Man Witch [Goody + Prince]

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Paradise. That was the only way he could describe the place. The cradle of mankind, in the southern hemisphere of Loul, the gorgeous city of Valheru sprawled like a tan-skinned beauty, sunning languidly by the ocean. The air was deliciously warm, tasting clean and fresh, with the hint of salt wafting up from the docks. Alabaster columns and terra cotta roofs absorbed and reflected the sunlight, giving the atmosphere over the city a warm, inviting glow. And in the ocean, standing a good 30 feet, the creamy, stone statue of a woman in flowing robes, fierce of gaze and sure in foot, fearlessly facing the sea swept storms that might come, with arm raised to unleash some dreadful, destructive power. Although, it was hard to imagine the storms coming now.

The fabled city of witches. It was really a school, they heard, but there were just so many of them, and so much to learn, they'd turned it into their own little hub of civilization. Less a temporary roost for the gift and unenlightened and more a fixture for the Elite matrons who stayed to live and breathe the art of teaching magic.

From the gold infused, marble hallway, through the window at the end, they could see the shocking, electric blue sky, white birds floating by, like lazy shooting stars, rising and falling on the sea salt breeze. The hall where they sat, perched together on a lonely bench, was cavernous and bright, the warm light from outside filling the high vaulted ceilings and stroking over everything with a peaceful, gentle glow. The colors of everything seemed to be reds, peaches, oranges, yellows, and sandy white, yet there was no loss of vibrancy. Comparatively, Quinn looked like a soggy bit of rusty kelp that had accidentally slapped up onto the rocky shores of Valheru.

Brown hair, clipped short against his neck and ears but just long enough up top to reveal him fresh and mussed from a nap and just as brown scruff lightly shading his tanned, swarthy cheeks in an unkempt stubble from lip to mid-neck. Eyes, green and gold like his mother's, married well with the dark, murky green of his jacket and his charcoal, muddy gray-brown trousers made him look like a pile of shit sitting on the cream colored bench beside Deidarmia.

Sweat soaked the front of his shirt and damp-spiked his short hair, but not from the heat. Right in front of them, 10-20 feet across the circular, esoteric symbols on the marble floor, were the tall double doors of the Matrons Council chamber. Quinn had already been in there and out again, granted the pleasure of more waiting in the hall while they talked about him behind closed doors of red and gold. Which was fine by him. Not like he was in a rush, really. And the pleasant sight of occasional witches passing through the hall was a welcome distraction after the ordeal inside the Council chamber. Armie had been silent for a while but she was asking him about it again. To be fair, he'd been flippant with the details the first time the questions had come.

"I blacked out again," he offered this time, not bothering to look at her and shrugging easily, hoping the breezy dismissal and vagueness would shut her up again. He didn't want to talk about it. Besides, his memory was fuzzy anyway. All he had was what they'd told him to do and then he was blinking at shocked, distraught faces, with black and purple lines of char streaking the ground around him in elegant, menacing circles. No clue where they'd come from, how they got there, and despite the 'snap of his fingers' reconsciousness, there was the sense that he'd lost time. Mostly just from the ladies reactions to him, horrified, aghast, and stern. Something had happened but how long it was or exactly what he'd done, there was nothing. What more could he fricking say about it if he couldn't remember?

It was why they were here. Ever since he'd turned 17, Quinn had possessed an oddness...something that had started setting him apart from the others. He'd been reprimanded, scolded, and ostracized for it, forcing him to cling to normalcy like a gigantic ship mast in a rocky sea. As the years went on, despite his best efforts to brush it off, to hide among regular men, the oddness had grown more apparent. The past year, he'd blacked out 6 times, although in years past it'd been a rare occasion. And always, there was some destruction left behind in the split seconds between before and after. ...it was starting to scare people. They thought he might hurt someone.

Oleandra, the resident hag witch in Glennwood, had been reluctant to admit he had the gift. It didn't bless men, she'd said. Still, when in her stone cottage with Armie one afternoon getting 'tea' to help him not get so stressed out, it'd happened again. Suddenly, it was the most important thing for him to go to Valheru and let the witches take a look at him. And ignoring it, brushing people off, wasn't an option. All three of the families in Glennwood had voted and insisted that he follow Oleandra's advice. So...here they bloody were in this veritable paradise, surrounded by powerful, gorgeous women of every shape and color.

