Pel's hair is braided back and in some disarray, her smiling face flushed and breathless from a quick uphill trot. She's carrying a basket filled with basic practical herbs and wild vegetables, but somehow manages to link arms with Gavin when she reaches him.
"Found berries!" she explains with a grin. "First of the season. Not enough to make anything from. Want to share?"
The smile springs to Gavin's lips instantly when he sees her.
"I would absolutely love to," He replied, looking down into her basket, squeezing her arm gently where it was linked with his. "If you're sure the rest of your supplies can wait in the meantime," he gently teased. He'd been apprenticed under the storyteller (this time) and had been watching the perimeter while he tried to memorize the stories he'd been told that day.
It wasn't his fault that he kept putting dragons and dwarves into them and messing them up.
He tilted his head to look at her, an answering blush tinting his cheeks, though his was certainly not from exertion.
"Assuming you aren't testing poisons on me," He added, grinning. "I generally prefer to be asked, first, if I'm going to end up sleeping for three days."
He is led happily, the blush spreading as he settled into the grass, slipping his hand to rest on hers as his lips parted to take the berry. He munched on it, thoughtfully, before laughing.
"Ah, first berries indeed - incredibly sour!" He grinned with the barefaced lie, plucking a berry from the basket an holding it to her lips. "See? Try it."
Her lips brush his fingers as she takes the berry. She beams at him for a second, then leans into kiss him again, berry still in mouth. Kisses are even sweeter with berries.
The forest is awash with a gentle breeze that sifts delicate motes through lances of sunlight, a whisper of air and nothing more.
Birdsong swells around them: softly cooing pigeons, cawing crows, murmuring songbirds and a dozen others that chatter among themselves.
Intermittent sunlight breaks through the lush green canopy above, turning every surface in to a dappled haze of light and shadow.
All in all, Abelath thinks to himself, it is the perfect killing zone.
Abelath should be thankful for it all - the breeze settling down to the barest murmur and keeping his scent from travelling, the birdsong that covers his every move, the dappled light that provides just enough shadow to hide within. It all makes for an excellent hunting ground, down to the last detail. And yet the tall, raven haired elf has absolutely no kills to his name, despite the long hours the pair have been hunting so far.
Fat, plump pigeons sitting in the branches overhead seem to take huge delight in the hunter's disappointment as they coo happily to each other about the elf's bad luck (or so the elf feels). Abelath has never been mocked by birds before and he isn't really appreciating his first time.
Carefully, slowly, he draws his string back with a finely crafted arrow notched in place. He sights his next target - a well-fattened wood dove - and holds his breath as he waits for the perfect moment to release...
With a soft exhale and a silent prayer Abelath lets the arrow fly in a sudden, sharp snap of waxed bowstring. Yet again, frustratingly, the arrow misses by a millimeter: the arrowhead bites home harmlessly in a tree branch and sends the dove scattering.
"Once upon a time," He declares through gritted teeth to his fellow archer. "I was a damn good shot."
"Once upon a time?" He teased as he notched his own arrow. "Are you going to sing me songs of old? Or will I have to envision them for myself?"
He raised his bow, his tongue sticking out between his lips, his eyes narrowing as he drew the string back, the fletching at his cheek. He took a breath, held it, and then released.
The arrow flew straight and true, but not towards any pigeon. Instead, it hit the base of a mushroom high on a tree, breaking it off and sending the fungus flying.
As he squinted at the path Gavin's arrow had flown Abelath realised (with an unsportsmanlike disappointment) that his hunting companion had completely and utterly bested him this time.
"Yes, yes, well done. You killed a mushroom."
With a perturbed sigh he rested his folded hands on the tip of his longbow and frowned at the felled fungus.
"You were aiming for that, right?" He checked with a bleak edge to his voice. How much better would Abelath feel if hitting the mushroom had been a complete and utter fluke?
Every shot Gavin ever took seemed to be a fluke. He was either aiming at
things people weren't looking at, or taking shots while he was tumbling
down cliffs. Whether it was luck, or skill, was completely up for debate.
