January 07, 2003.01.07.03. - by the light of candles [harlequin sinclair][jersey city]
(nakhti)
weight shifted on the fire escape, one hand flattening against the glass of the window, he's crouched, now, hunkered down in jeans and the thick charcoal gray sweater, dark hazel eyes peering into the flat, shadow tendrils of inky hair flipping about his face in the late night breeze this high off the ground, knowing how meticulously clean it is within, watching for a darker shift of shadows to bely whatever may be insideminutes pass as he waits, silent, before fingers gently rap on the chilled glass
(harl)
*he sits in the middle of the floor of the lounge/dinning room of his appartment sparten by choice he travels light used to living in a caravan where the most of his posessions where clothes and costumes. the furniture is spartan but good the table wooden chosen more for its honey colour and soft grain than any idea of decour matching chairs 2 in total complete the setting a small candellabra in the centre unlit for the moment both pressed into the small space near the kitchen almost up against the breakfast bar that seperates it from the lounge living area a day bed takes up most of the lounge done in what appears to be white velvet the other a stray scattering of cushions litters a third corner for if he ever needs to entertain more than just himself or prehaps it is just to catch the afternoon sun as he lounges around . the floorboards have been scrubbed clean and polished till they shine the flicker of candle light somewhere deep in the flat the only illumination highlighting him in shadow rather than light. he sits in what appears to be a small chalk circle. a new pair of clothes placed in front of him as well as a small aray of knives and rope and what looks a bit like a whip (ala indianna jones style) coiled like a deadly viper upon his lap eyes closed he hums softly to himself.((i hadnt meant to send that)) eyes snap open at the sound of knuckled on glass head swivilling slowly to stare at the one who would dare to intrude upon his teritory upon his privacy death lurks in those eyes as he rolls slowly to hands and knees. that is until eyes light upon who it is that dares the snarl that mared/hightened his savage beauty melting away into a smile as he flows to his feet crossing the small distance between them to touch the glass a hand rested on chilled surface before he slides it open "come here"
(nak)
even in the darkness of the night, even lost in the shadows of the depths of which he travels, finally the candlelight begins to dawn on his senses, and it draws hazel eyes across the polished reflections, towards what's hidden just out of his view - perhaps there is something important happening, perhaps there is someone else there and he is interrupting, there's a slow creep across the fire escape, repositioning himself for a better angle, and it is then that he can see the faint outline of the familiar formhead tilts, studying the still form that veritably glows in the low candlelight.. he waits, precious minute and moments passing, until he knocks again, slightly louder this time, glass rattling beneath the knuckled assault
and that's when he's heard, and the figure looks over, and a smile ghosts across his features, reflecting the savage beauty of the protective creature inside, fingers spread a flattened spider on the glass between their hands, only moving once the inside hand pulls away to open the window, lithe body unfolding to creep within, straightening bare inches before Harlequin, lips parting to taste his partner's scent, his clothes reeking of pine scent and the woods, not the normal city they reside in
(harl)
nostrils flair ever so slightly as mouth opens a breath drawn in as if one would drink his very soul down. the slightest flicker in his eyes as he looks at you a strange look a considering look."you went playing in the woods without me?"
an almost hurt look not that he doesnt do it all the time as well yet that was a mistery he had wished to share and explore together the two of them. how could i protect you if you are alone?... . funny both feel protective of the other... how could i be your voice even as you are my shadow? not spoken but there is concearn there. hands reach around him barely more than a breaths distance away to again take hold of the window to slide it closed. to once again leave out the cold and trap in what little heat the small tenobi running in his bedroom can provide. the flat smells like vanilla and cinnamon that sweet mix that is so reminiciant of him very him. (most of his clothes smell like that) and something more just on the edge of feeling like warm furrr tantalising as it lurks just beneath his skin. as arms slide down around you pulling the glass back into place he finally lets them touch you hold you pulling you down into the pile of cushions the range of fabrics and colours done to tease and tantalise the senses deeper into shadow and further from what he was doing..
"and what can i do for you tonight nakhti" there is the purrrrr upon your name as if he is unable to pronounce it any other way as if only in love and lust and dark desire can it pour between his lips an almost forbidden fruit which he desires....
