Duscan released her from his teeth and teasing tongue, his head resting back onto soft sheets in order to peer up at her.

"Ah, but why would I even use manners when I am supposedly feral?" His lips curved upwards into a wolfish, fiendish smile. "I'd rather make you sing." And his words had to be forced past his teeth when he felt the presence of her hand near the base of his shaft, felt the gentle strum of her fingers working her pleasure.

Dusc softened his face back to the sex-drunk fair. Eyes heavy lidded and his lips parted to make each breath know "Oh, you are a clever girl. Good, clever, fucking..." His words cut off with a suction of air, her fingers playing dangerously as a tickle.

His eyes fluttered closed, lost to the feeling of cunt tightening and fingers teasing, in which the endeavours were all at her leisure but Duscan was reaping it's pleasures. Low moans broke through, his chest rumbling with elongated breath. "Please..." He wasn't sure what he wanted to ask, but gods knew he was going to be feral about it.

"Please, get on your knees." He couldn't keep a straight face. His lashes fluttered on his cheeks as he peered slowly up through them at her, giving her a shit-eating grin as he lifted his hips to meet her downward roll into him. "I promise to make it worth your while."
 
Supposedly? Oh no, there's nothing supposed about it. He was halfway to a beast already, growling and grinning like that.

“If you won’t use your manners, then I’m afraid I’ll have to train them back into you." The whole time she looked into his eyes, his gaze was focused on her, yet absent. He was slipping away into pleasure.

When she can no longer focus her gaze, she tilts her head back and closes her eyes for a moment. Her insides wanted to break free from her body, which she found, funny enough, pleasant. Her body went numb in some odd way. It's as if she's about to slowly start to dissolve. Everything is just flesh, sweat, sex, juices and cum, fingers, tongues, and ecstasy. Blessed be...

"Please."

Anira opened her eyes with pleasure in her chest, leaned back, and looked down at him. The warm rays of candlelight found their way back to the bed, and he glowed. The sight was beautiful. Her chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, almost as if her ribs were straining against her fair skin. A moan escaped her lips, but she was smirking when she heard his polite request. "As you wish." She said softly while she slowly crawled off him.

"Like this?" She was breathing heavily and resting her cheek on one of the pillows, with her butt high in the air, swaying for him. Completely open and wet for him. Her own desire trickled like wild honey down along her inner thigh.
 
Duscan's eyes followed her, taking these brief seconds to let his gaze raked over her bare form. He watched as she got herself in position, head resting on a soft pillow. Her arse was presented to him, and he saw the traces of nectar dripping from where they came together moments before. He rolled towards her, hand going to caress her arse cheeks before running down the backs of her thigh. "Well done, bard." He crooned as his fingers trailed upwards and collecting the wetness from her. Pressed the same fingers inside her to remind Anira he would fill her again.

"Just... one thing." He too got on his knees, positioned behind her but too far from her now. No matter, for he grabbed her by the knees and pulled. Dragged her across her belly towards him, the sheets and blanket pulling down with her. His hand slapped softly at her arse, watching it turn red a few seconds. "Feral enough for you?" Duscan chuckled, helping her back onto her knees and pressing a hand between shoulder blades to push her down lower.

He adjusted himself, widening his stance to better reach her. No need to tease and waste time, Duscan slid back between her folds. A sigh left his lips, as if filling her again felt the equivalent to a home. She honestly felt good, a good fit for him. This position ended up making her tighter, but Duscan was now able execute his strength in his thrusts. The sound of flesh puding together filled her room, and without those pillows to muffle her pleasured sighs, he was able to listen to her without obstruction.

Lady Lark was smaller in stature than him, which made his arm snaking around her side easy. His hand found her cunt, slickened from her own ministrations, something he decided to take up again. Duscan slowed his hips so that she could feel his fingers circle around the bud that was now swollen and hard, feeling her tighten over his entire length that had now sunk deeper within. "You like hearing me use my manners, Anira?" He murmured, bucking his hips softly. "Teaching the bastard manners..." Duscan liked it. Liked it a lot. Perhaps he hoped she would boss him around softly again.
 
His sudden pull left her stunned at first. Her torso hits the mattress with a soft thud. An "Ah!" left her in surprise. The blanket tangled around her as she slid toward him.

When his hand met her backside with a sharp, playful smack she gasped and her body twisted in a startled jolt. Her flesh reddened under his palm. The sound that left her lips was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Surprise melted into pleasure far too easily. She marveled at how he intensified the sensation in her body.

