knightsoflegend | italy ♔ a promise lives within you now

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italy ♔ a promise lives within you now

WHO || Rafael, Buffy [Closed]
WHAT || After months apart, Rafael and Buffy celebrate the end of his tour with a private trip to Italy
WHERE || Italy
WHEN || /truck drives by, blaring horn
HOW || Actionspam.

It hasn't been an easy few months, but then again, it hasn't been an easy few years. Following the night of the Grammy's, Rafael's returned to his tour, aspiring to use his concerts as a chance to try and warn people of the dangers inherent in listening to Blade and company's music, even at the risk of looking like a crazy person. It wouldn't be the first time the world thought it, alright. Meanwhile, Buffy's been dealing with the fallout of what the Mind Master did to Finnick, and by extension, Myri, trying to be there for her friend in every way she can. It would be easier for both of them if they had each other to lean on through it all, but they had to rely instead on numerous phone calls and memories of one night that finally offered them both some hope just when everything had started to seem more impossible than ever.

They also had the promise of this to look forward to: a planned trip to Italy that Rafael insisted be just the two of them, once he was finally free again. He's arranged to meet her at the Galileo Galilei International Airport in Pisa, and when she gets out, there's some Italian chauffeur guys holding a sign that says "Summers".

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ there's a clear desire for more in the way his lips slide so responsively over hers, hands pressing her close, keeping her there. a contented sound issues from his throat, another signal of his eagerness, and then one hand moves to tangle through the back of her hair in case she has any designs on ungluing her mouth from his too soon. if he's concerned on any level about celebrity pda, it seems to have completely slipped his mind for now. ]

[ Somehow, Buffy has become the flying buttress of self control in this relationship (will 27). She carries on like this with him for a few minutes, years of mounting passion searching for an outlet, but she's the first one to break the kiss all the same. By the time she does, she's breathing hard, a short, soft laugh in her heady exhale.

Rafael might be able to forget the crowd, but no matter how many times she slips back into this indulgent fire they've started, she keeps coming back to reality. Whether the people milling about them realize he's Rafael Giovanni or not, it's edging on the wildly inappropriate.

Her eyes lift to search Rafael's, dark and wide and wanting. Men have waited centuries for a woman to look at them like Buffy looks on Rafael now, all muzzled desire. When she tries to open her mouth to speak, though, the words die on her tongue, throat drier than the Sahara as all her nerve leave her (will 15, one shy of crit fail …). The words don't come, though the fact that she wants to say something is easy to discern as she starts and stops according to hitches in her breath.

Finally, she drops her gaze, wussing out of whatever it was and turning away from him, pacing a few steps forward and fidgeting with her hands in front of her. She draws deep breaths as if trying to rein herself in, but no matter how full her lungs get, each breath is still hurried. ]

[ he lets her go for a moment, but after the space of a few breaths, she can feel him step up behind her, where he lifts one hand to reverently push her hair back off from her neck, delicately enough to send chills coursing through her. ] It is getting late, carina. [ there's no concern in the observation, but there's definitely something else layered in the velvet tenor of his voice (cha 24 kill him), especially as he adds: ] Perhaps we should...

[ When his hand grazes the back of her neck, Buffy's eyes flutter shut, and she inhales sharply. If there was ever any uncertainty about why she'd pulled away before, it'd be immediately clarified as her shoulders loosen against his touch instead of tensing. She seems to melt beneath his touch, which is precisely why she'd forced herself to step away from it before anything could escalate.

Except.

She turns to look up at him, trepidation evident in the way she swallows. Parsing his meaning because she was on the exact same page (nat 20 wisdom check jesus), Buffy nods slowly, every movement counting. Walking into this with her eyes wide open. Months ago, they'd smothered this very flame, narrowly avoiding what might have been an awful mistake of timing. Now, she's not caught up in the throes of some reaching kiss, not teary-eyed and desperate for the shadow of some feeling from him. They're not pouring out the darkest parts of themselves: they're standing in the light.

Reaching out, she slides her fingers between his, sealing their hands together. ]

Head back? [ She offers with the quirk of one eyebrow. ] I was just thinking the same thing.

[ his fingers tighten in response to hers, dark eyes searching her lighter ones as if to make certain that he's reading her inner monologue right, and that it's in the same place his is. he seems satisfied with what he sees with a 23 wisdom check of his own, and with the tiniest, sexy smile, he nods his head in the direction of the street that will take them back towards their hotel. ]

[ With that implicit understanding between them, the walk back to the hotel is all the heart-pounding, throat-stopping, breathtaking adrenaline dump of suffering the anticipation of what they both know is coming—like waiting in line for Space Mountain but more. Fever spreads under her skin, first in her chest, creeping up the back of her neck, then all the way out to her fingertips, molten and alive.

