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There were certain luxuries that came with returning to civilization that almost every single member of their ragtag troupe had been keen to take advantage of, and with the rental of the top floor of the Elfsong at such a pittance of coin, it seemed there was something of a competition brewing for which one in particular was the most coveted. A bath with hot water, soaps and oils and a lockable door had been Astarion's most fervent choice after the first night, but even the vampire spawn had to take pause when Gale's sporting retort of sleeping on a properly made bed, with pillows, sheets and blankets had to be given due consideration. Wyll had then been eager to add to the discussion by raising the suggestion that a hot meal, prepared, cooked, and served without any of their hands having been involved in any step of the process also had merit that couldn't be easily discounted.
Any further additions or arguments had been stymied when Karlach had raised a hand, and with a gleeful glint in her fiery eyes, had promptly suggested that all three choices so far were good, but such a debate deserved to be enjoyed with the true luxury of their long-awaited return to Baldur's Gate; a full inn's cellar of alcohol that they didn't need to inspect warily before they could freely sample whatever it was that tickled their individual fancies. Cyrene mused that she truly couldn't have been less surprised by how practically everyone who had heard her proclamation had instantly agreed with her point, and she had more or less allowed herself to be swept downstairs amongst the lot of them to find empty tables to take for the evening.
The ground floor of the Elfsong was still relatively bustling with people despite the lack of patrons for the actual inn, but soon enough the group had split into a handful of tables to take to enjoy the moment of reprieve after so long on the road, and even longer without the amenities of civilization that they had very clearly grown to miss. The inn was no stranger to weary travellers in need of a good meal and better alcohol, and hard-earned gold was quickly flicked into willing hands, and a wide assortment of drinks were handed back into even more eagerly awaiting ones. It had been the way that, almost to a man, every last glass and tankard had been emptied within minutes that had given Cyrene the sign that her night was destined to go one of two ways; minding a team of drunkards, or fleeing back upstairs and surrendering all form of responsibility for them the second she had the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.
In all truth, Cyrene couldn't and didn't intend to hold the majority decision to drink themselves senseless against any of them, as she knew full well that the tension they all were carrying was in desperate need of some form of release before too long. What they had left behind in Moonrise, and what they had already seen on their march into Rivington, and then Baldur's Gate proper had been more than enough of a grim portent for the struggles that were still ahead of them. The city had always been the sort to be rotting from the inside-out, and even with a decade gone from the place, Cyrene had not been surprised to find it more or less exactly as she had left it. From the dankest corner of the city's underbelly, right to the top of the Council of Four and their coronation of their new "archduke," the new Chosen of Bane, there was ego, greed, and madness aplenty to be seen no matter where it was she looked.
Shaking off the thought and the track she knew it would lead her down did not come easily, but Cyrene made the effort nonetheless as she cast a careful look over those that she had been travelling with for the past several tendays. Alcohol, food, and talk was flowing freely and happily between the tables, and the ranger was pleasantly surprised to see that there were a few familiar faces dotted amongst her comrades now. Several of the tiefling refugees had made their way into the city as well, and Cyrene spotted both Lakrissa and Alfira seated with Karlach, engaged in some sort of heated debate that had Gale red in the ears, Wyll laughing boisterously, and even Astarion trying to hide an amused smirk behind his goblet.
At the other table, it seemed that the old song of heroics and past exploits were the order of the evening, and Cyrene wasn't quite sure if she felt sympathetic or impressed that Lae'zel was intending to put her githyanki honour on the line against both Jaheira, the High Harper and legend of Baldur's Gate proper, and Dame Aylin, resplendent and divine daughter of Selûne. She could credit Lae'zel for her confidence, as the soldier was matching the druid drink for drink and tale for tale, but Cyrene doubted that either woman really had the capacity to stand against an aasimar who quite clearly wasn't the kind to feel the weight of alcohol like any of her newfound compatriots could. The bright shade of pink that had warmed Isobel's face proved that her suspicions about Aylin's divine constitution was likely well-founded, but when she watched the way the cleric laughed as she leaned gladly against her lover's arm, she couldn't really find it in herself to want to intervene to make things more fair.
The ground floor was an absolute din of noise, activity and scent, and Cyrene could only be glad that ducking away from such a riot wasn't truly all that hard to do. She had done her due diligence in sharing a meal and watching out over them until the second round of drinks had arrived, though she let herself linger for a moment at the stairs to truly get a good look at them all from a distance before she made her escape in full. There had been something of a celebration after Ketheric's defeat at Moonrise even if she had not joined in it, though the ranger doubted it had been anything remotely like what she was seeing now. The shadow-curse was broken, but was only just lifting, and there were painful memories abound in Reithwin that had made the victory bittersweet no matter how hard-fought it had been.
Now, however, there was pleasant company in all directions, good food, better alcohol, and the only physical exhaustion most knew was from hard travel rather than battle. For a brief moment, they all could forget what it was that had pulled them back to the city, could simply relish the chance to lay down the weariness that came with a harsh time marching, uncomfortable bedrolls, and the mounting anxiety of approaching their destination. It was all admittedly something Cyrene didn't much understand herself, but she knew relieved faces when she saw them, and she didn't intend to dampen the atmosphere by lingering when she felt so out of place and discomforted by both the volume and the crowd.
Purposeful footsteps punctuated by a healthy jingling of coin to her immediate left warned her that she was soon to be joined at the little alcove where she had situated herself by the foot of the staircase, and Cyrene turned her head only slightly in the direction to see a familiar form sidestepping from the crowd with breathless ease. It was an amusing show of talent, melting both in and out of a throng of people without once ever losing pace, but the ranger appreciated the glimpse of skill nonetheless as she felt Shadowheart slip to her side as if she had always been there. The cleric nudged her playfully with her hip, tucking her arm into hers and leaning easily on the wall next to her before she remarked, "You lasted a fair pace longer than we thought you would. Karlach had you leaving before a meal even got to you, and Wyll was amazed you came down with us at all."
"So, those gold pieces you have in your pocket are your winnings, then?"