She was not the sort who liked to be manhandled, gods, no. Usually bristled at the thought. But by his hands? There was something about him, something raw and unruly, that let the idea bloom like wildfire in the pit of her stomach. Desire had bolted ahead before reason. The bardess even arched back for more.

It was that situation, the one control slipped through your fingers like silk. One of those moments where the body made decisions the mind would only later try to justify. Where consciousness was left to try to explain itself after the ego had had its way. But desire was something alluring, beckoning, cautious, dangerous, dizzying, winding. Both assenting and forsaking.

He pulled her up onto her knees again and could sink into her with ease. A deep moan escaped her lips, raw and unrestrained, her body just yielded to him. Deep inside her, he was a pleasant presence, and every movement was pleasure. Her hand grabbed a fistful of sheets when his fingers found her sensitive pearl.

“You like hearing me use my manners, Anira? Teaching the bastard manners..."

Duscan made her forget everything but him. He was everywhere. The coil inside her wound tighter and tighter, a screaming tension that promised a shattering release. For a moment, she feared that the pleasure would tear her into a thousand small fragments. It made her thighs tremble, and her body tighten around him like a vice.

Anira’s grin bloomed slow and sweet. "I do... Manners... suit you." Her voice tangled with moans and gasps. "Very.." Ah-ah! "debonair. Almost passable for polite society, bastard." All flushed and breathless for him. "But you forgot that little word,” she murmured “The one you use after someone’s gone through the effort to make you happy.”

“Thank you,” she said with slow emphasis “Now, say it back.”
 
Almost passable for polite society, bastard.

That made him smug, to hear the subtle art of learning from the rich citizens of Veya still stuck with him. An echo of a man that gave in to grotesque money and the comfort of living a life without fear of ever going hungry...

He never said thank you back then. The word was for nicer, innocent, people. The type that are appreciative of others.

Duscan didn't say it then, and he didn't say it now.

"Say please, and I might..." Fingers worked her quickly, a feverish rush meant to bring her to being overstimulated than pleasure, but Duscan withdrew his hand and brought it to his mouth. Loudly, he sucked off his fingers one by one before placing the hand at her hips. They roved, learning her contours and angles, and once he found soft flesh to grab, Duscan grabbed it. "Fucking hells, do you know how good this feels?" His pace quickened, not quite withdrawing and pushing all the way, but enough to work the exact spot he could feel her react to.

Gods, he could find reason to say it. The fact that Anira was getting him to use his manners was maddening, but he was far too deep in her cunt and far too gone in the rapture of her. He was realising that he could not get enough of her. Enough of her wicked tongue and sharp wit. She was a thrill he delighted in, and Duscan gave out a laugh in between grunts.

"Thank you Anira..." He breathed. His eyes watched her head, where it could not stay still from his intensity of thrusting himself against her. "See? You're already in my head." Before she could even say please at his request.
 
Her body bucking involuntarily against his hand as if begging for more, her body convulsed, shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure bordered on agony. Her hips slammed back into his, burying him deep in her. Each thrust sent shockwaves up her spine, her inner walls clenching and fluttering around him in desperate, involuntary rhythms. "Ah! You brute!" Anira's hand shot out, fingers trying to wrap around Duscan's wrist in a desperate attempt to slow him. Her voice cracked as pain and pleasure blurred into an intoxicating haze.

His hips collided against her ass with wet, slapping impacts that echoed off the walls. How was she ever meant to want another after this? After him? It was all in the wrong order, this fevered ritual before the ballads, before the long walks and slow trust. Before knowing how he took his tea or if he even liked poetry. But what did that matter now?

There was something maddening about Duscan, the way he touched her like he knew her, body and breath, heat and hush, even though they had only just met. There were no illusions here. No morning afters promised, no sweet nothings beneath a balcony, just chaos, longing, and a bed that barely held. Limbs tangled, bodies crashing together like waves against stone, and the low sound that left his lungs while he filled her, thrust after thrust. A sound that would echo in her mind for days.

And the things he did to her. Gods, the things. But it wasn’t just the pleasure. Though stars, there was plenty of that.

It was the way he looked at her. The wicked little glint in his eye when she teased him. The clever quips that came quick as breath and sharp as a good dagger. Gods, he was smart. Smarter than he let on and one of those bastards who laughed while he fucked you.

“Such... ga-ah-ahllant civility...!" She had twisted her neck to look at him over her shoulder. The sight of his face, flushed with pleasure, utterly undone yet completely in command, was her undoing. "What ....does one say....to a bastard who use... his manners?”

