| Logs |
2009 June 08
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Cabaletta, Fourth Stanza
As they embrace amongst the raksasha, there is that feeling of a timeless moment, as the two lovers loose themselves in each others' arms. When they come up for air, so to speak, they find themselves together in a sweeping green field. A stonework series of buildings rise up behind them, while before them is a small, burbling creek. The air is crisp and fresh, birds are chirping in the air, and it feels like a cool spring day.
Mikal blinks, looking around with a touch of perplexity, "Well... this is different!" Were she born in a different time and era, she might be disgusting Raphael once more with commentary about Kansas and Toto... fortunately for the big raptor wolf's peace of mind, his little sister isn't aware of that movie.
The raptor-wolf, in fact, looks much more canine, or at least a very large, semi-domesticated wolf. He seems, for the moment, to be quite content lying on his back and sunning himself, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
Mikal giggles at sight of her half-brother quite so... abandonedly sanguine! She glances at Jareth, her eyes still sparkling, wondering what he's wearing. Maybe that will give her an idea where they are?
Jareth raises his head and looks around. This place is quite familiar to him. It is his current place of study and the home of Emilie du Chatelet, one of the finest female minds to have yet come along. She is currently living under the eye of her very tolerant husband with her fourth lover, Francois-Marie Aroue, who has been writing under the nome de plume of "Voltaire" for a decade and a half. He is dressed in what passes for "informal" in this very formal age. Silk stockings and black leather shoes, knee-length breeches of velvet with a silken shirt that has a very lovely lace collar. Over this is a red waistcoat and a deep blue jacket with deep cuffs. His hair is as long as it has always been, but he smells pleasantly of some cologne.
Mikal blinks, struck speechless for a moment as she looks Jareth over from top to toes. Finally she manages a slightly awed, "Whoa... you look -- look amazing, Jair!"
Jareth laughs and lets his eyes roam over the lovely grounds of the chateau and then over his lover's beautiful form. "The whole place is lovely. It is rife with inspiration."
Jareth turns around to look back at the chateau, considering whether Mikal might enjoy seeing the beautiful house or if she would prefer strolling in the grounds.
Mikal is a tiny, slight woman still, with the same half-wild look in her stormy-gray eyes. A cavalier's long-spurred boots are pulled up to hide her shapely legs, and her slender waist is obscured by the embroidered antique gold velvet overcoat. The slashed sleeves reveal the fine chambray shirt underneath, and a light rapier is belted at her waist. Her hair is, as always, barely restrained in a braid, and a cavalier's broad hat curls so as to hide half her face, the nodding ostrich plumes distracting an observer from the very fine features of the small face.
Jareth chuckles softly at Mikal's clothing, reaching to touch the side of her face that is not hidden by the hat, "I would take you into the house, but we might be questioned. Would you like a walk in the vineyards?"
Mikal smiles ruefully, "A walk in the vineyards would be lovely, Jareth; merci. I would not wish to cause you trouble with your hosts."
Jareth moves to offer Mikal his arm, a graceful and courtly gesture, and then realizes that it would be just as suspicious. Then, remembering just how progressive this household is, he makes the gesture with a warm laugh, "The only thing likely to cause remark here would be violence."
Mikal looks a bit sheepish, "Um... well, unless someone offers insult and I must duel for my honor, I think I can avoid that for you."
Jareth leans close so that his head is beneath the side brim of the hat, lips near Mikal's ear, "This house holds some of the greatest minds of our time. You would very likely adore the Marquise."
Mikal smiles quietly sideways and up at Jareth, the hat roguishly shading most of her glance, "Indeed? I should tire so quickly of your company then, mon beau chat?"
Jareth laughs at Mikal's unusually glib comment and brushes a kiss against the corner of her mouth, "I meant only that you would approve of her, mon amour. She shines like a jewel."
Mikal grins mischievously at Jareth, leaning to whisper, "I've been practicing so I don't stutter at inopportune moments! How am I doing so far?"
Jareth smiles and nods, putting on a mock-serious face, "I am impressed by the efficacy of your study, ma chere." He offers his elbow again, "Let us walk."
Mikal laughs and cheerfully loops her small gauntleted hand through Jareth's arm, "I would love to, mon chat!"
Mikal glances around thoughtfully, noticing how manicured the estates are, and wondering a bit wistfully if they have any horses. She smiles up at Jareth a moment later, murmuring quietly, "You are happy here, love?"
Jareth considers that question carefully, head tipped to the side. He reaches up without thinking and loosens the lace collar of his silk shirt, "I... am enjoying myself here. Some of the greatest minds of Europe are here. You can almost feel the potential of their thoughts.