"Sure," He said, grinning, which neither confirmed nor denied his
intention. He bent down to pick up the fungus. "You want some?" he teased,
offering it.
"Only to destroy the evidence maybe," Abelath replied as he reached out to boyishly push away the offered mushroom. But there's a hint of a smile, albeit a wry and slightly despairing one; for all his dramatic theatrical annoyance he can't begrudge Gavin his prize. His victory mushroom.
No longer caring about stealth Abelath all but stomped the short distance to where his arrow stuck out of a mighty tree trunk at a very neat 90 degrees.
"Besides, judging by the luck I've had today I think the damn thing will end up poisonous as soon as I take a bite..."
Yanking the arrow from the trunk, he inspected the length with a sigh as if the reason for his dismal shooting was all down to a faulty arrow. Sadly, the arrow was perfect.
"I think it's all on you to get us something decent to bring home," he sighed after a moment. "No pressure, friend."
It had been a hard few days, for both of them, and tensions were a bit high. Gavin usually was able to keep pretty amiable, through those periods, but even he was getting warn down and irritable. His clothes had been soaked through for hours now, and the Hart they'd been hunting all afternoon had just escaped by running right down an almost vertical cliff. One that they definitely wouldn't survive scaling, despite Gavin's penchant for not dying. They'd chased it all the way to the edge and watched it disappear into the woods below, three arrow shafts and a dagger still embedded in its apparently impenetrable flank.
Gavin was having a hard time pretending to be optimistic about it, so when he spoke the humour was dryer than normal. "Oh good. Pointless exercise. How unlike the last three days."
Gavin was frustrated, but Merrick was furious. His teeth pressed hard together, grinding, his expression a pure snarl--and then he spun and stabbed his dagger into the nearest tree, dragging it down to leave a deep scar there.
Normally, he would have done his best to calm the situation - make some kind of disarming joke, or something. But he was too tired, cold, wet and frustrated - and Merrick hissing as he gouged out a tree made the hair raise on his spine. He shivered visibly.
"I don't think fucking a tree is going to help," He said finally, turning to Merrick. "Or killing it. Or really, anything to do with the tree, probably isn't as helpful as you'd think."
For some reason Gavin has not yet grasped that joking with Merrick during an angry fit is a terrible idea. He wheeled on Gavin and swept his dagger in a swift circle, aiming it at Gavin's throat.
He breathes heavily through his teeth, eyes completely wild.
It wasn't that he hadn't grasped it so much that he couldn't help it - but the knife was a very good reminder as it passed within a foot of his throat. He stopped dead still, watching him. Okay. Not good. Angrier than he thought he'd been. Angry enough to hurt himself, or Gavin, or both.
"Put the knife down, Merrick," He said, his voice more stable than he thought it would be. "If you want to fight me, do it with your hands."
There was something freeing and, at the same time, lamentable about Thedas. Even the most stable and secure locations had a strangely sad quality, as if they were set in a semi-permanent dream and everyone within it was waiting to awake. It made Thedas separate, unique, and unreal, but not unpleasant. It was, if nothing else, as though she'd strayed into another life, altogether, and the feeling compounded over time.
It became easier to think of the Dalish as Dalish rather than Eldar, to see the stars and recall the names of these constellations rather than those she missed, and each new change allowed more light into her heart. Even now, as she watched the agents of the Inquisition practice archery, she found more ease dubbing Gavin by his own name than she ever had in comparing him to the Galadhrim.
It was a heartening shift and, as the training ranges cleared and the other archers left, Galadriel waited for her friend. She could only hope he was not so starstruck by her that he would still refuse her company.
He had missed his last three shots, after he'd noticed that Galadriel had
been watching. He hadn't acknowledged her - trying to focus instead - but
he over-thought every shot and sent them wild. It made it worse, of course,
so his ears were already red by the time he was packing up his bow and
retrieving his arrows. When he looked up, she was watching him, and despite
how his mouth went a little dry, he stepped over to her, bowing his head as
he approach.
