wealthy. Marriage had made her wealthy. All the hard work she had put in, all the scheming and secret deals, those had paid off tenfold.

With a full belly, her head felt only a little fuzzy and warm from the wine. It made her affectionate, and she stroked Brocade's hair with her long, talented fingers. He had always been a handsome man, and even as he aged he retained the good looks that had first drawn her to him.

She laughed at his statement, which might have been crude if they were not married. He was not stupid, exactly, but had a childlike manner to him – his direct way of speaking, for one.

“I do what I can,” Morgana teased. She nibbled briefly on the bread, but soon placed it down on the blanket with the rest of the scraps from their meal.

Emboldened by the wine, she leaned down and kissed him. When they broke from this, her yellow eyes were bright. “Tell me more, mon chéri,” she urged, her voice dropping to a husky tone.
O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?
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In moments like this he could pretend that magic existed. As her fingers teased through his hair he could feel himself tumbling into an easy glamor, as if a faerie had placed him under a spell. Up close his wifes eyes were warm and fractal, the dark centres trained on the planes of his face.

Oh, how it felt to be loved by a woman. She bolstered him above the din, each gentle kiss coaxing him closer and closer. He snaked his hands up into the curves of her neck and chuckled softly, laving his tongue against the tip of her chin.

”More you say?” He propped himself up onto his elbows before rising to his knees. He murred and pulled her close, ignoring the food and wine which lay picked through and eaten around them.

He had never been one for poetry. Learning to read had never been a priority, and now he was too old to bother. The written word mattered little in the grand scheme of his life - on the battlefield he could shout what he needed to, or gesture with his large scarred hands.

Being a soldier had always been his calling – though Morgana had influenced the lay of his life beyond measure.

He gathered her delicate hands and splayed them against his chest, ”You feel…” He nipped her, ”Nice.”

A grin slid onto his features as he pulled her into a kiss. "You taste..."

He forgot what words were. Instead he pulled Morgana into his lap, the folds of her dress spilling out to either side.

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spice spice bb

She had cast a spell.

It had been done years ago, when she first came to Salsola. The first of many, Morgana had drawn symbols on wood, killed birds and drained their blood, and made offerings to anyone who was listening. She was careful about what she said and when she did these things. In the beginning, she had been secretive – because the magic was still taking form, and exposing herself might undo the whole thing.

Brocade's simple nature made it easy for him to follow. He was a good soldier and a better captain. When he thought himself in command, he could be extraordinary. His climb could never go higher within Salsola – as a Capo, the man took orders from only the highest sources.

And sometimes, like now, his witch-wife used her powers to bend his will to her own.

She laughed at him and showed the bright color of her tongue. The little bites he made were playful, but he had big, sharp teeth. The strength of his arms, which brought her into his grasp, was greater than any Morgana could command. If he wanted to, he could have used his power to force her into a sad and sorry state of submission like some men who fancied themselves warriors often did. When people got used to taking what they wanted without consequence or command, they became savages.

Salsola had not tamed them, exactly, but they were changed.

His kiss woke something in her. It was a hunger that food had not satiated, a thirst made all the more urgent from alcohol. Morgana shifted her legs, conscious of the growing heat and hard pressure forming between his legs. She could feel it beneath the leathers and decorative hides, things which all of a sudden felt restrictive and unnecessary. When they finally stopped to breathe, Morgana spread her legs and reclined until she could see his face fully. She lifted one hand and used her nails to undo the cording holding her shirt together.

“You can show me,” she urged him. “I know what you want to say.”

She shrugged open the top, and pulled it away to gather among the items they'd pushed aside. The witch reached for his hand and guided it to the space above her heart. Her fur was very dark here, and made the presence of her pink, exposed nipples all the more apparent. 

A black stone dangled not far above this – and further up her throat gold, and a small leather pouch whose secret contents were meant to bring good fortune.

She heard the low, possessive rumble in his chest and liked the sound of it, the same way she liked how he tugged off his clothing. Later, before they slipped into the hazy oblivion of a long-overdue afterglow, they called each other's names like they were holy sounds.
O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?
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