Mikal's smile softens a bit at his enthusiasm, and she impulsively reaches up and gently smooths back the fluttering lace collar with her gloved fingertips. "You are inspired then, da?"
Jareth laughs and nods, "I am inspired. I feel that my writing is improving quite a lot. And one cannot converse with such brilliant people without having one's mind stimulated." He doesn't seem to have a particular place he wants to take Mikal, instead just wanting her to see the beautiful estate.
Mikal's eyes sparkle at Jareth's enthusiasm, and she shyly murmurs, "Would you, er... if you don't mind, might I hear s-some of your p-poetry then?"
Jareth raises his chin and says, voice teasing, "Here? In front of God and everyone? Such things are meant to be murmured in private, delivered as perfumed gifts to one's lover as a prelude to a seduction."
Mikal blushes, tilting her head so the dashing hat shades her face entirely, and murmurs a bit breathlessly, "W-well... I've never b-believed in a god, so I guess it's fairly private already? Um... if... only if y-you want, I mean?"
Mikal says, "O-or I g-guess we could go elsewhere," she takes a breath, trying to keep her voice steady as she adds, "i-if you w-wanted?"
Jareth laughs richly and murmurs, "Come... let us get deeper into the gardens, mon lapin..." He guides Mikal through the lovely gardens and into the orchards where the trees offer both shade and concealment.
Mikal is a bit smoother of speech here -- but also a bit more tightly high-strung. Jareth can feel her small hand trembling slightly through the leather gauntlet, and she keeps the broad cavalier's hat at an angle that continues to hide her face.
Once they are deep enough into the orchard that there's no fear of them being seen by anyone just casually strolling, Jareth begins murmuring the words to Mikal, lips brushing the curve of her ear. The language flows and is somewhat musical, and even the rough syllables are perfectly fit against the others. "
Aimons toujours ! Aimons encore !"Jareth says, "Quand l'amour s'en va, l'espoir fuit.
L'amour, c'est le cri de l'aurore,
L'amore c'est l'hymne de la nuit.
Mikal's fingers tighten for a heartbeat on Jareth's arm at the brush of hs lips, and she draws in her breath sharply before she catches herself. She keeps her face shaded by her hat, hoping it hides the hot blush, and that the hammering of her heart isn't audible. She feels a bit dizzy -- yes, it's Jareth, her beloved bumblebee... but here he also feels strangely exotic and beautiful. She listens with pleasure -- almost a hunger -- and when the short little verse is almost done she turns her head, with great (and frightening) daring, wondering if she can accidentally brush her lips against his in a light kiss.
As he speaks, Jareth lets his fingertips brush against Mikal's throat, nimble fingers working to open the collar of her shirt. He feels her moving and shifts himself to that the kiss turns out less light than she might have planned for it to be.
Jareth can feel Mikal's pulse under his fingers brushing her throat, throbbing as swiftly as a small bird's. She closes one gloved hand around his wrist, but it's clear she's more keeping her balance than stopping him. A small sound escapes her as his lips meet hers, and she catches the big hat away from her, so she can nervously turn her face up towards the handsome young poet's kiss. She sways, wondering dizzily if Jareth's going to have this shocking effect on her every time they meet in France.
Jareth uses both hands to cup the sides of Mikal's face, letting the kiss linger and draw out, growing slowly more ardent. And yet, the only parts of their bodies touching are lips and hands. He holds himself carefully back from her body by perhaps four inchest.
Mikal's eyes are nearly closed, dark lashes brushing over her pale cheeks, almost dazedly drowning in the bliss of her lover's kiss. Jareth's hands and her grasp on his wrist feel like they're all that's holding her up -- her hat swings forgotten from her free hand, hanging limply at her side. She gives a soft whimper, swaying slightly, and wonders in a confused flare of sensual fright -- is she fainting? She feels so dizzy! Jareth has never felt quite so deliciously, scarily overwhelming before.
Jareth shifts his body and wraps one arm around Mikal's waist beneath the chevalier's coat. The kiss breaks and his breathes against her mouth, voice teasing, "Perhaps next time, we should simply be reclining first?" He's shifting his weight as he speaks, guiding her against an apple tree, using his weight to gently pin her in place. There's no doubt that she could get away, but he doubts she will think to try.