"Lady Galadriel," He said by way of greeting, having finally managed to get
over his stutter when speaking to her. Well. Mostly. "I did not know you
would be joining us. I have - not had the best luck, with my shots, this
afternoon." His ears reddened further, dipping slightly as he spoke. "I
would have preferred - well. I promise I do better, most of the time."
"I believe you," Galadriel replied easily. It was an honest reassurance; she had met him in battle, after all, she knew how true his shots fell.
"I hope it was not my presence that unsettled you," she added and her smile took on a touch of apology. Though he'd been adamant about keeping his eyes ahead, she suspected she was the cause of his ill-fortune today. "If you would prefer I refrain from watching, in the future, I would...though it would bring me no joy to stay away."
"No!" He said quickly, ears twitching with the force of the sentiment,
which of course only served to make him more embarrassed. "I - you are
always welcome, my lady. I - I merely--" But of course he really didn't
have a lie prepared, to fill in here, and 'you are so beautiful that it
hurts' was way, way too ridiculous too actually say out loud. He swallowed,
instead, and immediately changed the subject, without even acknowledging
the change.
"Have you eaten? Could I - could I possibly entice you to have a meal with
me?" He wasn't hungry at all, if he was completely truthful. "Or - a
drink?" He paled a little bit. "Do you... Do you drink?"
"I do and you have already enticed me," Galadriel answered and stepped alongside him, her hand coming to rest behind his elbow. A gentle pressure on his arm was all it took to urge him into step alongside her and she was glad of it.
"I am finding I have a fondness for Thedas's wines, though I am most fond of mead." The talk was idle and she hoped it would calm his nerves. Gavin was dear but overwhelmed easily and she wished him no discomfort. "Tell me, what do you prefer?"
He didn't argue. Didn't say another word, just sank into Maxwell's lap and let the kiss deepen, let himself melt against the man as if he would open up and swallow him hole. Just be with me.
There never had been an easier request made of him.
His hands roamed across Maxwell's skin before he pushed him gently down into the sheets.
Maxwell went easily, sinking down against the mattress and taking Gavin gently with him. The kisses melded together, want turning to hunger, needing more with every taste he took. He shifted, hips angling, legs parting enough to allow Gavin to slid against him until there was nothing but the feel of soft fabric and the body beneath, long and lean.
It was both a torment and pleasure, rubbing against his skin. A keen anticipation building.
His hands flirted with it, molding down Gavin's flanks, flexing in his shirt and tugging, almost playfully at the band at his waist.
If he only had one night he wasn't going to waste it - rolling his hips as he settled in against Maxwell, he could feel the hard heat growing below him. Could feel his own answering. He kissed Maxwell hard as he lent a hand to help - pulling the belt loose quickly before turning to the buttons of his shirt.
"Maxwell--" He breathed, a desperate plea, as scrambled to get rid of the last barriers between them.
That sound was going to haunt him. The breathless whisper of his name, Gavin's voice breaking softly. The taste of it: a hot pant, cut off by his lips as he took Gavin's mouth again, harder.
He'd be remember it, long after it was wise.
He could tell that already too.
But if there had ever been any chance of turning back, it was already past. His fingers were fumbling against Gavin's, torn between helping and touching - slipping over the backs of Gavin's hands, curling briefly around his wrists, then quickly moving on. Delving into the part opening in Gavin's shirt to find warm flesh beneath.
His hands didn't linger on their duty. He made quick work of his clothing,
tossing his tunic off the side of the bed before going for his trousers -
tugging the ties loose quickly. There was no doubt in his mind, where this
was headed. And he wanted it, wanted Maxwell, so badly he could barely
stand it, even if it was already tearing his heart in two. It seemed to
take an age before his trousers were free - leaving him solely in his small
clothes - and with a moan he returned his hands to what they really wanted.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
young love
"Found berries!" she explains with a grin. "First of the season. Not enough to make anything from. Want to share?"
