knightsoflegend | italy ♔ a promise lives within you now

Entry tags:

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

[ 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.

Not surprising. [ She hands the glass up to him, fingers brushing his. ] You've obviously put a lot of thought into this. [ Ribbing him comes as natural as breathing, a mock-serious look created by the way her eyebrows draw together and her lips purse. Shifting to teeter on the edge of the bed, she lifts her heel and pulls the strap of her shoe off it, letting each thunk to the floor decidedly. ]

Some of it, I will confess, I have thought about much more than the rest. [ if you thought he was going to blush at your sex fantasy snark, you were wrong, because instead he rolled a 23 charisma check again to casually throw that out there, as he moves to set the glasses down. stabs him in the face. ]

[ It's a good thing he's turn away to set the glasses down because she's flustered enough for a moment that her mouth just

hangs open.

It's fine. She's fine. Somehow, in her joking, the reality hadn't ever occurred to her. And now that it has, she—for lack of better phrasing—honestly can't even. (This was a serious thread, once.)

On her feet a moment later, she glances back down at the bed, smooths the covers out, draws a tremulous breath. She reaches up to neaten her hair behind her ears, brush her hands over the front of her dress to shake out nonexistent wrinkles. Then, she moves over to him, rests one hand on his arm. ]

Sounds like it's time for more than thinking. [ Green eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips, and she leans up slowly to close in for a kiss. ]

[ he turns at her touch, and in the moment before her lips close against his, she'd see his eyes darken in a particularly melt-worthy way. his hand slides up her neck, fingers burying themselves in her hair as his mouth parts against hers with ready desire. his other hand winds around her waist, drawing her hips slowly against his.

i guess it's appropriate that rafael's dex roll for everything that's incoming is a 23. that's sort of his trademark thing. and those slow, heady kisses he's delivering as he backs her towards the bed are driving that home nicely. ]

[ She puts up no resistance as he pulls her in—rather, her hands settle on his shoulders, and close to grip around the lapels of his jacket so she can draw him closer in kind. Bodies pressed flush together, it doesn't take much to pick up on what he's laying down as he nudges her back towards the bed (wis 17). Smoothly accommodating, she takes slow, measured steps back, focused more on his mouth than their position, heart beating wildly out of her breast, pulse accelerating with each step nearer.

There are no crowds of onlookers, now. No fear of interruption or indecency to tear them away from each other or engender reluctance. Turning on the last step as she notices the edge of the bed draw closer, Buffy presses her palms down flat on his shoulders to nudge him to sit on the edge of it, breaking the kiss to draw uneven breaths. There's nothing hurried about it: despite the solid weight behind her palms speaking to preternatural power, her touch is gentle. Coaxing, even (str 18). Like in how she kisses him, she takes her time with pulling away, in guiding him to sit, as though she's trying to memorize these moments. ]

[ he's only too happy to oblige her, his knees bending obediently as he tilts his head up, keeps his eyes locked on hers, glittering with anticipation and a touch of awe. his hands trail down to her hips as he sits, tracing the curves of her.

without looking down, he slowly kicks off his shoes, fingers curling against her, unconsciously urging her nearer. ]

[ Lips parted and eyes fixed on his face—god, even now, it's hard to imagine that it's her he's looking at like that—Buffy one hand up from his shoulder, along the slope of his neck to frame the curve of his jaw, gliding along it on her path to bury her fingers in his hair. The touch starts feather-soft, an enticing brush of skin that promises to lead to more, but it turns firmer as her fingertips twine in the curls at the base of his neck (dex 18). ]

I've been thinking too. [ The words are whispered low like a confession while she shifts slowly to ease her knees up onto the bed on either side of his thighs, straddling him. The hem of her dress bunches up against his hands where they set on her hips as she lowers herself into his lap, and a curtain of blonde hair falls loose over her shoulders, straight and billowy and framing her face. She leans forward, face inches from his, and explains in tone full of promise (cha 21). ] I wanna show you.

[ his will save was a 20 which means he's left staring up at her, lips falling apart slightly, wanting. pressed against him like this, she'd get her first hint of the effect she's having on him already, and he really isn't complaining about it either.

his hands roam back up again, one of them moving to the bare skin of her back, sliding to her neck, tracing down her shoulder, exploring what it's like to freely caress her like this, even as he searches through his mental italian-english dictionary to try to find words again. he utterly fails to do so, which is probably why he instead murmurs dazedly: ] Si, carina. Voglio questa con te.