And she can feel him—in holding his hand, of course, but more than that. She's never been so conscious of his presence beside her, the space he takes, the way he moves. She gets the lobby door for him, never letting his hand slip hers lest she lose that blessed contact, and joins him in a beeline for the elevators. ]

[ ♬ possession - sarah mclachlan

the elevator doors slide shut, leaving them alone for the short journey up one flight. she would feel rafael's eyes on her, tracing across her features beside her, his hand moving to the small of her back. he still doesn't say anything, and the hushed air of expectation between them only serves to make their hyper-awareness of each other more pronounced.

the doors ding open softly, and he gently urges her ahead of him. as he pulls out the key, he gives a sort of adorably abashed smirk and remarks hesitantly: ] ... I must admit, I am glad things went so well. I was afraid I may have to sneak away to call the hotel staff back before we returned, if they did not. [ with that strange comment, he pushes the door open, moving aside to gesture for her to enter first.

which immediately makes the context clear. the lights in the room have been dimmed, candles lit on the vanity and window sill, rose petals lying in scattershot disarray across the bed covers. a chilled bucket sits on the table with a bottle of wine inside, two glasses beside it. he waits until she enters before following in after her slowly, quietly closing the door and turning the key over in his hands as he waits for her reaction. ] I hope it is not too much.

[ Confusion draws deep lines in Buffy's forehead at his remark. She glances up at him as he pushes the door open, fixed on his inscrutably wily expression for only a moment longer before the dim glow of the candlelight draws her attention inside the room. This motherfucker. Slow steps carry her inside the room, and numb fingers reach to pull her purse strap over her head, discarding the bag before she crosses to the middle of the room, taking in each detail and allowing them all to add new facets to her flustered sense of wonder.

She looks back at him then, in the doorway, slack-jawed and humbled by the display. Nothing she can remember would ever make her feel worth this. Every time she thinks he's outdone himself, he goes a step further, as if doggedly encouraging her to believe it fitting. Insecurity at constant war with the gale force of his attentive care.

The door shuts, and she shakes her head. Though she grapples for a firmer, more confident reply about how perfect it all continues to be, she falters (because ur mod doesn't matter when you roll under a 10 on the die in these circumstances shut up). Never for a moment does she doubt the nature of his motives. There's no hidden agenda here, nothing like that, and yet she finds herself asking, simply, impossibly, ] Why are you doing all of this?

[ It's a plain, breathless lack of understanding. Or perhaps, more aptly, a breathless inability to see herself for how he sees her. ]

[ with a nat 20 sense motive, he reads all of that in her eyes, and his face half crumples for a moment in sympathy, as he murmurs: ] Because carina-- [ he moves forward, depositing the key on the dresser, so that as he reaches her he can take one of her hands in his, reach up to stroke her cheek with his other palm, staring down at her with that smoldering intensity ] All this time that you profess to have had these feelings for me, you have had to come second to something else in my life. I would not have you feel, for even an instant, that what I say to you now is anything but the first emotion of my heart. [ he cups her hand with both of his and places them on his chest ] I could have told you before now, si but always the place and time were wrong, were so much less than you deserve.

Buffy... il mio cuore batte solo per te. [ his expression warms further and he smiles very slightly, his words a rush of sincerity. ] I love you. And I do wish that future with you.

[ As he brings her hands to his heart, she flattens her palms against his chest, lets the strong, excited beat of his heart pound out his certainty—as he professes, for her. Electricity sparks beneath her skin, and as she looks up at him, she's sure her own heart will burst in her chest, it expands with such happiness. Joy swells to a crescendo in her eyes, battling the formation of happy tears that never fall. Instead of allowing them, she smiles—beams, really (will save 31).

For the better part of the past few years, she'd accepted that maybe Rafael would never say those words to her and mean them like this, like she's wanted him to. It was only recently that it even became a real possibility to her, even for all the hope she's sustained. But she trusts him with them now, is floored by their intensity.

She glances excitably over his face, taking in every detail, aglow with meek gratitude. Rather than struggle to convey the depth of her appreciation for the care he takes with her, she settles for the simplest, clearest communication of her understanding. ] I love you too. [ She moves one hand up to snake around the back of his neck, thumb brushing along the column of his throat up to his jawline as she adds. ] And you are every bit the man that I've always known you to be.

[ Perhaps underwhelming, were it not for the depth of her faith in him these past years, for the role it has played in bringing them to this moment, and to him in the more general sense. ] Tonight's been perfect, better than anything I could imagine. [ On the heels of his sheepish concern that he might have overdone it, she feels the need to assure him of that with every ounce of certainty in her. ] Not just because of — [ She tears her gaze away to glance up at the room, towards the balcony, to indicate all of Venice. ] All this. But … [ Bright, wild green eyes settle on him. ] Because it's with you.

[ After a beat, she quips, ] "All this" is really helping it along though.