Pulling out a parchment cig from his pocket, Quinn held it loosely between his lips as he lit it from a match scratched across the bench, the overwhelming, pungently spicy scent of burning cinnamon wafting around him in a warm cloud. Glancing at Armie, he shrugged, eyebrows bouncing in challenge at her over his dirty habit, especially in the elegance and richness of the great hall. Nobody had told him he couldn't smoke indoors yet. ...And even if they had, there was no one right here, right now currently telling him that, so...

As another witch entered the grand hall, walking to a bench along the left side, a salacious grin crookedly slithered up into his right cheek, and he gave Deidarmia a casual pat on the arm with the back of his hand, indicating the lone beauty. "By the Light, Armie! Another one! That's five! In fact..." he briefly bit his lip in thought. "I don't think I've seen a gal wear a skirt longer than her fricking knees since we got here." Sun-kissed thighs, the lot of them. This one in particular had a dress, strapped in criss crosses on her back, a high neckline, yet a loose, soft skirt that brushed her thighs, showing off lovely, curvy legs. Quinn was fricking dying. "This weather, yeah? Hey, so, what you think: if the witches send us back home...how about we just lay low in the city for a day or three? I'm sure it'll be fine and it's not like we got anything to rush back to. A week in paradise could do us good."

He elbowed her coaxingly, sticking out his tongue with a ribald, smoke-weathered chuckle. Staring at the young raven haired delight, Quinn caught her eye and gave her an acknowledging jerk of his chin, hitting her with a smirk both charming and arrogant. A combo he'd been told was irresistible.

 

[OctopusPrince]

The feeling of frustration Deidarmia had just then was not even remotely foreign to her as she regarded her life long friend with a narrow-eyed sneer. The feeling in particular was one that made her want to grab him by his shoulders and shake him, like the information he was omitting was hidden somewhere on his person and she could shake it off of him if she tried hard enough, and the only reason she resisted that calling was because he looked... exhausted. Whatever they were putting him through in those hallowed chambers, she already didn't approve of it-- magic was, so she'd seen and heard, an excursion that put weight on everything a person was, so it was to be expected she supposed that he'd have his limits tested... but her worry was overriding her sense on that matter, especially when she'd been present for all of those black outs, those moments lost for Quinn to see him conduct magic in ways that were deemed quite impossible specifically because he was a man.

She was about to scold him, to use their friendship to twist some more admission out of him about the trials he was being put through when he lit his cigarette, silencing her and provoking all the more. And then there was the girl. The fifth girl, yes-- her eyes sliding towards the woman mentioned. Gods, they were lovely out here weren't they? Deidarmia felt almost embarrassed-- she'd hardly concerned herself with a dress since she was a child, her garb quite similar to Quinn's own if not for the fact that she was wearing a blue, billowing shirt tucked into brown slacks that buttoned high on her waist, the shirt itself laced closed a the throat but capable of opening to the middle of her breasts. She'd used that particular shirt to get them out of plenty of trouble, and as a result it was her favorite, the deep navy color of it carefully preserved since she'd always make sure it was gently washed, hung to dry, tended and hemmed to last as long as possible. The witches that wandered about casually on the beautiful marble walk ways were all in dresses, cut and fastened and decorated with such variety that Deidarmia wondered just how such imaginings could come to be. The female form was beautiful in all of it's shapes stark naked-- who had the mind to imagine so many different shapes and colors on it?

As she was shoved and prodded she belligerently shoved and prodded back, quite used to having miniature fights with Quinn, of rebuking his teasing with her own playful jabs to his ribs or a teasing shove at his jaw. Deidarmia was only half paying attention to his suggestion though, half admiring the girl who was smiling behind her knuckles at Quinn's flirtations, half wondering if a dress like that might look good on her. Deidarmia was, despite her roguish appearance, lovely in her own right after all. She certainly had more curve than half the ladies here-- magic didn't necessarily call for muscle, and a lot of witches didn't end up being military folk or mercenaries. These girls were pretty, sure... but she preferred a bit more curve-- she liked the women back home, women who toted their own water and kneaded dough with powerful hands... these ladies were.... soft. Deidarmia herself had plenty of feminine charm, full hips and bust, a soft, heart shaped face with pretty almond eyes dark enough to seem black from afar but certainly a lush, chocolaty brown, and a mess of long, wild hair that was just then half thrown up in a ponytail, half spilling all over her shoulders, unwilling to be kept. She was arguably closer to a man with her dress and care for fashion when surrounded by the sophistocated ladies of Valheru, and while she wasn't sure what feelings she was having then as Quinn teased her, she could culminate them into something like lust mixed with the unfamiliar sting of intimidation.