Mikal's lashes flutter a moment, and she murmurs confusedly, "Er... oui?" She drops her hat unwittingly, her arm reaching up to loop about his neck. Between that and the apple tree she feels slightly steadier; it hasn't occurred to her that she's being held in place with his body. She whispers softly, "H-how... so dizzy!" She takes a quick, nervously shallow breath, her back unwittingly arching so she can press her length against Jareth's body. Her voice is shaking slightly as she whispers, her tingling lips brushing against her lover's skin, "Quand il me prend dans les bras / Il me parle tout bas / Je vois la vie en rose...<\i>" She's shaking slightly in Jareth's arms.
Jareth smiles with half-closed eyes and reaches with the arm that's not around Mikal's waist to start undoing her braid. Still, his voice is teasing, "Mmm... a bed of apple blossoms is not as romantic to some as a bed of roses. What do you think, ma petite chou?" The arch of her body makes him almost purr and he presses more tightly against her, " Perhaps your waistcoat is too tight and it's taking your breath..." The nimble fingers start with the buttons now.
Mikal shivers against Jareth, feeling like she should be giving off steam -- could her clothing really be making her so hot on such a pleasant spring morning? She moans softly again, unsure of the source of the fire within her, knowing only she needs to quench it in that soft, teasing voice; those enticing, caressing fingers, those sweet lips she can't seem to get enough of. There's a roaring sensation in her head and her heart is hammering so fast she's sure he must be able to hear it and is laughing softly. She can feel her knees giving way and she sags slightly, trying to hold on and feeling shockingly, deliciously weak. Dazedly she wonders: is this what they mean by drowning in love? All she knows for sure right now is Jareth could probably suggest anything he wanted, and she'd rapturously agree, just to feel him next to her a bit longer.
Jareth seems to be feeding off the reactions of Mikal to his touch and whispered words, "Yes.. I believe this coat and waistcoat must come off, ma petite... you are almost feverish... let us remedy that. It would be a shame if you fainted." He ducks his head and his teeth nip gently at the racing pulse in her throat. During none of this does he stop undressing the shivering girl in disguise as a chevalier. His own ardor seems banked but for the glint of his eyes and the feel of him solid and warm against her stomach... and of course the whispering.
Mikal groans softly, her head rolling to one side, then back; her slender throat is a delicate, vulnerable paleness behind the high, stiff lace collar Jareth is unfastening. Her lashes are dark against her flushed face and she's almost limp in his arms; were it not for her nearly ecstatic expression it might seem she had indeed fainted. She doesn't struggle against him, and when he pauses to occasionally brush heady kisses against her flushed, smooth skin she trembles, reaching up blindly to trail unsteady fingers through his hair.
As Mikal goes nearly limp, Jareth shifts his own weight, lowering both of them to the ground in the shade of the apple tree, drinking in the sight of the dappled light on Mikal's ecstatic face. Once she's on her back, he takes his time opening the jacket and then the waistcoat. Finally, the shirt and each inch of pale skin exposed stokes the heat in his gaze, "Mon lapin, my body starves for you, my heart feels hollow when I am away..." Between the words, his mouth moves over the delicate and tantalizing strip of skin exposed from her wait to her throat.
Despite the unabashed confidence and the devouring arousal, Jareth's clothes are still almost immaculate, just the collar of his shirt loosened. Something about Mikal's overwhelmed acquiescence makes him want to keep her looking so stunned and needful.
The small sound Mikal makes is half a groan, partly a whimper. The steadying support of the earth beneath her seems to help her center herself somewhat, and she reaches to tangle her shaking fingers in her teasing lover's smooth hair. She can't remember when the gloves came off -- she's not sure when the shirt came open either, but she knows she wants to feel her lover's skin against hers. She can't seem to concentrate enough to keep her hands from shaking, though, as she fumbles along the shoulder of his elegant jacket, trying to find his shirt. Hoarsely she whispers, "H-how...?" but she can't remember what she was going to ask. She stares up at the sun-bright, translucent green leaves, panting in soft, shallow gasps, one fist still tangled in Jareth's hair.
Only when he has her clothes folded back from her torso does Jareth sit up and slowly shrug out of his own coat. He seems in no hurry and smiles lazily down at Mikal as he starts to unfasten his waistcoat, "How what, ma petite?" He pauses in his undressing to trail his fingers along the side of her breast and her ribcage, "It is so tantalizing to watch your beauty emerging from your clothes, I find myself almost loathe to reach the end of it and see you in all your glory... perhaps we should stop?" Despite his words, he's opening his own shirt.