(nak)
he sees the distress, and hands reach so carefully to touch the face that draws closer as the window slides closed, perhaps there is a twinge of regret that so briefly flickers in those rich, hazel eyes (i was only curious) but it is lost at the sudden smile from being tugged onto the pillowsbodies tangling in comfortable sprawl, an affection brought on by the intimate touch of long lengths of flank and thigh resting against each other, the arms that tangle to regain the lost warmth, drowning in the stimulating sea of pillows and silks and cinammon and vanilla - a moment is spent simply absorbing, redefining the scents and touches that are the athletic form so very close to his, there is only one thing missing, and that is taste - the deficit quickly corrected by the sudden capture of soft lips, a consuming kiss that speaks of the apology (so rare, he would ever apologize) for going there without Harl
only after he is satiated, only after he has drunk his fill of sensuous kiss, does he pull back, and only far enough to allow his hands to move between them, spelling out the words so the Bagheera can understand them (i had something to tell you)
(harl)
his face rolls almost instinctivly against the hand that touches his face a caress of skin against skin oils mixing scent left behind, i am yours and you are mine, (no need to appologise) . eyes flicker flash along the length of his body that consuming presense of him drinking it in through his very skin. a distraction, a most enjoyable one as they not so much fall into the embrace of flesh and fabric but sink languidly into it for the breifest of moments the world revolving around nothing but the touch of thier body the feel of his presense and the warmth of his scent then taste of lips soft and sensual yet consuming as if one would devour the other this one quite happy to be devoured the purrrr is felt more than heard as hungry mouth drinks it t down only to have it broken to soon yet not soon enough (one must breath occasionally) . and he pulls back shadows dancing over skin shadows moving in flesh he watches as he forms the letters and then the words still mouthing them silently to himself sometimes copying the movement as if to better capture the sentence the structure to help him to understand."what is it you wish to tell me" first spoken in romany (a deal is afterall a deal) and then again, in english hands move as he speaks practice practice practice the words formed whole in most cases spelled out in others yet he is getting better (intense lessons that took up almost all his money and his own private tutour that now sits with him in his flat)
(nak)
if only he could purr, he would, he would let the sound rumble between their skins, just as the Romany lilts between them - but all he can do is smile, soft and sly, and even affectionate, and offer the flicker of his fingers in the candlelight (who is it, that we met in the woods the other night? who is his....) there is a pause, as he searches for how to spell the word, and does the best he can (...Pena?) gaze lifting in question(harl)
he looks at nakhti for a moment considering on what would be the best way to answer this. a single hand running lightly over nakhtis thigh small strokes finger light as if reluctant to break his touch yet doing so to try and sign at least what he can even as he knows nakhti can hear him practice makes perfect " the man we met is my prala, brother" the way he says brother is strange not brother the way some would call a friend yet not brother the way some would call family lacking in definition he is frustrated at his own efforts of expression as shown in his own signs."Ra'gon like me is Romani he is of the same family as i lyupis, yet he is rikono, dog, so even as we are related we are not." frowning for a moment this is causing confusion to him too a conflict of interest nothing comes before family yet the dogs are not to be trustedf. "i take it you have met either justima nadja or justima gemile? pena or sisters."
laying back into the pile of cushions eyes flickering lightly to make sure candle still burns (even as he sees the illumination) and that wax is not dripping everywhere (no not my nice clean flat) only to have nakhti again consume his attention like a dark flame drawing the moth to it. he smiles as he looks at you a smile reflected deep within chocolate eyes. "that however is a question you said you wished to tell me something"
(nak)
he watches, carefully, only reaching once to gently correct the gesture or letter, a subtle prompt so that learning is rewarded with the lingering touch rather than harshly reprimanded, nodding to absorb the information, before beginning the musical language of his hands(Ra'gon..... and the woman wore bells, the other slept in the trailer with nightmares whom I did not see..... they are children of the Jackal God... Anubis.... and he knew me as Bast's..... in the forest, they spoke in Romany when knowing I was near, thinking I could not understand all of what they said, even after, at times, when they had invited me back to the Vardo after I followed her ) it is a half-truth, he could only pick words and construct intentions from tones of request and secretive hush (He requested something of her..... in regards to you) the signs have slowed, a reluctance in them, when exchange of information is so fluent for his kind, this, for some reason becomes difficut - as he understands the ties of family (They do not trust you....)