"Oh shut up-- give me that." She hissed at him, snatching his cigarette from his lips and placing it between her own, taking a long drag and reaching to ruffle and tug his hair. "You're not going to be any use to anyone in bed with what these matrons are putting you through, idiot. If you told me more than maybe while you're in there getting your ass handed to you I could go get you something to raise your spirits. Something that isn't spiced ale, don't ask, the answer is no." She threw her arm casually around his shoulders, so used to this level of closeness with him, but also submitting herself to some of her protective feelings, the innate desire to guard him from those witches coming out to ask him for another go.

"My test isn't until night time-- bet I'll walk away less of a wreck than you are." She chided, taking another drag off of the spiced cigarette before offering it back to him. "How many more times are they going to make you go in there and perform like a dancing animal? It should be obvious to them you've got the stuff they're looking for here-- it's plenty obvious to me." She argued with no one, grimacing at Quinn with a glint of teasing in her eyes. "You reek. Is this what masculine magic smells like? No wonder it's so rare, it's dreadful. Hopefully they'll let you shower before they dress you up in one of these pretty fluttering skirts and send you to your classes. Won't that be fun? You'd look ravishing in a skirt I'm sure." She provoked, reaching to poke her friend in the cheek and pinch at it like a grandparent gushing over a baby.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Quinn was giving the black-haired gal a tiny wave of his finger, loving the coy shit with her blushing and hiding her pretty smile, when Armie snagged his cig. He let her have it, barely pausing in smacking his lips in an air smooch at the innocent darling across the room - was she a virgin? He was giving her promises in his winks and air kisses that she acted like she had no idea what to do with and it was bloody lovely. He'd come to learn but he'd become a teacher - merely grunting in discomfort when Deidarmia wrenched her fingers through his hair.

"I don't get my ass handed to me," he whipped his head sideways to sneer insolently at her, even as she lounged on him casually. And yeah, he'd been about to ask for a keg of spiced ale. "Well, sheet," he drawled lazily in chagrined amusement, rubbing a hand over his stubbled lips. "Take all my fun away, why don't you? If not ale, then find me something else that's fun to drink. Whatever amounts to numbing oblivion around here. What do witches drink? Hard liquor? By the fucking Light, tell me they don't all stay dry. Just kill me right now."

Only half-joking. He could barely survive a day without getting fucked on something; going through whatever these witches had planned, especially what he'd already been through? Fuck if he wasn't thirsty. A loud snort left him over her pompous declarations, taking the cig back from her and giving it a light draw himself, breathing in blissful, burning cinnamon and tobacco, his lungs expanding with the toxic heat of it. "Are you really betting? What you got, fucker?" the affectionate namecalling was accompanied by a 'gimme' hand wave and raised eyebrow.

He was pushing just a bit of bravado to hide not only the fact that he was drained but also to further hide his discomfort over Armie noticing that he was tired. Not that he didn't appreciate it but that wasn't what he liked her for and her concern, even teasing as it was, reminded him of the less than fun stuff going on at the moment. Taking another drag, Quinn huffed a laugh in his throat, shaking his head with an ironic twist of his lips, hating her and loving her for the way she ruthlessly teased.

"Yes. This is what my magic smells like," he said glibly, tipping his head away from her poking and pinching fingers in mild annoyance. Then with sudden aggressive violence, unmindful of her being a woman and any expectation of gentleness, Quinn grabbed her head and lifted the arm closest to her, shoving her face into the swampy, moist pit of his jacket. "Ya like that brand? Ohhh yeah! Likin' it? Breathe deep!" he chortled heartily as she struggled, smug as she was forced to suck in his suffocating odor. "It's so magical!"