Mikal moans softly again as Jareth sits up and away from her, although she does release her hold on his hair. At his teasing comment, though, she blinks in sudden alarm, rolling easily sideways and to a sitting position, "No! I m-mean, uh..." She flushes bright red -- she knows what sensually eager women are called in this time and place -- and ducks her head slightly, leaning forward to shake her arms smoothly out of her heavy overcoat, then reaching to loop them loosely about Jareth's neck. She nuzzles hungrily against his throat, his skin feeling almost cool against the warmth of her lips as she murmurs shyly, "Please, mon cher... let's n-not stop?"
Mikal's small body is as lean and well-muscled as a hunting whippet, and she moves with the almost boneless grace of the perennial athlete and warrior. She carries a few scars as well on her pale skin -- reminders of the dangers of her chosen profession.
Jareth's body is lean as well, but not as well-muscled as Mikal's. He is, if not aristocracy, of the society's elite and his body has been formed from gentlemanly pursuits: hunting, fencing and the like. When she sits up to wrap her arms around him, some of his smoothly teasing veneer slips and his words are huskier than he means, "But we have not yet even made it to the vineyards, mon amour... Do you not wish to see my home?" His half-feral lover's shy eagerness makes it feel as if his heart is caught in his throat and he feels as if his clothes will catch fire if he doesn't get them off. He had not truly meant to ravish her under the apple trees, but he has a hunger for her that never seems to be truly sated and in this place, he knows that he is the master of the environment.
Mikal purrs hopefully against Jareth's chest, letting her hands and lips explore all of him that she can currently reach despite his loosened shirt, "W-we have time, do we not, mon chat?" Greatly daring, she almost gasps, "Sh-show me yourself! -b-before your home, please?"
Mikal finds it oddly reassuring to have her face hidden against her lover like this, and she murmurs softly -- not even sure if it's more for her or for him, "So -- so alluring... mon chat cheri..."
"We have all the time we need, mon chere lapin," Jareth murmurs, letting his hands move to her breeches, skin goose-pimpling under Mikal's touch. His heart is racing to match hers. Even for this permissive household, making love mother-naked amongst the trees of the orchard might be seen as somewhat scandalous, and that just makes it that much more delicious. Her lips moving against his chest as she speaks make him gasp and his hands tangle in he rhair, pulling her head back so he can kiss her, unconsciously bearing them both to the ground.
Mikal whimpers softly but doesn't resist as her head is pulled back, and by the time Jareth has them both horizontal her arms are wrapped about him, clinging tightly and moaning softly against his lips as they share breath and desperately hungry kisses. She's not worried about being found -- her brother Wolf is keeping watch, after all -- although to be brutally honest the idea never occurred to her. Later her native caution will be shocked to the core at her carelessness and near abandoned desire for her pretty lover; for now she can't conceive of anything past the driving need to wrap herself around her beloved, to wriggle ever closer until there's nothing but her in his eyes and heart and on his lips, to writhe with startlingly brazen ecstasy against him until they're both sated.
Jareth's genteel tone is getting a little strained as he whispers, "As fetching as you are in these trousers, ma petite, I find that they are confounding my nefarious plans upon your body...." Indeed, he's going to have to completely disentangle himself from her to get either pair of breeches off. His eyes look hazy, as if he's had too much wine and his lips are swollen from the hungry kisses. For a moment, the gallant tease slides away and there's wonder in his voice as he whispers, "How blessed am I to have been gifted with the love of one such as you..." For a moment, he is still, the first time he has been since the kiss that ignited all this need.
Mikal blinks, her rather dazed vision clearing slightly as Jareth goes still. She shakes her head a bit confusedly once, then looks back at her lover. Her expression softens at his words, and she touches his cheek gently with the fingers of one hand, murmuring softly, "Je t'aime de tout mon coeur, cheri." Her wide gray eyes trace his face like a caress, and her voice is low and wondering, "I do not know why you are so willing to always come back to me, my beloved honeybee... but I have learned not to question my Lady's blessings." She blinks, then grins shyly and flushes, resting her forehead against Jareth's chest, "Nefarious plans, eh? Um... maybe if we worked together, we c-could f-figure it out?"
Jareth smiles and kisses the bridge of Mikal's nose, "And I love you with all of mine." He laughs joyfully at her suggestion, "I believe you may be right." With some degree of reluctance, he pulls away and stands, stripping off his breeches and then the silk stockings and shoes. For a moment, he stands shivering, reveling in the pure sensual sensation of the dappled sunlight brushing so much of his skin, and then he drops to his knees again beside Mikal, "And I will always return because you have my heart, my love." His smile is less teasing and more hungry now.