Shadowheart's answering laughter was absolutely shameless, and Cyrene bit the inside of her cheek to try to stymie the want to grin at the free, warm sound that was better than any music that the Elfsong had hired for the evening. It was something she had become very used to hearing more and more often since leaving Reithwin, as if the cleric was relearning just what it meant to feel joy in the first place, and Cyrene was quickly coming to savour every chance she had to witness the moments of sheer, genuine emotion. It was thoroughly dazzling to see how those beautiful olive-green eyes of hers lit up whenever she laughed, and if it meant making herself an utter fool to hear it more, the ranger would gladly play almost any part that was handed to her. Shadowheart nudged her again with her hip, and she reached into her pocket to retrieve her ill-gotten gains before explaining pertly, "Half of it is mine. I'm splitting the other half with you, as Karlach did have a point about my having a rather unfair advantage, and cheating the trousers off of that tiefling makes me feel just a little bit guilty."
"But not enough to refuse the purse." Cyrene could not entirely resist pointing out, and Shadowheart rolled her eyes with fond exasperation even as she waved the satchel in front of her face. It was a handsome little purse, proof that the entire table had likely been in on the game, but Cyrene didn't much mind the idea of being the subject of a bet. It was a time-honoured tradition between travellers that shared a set destination, and there were fewer things that fostered camaraderie faster than gossip, or swindling one another out of their hard-gotten coin with ridiculous wagers. She let Shadowheart drop it into her hand, and she weighed the surprisingly hefty thing with raised eyebrows, "I don't think I even want to know how much the betting won you... And you're sure you'd like to split it with me?"
"I've already technically spent some of it sending a little surprise up to our room." Shadowheart answered with an errant flick of her hand, but her smile was wicked and her eyes glinted with a mixture of good humour and challenge as Cyrene looked at her in open bafflement. She curled her arm a little more tightly about the one she had held onto, and she leaned playfully closer, pressing herself flush against the ranger's side before she teased openly, "Where's the fun in winning if I don't get to enjoy it with you in the first place? I know you're glad for the rest of us to be able to relax for the first time in a long while, but I can't have you always sneaking off to hide away somewhere all by yourself while we do it without you."
Cyrene frowned slightly, unable to help it as the old feeling of anxiety and uncertainty brushed tauntingly across the back of her neck like an icy claw. While many of the others saw civilization as a welcome place to be after so long on the road, in truth, the ranger could not for the life of her share in the relief. The buildings were too high, too clustered together, and the amount of people she had to dodge and sidestep away from on the roads were enough to make her dizzy. She lived and breathed for the wilds, for the dense forests, rugged mountains or sprawling fields of snow, and she was not the type who could find relief or comfort in the trappings of a city, as even the luxuries her friends were debating were things she could and had lived without for far longer than a handful of tendays.
Turning her head, Cyrene wasn't entirely sure what it was she wished to say, but the words were swallowed when she felt a single slim finger pressing across her lips to keep her from speaking. Shadowheart was watching her closely, her gaze both warm and understanding, and when she felt the ranger obey her wordless instruction to stay silent, she spoke instead with a surprisingly soft murmur, "I know that you're uncomfortable, and that asking you to relax in this city of all places is an impossible request. You're here only because you must be, not because you chose it, and I know it's for all of us that you're sticking it out without complaining... But if you need to be here, I want to make sure that this time you can leave having at least made a few good memories to cherish."
Shadowheart couldn't quite resist smiling as Cyrene blinked at her, clearly at a loss with what to do with such an admission, and the reaction only cemented the want to continue on her current track regardless of what was to come. She hadn't been making light when she had promised to spoil the woman as much as she could, and though she still was learning how to do such a thing, she rather liked how off guard Cyrene became when she was faced with her affection. She dragged her fingertip carefully over her lips, watching as a fetching shade of pink bloomed high in the redhead's face before she asked in a near purr, "Now, will you come upstairs with me?"
Cyrene felt herself swallow hard, and she was abruptly very aware of how close they were in the little alcove at the foot of the stairway. No one had come their way yet, proof that the excitement in the tavern was both infectious and making for very good business, and Shadowheart was beaming like a cat that had pounced rather successfully on its canary of choice. The cleric's touch lingered on her mouth, her gaze both equally hungry and expectant, and Cyrene didn't need any magic or tadpoles to read her mind to know how eager she was to drag her back behind closed doors and into the bed that they were now sharing together. It made her voice weak, made her throat tight as she answered somewhat shakily, "You ask as if I have a choice in the matter."
"Wrong answer. You always have a choice in the matter." Shadowheart scolded gently, though she couldn't entirely help but admit that there was some little part of her that rather enjoyed knowing she could command Cyrene's total obedience if she so wished to. It was both strangely endearing and incredibly arousing to know that it was her and only her who shattered the ranger's composure so effortlessly, and she trailed that single fingertip across her lips, over her cheek to brush her hair out of her face so she could see her expression more clearly. The blush she had elicited was darkening to a warm shade of crimson, spreading up to the rounded tips of her ears while also shooting down her neck and under her scarf, and she offered a half-smile as she reminded her, "If you don't want to go upstairs with me right this moment, you can say so. I won't be disappointed if I need to wait for tonight to be with you. You're entitled to some quiet if you want it, and you know that I know very well what it's like to crave solitude."
"N-No, no, I want to be with you." Cyrene felt her face warming by several degrees as the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could think better of them, but she knew no regret or hesitation once they were said. Shadowheart raised a single eyebrow, tilting her head to the side in silent expectation, and the ranger coughed awkwardly as that raging ball of uncertainty, anxiety and want clenched a little too tightly low in her midsection. The cleric was much too close for her good sense, and every last inch of her body reacted instinctively to her and loosened her tongue when continued sheepishly, "It's just too crowded down here for me. It's hard to breathe when there are so many people around... Upstairs will be better."
"Good. Then that little surprise I ordered won't go to waste." Shadowheart's smile was broad and triumphant, and Cyrene felt only the smallest pulse of wonder and worry of what it was the cleric had decided to have brought up to their shared room in private. She decided it was better not to ask, and she merely allowed Shadowheart to tug her out of the alcove and up the stairs, and she followed after her closely and gladly. The entirety of the ground floor was simply far too loud, and she was endlessly relieved that the top floor of the inn was both far enough away, and artfully designed to keep the sound of the bottom well muffled for the rest of their guests.
The whole of the top floor was empty, with scattered belongings from their comrades strewn haphazardly in every direction in the centre room from the night before when they had all nearly sleepwalked into their respective quarters. No one had made much of an attempt to gather their things since, both too tired from the travel to want to mind the smaller details, and likely not finding much of a need to do so in the first place. It would be easier to lounge near the fireplace now, to sit on the couches, chairs or tables as they attended to themselves, and they had all grown oddly accustomed to each other's presence to want to spend every evening locked up in their rooms for hours on end alone.