By the time he released her, painfully hissing through his teeth and rubbing his shin and his thigh from where she'd landed particularly brutal blows in retaliation, the red and gold doors had reopened. All fun and games were mostly swept to the side - okay, so, he gave her a quick couple of bruising jabs of his fingers into her side and her back, to get the final 'word' in - and he blinked expectantly at the doors and the matron who showed up to motion him back inside. "Again...? Really?" he muttered in complaint, fatigue lacing his voice, sharing a look with Deidarmia over her seeming prophetic choice of words. Frowning, Quinn dropped the cig on the marble floor, crushing it with a twist motion of his boot, before standing from the bench and heading back into the dark chamber. He did pause though, motioning the middle-aged witch to go first so that he could get a good eyeball on her soft, full backside.

Standing before the long table again, light spilling over him from a couple of very tall windows, Quinn tried not to appear as exhausted and frustrated as he felt. Looking over the 4 witches, eventually joined by the fifth that had led him back inside, all of them older than 30, Quinn searched their faces for some sort of direction, some sort of decision. He tried to keep his eyes off of the ground, but eventually his gaze fell there, looking for the marks he'd created. Like protractor circles overlapping, thick, dark lines of violent, purple-black marred the marble under his feet, anxiety ripping through him as he gazed upon them with no recognition or possession, rejecting the cloak of guilt that kept wanting to drape over his shoulders. His eyes slowly drifted up to the statue sitting upon the pedestal nearby. A miniature of the one that stood facing the sea outside the city, this witch was carved from a polished smooth, deeply black stone, veins of electric, tropical blue gemstone feathered through it here and there. Something in the stone called to the shadowed depths of him, his fingers itching to stroke over her frozen, flowing robes. As terrified as he was of those shadowy, inky depths, there was freedom in releasing it, a freedom he craved even as he hated how undone he felt afterwards.

Licking dry lips, rubbing itchy fingers together, Quinn stared at the statue with longing, pulling his gaze away with difficulty. "Do you want me to touch the stone chick again?"

One of the matrons, a blonde woman with clear skin, eyes like a dove, and a maternal patience in her soothing voice, gave him a gentle smile. "That won't be necessary, Quinn. It is clear to us now, from your previous reactions to the Stone of Awakening, that you have the gift. There are questions...that we may never know the answers to. But for now, we have decided to extend you the same courtesy of our blessed sisters."

Quinn was still stuck on 'questions' already mentally hearing Deidarmia tease him about how since magic was supposedly female, he had a 'little bit of woman in him.' So, his eyes darted to the others at the table before narrowing on the blonde, and smirking with a shrug. "What does that mean? What courtesy?" He'd fully expected them to send him home. He was a man! They weren't seriously saying--

"We will enlist you in the same magic courses as the other witches--"

--by the fucking Light! That's exactly what they were saying! They were enrolling him in the women's school where all the womens were! Women all the time everywhere and his the only cock within reach! Automatically, he began singing a song about a meat lollipop inside his head and almost missed the rest of what the blonde said.

"--And train you to control your powers."

Quinn huffed a laugh, crinkling his nose in amusement as he gave them all a quick, derisive sweep, expecting them to reveal the punchline somewhere. "Okay. I guess that's a solution," he shrugged, more than happy to go along with it. "What's the expectation here? Do you want me to get all A's on my magic tests? Am I gonna have to foster a skill and become some small town's augur?" Mockingly, he gasped, eyes widening and slumping his shoulders in sudden realization and tolerant defeat. "Am I gonna have to prance around in pretty little skirts too? To be fair...I might enjoy that more than you all will." Illustratively, he waved a hand at his crotch and admitted, "Gotta let the boys breathe. Keeps 'em healthy. Skirt won't change that situation."

The blonde matron blushed and cleared her throat, widening Quinn's grin. "The expectation, Quinn, is that you will learn to control your powers or we will find a way to control them for you." His eyes swiveled to the left end of the table where a dark-skinned matron glared at him from her seat. His smile vanished with her words, dread filling him as she went on. "The fact of the matter is, enrolling you in training IS a souldammed courtesy. And if I were you, I'd be a bit more fricking grateful. Because the alternative is, we drive a spike through your brain, just enough to shut off where the seat of power has you turned on, and send you to a mountain cottage where you can drool and shit on yourself for the rest of your days, while being cared for by our allies."

Gloomily, Quinn muttered, "Sounds cozy."

"We don't want to do that," dove-eyes said, her blue gaze filled with empathy and understanding. "In fact...it occurs to us, there might be more men out there like you. We just don't know about them. Maybe the ages of feminine magic are over? Maybe men of your and younger generations will receive the blessing? We'd hate to start off on the wrong foot by lobotomizing the first discovered male witch. If there are others like you then they cannot be left alone out there, out of control and fearful. We want all to feel welcome to come to us for help."

