(514-06-20) Unnamed Feeling III: Amor
Summary: Kamron works to bring Arian out of her melancholy after the fight with Sior.
Date: June 20, 514
Related: Unnamed Feeling II: Vengeance
kamron arian 


OOC Warning: Things get steamy, but stay PG-13.

Kamron has been there before. Once everything had been sorted out with horses and captives and rescuees, Kamron made sure that he carefully approached Arian and removed her sword, gloves, and helmet and passed them off to Newt. Poor boy, serving as squire for two knights for now. Pulling off his mailed mitts and his own helmet and passing them and his axe to the squire as well, he then very carefully tucked Arian's hand under his arm and led her slowly around back of the manor, up over a rise and down the other side. For now, he cannot worry about the haze of smoke starting to gather on the horizon to the south. Now he can only worry about one thing, and that is the woman on his arm.

Morose and demure, Arian has allowed Kamron to approach and see to her armor and arms. She had not found her horse, and thus had taken up a half-slouch against a tree with her arms crossed and gaze averted at her feet. Her armor has been bloodied — mostly by her own — and her jerkin damaged after several bad falls. She does not speak for a time as he guides her behind the manor. Then she sighs heavily, her gaze still on her boots. "Foolish girl," she says more or less to herself. "Pretending to be a knight…"

Kamron comes around from beside the woman, aiming to take her hands and draw her down into a crouch of a seat on the back side of the hill. "Rhi, this is the very first time I have ever known you to be foolish, thinking yourself the fool." His words are gentle, soft, and he leans forward slightly to press into her personal space. "We all have bad days." And his smile slips into something very crooked and self-deprecating indeed, "I should know better than most."

Arian falls completely on her seat as if weighted. She starts to draw up her knees until he catches her hands, and she takes in a sudden breath. Her hands are strangely cold instead of their usual warmth. Her pale eyes lift to gaze into the familiar stormy stare of her amor, but she does not seem terribly responsive to his bold press. She looks away again, shaking her head. "How am I supposed to be a knight for Lord Robert if a simple traitor can best me so? I was certain he was going to batter me into the earth." His self-deprecation doesn't seem to draw humor from her, but instead her eyes flash with a hint of anger and she starts to tug her hands away.

Kamron brings her hands up to his cheeks, warming her fingers on skin flushed from battle. In fact, her fingers are just beneath a spatter of blood that made it in through the viewing slits in his helmet. When she pulls back, hurt sparks in his eyes, and he rocks back on his heels a little. Still, he sighs softly, "A man's skill — or a woman's — is not determined by their allegiance, Love." Reaching up with his left hand toward her cheek, he aims to brush her skin with the calloused pads of his fingers, "Besides, you've defeated me before, Rhi. It's one of the reasons that I love you, your strength and surety."

Success
Arian checked her loyalty for lord of 15, she rolled 10.
Critical Success!
You check your Amor for Arian at 19, you rolled 19.

"Kam…" Arian closes her eyes as she turns her cheek slightly into his calloused fingers. Her breath comes out in a slow, sorrowful exhale. For a moment, she looks as though she is about to turn away once more, but then she hears his words. Her eyes slowly open to meet his once more, and she realizes how close he is and how bold his gestures are. Usually it is her engaging him in such bold physical connections, spurring him toward sensuality. Her lower lip quivers slightly, and then she is placing her hands at his cheeks as he originally encouraged.

Kamron is certainly out of his element, with scores of peasants just over the the hill, but that hasn't stopped him thus far. To his credit, he does not shift his eyes away from hers, not toward the hill that just hides them from the manor and its workers, and not to the column of smoke starting to rise in the direction of Sarum. No, he is lost, fallen into the clarity of her eyes. He shifts his hand slightly so that he can caress that trembling lower lip with the pad of his thumb, and then replaces that touch with his lips. The kiss begins as simple pressure, sure and warm, but his head twists to one side, and his lips begin to move over hers, seeking to spark that heat that entrances and terrifies him.