Though, as Shadowheart tugged her past the hall and towards the rows of closed doors, Cyrene knew only the slightest pulse of guilt for wanting to do that same exact thing before she had been so effortlessly turned about. It wasn't in her nature to be sociable if she could avoid it, and with the camp growing unexpectedly with the addition of Jaheira, Isobel and Aylin to their troops had made her retreat into herself while on the road to the city. Now that they had arrived in Baldur's Gate, Cyrene felt profoundly overwhelmed by the rush of people, the rush of memories, and she felt even more guilty that when she was pulled into their own little room that she was glad for the world around her to be abruptly turned small and closed when the door shut and locked behind them both.
There was barely time to really even begin to relax at the sound of the lock sliding into place before Shadowheart pulled at her by the front of her tunic and claimed her mouth in a hot, fervent kiss. Cyrene could really only manage a surprised gasp, not even being allowed to step much into the room, or even turn around properly before she was being pounced on. There was precious little time to think, let alone react as Shadowheart bit at her lower lip, demanding entry with shameless impatience. Giving way was truly all she could do, and she managed a little groan as the cleric's tongue delved in deep to her mouth to taste and claim without wasting a moment to tease as she usually would.
Shadowheart pushed forward and Cyrene felt her back collide with the heavy wood of the doorframe as firm, impatient hands tugged at the thick, roughspun fabric of the scarf she had been wearing over her usual travel clothes. Thankfully she had worn the dark green garment rather loosely, and Shadowheart unfurled it from her neck and tossed it somewhere behind them without once pulling back from her lips. One hand dragged itself down the length of her side, digging her nails in when she reached the hemline of her tunic, while the other trailed across her neck, following the tilt of her head when she growled against her lips, "If you're going to insist on wearing more of those damned things, then I'm going to start making sure you really have something to hide under them from now on."
It was not an idle threat, and Cyrene shuddered as she felt Shadowheart's right hand slide farther underneath her tunic to scratch lightly at what skin was in reach. Her left tugged instead at her high collar, pulling it down to expose her neck, and despite herself, Cyrene leaned her head to the side for her wordlessly. The half-elf purred her satisfaction at the immediate obedience, and the ranger hissed quietly as she felt her tongue trail a long, hot line across the side of her throat. Her lips pressed teasingly at that spot just below her ear that made her stomach flip, and Shadowheart pressed her flat into the door when she whispered, "Or I suppose if you like them that much, perhaps that's all you can wear while you're locked in here with me."
Cyrene bit her lower lip, muffling the whimper that started in her chest at the unspoken threat that shouldn't have been as arousing as it was. Shadowheart's teeth pressed down lightly again at that sensitive little spot, at first teasing and playful before she switched tactics without warning. She sucked down hard, and the ranger arched her back, helpless and gasping aloud at the change. They both were well aware now of how easily her skin took to her wishes to mark it, and Shadowheart was always eager to leave any and all sorts of traces on her body when she had the chance to. Scratches, bruises, bites, it didn't much matter what it was that the cleric did to her, as Cyrene was glad to be her canvas even if she would be diligent in covering herself up again so only they would know what evidence she was still carrying.
Again that flick of her tongue jolted her body, and the ranger groaned softly as she felt Shadowheart gently trace the circumference of the bruise she had just begun to leave on her neck. It was just low enough to be covered by the natural parting of her hair and her usual scarves, and Cyrene felt the hand on her side push just a little at her hip to keep her still where she was leaning. She reached instinctively as Shadowheart settled just that much more against her front, brushing her fingers gently through the loose sweep of that warm white of the cleric's bangs, and she exhaled shakily as hot, olive-green eyes flicked upwards, studying her face and reading the want there without any trouble whatsoever.
Shadowheart didn't allow her the time to form a request, standing up taller to crash her mouth against hers again, and somehow with even more urgency than before. For a brief moment, Cyrene wondered if they would even make it to the bed, and she couldn't wholly guess at what it was that the cleric had paid to be delivered to the room for them, either. Such thoughts honestly felt rather distant, distractions from the way she was being kissed as if the woman wanted to steal the very breath from her lungs in her attempt to devour her. If they didn't make it to the bed, she honestly couldn't say she'd have many complaints, so long as it was something that Shadowheart wanted or demanded from her, she was rather certain she'd be glad to provide if she had the capacity.
The taste of her was maddeningly sweet on her tongue, likely some leftover hint of whatever wine Shadowheart had chosen for the evening, and once again, Cyrene found a difficult time finding fault with the cleric's choices in alcohol. A knee slid coyly in between her legs as she wondered exactly what sort of berries she was tasting that had provided the faintly familiar flavour, and she shuddered as Shadowheart none too gently took advantage of their position to press up and into her core. Her hips jerked automatically at the sudden pressure, rolling forward in search of more of it, and she felt the thin, coarse material of her tunic catch between her back and the doorframe, pulling with unexpected strength and roughness across the heavily scarred plateau between her shoulder-blades.
There was only really a single moment of pain as the fabric caught on upraised scar tissue before it was yanking itself free, and Cyrene hissed with surprise as her body snapped almost entirely straight on its own. Shadowheart withdrew almost at once from her, her wandering hands shooting down for safer territory on her waist as she looked to her with worry dousing the heat that had been burning in her gaze only a moment ago. The look was almost more discomforting than the momentary ache that resounded across her back, and the cleric's voice came in a concerned rush as she watched her face closely, "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"
"No, it wasn't you. My tunic caught, and it surprised me, that's all." Cyrene hurried to dissuade her of the misconception, and she felt her ears burning with horrified shame at the idea that the cleric worried because she had done something wrong. It was not new for either of them to have to pause, for her to stumble at some unexpected and unforeseen boundary she had not known was there in their forays into intimacy, and each and every time she had known a new sort of awkward horror for her complete lack of experience. She was endlessly grateful that those missteps had always been met with patience rather than disappointment or irritation, and she rolled her shoulders experimentally as she leaned away from the door, "It was just jarring in the moment. It wasn't your fault."