the gaze averts, breifly, perhaps doing his own check on the candle, out of his respect for another's territory, already learning and well aware of the habitual cleanliness which is so like his own, finally lifting his gaze, finding the darkened pools which fill the depths of Harl's irises (... because of your closeness to me.) and the hands break from their space of words, the left reaching to run fingertips along the Bagheera's jaw, tanned flesh and black ink finding their way to smoothing against warm skin, whatever else he could say is written in his eyes, there is another regret, there, as sinister as his tribe is known to be, there is a hesitance at coming between his partner and his extended family, a sorrow that swims somewhere in the depths of hazel (I do not trust her around you, Harlequin, I do not trust her further intentions.)
(harl)
eyes follow his hands the deliberate dance as they weave thier magick into the air of words and geastures. meaning hidden to those who dont know who dont understand yet he can see it read it and knows the dance even as he ruins some of the steps, his voice is low deadpan and flat gone is the teasing lilt that fills it the sultry tones to inspire passion and set one burnning with lust. no his is the voice of the lost child"i know they do not trust me" none of the rom trust me i am impure imperfect tainted by gaje blood yet the steel barb came from an angle he did not expect did not contemplate one he had no idea about or for from deep within his soul it wells up like pain rearing its angry head to slash at exposed flanks his carefully constructed sheilds holding against the wrong threat. walls come crumbing down around him a block castle destroyed by the careless swipe of a vicious child. yet it is not nakhti he blames as anger replaces pain "they are rikono what do they matter to us we will steal thier secrets and dance away slipping off so they grasp nothing but shadows when they try to hold us"
nakhti who had held him with nothing no promises no threats no bond other than a simple desire to be held nakhti who even as he is weary of, yet honourable would you like to one of the folk? your reluctance to tell him however your protective nature and the way the darkness swims in your eyes like a threat when speaking of her makes him beleive you. "then it is together we will face this threat her threat. never alone" i am yours already nakhti she cannot take that away from you, sitting up he draws you into an warm embrace into a sensual slow kiss hunger and desire forgotton only comfort and comunication expressed in the press of lips tinged by the salt of tears against yours a communication of a promise she will not take me away from you.
(nak)
he watches as the barb sinks into his bedmate's side, he can see the flash of pain that wells in rich chocolate eyes, he can see the tumble of the castle from well-built walls to haphazard blocks, how sad he is, to know what broke the barriers - of all the secrets that would come into his possession, of all the dreams he would mold with his hands, of all the tainted whispers that would be divulged only to his ears and his soul... perhaps this is one he did not want to learnthe touch is so soft, the devilcat's connection with the tanned flesh as if he stroked the finest sand sculpture and feared to scratch even one grain off with knife-blade talons, but rather than the honed edges of claws, it is the soft pads of flesh, the even cup of palm, he watches not the play of their bodies in that single touch in the flickering dancing flame-light, but rather the interlock of skin cells in that intimate touch, the smear of scent from his inked wrist against the lower curve of Harl's jaw
there is a look in his eyes, an intensity that says what he cares not to remove his hands to sign (I will help you make it right.) for whatever it may take, whatever shadows must further darken his soul and steal the light from his pelt, it is the price his ancestor's paid, and it is one he has already accepted, already convinced but not questioning his motives of why he chooses to help, or what price it will claim from them both - he did not attach a single string from the first moment they met, and he will not now, he has never asked more than what was openly and willingly given, nor does he return more than is expected, there is something they will both gain from whatever pans out from this singular moment
but that is the future, and for once, he is not thinking of it, rather absorbing himself in the now, in the touch of lips that consume his, in the comfort that flows through the simple avenue of touch, whatever it is that burns between them like the flames that burn at their backs, and the soft touch of hands that cup Harl's face, thumbs a slow sweep to gather the tears that had spilled, siphoning them into his grasp, collecting away the sorrow he can veritably taste upon the other's skin
(harl)
the line has been drawn, cross this and we have battle, yet it is not a war of warriors fighting for survival but rather a dance deadly in its grace in its beauty of espionage and secrets who can learn the truth and who can better manipulate the others into what they desire it is a cunning smile that spreads beneath nakhtis lips that sweet smile of the hunter who has decided which member of the heard will be brought down its meal chosen watching content in the knowledge that the creature is already theirs. this is what the cats live for the great game of life where secrets are the prize...and they already one step ahead because they know what the dogs desire and who thier playing peice is all that needs to be contemplated now is the next move.