[ his eyes spark with amusement at the joke, and with pleasure at her assessment, but he doesn't laugh, doesn't fall into banter. instead, his eyes drop inexorably to her lips, the hot light of his gaze gaining in intensity, as he eases her backward with slow, deliberate steps, one hand settling at her waist. the air between them seems suddenly devoid of oxygen, as if it's all been burned up, and she'd find herself bumping against the leg of the chair, pulling her up to a stop. he reaches past her, prompting his chest to pull up flush to hers, and there's the rattling sound of the wine bottle being drawn out from the ice. a smile finally breaks the strength of his gaze, one eyebrow lifting as he retracts the bottle to where she can see the label, turning it in his hand to display it to her. ] The Rossi's own stock. With their compliments.

[ While she shuffles back to suit his approach, Buffy's breath evacuates her lungs, and she finds herself swept up in him. So what she's expecting when he presses against her is, well …

Not the clink of ice and metal.

She turns her head, surprise flickering first before understanding crosses her expression. A wry smile twists at the corners of her mouth as she eyes the label and looks back up at Rafael. ]

Nell. [ She acknowledges. ] It's always the quiet ones. So all that teasing about us conspiring against you, and you were— [ She waves a hand just past him at the room. Which begs the question how much of this Rafael was talking to her about like is this the kind of friendship where you talk about when you're getting laid because

that's the kind she has with Des tbh and she would understand. ]

Conspiring is a very strong word. [ he smirks, and then draws away from her enough to go open it up and start pouring the glasses ] It was a parting gift from her. Her private way, I think, of saying she approved.

Well, you know, most people, they just speak the approval. O-Or maybe a gold star. [ She wrings her hands slightly as she moves with him, unconscious in how she mirrors his steps. ] But this works too. I like this method. [ She leans up against the table, gaze skimming him as he uncorks the bottle and pours. ]

[ a chuckle rolls from his chest, and he hands her a glass, taking one of his own. ] A toast, yes? To a perfect night.

To many more.

[ Saying it like an agreement, she takes the glass from him and clinks it delicately against his, lifting the rim to her lips. Her eyes don't leave his as she takes a sip. At least, as many more as people like them are entitled to. Slayer expiration dates are a real bitch. ]

[ gotta make a fort save, gurl. the wine is amazing, not surprisingly, made for human palettes but with a well disguised twist of elvish stock, no doubt a "secret ingredient" hidden enough to keep nell's heritage on the dl. it's nowhere near the strength of fey wine, but it does have more of a kick to it than the regular kind. ] And this, as well.

[ Generally speaking, Buffy's the kind of person who doesn't start feeling it until she's taken the pour-top off the bartender's tequila and invited herself to kitten poker. When she slides up to a bar with Des or Spike, she's usually just wasting money for no kick. But as she continues to drink Nell's wine, she feels a steady warmth—outside of that which her closeness to Rafael was exclusively responsible for—spreading across her skin (fort 23). ]

You elf-y types don't mess around, do you? [ She glances down into the glass after a couple drinks. Slayer constitution be damned. ]

Not when it comes to some things, no. [ he smirks around the lip of his glass, and moves to turn on some music. i can't look up said music b/c i'm playing pathfinder rn and any kind of music that would be appropriate to this moment would no doubt make all the guys slowly turn their heads to stare at me awkwardly for awhile. despite what i just said, it's some sort of classy instrumental shit i'm sure, that is not fit for a porno. this is the most serious tag ever. ]

[ so this exactly. ]

[ Watching him slip across the room to put the music on with all the attentive predation of a jungle cat, Buffy continues to lean up against the table for a few moments, at comfortable ease in the space. Once the music starts, she pushes away, straightening to take a few deliberately meandering steps about the space of the room, tracing the base of her wine glass. ]

Don't get me wrong, I like it. [ Finally, she settles down to lounge at the edge of the bed, crossing her legs at the ankle, glancing out the door to the balcony. ] Intense.

[ his hand drags away from the music player, and he turns to watch her with equally consuming focus. ] That does seem to be our usual flavor, no? [ his amusement fades to something else as he draws closer to her again, pausing in front of her. his free hand lifts slowly, pushing her hair back over her shoulder gently, then ghosting against her cheek. ] I'm glad you are happy, carina.

[ The touch of his hand has her swallowing thickly, straightening somewhat and lifting her chin to look up at him more fully. Though her expression is peacefully placid, something dark swims just beneath the surface.

Lowering her glass to hold it in her lap, she tilts her head to press her cheek to his palm. Her eyes flutter shut, and she raises her free hand to cover his, fingers curled around the side of his hand. ] Happy would be an understatement. [ She turns her head more fully, then, and kisses the inside of his palm. ]

[ his lashes droop at the touch of her lips, and his thumb moves to caress her bottom lip, trace the shape of it appreciatively. ] I could derive much joy out of making certain you stay this way, always.

Think so? [ Under his thumb, her lips curve into a sly smile. Emboldened by the certainty of his feelings, or maybe just by Nell's hella elf wine, she teases (will 25), ] 'Cause I could think of a few good ways, if you're taking suggestions.

[ his smile echoes hers, creeping up his cheek despite himself. his hand drops to hover in front of her glass, offer to set it aside. ] I would very much love to hear them.

Although I've some ideas of my own, as well.

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