Shadowheart watched her silently, eyebrows furrowing into a deep frown as her hands remained still on her hips rather than reaching to pull her closer. She bit her lower lip, looking as if she was debating on arguing her claim in either disbelief or uncertainty, and the thought made Cyrene smile slightly despite herself. It was strange still, to have such a raw look full of concern focused so wholly on her, and some part of her instinctively withdrew from the scrutiny, unhappy to be made a target because her weakness was so fully known. The other part of herself trusted to the woman holding her, and she worked to embrace that half as she reached to cup her face when she wondered aloud, "Is this the way I look at you every time your mark flares?"
"Very likely." Shadowheart admitted with the quietest trace of a chuckle that she couldn't quite stop herself from making, and though she wished she could bristle with displeasure, too much of her wanted to lean into the tender touch that was lingering on her scarred cheek. Too many times already she could recall being looked at with those sharp, searching eyes, and she still ached with the memory of strong, careful hands clasping her close, steadying her trembling body long after the pain disappeared and left her shaken and exhausted. She nuzzled into the palm of her hand, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of it before she murmured, "Enough of that for the moment. I don't want to be thinking about pain when I've much more pleasurable ideas I want to explore with you right now."
The little shiver that her words elicited made Shadowheart grin devilishly, and she rather enjoyed the way Cyrene looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. It was obvious that she didn't quite know what to make of the idea of a surprise, but she seemed at least comfortable enough to follow her lead in the moment despite her uncertainty. The ranger allowed herself to be led to the overlarge bed they were sharing, but her eyes were keen as they scanned around curiously, and Shadowheart was not at all surprised to see her immediately spy the little cart that had been pushed surreptitiously into the corner of the room while they had been gone. Cyrene cocked an eyebrow as the cleric reached to pluck a bottle from the tray, leaving the glassware as she took a seat on the edge of the bed and spoke before she could think better of it, "Dare I ask?"
"If you'd like, but that tunic needs to go first." Shadowheart answered cheekily, and she flicked her gaze down pointedly as she remained on her feet, waiting to see if the redhead would either raise a protest, or obey. Cyrene tilted her head only slightly, studying her expression for a moment before she gave way to her curiosity and reached to pull her tunic up and over her head in a single, quick movement. She dropped it on the floor, glancing back up in silent expectation, and Shadowheart's smile only grew wider as she reached with her free hand to tug playfully at one of the straps of black cloth that hugged her chest, "This, too. Can't have your undergarments getting messy, now can we?"
"You're about to make us incredibly unpopular with housekeeping." Cyrene remarked with raised eyebrows as she seemed to guess just what it was the cleric seemed to have in mind for her, but she didn't resist the demand to continue undressing, either. The satisfied look in Shadowheart's eyes was a little too much for her to resist as she understood she was going to be thoroughly indulged in her new little game, and she didn't hesitate to reach to pull the clasps of her breast band free. Shadowheart's fingertips trailed after the fabric, caressing the newly bared skin with a light, teasing touch, and Cyrene felt her breath catch again as the garment fell a little too heavily to the floor at their feet.
Shadowheart only allowed her enough time to shift backwards on the bed before she was straddling her legs, and one firm hand on her shoulder brought the ranger wholly onto her back underneath her without a word needing to be said between them. It was an unquestioning sign of both trust and prompt obedience to her wishes, and it never failed to make that throbbing ache between her thighs into something much hotter and sharper. She dragged her hand slowly down from her shoulder and over her chest, spreading her fingers as she went to make sure she could leave as little skin left untouched as possible, and she let a low, long sigh of appreciation leave her lips when Cyrene arched her back beneath her.
A quick flick of her wrist had the bottle in Shadowheart's other hand uncorked, and she only allowed herself a moment to study the picture that the redheaded woman made beneath her on their bed. The crisp ivory of the sheets was a sharp contrast to her sun-kissed skin, to her tousled and long fall-red hair that had fanned out behind her head, and she watched as she reached to settle her hands carefully, tentatively on her legs in a barely-there grip. It never stopped being impossibly heady seeing the normally unflappable sniper become so pliant and docile, and she shifted the bottle in her hand, angling the neck just so a few inches above her body as she admitted hungrily, "Just so you know, I've had dreams about doing this to you ever since we shared that bottle on the cliffside."
The look of surprise on Cyrene's face at the confession was almost as arousing as the little gasp she made when the first splash of wine touched her skin, and the burgundy liquid was just only a few shades darker than the freckles and sunspots that decorated the rest of her. A practised thumb over the mouth of the bottle directed the trickle of alcohol exactly where she wanted it to go, and Shadowheart watched with rapt attention as the thin stream flowed over her left breast, over an already hardened nipple, and then down to collect across her chest. She ducked her head immediately, tongue darting out to lap up what she had just poured while she savoured the mingling salty-sweet taste of her skin and the fresh, fruity tang of the dessert wine.
Licking her clean of every last trace was an obvious pleasure, and Cyrene shivered helplessly, back arching further beneath her as the half-elf took her time following the path the wine had taken across her body. She both heard and felt Shadowheart's satisfied moan as her tongue flicked with playful malice over the peak of her breast, and her hands tightened momentarily on her thighs as her legs squeezed together all the way down to her ankles. It was the strangest mixture of sensations that she had ever felt, and she barely had time to process it all before it was happening again, this time with the oddly cool stream of wine being poured across her stomach. She held her breath instinctively, trying to remain as still as she could as she felt the liquid settling in the divot of her navel, and she nearly whimpered when Shadowheart was again shifting to drink.
Strong hands pressed Cyrene's hips down into the mattress, giving a frustrating reminder that her trousers had yet to be pulled off of her legs, but if Shadowheart wanted her totally nude, she wasn't rushing to make her so. If anything, the cleric seemed to be completely enthralled with the game she had started, and she was nothing but thorough in making sure not even a droplet of alcohol was missed. She took her time circling her tongue around and then in, eliciting a strained little hiss and delighting in the response she was rewarded with. Shadowheart paused however as the tip of her tongue found something she hadn't expected; a tiny remnant of a puncture wound that she knew almost instantly, and she drew back as her eyes trained down, finding its mate hidden amongst the splash of freckles that adorned her abdomen.
