holy shit

[dragonlady7]

roche/iorveth

via https://ift.tt/3gfdgy0

i have written OVER SIX THOUSAND fucking words since yesterday friday evening (ok i started writing this post saturday evening so)

i know sex scenes get wordy but FUCK

I just started highlighting at the point I remember picking up yesterday evening and then went down to where I finished this afternoon at 4:30 before i had to go get ready to go to dinner at my mom-not-law’s, and, well. it’s over six thousand words, much of which was written with live spectation, LOL.

anyway in celebration here’s a snippet

“But the bruises don’t tell you,” Roche said, “what of the rest of it was real.” He didn’t quite mean to, but he found himself licking his lower lip and then biting it, remembering the taste he’d– Iorveth was watching that, and was closer, and would either stab him or hit him.

“I don’t need marks for that,” Iorveth said, standing directly in front of Roche. The height of the bench meant Roche’s face was level with Iorveth’s ribs, and he tipped his head back a little, uncomfortably aware that to look up at the elf, to maintain eye contact, he had to give him his throat. It felt vulnerable, especially with the knife there. He’d managed to work his sleeve knife down out of the sheath and the handle of it was in his palm now, but Iorveth was fast, even half-naked and clearly exhausted; Roche’s odds weren’t great of winning this, if he escalated.

Iorveth’s free hand flexed, curled into a fist, uncurled, and Roche knew then the elf was thinking about grabbing his hair. “Don’t fucking touch my hair,” Roche said. Last night had been different, in the heat of things, but this just– not with Iorveth holding a knife, standing over him– he would have to stab him, and probably he’d get him in the guts, and then Iorveth would die horribly and slowly and Roche would have destabilized the fragile North and Nilfgaard would sweep in and put a bunch of them to death, mostly uninvolved innocents, and it would all be because Roche was twitchy about–

Iorveth put his hand on the side of Roche’s face instead, and Roche flinched but didn’t stab him, startled by the open-handed gesture. Iorveth’s hand was freezing, fingers dry, and he ran his fingertips along the side of Roche’s face, along the edge of his cheekbone and jaw, frowning down at him as if he still weren’t sure Roche was real.

“I won’t pull it,” Iorveth said quietly, brushing his fingertips over the hair just above Roche’s ear. He traced a fingertip along the round shell of the ear, tipping his head a little, and then brushed his thumb along Roche’s eyebrow. It wasn’t proprietary, wasn’t offensive somehow. (Your picture was not posted)