[ Already hot to the touch, the way his hands map her skin makes it burn just a little warmer, sending ripples through her body that stoke a fire building in her gut. It helps distract her from the airy chuckle that slips out as he, dumbfounded, pleads for her in his native tongue. For all their passion, her nose still crinkles in unspoken amusement, an implicit message heavy in his words regardless of their literal meaning (which she, to be fair, doesn't know).

Her thumb brushes down across his jawline again, hooking under his chin to turn his face to the side, leaving his neck exposed. Pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, she traces a path back to the column of his throat, each kiss growing steadily messier. The hand still planted on his shoulder moves to grip the lapel of his jacket and start easing it off his shoulder. ]

[ he willingly tilts his head further for her, encouraging her on even as he rolls his shoulder to help make the process of slipping his jacket off easier for her. ] Buffy-- [ the word is a breathy exhalation, packed heavy with lust, which is impressive because the word is buffy. even an italian accent can't reduce the dc on that one too much. ]

[ Slipping her hand away from where it frames his face, she uses both hands to strip his jacket off the rest of the way, throwing it aside. He's beautiful like this—well. That's not entirely accurate, is it? He always is. But sputtering in inarticulate wonder, lost in a haze of desire? That's a very new, very good look, and Buffy decides quickly that she could get very used to it.

In this way, his responses only spur her on. Her arms slip around his middle, reaching behind him. She flattens her palms against the small of his back a moment for her to rock her hips into his. Her composure slips, her breath shaking as she inhales, and she rests her forehead against the side of his neck, a tremor in her shoulders that matches her breath.

But her fingers curl, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt so she can pull and untuck it with no small degree of enthusiasm. ]

[ she's close enough to feel his breathing catch when she shifts against him, sense the way his hips try to strain forward against hers. As she sets to pulling his shirt up in back, he slides one hand down her shoulder to slip one of the straps of her dress aside, turning his head so that he can trace lingering, sensual kisses down in a line from her neck to her shoulder, and then back the way they came, with more and more insistence, the heat of his breath, lips, and tongue a burning brand along her skin. ]

[ The thin fabric of her underwear hardly separates her from the eager tilt of his hips. Her lower lip drags against the angle of his jawline, pulling her mouth open as her breath takes a sharp turn towards panting. A soft whine weaves through her exhales, spilling out noises of approval as he lavishes his attention upon her.

For a moment, her head tilts aside and back, freeing up room for his mouth, stretching her neck for him, the movement thoughtless and instinctual. The heady, surreal quality from the stage returns as she begins to suffocate in the heat between them, stifling her breath and clouding her mind. She's swept into the current of their love, moving as comes naturally to her rather than with any measured strategy. It's a sweet release from thought, to be living what she's dreamt of for so long.

Eyes shut to bask in the liquid fire that spreads, boiling just under her skin, she continues to untuck his shirt, following it along the hem and back around to his front. Hands squeezed between their bodies, she begins to open the buttons of his blouse with surprising patience. ]

[ those noises she's making are rendering him

less patient, by contrast,

which is probably why he moves back to kiss her once again, lips parting lips, his tongue melding against hers as his right hand expertly draws the other strap off her shoulder as well, and then brushes down her arm, fingers doubling back to caress the very tops of her breast. meanwhile his left hand shifts down to the bared skin of her leg, cupping her knee, and then beginning to slide up her outer thigh, thumb catching the fabric of her dress as he reaches it, pushing it even farther up and out of the way. his hand dips back down, exploring the front of her thigh now, reveling in the expanse of smooth skin as he kisses her with steadily mounting passion, the slightest groan escaping his throat, finding itself trapped against her mouth.

she can feel him straining fully against his jeans now, and he leans his body back slightly so that the pressure of her hips against his can increase as gravity pulls her down against him. ]

[ A wanting haze clouds her mind and shrouds her in following only the instinctive, compelling drive of her wild abandon. The close, solid heat of his body steadily overwhelms her, fervent enough to leave her feeling like he's everywhere as his hands search her. It's the tilt of his hips and that accompanying groan that gets her finally, though, that submerges her entirely in the messiness of their passion.

The slow, deliberate work of her fingers stops abruptly, and she grabs fistfuls of his shirt. Her thighs squeeze around him, a steady rocking motion swinging her hips down to grind against him, silencing anything but choked approving sounds in the back of her throat. Feeling him like this, knowing it's because of her, it still feels so unbelievable, but she barrels through with desperate insistence that it is. Her grip on his shirt tightens, and she pulls it open with pure force the rest of the way, the last few buttons popping open.

But she doesn't want his hands to stop, can't bear to lose that contact, so she never tries to push it off his shoulders. She leaves the shirt to hang open, maps her hands instead over the exposed skin of his abdomen with flat palms and searching fingertips, memorizing every inch of him. If this is a dream, it's a very good one, one she won't want to leave behind in the morning.