"You pierced your navel?" It wasn't so much an accusation as it was a surprised laugh, and Shadowheart wasn't entirely sure if she was impressed or a little disappointed in herself for having not laid all of the ranger's secrets wholly bare already. She had thought she'd done well in memorizing how Cyrene's freckles spun out across her skin in an endless array of patterns and shapes, how outside of her hands and back that she had surprisingly few scars elsewhere on her body to catalogue because she was simply that skilled in dodging enemy blows and in healing what did catch her. She glanced back up, watching as Cyrene looked back down at her with a fair degree of both surprise and embarrassment when she continued with another chuckle, "When were you planning on telling me about this little secret of yours?"
"It was a youthful indiscretion." Cyrene answered weakly, and she felt goosebumps erupting across her skin as she felt Shadowheart tracing the spot where she had been pierced many a long year ago with her middle finger, and she was a little surprised that the cleric knew immediately what it was. Though the wound had never closed over, it had healed remarkably well, and she hadn't tried to replace the piercing she had discarded barely a month after she had allowed for it to be done in the first place. A fit of foolish rebellion in her adolescence was not something she was proud of, and she felt a little sting of shame burning in her throat as she explained awkwardly, "It got in the way, and I haven't worn anything there for years. I almost forget I even had it done nowadays."
"I'll fix that soon enough when we've the time to address it... The idea is madly attractive now that it's been put in my head." Shadowheart laughed lightly as she tilted her head, and she knew already she would likely amuse herself for tendays with the idea of what might look best to put there if she was given permission to do so. It was an unexpected secret to learn but no less tantalizing to her tastes, and she hummed as she traced around the mark again, relishing how Cyrene's body twitched at the unexpected caress, "I think you'd rather like it, too, wouldn't you? Having one more thing to hide away under your clothes, something else that only I know about? It's almost sinful just how much you keep hidden under all those layers you like to wear, but it does make unwrapping you so much more satisfying."
The slow, lazy tone that the cleric used when she spoke didn't make her words feel any less sharp, and Cyrene bit down hard on her lower lip to muffle the want to moan as they buried in deep in her stomach and made her ache with desire. It was a baffling thing to have her usual defences be turned upside-down and changed into something arousing, as each layer of clothing she wore had only ever been another shield on her body to guard from unwelcome eyes, and the harsh elements of the wilds where she made her trade. To be naked after all was to be at her most vulnerable, and if there was something she did everything in her power to prevent, it was ever being vulnerable, and she heard her voice catching as she rasped out helplessly, "Shadowheart..."
Another stream of wine was poured across her torso in answer, starting again from her stomach and then moving farther upwards, and Cyrene exhaled shakily as the tail-end of the pour landed on her right breast this time. She heard the bottle touch down on the floor, and then Shadowheart's mouth was again fastened on the sensitive flat of her stomach so she could take her time drinking what she had left on her skin. She maintained that stern grip on her waist, pressing her down into the bed to keep her still so she would not disrupt the river of burgundy that had collected across the defined planes of her body, and Cyrene felt her toes curling into the mattress when the cleric breathed against her ribs, "You taste so sweet."
Cyrene felt every last drop of wine on her skin as if they were made of fire, and Shadowheart's shifting weight as she drank her way up across her was not helping with the wild haze of sensation she was grappling with. It was torture how she took her time, how her fingertips pressed lazily against and into her as she licked, sucked and swallowed. Her tongue was a brand as it followed the trail of wine that had spilled off of her breast, and she flicked it over the taut peak in a way that could only be described as cruel. The curl of heat in her midsection was more of a stab now than it was an ache, and she gasped hoarsely as she felt Shadowheart's legs tighten on either side of her waist, "Shadowheart, please--"
In an instant warm, wine-stained lips were pressing to hers, cutting off the pleas that were half-formed in Cyrene's throat in a fierce, demanding kiss that damn near shattered whatever was left of her composure. The hands that she had been fighting to keep down on the bed gripped down without her consent, digging fingers into the leather of Shadowheart's top to clutch her tighter, and she parted her lips in an eager, wanton moan to let the cleric's tongue into her mouth. The sweet, honeyed taste of the dessert wine that thoroughly flooded her kiss was intoxicating in a way that was almost frightening, but any thoughts of concern or worry were practically chased clear from her head when she felt the half-elf on top of her shift her hips and grind herself down against the taut muscles of her abdomen.
Shadowheart's low, impatient groan against her mouth sent hot sparks rolling across her skin, and she felt the cleric's hands drag across her sides before tangling in her hair, tilting her head farther back against the mattress as she kissed her senseless. It was a shameless display of want that made Cyrene helpless to resist, and she shuddered as she felt the cleric's hips thrust forward again, pressing down just right to make the woman's breath hitch even as she muttered against her panting lips, "My vote was for the bed, by the way. As much as I hated agreeing with Gale of all people, I've been aching to push you down into a proper bed for just as long as I've wanted to drink wine off your body."
The look of wide-eyed surprise that her words were rewarded with made the former Sharran smirk, and she pushed herself upright, reaching to pull her vest over her head with one quick flourish. If it were possible, the woman's eyes grew even wider as she watched her shed her breast band shortly after, and rather enjoying the look of wonder and desire, Shadowheart slid backwards and to her feet to make discarding the rest of her clothing easier. Cyrene lay still where she had been pushed down, staring mutely with a fresh wave of rouge burning up her throat and into her ears, and unable to help it, Shadowheart tossed her braid over her shoulder as she reached to trail her fingertips lazily over her the high waist of the ranger's trousers, "I've also been wanting to enjoy you somewhere private, quiet, and maybe a tad bit luxurious. As glad as I was and am for Last Light, here is definitely more like where I've been imagining indulging in you."
Cyrene gave no reply, too flustered to find her tongue, and Shadowheart allowed herself another little laugh, incredibly pleased to see the woman entirely lost for words at her blunt admission of lust. It was as if she still didn't wholly believe what was happening to her was real, as if she was expecting to simply jolt awake from another of her too-vivid dreams, and the half-elf wondered idly just what it meant that she found herself drowning in similar bursts of awe every time she came to herself in the early morning to the feeling of her strong arms wrapped so snugly about her body. The thought softened her almost at once, and she traced the worn leather belt across her ranger's hips with a slow, careful touch before she was asking, "Now, how about you tell me what it is that you want from me next?"