She flashed him a smirk, all wicked delight and tease. “I say... good boy.” Then she bit her bottom lip, not out of shyness, but as to keep from laughing.
 
Duscan's smile took on that wolfish nature, for he liked hearing whenever Anira praised him. Especially so when it was armed with that wicked tongue she possessed.

"Oh ho!" He breathed, his thrusts beginning to feel as if he was nearing his end. It was too soon, for his liking. This was no paid bed creaking session he was going to unload and leave. This woman was not someone to cast away after use... "I like it when we are good to each other."

He came to a standstill, hands reaching for her hips again and pulling her back up to the angle she was in at the start. No fault of her own that her knees slid on the sheets, for Duscan had put work into her. Instead, he now slowed to something more frustratingly soft. A gentle hum rumbled in his chest, for he liked the feel of her nice and slow.

"Are you willing to teach me to be more proper and fit for society, Anira?" He asked as he slowly pushed his length back in, tantalisingly slow so that she could feel every muscle tighten and loosen as he made his way. "Turn this bastard mutt into something proud and regal?" His fingers flexed before pressing into the soft flesh at her hips, to which he moaned low before lifting up the corner of his lips into a small snarl of a smile. "Oh, this feels good. Right here, this bit of flesh..." Fuck, he cursed on a soft whisper.
 
"Aye,” she murmured, “Ah, yes, being good to each other, indeed."

A soft, breathless laugh escaped Anira’s lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her body hummed with the aftershocks, a delicious tremor that started deep within her core and radiated out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Duscan’s sudden, reverent stillness was a gift, allowing the sensation to crest and wash over her in warm, languid waves. She pressed her forehead against the crumpled sheets, her flaxen hair a spilled mess around her.

“Oh...Ah! I might consider it,” Her smile was a hidden, knowing thing against the linen. His hips began to move again, not with that earlier, frantic drive, but with a new, devastating pace. A thrill sparked along her nerves. “Tell me, bastard… how would a gentleman ask for favors properly?” Each of her word punctuated by his agonizingly slow thrust. “Perhaps… a certain please?” On the word, she clenched around him, a deliberate, internal squeeze. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her hips, and she arched her back instinctively, rocking back against him, meeting his shallow thrusts with a gentle undulation of her own hips.

“Duscan…” she moaned, her own control shattering. She could feel her climax building, a tight coil of pleasure low in her belly, fed by every deep, slow stroke. Anira moaned, the words dragged from the depths of her soul. “Yes… yes, just so…” She pushed herself up onto her elbows, the shift in angle allowing him to sink even deeper.

"Regal and proud… the world wouldn’t stand a chance. You’d be a danger to everyone’s hearts."
 
Duscan did not want to be regal that moment. There was time for him to be tamed, to be groomed back to riches in which case Anira would be right. He had been a danger to many hearts.

"Only one heart matters now." He purred lowly to her, tightened his hold at the bend at her hips. Duscan was mindful of how hard his grip was, but the momentum called for something rough. There was a song unsung between them, one being constructed this very moment. There were many elements to a song, something carrying a full body of music.

Flesh slapped against each other, setting the tempo to the song. If she were close, then Duscan needed to meet her there in the greatest crescendo. Perhaps it was egotistical of him, to want her to be left with the imprint of him. A memory to accompany the song she would write of him.

"Darlin' Anira," the smile curled at his lips, seeping into the rough pants in between words. He wished to say more, to keep their banter going, but the moment she lifted herself to give him the better angle, Duscan began hitting all the right spots. She slickened up again. He groaned before his mouth opened up to moan as his own momentum was carrying him higher, to his precipice.

Fuck. It came on quicker than he thought, but Duscan pulled himself out from her quickly. His hand released her, angling his cock to give his release somewhere to paint than her sheets. Duscan clenched his teeth, breathing through it with ragged breaths. As he felt himself near emptying over her arse and lower back, Duscan sighed. He laughed, grinning, before moving a hand to the bard's sex and helping her come to her finish.

It was a high well needed. Relief flooded through him, melding with the satisfaction felt after fucking. He could go again, have the bard reaching another release, make sure they would see to dawn...

