Into The Rift

Neglected Stronghold (54)

It went deeper and faster, feeling so good. The moans went without shackles, until all reason is gone. Only lust remains. The fingers, I imagine as a man's delicious member, thrusting with passion and certainty, shaking all of me to Nirvana. Anyone would do.

Anyone.

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AN : I did not need to write her rubbing it out, but I did and had fun. Also, who wants Inora bathwater?

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"Room... nine-one-three." The number graces my thoughts as I depart my room, setting foot onto the hallway. Amidst the morning stirrings of trotting servants, facing me from beyond the short expanse, is a modest door. Convenience at its finest.

Embellished with only a simple plaque, it housed the same number that briefly crossed my thoughts—the only feature to set it apart from its peers all around. I stride through the short expanse, paying little heed to the servants as they toiled away.

Presenting the wooden door with several knocks, the sounds softly echoes with a deep tone—an unmistakable hint to its fine craftsmanship and make. The wait begins, and I can only hope he is awake.

With a sudden clank, the door is ajar and a familiar face greets me with a smile. "Inora," Oswin begins, parting the door further to offer me entry. "Slept well I presume?"

I return his smile and enter with a spring in each step, the memory of such extravagant comfort elevating my mood to even greater heights. It was beyond the likes of the Villa's beds, and harsh cots within a garrison. There is only one apt way to answer. "Like a Queen."

"That we all did," he quietly chuckles, gaze drifting to where his armour rested on a stand—looking polished and devoid of the dirt and grime gathered from our previous ventures.

He turns back with a concerned look, poised to seize his gear in a moment's heed. "Does the Council wish to summon us now?"

I shake my head, placating his worries with an assuring tone, "No, nothing of that ilk." The door then shuts with a soft thud. Oswin makes certain of our privacy with a snap of its lock.

The stern silence pervades across the room as I settle beside his bed, awaiting the moment where it would be broken—whether by me or him. He lingers at the door, trapped in his own musings. Perhaps born of our talk last night?

I sigh, and take the reigns. That last discussion has yet to be concluded, and now seems an apt time to do so.

My tone stands unwavering, each vowel cemented with an undaunted resolve. The venture, however risky must be tackled.

"It will be two of us, and only us," I pause, curling both knees to the chest as a feeling of dread simmers to the fore.

"Three if we count one of their own," Oswin corrects with a fair tone, devoid of uncertainty. "I stand by my words."

He begins undressing, discarding the bright oriental drapes of his clothes, leaving only his undergarb untouched. Thankfully, he remains decent. An old sear lay on his back, a result of a fierce bout of fighting during Yhunia's first incursions into our lands—where we first cemented our bonds as a Cadre. Now a thing of the past, that fledgling... bloody venture.

His intentions soon becomes clear and I move to aid him as he begins donning the armour. The endeavor is arduous, as it always is, with many steps demanding a certain order to ensure a proper fit.