It was a familiar question, a familiar pause amidst the burn and the rush, and Cyrene glanced down to the mindful touch lingering on her waist as she forced herself to consider it fully before she gave a reply. She could only guess that Shadowheart was reading something in her eyes or body language each and every time she restrained herself to ask it, and she took in a quiet breath as her elbows pushed into the plush mattress beneath her so she could at least rise a little bit off of her back. The lack of pressure was an instant balm for her prickling skin, and she straightened a little more as the heat rose by several degrees in her ears when she finally murmured, "Not on my back, if I can...? It's... too much at the moment."
"That's fine." Shadowheart nodded in immediate understanding, and she wished it didn't make her heart wince at the look of guilty relief that flickered over the ranger's face at the acceptance. Her sensitivity was often a double-edged sword when it came to the broad expanse of scar tissue that crisscrossed its way over her back, leaving her discomforted to the point of pain when the feeling of friction proved to be too much. She reached for her hand, pulling her up and onto her feet with an easy tug, and her free one pulled at her buckle, savouring the sound of the clinking metal as she pressed while she had her chance to hear her answer her in full, "What else can I give you?"
"Don't go far from me." Cyrene's murmur was pressed gently into her lips, and Shadowheart sighed with a mixture of pleasure and approval as she was pulled carefully back into the ranger's arms. It was truly the only thing she could think to ask in the moment, and again the redhead knew that odd pulse of gratitude that the request was understood without needing further explanation. It wasn't as if what the cleric could and did do to her wasn't pleasurable, and she trusted her fully with her body, but there was something strange in her that demanded this more than anything else at the most inopportune times. She wanted her close, to feel as much of her pressed against her as she could get, and she smoothed her hands slowly down her sides, across her hips when she continued breathlessly, "I want you just like this."
"I'm yours." Shadowheart groaned against her mouth, and the ragged, hungry moan that Cyrene gave her in answer made that clenching in her midsection tighten to the point of pain. Their hands worked quickly together, pulling belts open and loose and then jerking at clinging material to bring everything left below the waist down, though distantly Shadowheart wished she could just shred the damn fabric with her nails to make the job of getting her ranger fully naked even easier. As much as she rather enjoyed admiring how the ranger's trousers at the least never left anything about that shapely backside and those long, toned legs of hers to the imagination, Shadowheart was quickly growing to prefer her entirely disrobed if she had any say in the matter.
Impatient, greedy hands tugged her back to the bed, and Shadowheart made quick work of arranging Cyrene into her lap, tangling her fingers again into her hair to pull her back into another series of feverish kisses she had hated to end for the sake of movement. She leaned only slightly backwards against the headboard, shivering reflexively at the sensation of being pinned between her ranger's full, hot chest and the cool, polished wood. Her right hand trailed down between them, fingertips tracing purposefully over her navel again as she imagined what it would be like to place a piece of jewellery there for her to playfully stroke and tweak underneath her clothes whenever the mood to tease her witless overwhelmed her better sense.
There would need to be some sort of gemstone embedded in the piercing when she bought one for her, something warm in colour to complement the deep, fiery red tones of her hair, and it would need to be small and compact so that it didn't catch on her day-to-day clothing. Her ranger would no doubt hate anything that dangled uselessly on her sensitive skin, and though she was loathe to admit it, Shadowheart could understand why she had so quickly come to regret her so-called youthful indiscretion. She would correct that soon, though, would ensure that this newest secret could be something to share and enjoy now that she knew of it, and she licked her lips with eager anticipation that she felt almost childish in how strongly she wanted to put this piece of knowledge to use the second she could.
Shadowheart's hand delved lower, her fingertips brushing with steady deliberation against that thatch of damp, dark red curls hidden between her legs, and she savoured the way Cyrene's breath hitched the instant she felt her there. She grasped at her shoulders, steadying herself on her knees as she moved still lower, and the half-elf watched her face intently, admiring how her eyes squeezed tightly shut, how she bit on her lower lip even as her body bent so eagerly to welcome her touch. She was deliciously well prepared, so slick and hot against her fingers that it felt like she could burn her, and she drank in her soft, resonant moan just like she had the wine when she whispered hungrily, "Tell me how you want me."
"Please..."
It was almost enough, the one single word that Cyrene forced out through ragged gasps of air, and Shadowheart almost felt a little twinge of guilt for the reckless want to push her still further. Her ranger was sensitive and shameless in equal measure in bed, never able to hide just how much of a slave she could be to physical sensation, and it never did fail to make the cleric want to torture her to utter madness. Shadowheart loved the way her accent made her name on her lips sound so wonderfully melodic, and even moreso, how in more recent days, she would discard her tongue in Common entirely to instead beg for her touch in the language of the fey. Such words did indeed seem to be more like song in her mouth, wild and ardent and desperate, and the half-elf was quickly learning to translate each and every one she would instinctively plead in the most untethered moments of her pleasure.
How she begged to be taken without reserve, to be made to buck and writhe and scream in the throes of satisfaction she only knew in her arms, and Shadowheart embraced that dark, bottomless pulse of greed she always felt when she gave Cyrene so much that she was left pleading for mercy by the end of it. There was no one else in all the planes that knew her ranger this way, unbound from every last ironclad chain of self-possession and control, and she had come to quickly learn of herself that she all but exulted in both the knowledge and the act of it. That singleminded need to both know and claim every last inch of her was an all-consuming burn in her veins, and she was patient and deliberate with her fingers, circling with barely-there pressure as she leaned in to trail her mouth tauntingly over the arch of her throat, "Whatever it is you want, I'll give it to you, but I want to hear you say the words first. Tell me what you want from me. What you need, Cyrene."
Cyrene shuddered as Shadowheart burnt a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses up across her neck, punctuating her orders with that light, deliberate touch of her fingers taunting and teasing between her thighs. It was as tantalizing as it was frustrating, the way she never lingered more than a moment where she needed it, always withdrawing gamely when her hips rocked forward in search of her. Her grip tightened on her shoulders, trying and failing to steady herself in her arms as she arched into her instinctively, and her head fell uselessly to the side, welcoming the way her teeth scored her earlobe, how her tongue flicked around the studded circle of her earring when she groaned out, "In me. Please, I-I need-- I need to feel you in me."
"That's my good girl." The praise came in a soft, sibilant murmur in her ear, sending a rush of heat down from what felt like the top of her head all the way down to the heels of her feet an instant before one slim finger slid deep inside of her. Shadowheart was slow and steady, reaching as far as she could go before withdrawing, adding a second on her next thrust and laughing with dark satisfaction when her hips bucked down against her hand to meet her halfway. She shifted her hand subtly, curling her fingers and grinding the heel of her palm against that aching source of her pleasure, and the resulting moan was nearly wounded when Cyrene arched her back and urged her just that little bit farther inside that she could take her.