"That's my girl..." He chuckled in notes of dark and sensual smooth, his hand working her with crooked fingers plunging into her. "Almost there, my sweet lark." Because in that moment, Lady Lark of the Lanes was his. He stayed after their earlier interruption, believing the bard was worth the trouble, and not just for a quick fuck. Duscan had been delighted by her from the very moment they met tonight. She was not some woman he would dismiss after tonight. She had a way about her that made one want to come back, to never leave the orbit in which she commands.

He wanted to be her muse.
 
It was poetry without words, the kind that burned through the chest instead of the page, and that ignited nerve endings for endless, breathless moments. "That's my girl... Almost there, my sweet lark." His words chased her to her peak and sent her tumbling over the edge. Breath shudders from her in sharp gasps as her soaked cunt clenched around his fingers. Drenching his hand.

"Oh Duscan... hah!"

Ecstasy, it unfurls like dawn spilling across a painter’s trembling canvas, each heartbeat a brushstroke of gold and crimson. It is the trembling hush before a note is struck, the quiver of a string. The body forgets its borders; flesh turns to flame, and the flame to light, and the light to something wordless, divine. Commanding your soul to feel rather than merely live. The heart turns traitor to logic, beating in wild iambs, desperate to capture the rapture.

One hand fisting in the sheets while the other clamped over his wrist. Holding him there as she rode out the first tremors of her orgasm. A guttural sob rips free before an ungraceful collapse. Her back arches violently as pleasure detonates deep in her core. The world dissolved into pure sensation. She pitches forward onto her belly, shoulders heaving. Hips jerk uncontrollably. Toes curl.

She whines, forehead pressed to the mattress, trembling through aftershocks. A shaky inhale. Her trembling slowly ebbs to stillness. She rolls onto her side in a boneless heap, sweat-sticky hair clinging to her skin. And then she looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time after years of blindness. Her eyes were wide with awe, soft with disbelief, shining with the kind of devotion that poets wasted lifetimes trying to name.

“Stay the night, will you?” she blurted, and immediately wanted to kick herself, usually, she was pleased to see most lovers vanishing before the morning light. But the words had leapt out before her wit could catch them.
 
They were both a mess come undone in too many ways, it made them bkth clumsy. He watched her, relished in the ritual of adoring the very sight of her. To Duscan, Anira looked the most beautiful falling into her bed to recover from their session of banter and fornication. Perhaps the elation after sex made her suggest such a thing, as he saw the flash of vulnerability there in her eyes.

It was the reason Duscan crawled forward and fell into the space beside her. The reason he smiled up at her with a cheeky grin and said, "Of course."

Was this the start to an addiction? Duscan was convinced he would be unable to forget her, for reasons he wouldn't truly believe or fathom. She was unlike anyone, and to him, that was merely enough.

The bastard brushed away pale hair that clung to the light sheen above her brow. Fuck, even he had worked up qhite the sweat too. "Only because I want to hear more of the song." He teased, grinned. The backs of his fingers brushed against her jaw, gold rings cool and warm at her skin. "And perhaps I'll sing you a song in return."
 
Oh stars, what was she doing, asking him to stay? She never asked. Lovers came and went like songs. Sweet, brief, and easily forgotten. Anira wondered when exactly he’d stopped being just another pretty distraction.

The minstrel let out a soft, breathless laugh, it carried both relief and something dangerously close to tenderness. “Mmh… though you’ve stolen the voice right out of me, along with most of my good sense.” He smiled and teased, of course he did, and that grin nearly undid her all over again. When she felt the metal of his rings on her skin, she tilted her head into his hand and kissed his palm.

"As delightful as I’d love to stay like this…" she purred, stretching carefully to wake her muscles. "I need clean myself. I’m a mess thanks to you." She said as she felt a thick slide traversing the dip of her lower spine, inching just above the swell of her ass.

Anira rose slowly, her knees threatening mutiny after the evening’s physical endeavor. The room looked as wrecked as she felt, clothes in questionable piles, a tipped goblet bleeding mead onto the floorboards, and Duscan lounging in the ruin of her sheets. He even looked pleased with himself.

The wash basin waited in the corner, far too distant for comfort, but she needed it. She padded over to it, the movement released a small cascade down the backs of her thighs. The water shimmered faintly in the low light as she poured it from the jug. Anira wet a cloth and pressed it to the small of her back and over the curve of her cheeks. She dragged the fabric downward, scraping his spend from her skin. Even after the quick wash, her skin still felt marked by him, his hands, his mouth, his hunger.