" ...so I'm the test study," Quinn murmured with a grim smile, understanding it now but not liking it any better.

"You," the dark skinned witch said with a deliberate gravity. "Are here to prove it's worth it to invest in male witches at all."

*****​

Exiting the chamber again, Quinn's mood was dour and thoughtful. They said...the stone statue wasn't supposed to make an explosion of power burst out of enrollees. It was a barrier breaker. New students had their first, controlled and safe experience with magic when they touched it, and pre-graduates felt peace and a tranquil openness within when reuniting with the stone. The fact that he'd had such a violent reaction meant that those walls inside him were the only thing that kept him from lashing out and killing everyone with the power within. And his lack of memory of the events, each time they made him touch the stone statue, said that he wasn't even consciously present when the walls were lowered, which spelled trouble for him learning how to control the amount of energy that filled him.

And that one on the end of the table, Viv, as she was called, made more dire threats that not even the sweetheart blonde dared refute. He had a year to make progress with touching the Stone of Awakening. If he failed to do so...they'd need to make new decisions on how to move forward. It felt like Viv had a personal gripe against him simply for having a penis and daring to be cursed with magic. Like, she was just itching to condemn him with her metal spike to the brain and wash her hands clean of the matter. However, they did offer him a way out, having already sent out a call for one of their best and brightest to train him. Some chick named Alluna. At least that was a comfort. If the stakes were gonna be fucking high, he'd prefer they work just as hard to make his chances the best they could be. He'd hate for Viv's(and any who empathized with her) disdain to be...you know, transparent, or anything.

As he crossed the hall again towards Deidarmia, Quinn did what he was known best for: deflection, repression, and distraction. By the time he was within a couple feet of her, he was smiling like nothing was wrong, and began to sway in the middle of the floor, gyrating his hips in soft rolling motions, circling his arms in tight motions with shimmying shoulders, pure sex garbage in his sweat dried shirt and old travel clothes.

"Guess who's in the ladies school," he said in a smug, sing-song voice, as if it was what he wanted all along. "Apparently, I'm gifted or some shit and they wanna keep me here for closer study. Never seen a cock as big as mine. Or any. At first, they asked me why I held my wand so low. Rest of this school is gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel." Glancing over his shoulder, he was disappointed to discover that the raven haired witch had left while he'd been in his meeting but he cast it out of mind as he turned back to Armie with a devil may care smirk and clap of his hands.

"You owe me a fuckin' drink, asshole," Quinn said with a snarky grin.

 

[OctopusPrince]

"I don't owe you shit," Deidarmia groused playfully, smirking at her friend for his myriad of jokes as she stood up and stretched. It had taken a while, the series of trials they'd put her friend through, and even though all he could think about (per usual) was sticking his cock in something and she still had his stink under her nose, she was happy for him.

"Her name was Cyprus." She mentioned with an even more devious grin, catching her friend's glance backwards and knowing what he was seeking by a mile. "She asked if you were my guardian, I said not a fucking chance in all the hells below. Maybe she'll be in one of your classes, I'm sure she'll be swept away by how handsome you're going to look perpetually sweating and in a skirt that barely covers your balls." She reached between her legs, gesturing to demonstrate the length she meant before letting out a bright, merry laugh. She knew Quinn was feeling like shit-- she could see it on his face and practically feel it coming off of him strangely enough, but she knew her friend well enough to know that the sweet, demure concern any other woman would offer him would only send him curling into himself and wanting the ground beneath him to swallow him whole. Now wasn't the time...

There'd be time enough, she'd already decided, because she was going to crush whatever test awaited her for the chance to become a guardian-- she'd be damned if she couldn't toe the line with most men these days, and she wouldn't leave her friend here to fuck beautiful women without her. Certainly not. The very idea raised something ugly in her that she determinedly pushed away. She pushed her mess of hair over shoulders and sighed, looking up to the sky to calculate the time as the heavens began to smear from the clear, sunny blue of day time to the pinks and lavenders of oncoming night.