Every sound Cyrene made was music to the half-elf's tapered ears, and she drew back just enough that she could watch her face as she felt her nails digging into her shoulders to further give herself something to brace against. Her eyes remained squeezed shut, teeth sinking into her lower lip as each gasp for breath melted into a weak, tremulous noise of pleasure she couldn't stop herself from making. Her body twitched and shuddered in her arms, knees pressing down hard into the mattress as her hips rocked to meet the movements of her hand, and Shadowheart found herself leaning blindly forward before she could stop herself, needing to claim those full, panting lips of hers with a hunger she couldn't deny.
Something ached fiercely in Shadowheart's chest, competing with that yawning chasm that had been clawed so deeply into places she hadn't known she possessed until she found herself reacting on instinct rather than thought or conscious choice. To want so deeply was still somehow strange, still somehow frightening at times, but she found it was becoming easier to give way to the greed when she had her ranger like this, pliant and eager and so unashamedly lusting for her. The cleric hadn't quite had the time to truly rationalize a life without faith, without total and peerless supplication, but she felt herself oddly at ease when she was allowing herself to be this way with the woman she loved.
It felt like worship somehow when Shadowheart thrust three of her fingers deep into the redhead's heat, as if she was doing exactly what she was always meant to do when she felt Cyrene arch and bend and clench around her in mindless need for the pleasure only she could give. She was the first and only soul in all the planes who had her permission, her trust to see her like this, stripped entirely bare and at her mercy, and more than ever she was aware of the precious weight of that sort of gift. It made Shadowheart all the more feverish to give her everything she could ever hope to imagine even if she would never in her right mind ask for it, and she thrust in over and over again, reaching in deep, curving just the way she knew would make Cyrene's voice break with ecstasy as she breathed against her lips, "You drive me mad, do you know that? It's never enough, no matter how many times I take you like this... I think I could spend the rest of my life just making love to you."
Her name came whimpered against her mouth, tasting like mint as Shadowheart kissed her with every last ounce of ferocity she could manage as her free hand traced its way across her waist, settling on that gorgeous curve of her backside and gripping down without reserve. She pushed her roughly forward, making sure that she met each thrust of her hand to the fullest, and she knew that fierce, arrogant curl of satisfaction when she felt the ranger all but melt into her guidance gladly. She felt Cyrene's right arm wrapping across her shoulders, gripping down tightly as her left hand's nails dragged across her back, digging in deep for any kind of anchor she could grasp onto as those keen, clever fingers drove her absolutely mad, and she groaned out approvingly at the sinfully sharp sting.
White-hot electricity surged across her skin from every scratch, coursing through her veins and between her legs, making her arch to guide her nails down until she left marks everywhere she possibly could reach. It only really served to make Shadowheart want to give as good as she could get, to bring her to that bittersweet, all-consuming crest of pleasure until she couldn't think of anything but her and the way she was making her feel right now in their shared room, in this shared bed. Cyrene's voice was catching each time she pulled her hand back, forcing out rough, broken moans when she plunged right back in before she curled her fingers to do it over and over again. She was tensing in her arms, helpless and lacking the strength to return her kiss as she drove her closer, and she urged her huskily as she felt her burying her face against her neck, "That's it. Let me take you there, Cyrene... Let me make you come until you can't remember how it felt to not have me inside you."
"Shadowheart!" Faithless though she was, Cyrene's voice still sounded like prayer when she cried her name, turning each syllable into a divine litany as she drove herself mindlessly down onto her hand in desperate search for release. Her hold on her tightened until it almost felt strangling, and she felt her body buck and then shudder, felt her limbs seize and clench before she was biting into her shoulder in a last-ditch effort to keep herself from screaming aloud from the force of her orgasm. It ripped through her like a surge of lightning magic through her spine, tearing whatever else remained of good sense or higher thought clear from her head to leave her totally and utterly lost.
The movement between her legs didn't cease, seeking to drive her higher, over the crest again, and Shadowheart's voice was silken warmth in her ear, breathless and as urgent as the way she continued to drive deep into her. She had become so skilled in manipulating her body to her whims, and she was eager and hungry to bring her to utter madness and overstimulation now that she had her trapped in her arms. Cyrene had no capacity to do anything else but take it, take her, to feel how she crooked her fingers and caressed at the very depths of her, wrenching out desperate gasps and keening moans that she hadn't known she could make. She overwhelmed her totally, her lips feathering across her ear, down her neck, across her shoulder, all of it as good as it was bewildering until there was nothing but another flash of white-hot sensation that left her blind and deaf and reeling.
Whatever control Cyrene had had over her body drained from her muscles like falling rainwater, leaving her slumping forward as she struggled to find a way to fill her burning lungs and slow her pounding heartbeat in the aftermath. The hand between her legs had turned slow and gentle, easing her down to stillness, and she felt herself shudder, unable to wholly stop herself from arching into those last few moments of exquisitely sharp, exquisitely raw pleasure. Then she felt Shadowheart shifting her hand again, tender and cautious in withdrawal, and a weak, tortured sound was pulled from her mouth as she was abruptly left with a sudden emptiness that was somehow both relieving, and yet almost oddly painful.
Light kisses pressed against her neck as another hand feathered over Cyrene's hip, easing her further down until she was laying on her side, curled up and being cradled close in a way that she only really could describe as protective as she continued to twitch and shiver. She distantly heard her own heartbeat hammering away in her ears, muffling the half-elf's quiet, gentle murmurs and leaving her drowning in a familiar dizzy haze, and she wasn't entirely sure how long it was before her senses began to return to her. She felt Shadowheart's right hand moving with lazy affection through her hair, and she knew a little pulse of embarrassed shame as the rest of her body stirred almost unhappily in realization of where she had been settled.
Shadowheart had laid her so easily into the bed, into her arms, and she wasn't entirely sure when the sheets had been pulled up somewhere around her waist. Her back was spared the sensation of the cool, smooth fabric rubbing against her flushed skin, and a warm, comforting weight was slung over her middle, keeping her curled carefully, protectively against the cleric's front. Feeling her face beginning to burn as her better sense returned to her, Cyrene turned a little to hide a bit more securely against the shoulder that had been pillowing her head before she muttered huskily, "You're going to be the death of me one day."