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"I would absolutely love to," He replied, looking down into her basket, squeezing her arm gently where it was linked with his. "If you're sure the rest of your supplies can wait in the meantime," he gently teased. He'd been apprenticed under the storyteller (this time) and had been watching the perimeter while he tried to memorize the stories he'd been told that day.
It wasn't his fault that he kept putting dragons and dwarves into them and messing them up.
He tilted his head to look at her, an answering blush tinting his cheeks, though his was certainly not from exertion.
"Assuming you aren't testing poisons on me," He added, grinning. "I generally prefer to be asked, first, if I'm going to end up sleeping for three days."
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"No poisons. Just a pretty girl feeding you berries." To demonstrate, she takes a berry and moves to pop it in his mouth.
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"Ah, first berries indeed - incredibly sour!" He grinned with the barefaced lie, plucking a berry from the basket an holding it to her lips. "See? Try it."
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"Terrible."
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sorry this took so long and sorry it's a blind set up here JUST ROLL WITH IT
Birdsong swells around them: softly cooing pigeons, cawing crows, murmuring songbirds and a dozen others that chatter among themselves.
Intermittent sunlight breaks through the lush green canopy above, turning every surface in to a dappled haze of light and shadow.
All in all, Abelath thinks to himself, it is the perfect killing zone.
Abelath should be thankful for it all - the breeze settling down to the barest murmur and keeping his scent from travelling, the birdsong that covers his every move, the dappled light that provides just enough shadow to hide within. It all makes for an excellent hunting ground, down to the last detail. And yet the tall, raven haired elf has absolutely no kills to his name, despite the long hours the pair have been hunting so far.
Fat, plump pigeons sitting in the branches overhead seem to take huge delight in the hunter's disappointment as they coo happily to each other about the elf's bad luck (or so the elf feels). Abelath has never been mocked by birds before and he isn't really appreciating his first time.
Carefully, slowly, he draws his string back with a finely crafted arrow notched in place. He sights his next target - a well-fattened wood dove - and holds his breath as he waits for the perfect moment to release...
With a soft exhale and a silent prayer Abelath lets the arrow fly in a sudden, sharp snap of waxed bowstring. Yet again, frustratingly, the arrow misses by a millimeter: the arrowhead bites home harmlessly in a tree branch and sends the dove scattering.
"Once upon a time," He declares through gritted teeth to his fellow archer. "I was a damn good shot."
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He raised his bow, his tongue sticking out between his lips, his eyes narrowing as he drew the string back, the fletching at his cheek. He took a breath, held it, and then released.
The arrow flew straight and true, but not towards any pigeon. Instead, it hit the base of a mushroom high on a tree, breaking it off and sending the fungus flying.
"Ha!"
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"Yes, yes, well done. You killed a mushroom."
With a perturbed sigh he rested his folded hands on the tip of his longbow and frowned at the felled fungus.
"You were aiming for that, right?" He checked with a bleak edge to his voice. How much better would Abelath feel if hitting the mushroom had been a complete and utter fluke?
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Every shot Gavin ever took seemed to be a fluke. He was either aiming at things people weren't looking at, or taking shots while he was tumbling down cliffs. Whether it was luck, or skill, was completely up for debate.
"Sure," He said, grinning, which neither confirmed nor denied his intention. He bent down to pick up the fungus. "You want some?" he teased, offering it.
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No longer caring about stealth Abelath all but stomped the short distance to where his arrow stuck out of a mighty tree trunk at a very neat 90 degrees.
"Besides, judging by the luck I've had today I think the damn thing will end up poisonous as soon as I take a bite..."
Yanking the arrow from the trunk, he inspected the length with a sigh as if the reason for his dismal shooting was all down to a faulty arrow. Sadly, the arrow was perfect.
"I think it's all on you to get us something decent to bring home," he sighed after a moment. "No pressure, friend."
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for merrick
Gavin was having a hard time pretending to be optimistic about it, so when he spoke the humour was dryer than normal. "Oh good. Pointless exercise. How unlike the last three days."
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"Fuck," he hissed. Then louder: "Fuck!"
