[ There might be a version of events where Marcus absorbs her meaning and otherwise does nothing more with it than file it away amongst all the other interesting aspects to this conversation. But that version could only exist has not Marcus himself guided them to this point, where politics are abandoned on the floor and Benevenuta twists around just so.
He sets the wineskin aside, rather than drink from it.
And he reaches out instead to smooth his palm up the side of her long neck, his fingers mapping to the curved line of spine to skull. He is not rough in his forcefulness, but he does draw her in closer in a way that demands she come to him. ]
of course she does; by the time she had shifted her knees toward him there had been almost no question that she would, if he reached for her, and he has, so she rewards him with her willingness and her fingertips against the scar at his jaw even as she notes the calluses of his own hand upon her skin.
she fancies he smells a little of fire, perhaps smoke hanging in his hair or his clothes, perhaps only a fantasy elaborated from his reputation. it is quite the reputation to have caught her interest, and he quite something to hold it—
well, she thinks, they both deserve an uncomplicated good. this can be the only reason why she bites him. )
[ It's not all imagination; trace smoke scent lingers in the fibres that tend to snag on these things. Some of it is innate to his magical ability, evoking embers and volcanic ash. Some of it is past cigarettes.
Equally, there is a sensory fineness to the scent carried in Benevenuta's hair and clothing, on her skin, that draws him in. It is feminine and intimate and nothing he is very familiar with, but decides he likes it very much--
She bites him. He makes a sound that implies he likes that too.
It does make the kiss stop, mouth hovered close to hers, his hand sliding up into her hair worn loose, contemplatively letting his fingers curl through it. Considering her, pale eyes brighter for proximity. ]
( there is a faint smell of ozone about her, and overlaid upon it a heady, musky perfume oil, and something of incense-smoke. probably, if we are being totally honest, she also smells a little bit of scrupulously-groomed mabari. (he sleeps in the bed.)
(what's with marcus and women whose dogs sleep in the bed.)
she smiles at him, which does not look much more trustworthy this close than it did when she couldn't tip just the littlest forward to press their noses together, and she says, )
Shall we excuse ourselves from this fine garden, and become better acquainted?
( not that she isn't sort of down to stay in this at best tolerable garden and get better acquainted. regardless which answer, she thinks the spirit of it will not be no. )
[ Magic and redolent ritual and-- dog. Sure, why not that also.
He doesn't appear to mind, certainly not enough to comment on it. Marcus tips his head ever so, back into that angle that would beget more kissing, but instead he pulls back, letting her slip free of his grasp. Old feelings of having gotten away with something all simmer away beneath the surface.
It's not so bad, that, even if it no longer applies. They are not misbehaving Circle mages. Not like that, anyway. ]
My room is not fine, [ he informs her. ] But I'd be glad to show you there.
I promise I will not run my finger along anything for dust.
( she holds his eye. not for dust.
and then, straightening, clicking her tongue against her teeth in a way that has max on his feet: )
Off you go. Go mind the room.
( & dorian, if he's in it. either way, she is apparently sparing marcus the audience, which is more consideration than some get. perhaps best she isn't inviting anyone back to their shared room, for now, since obliging her casual affairs to put up with the knowledge that the skull is aware even if it isn't offering commentary might be
well, it might put the most battle-tested mage off his stroke. dog accounted for and lecuyer spared the indignity, she offers marcus her hand. )
I expect the Inquisition has obliged me to worse conditions than you could possibly be offering.
[ At some point, Dorian will have to wonder what became of the lady, when he receives only the dog.
But for now--
Marcus takes her hand. He has had not very much wine, but he hasn't had a great deal to eat, and it has been a relatively short amount of time spent drinking it. It's enough that he feels it a little when he is on his feet. Blood flow, blood warmth. It's a good thing she's not a Chantry spy sent here to slit his throat or something. He'd be an easy mark.
He takes her to his room. He keeps a hold of her hand all the while, which is very indiscreet, but at this hour, they pass no one. He lets her into his room and shuts and locks the door while she makes her assessment. There would be no dust to lift, everything very clean and neat. His bed is made, a set of spare boots are lined up and polished at the foot of it. Any dirty laundry is packed into a basket. The desk is bare, save for a clean ash tray of glass. He could do with a rug. Some flowers. A decorative unread book.