"Death by sex? That almost sounds like a challenge on your lips, and you do not need to be giving me of all people ideas about that." Shadowheart's giggle was full with a mixture of affection and genuine amusement, and she nuzzled against her temple, squeezing her tenderly just that much closer. She slid her legs lazily against her own under the sheets, entangling them together to ensure as much physical contact between them as she could, and her fingers continued their gentle combing through her tousled curls when she mused, "If I could have my choice of ways to die, I don't think I could imagine a more pleasant way to go... There would though be a problem with unfinished business, namely you, if I wasn't taking you along with me. We'd need some planning to make sure we get it exactly right, I think. Along with heaps of practise."
Shadowheart wasn't entirely sure what she liked more as a response to her joke; the astonished look that she was given, the crimson hue that almost instantly burnt its way up into her ranger's ears, or the way that Cyrene instantly was looking away from her again, as if she was mortified by the implications even as she was laying naked and spent in their bed. The dichotomy of the state of her only made the resulting surge of mirth all the more potent, and Shadowheart wondered almost dizzily how the redheaded woman could be so shamelessly wanton one moment, and then revert almost immediately to a blushing schoolgirl the next if the right buttons were pressed. It was ridiculously endearing, and she was shaking with laughter as she buried her face in her hair and giggled, "Gods preserve me, but you're adorable."
"Only when the peak of Mount Celestia disappears within the depths of Nessus will I ever know peace."
"Blaspheming in Sylvan isn't going to make me think any differently of you, my love." Shadowheart couldn't wholly resist reminding her, though she was not entirely sure what it was that the ranger had muttered somewhere against her collarbone. Some of the words were remarkably similar to Elvish in ways she could only say she sensed more than she understood, but the rhythm and lilt never failed to make it all sound wonderfully alien. She was quickly growing to understand why Cyrene enjoyed speaking the language of the fey even more than Common when she had the choice, as she was quickly learning that just hearing it so often could be as luring as the song of a siren. "If you'd prefer me not to call you cute, then you need to stop acting it, wouldn't you say?"
Cyrene's answering noise was entirely noncommittal, falling between a wordless huff or another muttered curse, and Shadowheart had trouble swallowing another laugh at the show of exasperation. She didn't however get another chance to launch into a second round of much-deserved teasing as she felt the ranger push easily up off the bed with a single hand before the other was pulling her wrist to roll her onto her opposite side in a quick, easy show of strength. Any protests or complaints she might have had at the abrupt shift died in her throat as she felt steady, gentle kisses being pressed across her left shoulder, tracing the crescent moon marks that the ranger had dug into her skin with her nails earlier.
Each kiss was a raindrop, soft and sweet and lingering, and Shadowheart reached lazily to settle her hands across the arm that was now mirroring the way she had held her about the waist when she had been putting herself back together. She leaned forward helpfully, giving the redhead the view she wanted of her back to study the extent of the scratches she'd inflicted, though she still felt herself smiling at her ministrations. There was no discomfort to speak of, only a rather pleasant, stinging sort of warmth, but that had never much stopped Cyrene from wanting to trace over each one with her lips or tongue for long, long minutes afterwards when they were curled up together and regaining their breath and their senses. She closed her eyes, revelling in the sturdy sensation of being held close and absolutely lavished in affection even as she joked only halfheartedly, "Is this payback for the wine?"
"Payback leaves an implication that I didn't enjoy your surprise. That isn't the case." Cyrene's words came with a soft little chuckle, and her kisses trailed lower, following the long line her nails had left across her shoulderblade, and then down still farther to that lone little mole that decorated the small of her back. She felt Shadowheart's body shiver with laughter of her own, and she enjoyed the way she squeezed about her forearm with both hands, pulling her hold just that much more comfortably around her as she settled into the thick mattress. She nuzzled and kissed her way to her right side, taking care to cover each little pink and red mark she'd made before she let her eyes flicker across the surprisingly still white of the bed underneath them as she remarked, "Mind you, I am a bit impressed that you didn't manage to completely stain the bed with it. A proper Amnian dessert wine would have absolutely destroyed these sheets."
"As if any maid working an inn in Baldur's Gate of all cities doesn't always have a scroll or two of prestidigitation in their pockets? And I'm a little offended you thought I'd miss a single drop." Shadowheart made something of an effort to sound the part, but it was difficult to try to inject anything that wasn't contentment into her voice as she felt Cyrene continue her self-appointed task. She was remarkably thorough with her work, and the cleric wondered only distantly at how well she was doing in lulling her into something slow and heavy and idle when she was still absolutely burning with the thought of the night she didn't want to waste a single moment of if she could help it, "And don't you think that I'm through with you just yet, either. I fully intend to finish that bottle on you if you decide you'd rather keep your partaking of wine from the rare goblets you'll share with me in secret."
"If you tell me that this was all some scheme of yours to get me drinking..."
Though the words came muttered somewhere against the jut of her shoulderblade, Shadowheart could feel the curve in Cyrene's lips that spoke of an exasperatedly amused smile. Her face felt warm on her back with the return of her flush, and the cleric did not need to turn to know just how those familiar, fetching shades of rouge were painting her cheeks and neck. It almost felt unfair that she was being held so firmly in place so she couldn't squirm about to face her properly, but there was warmth in this hold, too, something firm and comfortable and safe in ways that was every bit as intoxicating as the wine. It made her grin smugly, knowing the challenge but glad to pick up the gauntlet because it was yet again something only she could say she knew, let alone had a chance to indulge in when she glanced over her shoulder to question slyly, "Would it work?"
Cyrene's answering laughter was a rich, melodic sound, muffled only by the way she caught her smirking mouth in a quick, silencing kiss that she would have to remember to scold her for later. For the moment, though, Shadowheart reached to curl her arm about her neck, pulling her as close as she could get without being allowed to turn about, and she hummed her approval as she felt her ranger duck her head obediently to make the effort easier without once ever pulling away from her lips. There was no need for words now, for requests or demands when the redheaded woman seemed to know just what it was she wanted before she could think it, and the cleric knew a pulse of gratitude for the indulgences, the luxuries, that she intended to embrace with every last inch of herself now with the woman who had strode so steadily, so inexorably, into her heart and her bed.