She clapped her hand on his back and continued to grin, raising her eyebrows at him in challenge as her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "And I wouldn't be so confident if I were you-- there's plenty of dick around here, I'm about to go show I've got the biggest one of all. If most of these witches are going to be town medicine women and seers, most of the guardians here are bound to be lacking at best. I've probably seen more fights than half of them having to follow you're stupid ass around." She joked, though her confidence was genuine. How bad could it be? She was strong, fast, smart... She refused to let the fear that she and Quinn might be separated have any power over her then. He was a drunken, lazy, wonderful idiot, and he had passed a test to become a witch. The least she could do, was put her best foot forward to become his guardian. She practically was already-- she always had been.

***

"That was quite unnecessary, Viv." One of the matrons sighed once their rather... eccentric new student left the hall. This particular matron had deeply tanned skin, her hair bound in long braids on either side of her head with a variety of intricate beads woven permanently into her dark, sleek locks. She wasn't terribly old, but among these women she was one of the oldest, and it was only in that position of seniority that she felt bold enough to scold her counterpart, at least now that the boy was away. They couldn't have him thinking he could cause discourse among them, he needed that fear, she thought, to sober him to the realities of how... unique an opportunity he had. In fact, his brazen attitude and his potent, dangerous power had brought her to consider her something she meant to present to the other matrons.

"I do expect you have higher hopes for the boy than you've presented," She said sagely, leaning back in her seat with a sigh. He reminded her quite vividly of her sons, wild, reckless, deflective of the difficulties in their lives. It was the way of men it seemed, to bury things deep below-- and it was the matron's guess that just like his magic, hidden away even from his own sight, he had matters to attend to of the heart and soul that were being neglected and avoided. "Alluna will straighten him out." She added with a smile. When the girl had come to them at first, she had been quite similarly dangerous and disruptive-- boldly determined to be the very best witch they'd ever seen, but obviously afraid of what that might mean. Now, she truly was one of their bests, and perhaps in her own experience, Alluna would be of use to Quinn, in honing that dangerous, wild energy into something more tactical and useful.

There would certainly be an entertaining clash between the two-- that much was obvious already, but the matrons as a whole had agreed with relative confidence that the pair would be good for each other, that under Alluna's tutelage, much growth could come from Quinn and his violent talents, if there was any real hope in him at all to become more than what he was. The matron, Romari, had sensed a reminiscent kinship from the start... fear, strength, something well hidden beneath that could be polished and brought to the light. Alluna had not been one for jokes and distractions when she'd begun, and she still, Romari recalled from her last interaction with the girl, was a ram rod, straight laced sort of person. She thought of her sons once more, and could not help but grin, soothed in a way. A meeting in the middle between wild abandon and strict no-nonsense might do the two some good. When their training began, the matrons all would see the results in a year's time... Romari at least, would be keeping a keen eye on all that would unfold, hopeful for the young, wild man who had left their sanctum with an incredible opportunity.

***

The training halls of the guardians was quite a bit different from the tall arches and marble columns of the witches school above. It was still lovely, but more... earthy and ancient in a way. It reminded her of home almost, of the playing places where people raced horses or competed in sports, where people got up to all sorts of gambling mischief and built fires in the night to drink and tell stories around. Her boots were getting quite dusty out here, and there really were a plethora of men-- she supposed it was likely as uncommon for women to be guardians as it was for men to be witches, but that, in a way insulted her.

Women could be strong in their own right physically, it wasn't nearly as rare to find a woman who could give a proper beating in a fight as it was to find a man who could do magic... and it also drained some of the hope she had for getting just as much tail in this place as Quinn had suggested they ought. If every one of those pretty, short skirt wearing girls was out to spread her legs for a cock, what luck would she have? She tried to be optimistic, as she had been about every part of this ludicrous affair. She'd turned women away from men before, after all, let them see just how effectively another woman could give them pleasure compared to the idiotic, one trick pony nature of most men in bed. She saw a group of others who were meant to take this apparently harrowing test of bravery, and joined them, ignoring the looks she was being given and tugging at her shirt before sneering at them, daring anyone around her to talk to her and think she was some soft maiden here to play sweet or fair.