"Kam," Arian repeats just as his lips touch hers. At the first little spark, she sinks easily into the warmth and comfort, but then as the heat is sparked and excitement stirs between them, the Pagan surrenders. She starts to sink back into the grass, drawing her almost-lover with her so that they sprawl into the soft early summer green. She ignores the sharp jab of pain and ache that rolls through her body as she rests. She has no idea of the peasants nor the smoke, absorbed entirely by the Knight's presence and the warmth building within her.

Drawing a breath in through his nose as she shifts before him, Kamron rolls his weight forward, grounding a leather-sheathed knee between her legs and bracing his elbow alongside her shoulder — for all that the shift causes a low groan of pain from his oh-so-busy lips. Bruised ribs and a slash at his hip hurt when you sprawl out atop a comely woman, even when you're both wearing chainmail. His arms and legs take up most of his weight, but his hauberk still hangs atop hers, a steel whisper speaking of their every movement as he continues to fall into that kiss.

Success
Arian checked her lustful of 16, she rolled 12.

The depth of the kiss draws her further and further from reality. It draws her from the muddle of her own disappointment and failures into the warmth of his arms and embrace. She draws her hips open to welcome him against her. Her hands start to slide across his mail, and her fingers begin to tug and pull at it. Her tongue tastes his lips almost shyly, not wishing to break the connection between the two. Finally though, she must breathe. Her head rolls back and their lips separate. "This armor is really quite uncomfortable," she murmurs against his lips.

Kamron parts his lips under the influence of her tongue, his own tongue dancing with hers for a moment before she draws back. Straightening his neck to gain a little distance, to take in the whole of her strong features, he raises his eyebrows slightly, a little chuckle touching his lips as he looks down between them, "Yes. It's not nearly so nice as a simple tunic and trousers." His fingers stroke gently at her cheek, and he leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of her jaw. His words are a low, husky murmur as well, "Or was that a request for some help removing your armor, Rhi?"

"A request," Arian gasps softly at the touch of his lips to her jaw. She turns her head away, opening up her neck to his lips where he can taste her soft and salty skin. Her smile softens. "If you help me, I am more than happy to help you…" She lifts her pale eyes back to his, and hers burn with hunger. Her fingers grace up his back softly, feeling the sharp tug and catch of the mail. When she shifts her hips slightly, she breathes in sharply at the dull ache in her hips and ribs.

Kamron takes the first invitation without hesitation, ducking his head to move his mouth down the length of her long, slender neck. There is a touch of copper in his last kiss, however, and it clears his head just enough to draw back, studying how her face is framed by a few flyaway wisps of hair. Her words cause a pink flush to wash from his ears across his cheeks, and he glances down a moment, "I… that is, I rather remember you helping me in Carlion." His breath comes short and quick for all his struggle for control, his heart pounding in his ears, "Are you sure you're not… are you sure that you're going to be alright?" His fingers touch one of the rents in her mail, just barely placing any weight on the torn metal.

When he draws back, Arian smiles up at him. Her dimples even spring forth when he pinks at her and looks away. She tilts her head slightly, watching his every reaction with earnest curiosity. Then he mentions Carlion, and it is her turn to pink slightly though her smile does not fade. His fumbled question draws a small nod from her. "If you are careful with me, as I will be with you, I am more than alright." She then looks down as he touches her damaged armor. "A gash here, a deep bruise there…" She lifts her pale eyes to meet his. "I care not… I have you…" And she draws him down to her once more, catching his lips with a fire-soaked kiss.

The rise of the pink to the cheeks of the ever-confident Pagan knight gives Kamron confidence, somehow. His eyes start to rise toward the manor, and then she captures him again, and he sinks down, luxuriating in the passion behind her lips. Blue eyes shutter closed, and his fingers rise up to caress her cheek once more, but then he's straightening up, sitting back on his heels and dropping both hands to her arms to pull gently on them, "You'll have to sit up, Love, if you want me to help you take off your armor."