Mikal had intended to also strip when Jareth did, but she's still sitting and staring up at Jareth, her mouth dropped open, by the time he's kneeling next to her again. She'd not expected him to simply stand up and strip, and for a moment her beautiful lover takes her breath away. At his lovely comment she blinks, swallows, and essays an ineloquent, "Guh."
Now that he's had a moment of not being pressed against MIkal, of not breathing in her scent with every breath, he has regained a little of his control. Only a little, however, and he wastes no time in helping her out of the boots and breeches, wanting her as bare as he is. There's no thought that his ardour might be cooling. If the visual proof were not enough, a steady stream of sweet words, praising Mikal's beauty and courage and hinting of the lovely things to come pours from his lips.
Mikal finds herself willingly and hastily unbuckling her sword belt, tossing it aside and shimmying hastily out of boots, clothing, everything -- the promise of her beautiful lover pressed close, finding ecstasy in her and with her, makes it hard to think clearly. She doesn't really notice when she slips into that almost punchdrunk, hungrily eager acceptance again; she just knows a point comes when she's clothed only in sunlight and the tumble of her loosened hair down her back and her lover's eager kisses, and that's more than enough clothing for this shimmering, near translucently beautiful moment. The gentle breeze, the distant lowing of cattle, the church bell tolling far away all mean no more to her than the flower-drunk buzzing of the bees in the apple blossoms overhead, or the heavy velvet coats they're lying on, or the sweet fragrance of the trees themselves. Her world is wrapped up in Jareth at this moment; he is her dream and her giddy joy and her sensual, sacred offering as she wraps herself around him
as she wraps herself around him and gives all of herself that she can give to him.
Perhaps it was the sweet innocent abandon with which Mikal gave herself to him that seemed to make it so hard for Jareth to keep his hands off her. Or perhaps it was the love. Or, just perhaps, some distant part of his mind whispered, it was that their joining together completed something far larger than the simple act of making love. When she lays back upon the velvet coats, offering herself up to him, Jareth feels as if he's tumbling upward into the sky. There are so many delicious things he wants to teach her, but it all gets swept away in the moments like these. And then she is wrapped around him in a way tht arches his back and rolls his eyes back into his head and he wishes he knew the right prayers to sing.
It seems like a deliciously blissful eternity later that the two lovers are lying tangled up with each other. Mikal's wild curls have slid all over Jareth's front, where his little lover sprawls in limply contented abandon across his chest. She's still purring very softly to herself, eyes languidly half closed and one hand resting in relaxed and unwitting possessiveness over her beloved's heart; Jareth may not know the prayers to sing but he certainly knows how to inspire them. Her voice is thick and dreamy with pleasure as she giggles slowly and softly, then murmurs, "We must thank Raphael later... he's been occasionally giving people grim glares so they choose to go walk elsewhere than in the orchards!" Almost dazedly she adds in a soft whisper, "You are like... like a fine wine, lovely Jareth. You make me drunk on you... I could drown in bliss in your hands, I think!" Wonderingly she adds, "How do you do that, my sweet?"
Jareth sounds rather drunk himself and his voice is far-away as he says, "I don't know, love. I just let you see what I feel for you. How much I want you.." As he talks, one hand is stroking her hair, taking as much comfort as he's giving with the caresses. "And we wil most definitely have to thank Raphael... I believe there are hares here for him to hunt when we are done."
Mikal giggles softly again, "He says yummy!" She falls silent after that, idly tracing slow, swirling whorls along her lover's body, trailing her fingers through both hair and over skin, savoring and memorizing him in equal measure. It's some time later she lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest, and grins through her shaggy bangs, "Somehow I doubt your home is as lovely as this moment we've just had, dear heart, but if you are still willing to introduce me to polite society, I am willing to try to act like a civilized being -- after a bath!"
Jareth laughs dreamily, "Mmm... I think perhaps a bath and then more love-making. There is time for you to meet the household."
Mikal laughs softly, her restless gray eyes warming at his decision. She smiles, murmuring teasingly, "This time do I get the perfume and the roses before the seduction?"
Jareth seems to contemplate ,"Mmmm... I have the perfume, but roses may nee to wait."
Mikal's eyes twinkle, "Ah, then I shall have to return to claim my prize, I see!" She grins mischievously, tilting her head to close her lips about one nipple, murmuring against his skin, "You won't forget now, will you?"
Jareth's fingers clench and he gasps, voice throaty, "Never, my love." His voice is husky, "Some day I will show you wha tlovely things you can do with sweet kisses like that. But now..." Regretfully, he starts looking around for his clothes.
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