None of them were scrawny at least... but she could probably take all of them if they came in to fight one at a time. She crossed her arms, cocked her hip, and waited, knowing based on what she'd been told that she would be selected by a trainer, tested, and would pass or fail. Seemed easy enough-- Quinn had had to impress 5 old women, she only had to impress one man. She pushed and pushed in her thoughts for confidence to the point of cockiness, trying to channel her best friend's devil may care manner so that she wouldn't settle herself into worry and anxiety and fail in ways she normally wouldn't have if she just listened to her instincts. Just one man-- no big deal. Hopefully... she thought in a stupid, difficult, long hidden part of herself.... he'd be handsome.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

For all their teasing back and forth, Quinn respected Armie a huge ton. Especially when it came to combat skills and strength. She was a fricking beast, built like a little bull, rock solid, and fierce as a wild cat. An actual fight between the two of them came out 50/50 odds for him besting her and it was a safe bet, if she ever needed to drag him out of anywhere, she could do so, with little effort. Oleandra's guardian, Lindor, had passed several years back but from what Quinn remembered, he'd been a hard, salt of the earth kind of guy, even gray and aged, he'd been muscular and thick, built like a Clydesdale. It was the only reason he and Armie knew about witches having guardians and if anyone was going to be watching his back, Quinn was proud for it to be her.

"You're gonna do fucking great," Quinn smirked, then mockingly frowned at her. "I mean, you bloody well better! I didn't bring you here to get your ass kicked by a bunch of mediocre losers. If by the time this is all over, I get saddled with some dude who bested you on day one, I'll never forgive you. If anybody makes you cry, just tell me and I'll come down there to give them hell. I'll show them, between the two of us, who's got the bigger pair." Putting another cig between his lips and searching for a match, he gave her a cocky eyebrow raise, and one last parting comment as they started to split at the end of the stone steps down from the Council building. "Go get 'em, Armie."

He had all the confidence in the world that before the end of the hour, she'd have them all eating out of the palm of her hand. As soon as he turned from her, walking along the westbound street towards the dorms, Quinn put Deidarmia out of mind, setting his sights on his own plans for the evening. The first order of business was to find his room in the dormitories and get cleaned up. The next, was to find something or someplace to scrounge up some drink or other substances. And finally, the last, was to hunt down a pretty and willing fellow student and give her a mind-blowing experience that she'd be unable to keep from spilling to all of her friends about. As tired as the meetings with the matrons had made him, burying himself in supple flesh and flowing alcohol was his unwinding, his recharge. Nothing like a good pussy to bring a man to life again.

Within an hour and a half, he'd reached the end of his to-do list. Found his barebones room with chalk white walls and simple bed, with a private privy? Check. Showered and dressed in new shirt at least? Check. Sought out a communal lounge study with a bar and a strange yet potent group of fermented blossom-based tinctures and spirits? Check. A lonely gal curled in one of the chairs with a cinder block of a tome open in her lap, looking like she could use a fricking break? Oh, check!

It had been easy enough to get the olive skinned Gragha Desert beauty to go back to his room with him. In fact, it'd been a lot easier than he'd anticipated. His interruption of her studies was unwelcome at first, her stress making her resistant to his charms. Apparently, she had a quarterly test, what the witches called "Ordeals", in the morning and she'd yet to memorize much from her least favorite element, fire. She'd been putting it off because she was much stronger with water and herbs but her fellows who'd already gone through theirs said fire was definitely on there. Even if she had no gift for fire she still needed to know about it before she'd pass the Ordeal.

"Oh, fire? I know all about that," Quinn snorted arrogantly, the lie coming easily with a roll of his eyes.

She gave him a level look, immediately disbelieving. "What could you possibly know about fire magic?"

"Well, considering I'm the first ever male witch," her eyes widened with sudden interest and awe. "And fire and earth are my base elements, I have no doubt I know a lot more about it than you do."

"You're a male witch?" she asked incredulously, gaping at him. A slow, confident grin inched its way onto Quinn's face.

It hadn't taken much to convince Ariel to go back to his room for a private demonstration and once he got her there, setting the studies aspect aside was merely a matter of flirting with the now very captivated and curious witch. A few drinks later, from a swiped bottle of feather blossom spirits, and Quinn had her de-pantied, skirt bunched up at her hips as she laid spread on his single bed, her one calf draped against his back and the toes of her other foot stroking at his hip. Just 9 years younger than him at 19, she wasn't a virgin, which was a plus, although he didn't mind them, to be fair. But she'd only ever been with bare minimum bottom feeders. After a few licks to his knob and she revealed she'd never been kissed down below, Quinn felt a dutiful compassion towards her, and got her ass-naked on the bed, free of panties and stockings, his face buried between her thighs. As per her olive-tinged skin and copper brown hair, Ariel was a gorgeous maroon tan down below, a clean, light brush of hair cloaking her. Puffy lips filled with beautiful purple hue, growing darker as she swelled with excitement, tan inner folds sticking out with orchid worthy waves, her pussy was like the vibrant plumage of one of the exotic birds Quinn and Armie had seen in the Valheru countryside as they approached the city.