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"I don't think fucking a tree is going to help," He said finally, turning to Merrick. "Or killing it. Or really, anything to do with the tree, probably isn't as helpful as you'd think."
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He breathes heavily through his teeth, eyes completely wild.
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"Put the knife down, Merrick," He said, his voice more stable than he thought it would be. "If you want to fight me, do it with your hands."
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Here's to hoping this setup works. :D
It became easier to think of the Dalish as Dalish rather than Eldar, to see the stars and recall the names of these constellations rather than those she missed, and each new change allowed more light into her heart. Even now, as she watched the agents of the Inquisition practice archery, she found more ease dubbing Gavin by his own name than she ever had in comparing him to the Galadhrim.
It was a heartening shift and, as the training ranges cleared and the other archers left, Galadriel waited for her friend. She could only hope he was not so starstruck by her that he would still refuse her company.
Re: Here's to hoping this setup works. :D
He had missed his last three shots, after he'd noticed that Galadriel had been watching. He hadn't acknowledged her - trying to focus instead - but he over-thought every shot and sent them wild. It made it worse, of course, so his ears were already red by the time he was packing up his bow and retrieving his arrows. When he looked up, she was watching him, and despite how his mouth went a little dry, he stepped over to her, bowing his head as he approach.
"Lady Galadriel," He said by way of greeting, having finally managed to get over his stutter when speaking to her. Well. Mostly. "I did not know you would be joining us. I have - not had the best luck, with my shots, this afternoon." His ears reddened further, dipping slightly as he spoke. "I would have preferred - well. I promise I do better, most of the time."
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"I hope it was not my presence that unsettled you," she added and her smile took on a touch of apology. Though he'd been adamant about keeping his eyes ahead, she suspected she was the cause of his ill-fortune today. "If you would prefer I refrain from watching, in the future, I would...though it would bring me no joy to stay away."
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"No!" He said quickly, ears twitching with the force of the sentiment, which of course only served to make him more embarrassed. "I - you are always welcome, my lady. I - I merely--" But of course he really didn't have a lie prepared, to fill in here, and 'you are so beautiful that it hurts' was way, way too ridiculous too actually say out loud. He swallowed, instead, and immediately changed the subject, without even acknowledging the change.
"Have you eaten? Could I - could I possibly entice you to have a meal with me?" He wasn't hungry at all, if he was completely truthful. "Or - a drink?" He paled a little bit. "Do you... Do you drink?"
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"I am finding I have a fondness for Thedas's wines, though I am most fond of mead." The talk was idle and she hoped it would calm his nerves. Gavin was dear but overwhelmed easily and she wished him no discomfort. "Tell me, what do you prefer?"
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au where they kissed four years ago
He didn't argue. Didn't say another word, just sank into Maxwell's lap and let the kiss deepen, let himself melt against the man as if he would open up and swallow him hole. Just be with me.
There never had been an easier request made of him.
His hands roamed across Maxwell's skin before he pushed him gently down into the sheets.
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It was both a torment and pleasure, rubbing against his skin. A keen anticipation building.
His hands flirted with it, molding down Gavin's flanks, flexing in his shirt and tugging, almost playfully at the band at his waist.
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"Maxwell--" He breathed, a desperate plea, as scrambled to get rid of the last barriers between them.
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He'd be remember it, long after it was wise.
He could tell that already too.
But if there had ever been any chance of turning back, it was already past. His fingers were fumbling against Gavin's, torn between helping and touching - slipping over the backs of Gavin's hands, curling briefly around his wrists, then quickly moving on. Delving into the part opening in Gavin's shirt to find warm flesh beneath.
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His hands didn't linger on their duty. He made quick work of his clothing, tossing his tunic off the side of the bed before going for his trousers - tugging the ties loose quickly. There was no doubt in his mind, where this was headed. And he wanted it, wanted Maxwell, so badly he could barely stand it, even if it was already tearing his heart in two. It seemed to take an age before his trousers were free - leaving him solely in his small clothes - and with a moan he returned his hands to what they really wanted.
Maxwell's skin, Maxwell's jaw, Maxwell's lips.
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