Arian almost catches the wander of his gaze, but too quickly she is focused on the kiss. Her fingertips roll through his hair lightly, feeling the short bristles tickle her skin. When he draws back up and pulls on her arms, she sits up, groaning. Her body aches, but she is warmed by his presence and desires. She pulls in her legs slightly, balancing herself as she draws her arms wide so he can help with the mail jerkin. She will of course do the same for him if he allows it, but she will wait until her own armor is cast aside.

Kamron rises up to one knee before her, caressing her cheek with his fingers as he leans past her, reaching down to grasp the base of her hauberk and roll it slowly up her back. He moves gently, carefully, as light as possible around the areas where she's been hurt. Within a minute or two, however, he has it free, lifting the rolls of rings over her head and setting them down beside her. Leaning forward, he steals another blazing, drawing kiss before he groans his arms up over his head for her to pull the mail coat free.

When the mail is set aside, she is free to roll her shoulders. She releases a soft gasp as it pulls at her ribs and back, but then she relaxes a touch more. Every moment seems to give her body relief. She is about to start removing his own hauberk, but is stalled by the kiss that sends a warm sear against her lips. She groans softly at his mouth, and then she is all smiles when he leans back and lifts his arms. She hesitates, and then she starts to ease the mail up his own body, careful of his aches and pains until she can set his aside with hers.

The Christian knight curls in his left arm as soon as its free of the mail, tucking it tight against his side to protect his hip and ribs. Still, he lets out a little sigh as the weight lifts from his shoulders, ducking his head out and raising his right hand to help her set the shimmering weight aside. And then they're in (admittedly thick) tunics and pants again, and Kamron leans forward, brushing his hand across an unwounded part of her side, just along her lower ribs. Brushing his nose lightly across hers, he rests his brow against hers for a moment, and then his hand shifts down to her hip, pushing lightly to guide her down onto her back again, and lower him down over her.

The Knight lies back in a slow roll, careful of her own wounds. There is a nice gash in her tunic, and it is darkened by drying blood. She closes her eyes as she settles back into the grass where it is soft and cool. Her lips lift to find his, drawing him into a slow kiss that speaks promises of love and life. Her thighs open, embracing his hips lightly. She starts to ease her feet out of her boots, twisting her heels a bit to loosen them. This allows her feet to slide into the smooth, cool grass and connect her with the earth. She then starts to work on the padded tunic covering his torso, wishing to touch his skin.

Kamron sinks down atop his almost-lover, although he does not work to remove any more of her clothing. Instead, his fingers caress her cheek, and he lowers his head to kiss at her neck. With his weight on his right forearm and his knees, his left hand is free, and it trails down the opposite side of her neck from his lips. Even here, even now, even so caught up in the passion of the woman beneath him, his hand makes a jump in its descent, skipping down to her hip, to press at the point of her pelvis. However sensitive the touch of his hand may be, he does not pull aside from her as she tugs at his tunic, hissing softly at the hollow of her throat as the motion pulls at his wounded hip.

The Pagan tilts her head back as his lips travel down her skin. Her breath catches in her chest when her hips is pressed into the earth, and she releases a sudden moan — this time of pleasure, not of pain. She keeps tugging at his tunic until he hisses in pain, and she stops abruptly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Arian repeats at his hiss. She releases his tunic, and she reaches up to collect his cheeks in her palms. Her lips lift to touch his in a far softer kiss, though it still burns at the edges.

Kamron shakes his head into the crook of her neck, "No." Drawing his head back a moment, he is just licking his lips when she catches him up in that soft kiss. He responds to that softness, but he responds all the more readily to the heat. Rocking a little more upright over her, he hesitates, his lips moving over hers, and then his hand is moving again before he can lose his nerve, and the scene fades to a blackness that does not change Amor to Love, but certainly distracts them from the horrors of the day — both in Winterslow and further south in Sarum.

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