Welcome to Gaia! ::

Detraeus woke instantly.

Over the course of his life, time wasted ‘waking up’ was time under risk, and his body learned early to skip it. Upon waking, his mind began cataloguing the surrounding circumstances: early morning pre-dawn, brisk autumn air even inside the closed room, a bed beneath him that didn’t rock and sway to the nauseating whims of the sea. And a warm body in his arms.

Detraeus’ pulse stuttered on a beat and his muscles bunched, posture stiffening on instinct, but he managed to hold himself still. His tail lay in wait, lazily — or protectively — curled over her, his arm folded across the dip of her waist, and her hair spilled around the pillow beneath them. Her presence was familiar, now, her scent known, and her warmth welcome. It was strange — so very strange — to experience her here, so blatantly intertwined into his space in a way no one had ever managed, but despite its strangeness, he thought it, perhaps, something he could grow accustomed to, in time.

For the moment, he carefully unraveled himself from her, and rose. Cool air nipped at his skin, causing it to ripple with chillbumps and immediately miss her warmth, but he ignored that and instead, set himself to dressing and preparing for the day ahead. After reattaching his various blades to his person, donning a cloak, and strapping into his boots, he stood and moved for the door. There, he sent a last, lingering glance in Araceli’s direction before moving out.

Detraeus spent longer than he intended in the village. First, he picked up a variety of information on the surrounding area from locals awake at that hour, determining the best routes up into Ayr proper, favored travel destinations, and things to be aware of. Once satisfied with a basic knowledge of the area, he made several final purchases for the travel itself, and then finally made a quick stop at one of the early-open vendors for breakfast.

He purchased a small bag of local fruit, two freshly baked sweetrolls, glazed in sugar, and a healthy slice of white cheese. The vendor additionally recommended a fresh skin of sweet-spiced leklan milk, which Detraeus took as well before heading back to the hostel. Upon making it in, he set out the breakfast supplies on one of the hardwood tabletops just to the side of the door, and re-bolted it behind him. Then, spotting Ara, he made his way across the room.

When he reached the threshold between the room and balcony, he hesitated, gaze sweeping down her shape and drinking in the sight as he rested his weight against one shoulder on door frame. Finally, he broke the silence. “Sleep well?”

Araceli’s nightgown was thin.

While noticeable from an angle, the fact became even more apparent when she turned to him. In that moment, the wind caught it like a sheet, molding the sheer, white fabric to her side and emphasizing her shape at every curve. Her hair, too, slipped and slid over her, a stark contrast to the white and ivory of her skin and nightdress and it stood out like dark threads, catching, touching, and clinging to her waist, shoulders and neckline. The air was also cold. Obvious — if nowhere else — in the reaction her breasts made to the chill, pushing out against the already insubstantial fabric in a manner that made heat swim for Detraeus’ face even as he immediately diverted his gaze.

Then, she was pressing herself to him.

He made a low, muted sound, and shut his eyes as he swallowed, intricately aware of all the details in her touch at every point their bodies came into contact. The touch of her face to his neck did not help. At her first words, however, some of his distraction dissipated, replaced by fresh concern, and a frown etched itself into his features. He laid a hand at the small of her back and opened his mouth.

But, she continued before he got to anything, and then leaned in, silencing whatever he might have said with a kiss. And a kiss. And a kiss.

As she reined him in, locking their bodies flush together and deepening the intimacy of it, Detraeus forgot entirely what he intended to say. Forgot that he intended to speak at all. Forgot everything outside of a world which encompassed only Ara, the heat of her mouth, and the silken slip, slide of fabric under his fingertips when his fingers bunched and clung to the rise of her hips.

He shuddered, tail looping in a possessive cynch around her, and his wings stretched, subconsciously barricading her from the wind, the outside world — anything that was not him, for none of it was allowed to touch her. Then, surrendering one hand’s grip on her waist, he threaded said fingers instead into the hair at her nape and cupped, holding her to him as he kissed.

“Mine…”

Aloud, Detraeus grunted, making no verbal response to the comment. Privately, though, it thrilled him to hear, and he vowed that he would do everything in his power to keep her with him, safe, for as long as she would stay.

Despite his body’s interest in affairs as they were, Araceli did not seem intent on pushing things, and he was certainly not about to. They had places to be. So, satisfied that she at least seemed calmer than earlier, he guided her in with him, murmuring something her dressing (properly) before setting out breakfast. They ate in no rush, but finished in decent order regardless, and afterwards began the process of packing and heading out.

In accordance with the hostel clerk’s previous suggestion, they contacted the dockworker and owner of the skiff along the harbor’s edge who, for a modest price of coin, happily delivered them in to the coast proper. There, they began their journey inward.