The kiss is interrupted and hungry, heavy breaths drawn between their lips. For a few moments, those inhales seem to convey a desire to speak, but she never finds the words, and settles on a pleasant whine instead, melting into the kiss and against him. Finally she stops the constant exploration of his body to draw her hands back and wrestle her arms the rest of the way out of her dress straps; each movement thereafter threatens to tug the top hem down, the fabric loose around her bare chest. ]

[ unlike his adorably scrawny pb (bless his heart), rafael actually has lean, well-defined muscles for her to enjoy skidding her hands over, the direct contact prickling his skin with goosebumps. his mouth breaks from hers so that his eyes can drop to where his hand brushes just below the sinking hem of her dress, fingers smoothing over the swell of her breasts. for a moment, he can draw out the teasing touches, but not for long, his hand finally nudging one side of her neckline down entirely, shaping to cup her exposed breast. his thumb slides experimentally over the flesh of it, and then across her nipple, a look of wonder in his eyes as he drinks in the sight, while the fingers of his other hand curve to sink into the skin of her thigh with more urgency.

the angels sing a heavenly chorus as he rolls a banging wisdom check of 22, since apparently the curse of bad wisdom checks is finally broken over here. he seems to know just where to touch her, just how to - when to be firm and when to be tender - to drive her absolutely crazy, and he is definitely indulging in that fascinating new hobby of his. nails lightly scrape downwards to her inner thigh, while he trails his hand over to finish exposing her chest, bending to brush his lips against one breast as he continues to fondle the other. he starts with light kisses that trace the shape of it, and then his lips part to take her into his mouth, his tongue flicking against her nipple to send electric pinpricks up her spine, his lashes sweeping closed as he lets out a hum against her skin. ]

[ The last vestiges of control leave her as his lips break from hers to travel down her chest. Buffy's head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, and her fingertips press down into the back of his ribs to steady herself as her back arches to offer tacit encouragement. Tension coils through her spine, gathering in her abdomen like a spring winding tight. The air feels cool on her skin in the wake of his lips, following just inches behind the path he traces over her skin and causing it to prickle responsively.

Her hands journey upward, smoothing over his collarbone and slipping around his neck. They come to rest in his hair, settling there and gripping a fistful of curls to pull him into her chest. Gathering short breaths, she finally wrings out a whisper of his name, all praise and earnest. ]

Rafael. [ A less coherent string of approving noises follows, rumbling in the back of her throat. She writhes in his lap, an incessant squirming to find friction to satisfy—or at least temper and quiet—the desire he stokes in her. ]

[ the way she gasps his name is too much for him, and his hand moves behind her to locate the zipper of her dress, deftly undoing it in one sweeping motion. he draws back enough to be able to draw it up and over her head, tossing the garment to the floor, and then curving his fingers against the back of her neck, while his other hand slides down to her leg again. for a moment, he lets his gaze drag slowly, hungrily, over her, love and lust tangled in the dark of his eyes.

he's far too worked up to pause for long however. and it's with a 17 str check that he wraps his arms against her legs, urging her to clench tightly to him as he lifts her up, turning in place and easing her onto the bed amid the riot of rose petals, his knee pressed into the bed beside her thigh as he pulls himself over her. ]

[ Buffy lifts her arms, in a hurry for there to be as little between them as possible. As her hands settle back to his shoulders, she drops her attention back to him, green eyes bright and wild as they take in the yearning gaze he explores her nearly naked form with. One hand lifts to touch the side of his face, a moment's peace amidst a storm of passion. The hunger and awe twining together in his expression solidly deflect any burgeoning insecurity that she might have felt in her sudden exposure.

As he hoists her into his arms, the softness of the moment is swept up in the current of their desire again, and she winds her own arms around his neck so he can safely deposit her on the bed, sprawled beneath him. Hair spills around her in a golden halo, but she isn't content to lie there for long. She slides her palms down over his chest, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pants to pull him to her. She curls her legs up around him, but pauses as she starts to work his belt open. ]

Wait. [ Despite this, she doesn't wait—instead, she finishes unbuckling him, but lifts her gaze to level on his, searching. Filed under questions she's never had to ask before (that she can remember) is— ] We need— Do you have any — ? [ She evades the word. It's hard to imagine that he got the hotel staff to layer rose petals through the place but skipped over condoms, but let's not rule anything out of the Rafael Giovanni House of Wisdom Checks (wis 14). This is a big deal for her because she's only ever banged a vampire ok. But you only need to contract AIDS once. ]

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