yet that is a future concearn a future worry. feirce defenders both predator and prey they move with the instinctive understanding of how the others body will function play of muscles against each other as the scent marks ones skin the claiming of each other as oils mix (mine) roll of chin against arm and then along flesh cheek to cheek jaw sliding along jaw till one can nip gently at the back of the others ear. drinking in that scent of hair and skin as it plays gently against his face. all will be alright .
there are no strings to bind them yet what shackles will each place upon themselves to help the other, an understanding held between the two that burns in both thier eyes in every touch and carress of skin. beware world for you have slighted us
thri will be no more tears shed over what has passed for the here and now he will live not the past or the future. the tears collected from upon his face crystal and shinning like miniture stars reflecting the light before they are lapped up with a silken tongue my sorrow burned away in the touch of the flowing body he now possesses, is possessed by. only to kiss lips once again this time light as a feathers touch a thank you
(nak)
there is a languid touch in the kiss, something that is indeed sinister that lurks and finds its way into the passionate caress of lips, it reflects the hunter's smile, it is the curve of expression that speaks of something dark and dangerous, the patience to lurk and wait and strike when the time is right - the smooth and subtle twitch of lips of blood that burns from centuries of scorn, and the revenge that instill's itself as naturally as breaththey hurt what he cares about, and because of that, he will see that they burn
it's spoken through the possessive grasp of those tears, it's spoken through the opening of his hands against the silken lick that clears the salted drops from his palm, and as they pull apart, in that minute distance, hazel eyes lift to the Bagheera's (It will be made right.) they watch the glitter of the smeared away tears that shine as stars upon the gentle swell of cheekbones (I have the patience of the embers that shine in the night's dark sky, I have the venom of the cobras that slither across my homeland sands, I have the determination of the desert dunes that slowly consume the cities, I will harness the power of the winds that chip at the timeless pyramid tombs of the Pharoahs)
his thigh lifts, rubbing against the lean muscle of the other's, the snug pull of weight against his own, closing whatever distance there had been between them, making two bodies one, save the thin barrier of winter's clothes that dare come between them, and in the thanking kiss, one hand drops to begin the deconstruction of the defining and confining structures of clothing, if he could, now there would be a soft, purring chuckle from deep in his chest, the murring sound that speaks volumes of his intention and the promises that suddenly find their way through touch (I will teach you to never suffer again for what you are) the grip of sweat's elastic falling away beneath nimble fingers that seek the warm skin beneath, touching the upper wingtips of the butterfly inked forever into flesh, sliding up along the hills and valleys of muscular stomach to find the flat planes of chest beneath the wifebeater (But not now) and his head lifts, teeth closing on lower lip before the tenderness of a kiss wipes the indensions of that breif grasp away (I want something else..... now) a want, a possession, a demon's craving that boils and burns between them (... I want to make you forget all of that)
(harl)
Posted by nakhti at January 07, 2003 12:00 AM
for a moment he considers it jut the briefest of moments as he surrenders flesh to his touch clothe lost to be replaced only by flickering light of a candle and beloved seline as she cuts her way sythlike through the sky. dark like shadows dancing over burning skin as he arches self into the carress. the play of fire and ice as his touch mingles with te frigid air forces goose flesh from his skin so it is relctuantly that he rises to his feet flowing silently on bare feet through his appartment a single hand trailing behind him fingers locked with nakhtis as he guides him to his bedroom (there are things i too desire and you well you can fulfill them all) that seductive sway entering every step a content smile and a loud purrrrr as he shuts the doors between living and sleeping the warmth captured withing the smaller room. drawing nakhti to waiting bed.
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