At least it doesn't smell like dog. Just earth, and soap. A trace of smoke.
From behind, Marcus takes a hold of her hips and pulls her in close. His presence becomes the physicality her back meets behind her, him nosing into her hair above her ear. He asks the question he is curious about, not whispered but pitched quieter; ]
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no subject
she swivels her knees slightly, turning to orient more toward him. it has the entirely intentional effect of being an excellent view. )
Nevarra should count itself extraordinarily fortunate.
( a meaningful beat, because there's a time and a place for subtlety and sometimes she eschews it entirely, )
To have you.
no subject
He sets the wineskin aside, rather than drink from it.
And he reaches out instead to smooth his palm up the side of her long neck, his fingers mapping to the curved line of spine to skull. He is not rough in his forcefulness, but he does draw her in closer in a way that demands she come to him. ]
no subject
of course she does; by the time she had shifted her knees toward him there had been almost no question that she would, if he reached for her, and he has, so she rewards him with her willingness and her fingertips against the scar at his jaw even as she notes the calluses of his own hand upon her skin.
she fancies he smells a little of fire, perhaps smoke hanging in his hair or his clothes, perhaps only a fantasy elaborated from his reputation. it is quite the reputation to have caught her interest, and he quite something to hold it—
well, she thinks, they both deserve an uncomplicated good. this can be the only reason why she bites him. )
no subject
Equally, there is a sensory fineness to the scent carried in Benevenuta's hair and clothing, on her skin, that draws him in. It is feminine and intimate and nothing he is very familiar with, but decides he likes it very much--
She bites him. He makes a sound that implies he likes that too.
It does make the kiss stop, mouth hovered close to hers, his hand sliding up into her hair worn loose, contemplatively letting his fingers curl through it. Considering her, pale eyes brighter for proximity. ]
no subject
(what's with marcus and women whose dogs sleep in the bed.)
she smiles at him, which does not look much more trustworthy this close than it did when she couldn't tip just the littlest forward to press their noses together, and she says, )
Shall we excuse ourselves from this fine garden, and become better acquainted?
( not that she isn't sort of down to stay in this at best tolerable garden and get better acquainted. regardless which answer, she thinks the spirit of it will not be no. )
no subject
He doesn't appear to mind, certainly not enough to comment on it. Marcus tips his head ever so, back into that angle that would beget more kissing, but instead he pulls back, letting her slip free of his grasp. Old feelings of having gotten away with something all simmer away beneath the surface.
It's not so bad, that, even if it no longer applies. They are not misbehaving Circle mages. Not like that, anyway. ]
My room is not fine, [ he informs her. ] But I'd be glad to show you there.
no subject
( she holds his eye. not for dust.
and then, straightening, clicking her tongue against her teeth in a way that has max on his feet: )
Off you go. Go mind the room.
( & dorian, if he's in it. either way, she is apparently sparing marcus the audience, which is more consideration than some get. perhaps best she isn't inviting anyone back to their shared room, for now, since obliging her casual affairs to put up with the knowledge that the skull is aware even if it isn't offering commentary might be
well, it might put the most battle-tested mage off his stroke. dog accounted for and lecuyer spared the indignity, she offers marcus her hand. )
I expect the Inquisition has obliged me to worse conditions than you could possibly be offering.
no subject
But for now--
Marcus takes her hand. He has had not very much wine, but he hasn't had a great deal to eat, and it has been a relatively short amount of time spent drinking it. It's enough that he feels it a little when he is on his feet. Blood flow, blood warmth. It's a good thing she's not a Chantry spy sent here to slit his throat or something. He'd be an easy mark.
He takes her to his room. He keeps a hold of her hand all the while, which is very indiscreet, but at this hour, they pass no one. He lets her into his room and shuts and locks the door while she makes her assessment. There would be no dust to lift, everything very clean and neat. His bed is made, a set of spare boots are lined up and polished at the foot of it. Any dirty laundry is packed into a basket. The desk is bare, save for a clean ash tray of glass. He could do with a rug. Some flowers. A decorative unread book.
At least it doesn't smell like dog. Just earth, and soap. A trace of smoke.
From behind, Marcus takes a hold of her hips and pulls her in close. His presence becomes the physicality her back meets behind her, him nosing into her hair above her ear. He asks the question he is curious about, not whispered but pitched quieter; ]
What is it you want of me?