She should have felt sated, satisfied, like every other time she had played this game. Instead, she felt… exposed. Well done, Anira, she thought. You’ve gone and written yourself into one of your own tragedies. Vulnerability wasn’t her strongest feature, and she loathed that he made her feel it. This strange, unguarded warmth that lingered even after pleasure had run its course.

She crossed back to the bed, half expecting him to say something wicked, half hoping he would.
 
While she had gone to clean herself up, Duscan could not help but watch her. There was something about life to watch this ordinary act be performed by the bard, but it gave him a glimpse into seeing her unguarded. If he were a better man, he would give her privacy, but he spent too many years being used to enjoying spoils.

A smile was on his expression, lazy and smug if such two could make a dance on his lips. His eyes followed her as she made her return, eyes raking up and down her figure before reaching back to meet her gaze.

"You truly clean up good after the mess we made." He said, laying on his side, Duscan swept a hand to present the several patches of wet he was to blame for making the bard do. "We may need to let this dry unless you would like me to turn it around and make your bed new again?"

But he was already moving, getting up from the bed to stand before her. He towered over her a little, but the Bastard liked grinning down at the pretty bard. "Unless you are rethinking of your offer, then I understand if you want some time alone. You won't hurt my feelings, my sweet bard. Allow me to fix the bed first, so that you have somewhere to recover. Maybe I will sing you that song I promised."

He knew a few, but the one that stayed with him the most was a lullaby. That one was far too personal for him to share right now, not wanting to explain how he came to learn it. Veya had always left a wound in the bastard, and this memory haunted him more than his own weaving ever could.

"I don't have a voice like yours, but I like to think I add some charm to it." The sly grin remained on his lips.
 
Usually, she was perfectly at ease in her own skin. She’d been ogled on stages, in taverns, on balconies under moonlight, and she’d always known exactly how to handle it. But this, this gaze of his, felt different. She could feel his gaze like a physical thing across her back. It was absurd, really, how a man could look at her like that. Normally, she basked in that sort of attention, thrived in it. She’d made her name by knowing exactly how to hold a room, how to draw every eye and make it adore her. But with him, it wasn’t the same.

When she turned, his smirk caught her square in the chest like a thrown dagger.

“Oh, you look far too pleased with yourself,” she murmured, eyes flicking over him. Her hand darted down to retrieve his shirt from the floo, the poor, tragic, rumpled thing. She slipped it over her head, the collar falling too wide over one shoulder, the hem brushing scandalously high on her thighs, and the bard gave a soft hum at his words.

At the foot end of the bed stood a chest, she tugged it open to fetch a clean set of linnen. Anira’s gaze lifted, tracing the shadow of him where he stood over her. broad shoulders, tousled hair, that damnably smug grin that could charm clergy out of virtue. He did look good when he towered like that, all shadow and smirk. “If you’ve still got some strength left after your heroic efforts...” she teased, arching a brow as she handed him the clean sheet.

“I want you to stay, obviously. But only if you wish to stay, mind you. I’m not in the habit of keeping my company by force." He’d said she wouldn’t hurt his feelings if she wanted time alone, but what if he was the one looking for a graceful exit? It was ridiculous, really; she’d sent lovers away without a thought before. Yet now she found herself holding her breath.

"I’d like to hear what sort of tune a man like you keeps tucked away.”
 
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Duscan held her face between his hands, his grip on her gentle. He kept her head in place so that her eyes could stay on his.
"Anira..." He chuckled, unable to help the smile. "I will stay. I want to stay with you..."
If it meant he could make a happy memory, something to think back on and forget what his weaving could do, then Duscan was going to all but sell his soul for it.

His thumbs brushed against her cheekbones, his eyes following the slow motions.

"I am not ready to return to whatever shell I am outside this home you made. Being here..." Duscan's hands began to slip from her and he covered his silence with a chuckle as he began to take the clean linens and placed them on the shut chest.

He gripped the sheets and pulled, the motion of course made his very visible muscles tense and show it's hidden definition. He went for the pillows too, took everything off in order to begin turning over her the mattress. Once done, he rounded back over to her and began separating the linens. "I realise how hard it is to just... break out into song." Nerves. Who would have thought that would get to him. Duscan gave her a grin, unfolding the first linen he needed to place on the bed. He shook it, many times in fact, in order to let it fall away from it's careful folds and spread across her bed. Duscan began the slow motions of tucking the sheet, even doing the corners a crisp way.

"It's just a sea shanty..." One he had sung many times while drunk. Something kept pulling him towards the lullaby. That in itself was a wound he would never let heal.

"Perhaps after we make this bed."
 
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