Upon first viewing, Ariel demurely tried to tuck her legs together, blushing in embarrassment and shame, especially with his face so close to the colorful little bloom. Quinn wasn't much for talking out their feelings but still, he disposed her of such meek and guilty self-image notions as he groaned breathily in hunger over the sight of her, like a man possessed of uncontrollable urges, as he dove right in, pressing eager lips against her flesh, for an intimate, grinding kiss. She still put up a fight, moaning quietly past her clutched fingers, her thighs quivering and clenching at his ears, trying to close them against his onslaught of desire. But pretty soon, he had her moaning brokenly in wild abandon, begging and growling wordlessly as her fingers wrenched at his hair, her legs spreading wide and using her feet on his back and knee to gain leverage and grind against his tantalizing, pleasurable lips. He used all the tricks, listening to her to find what worked best, stroking deep with his tongue, suckling at the flowered petals of her inner lips, and rubbing his smooshy, swollen lips against her clit with savage determination.

Her foot on his upper back slipped on his sweaty skin as she reached a crescendo, her back arching and foot curling into the air over his shoulder as she raggedly gasped and shivered in orgasm. Pleased with himself and delighted for how blasted she looked afterward, Quinn gave her a minute or two before he began to leave passionate bite marks on her inner thighs, in between lapping languidly at her sensitive, pulsing pussy. She whimpered softly, struggling to get her leg off of his shoulder, but Quinn held her firm by the hips as he began again. This time, she devolved into wordless, bestial purity, grunting and groaning at the white walls as he touched and stroked every hidden place that could possibly be awakened by his slithering tongue and hungered lips.

And with one hand holding her still, his other found its way between her pert butt cheeks, swirling a titillating thumb at her untouched rosebud, wriggling in just to the thumbnail when he felt her getting close again. It physically hurt him the way she ripped at his hair with her hands but inside, he was pumped with self-satisfaction, especially with the inhuman, unhinged sound she made. Finally, lifting his face from between her legs, she was putty in his hands, mellow and willing as he crawled above her in the bed, driving into her, just as rough and bestial as she'd been, bringing her over the edge a third and final time before he himself reached bliss. No doubt, as he finished the bottle of feather, letting her curl against him in satiated slumber, he'd done what he set out to. No fricking way was she gonna be able to keep this a secret from her friends the next day. A drunk, crooked grin slithered across his features as he tossed the empty bottle to go rolling across the tattered rug, before he snuggled down into the sex and sweat scented bed, pulling Ariel's warm, plush body against him for sleep in the cool night.

*****​

As she stood among them, some of the new trainees for the guardians gave the woman questioning looks. What was she doing here? Had one of the witches gotten lost? ...she didn't look like a witch. No matter. Kellar was more than happy to make the most of the opportunity to get in good with one of the powerful ladies. Who knew? She could become his match by the end of their training. Even if she was prone to confusion on where to be and all. Not like women had a good sense of direction anyway.

Brushing a hand through golden locks, straight and lanky on his neck and cheeks, Kellar gave the short woman with the wild mop of hair his most dashing smirk as he approached her in their small little group. "Hey there, little lady," he drawled pleasantly in a heavy Naroah accent. "You seem a little lost, yeah?" Tanned skin and blue eyes, he was known for his good looks back home, and no stranger to the sword, although he excelled at hand to hand. Wide of shoulder and thick in the waist, with muscles peeking through the loose collar of his cotton shirt, Kellar was a grand specimen of masculinity and with enough self-possession to know it too. Reaching forward to tuck a stray, wild wisp of dark hair around her cheek, he asked, "What's your special skill? Have you found it yet?"

"I don't think she's a witch," one of the others said with a shake of his head, giving her a suspicious sideways look. "She doesn't look like a witch, anyway. Not any of the ones I've seen."

"Oh?" Kellar asked, glancing over his shoulder at the other trainee before turning back to the woman with an intrigued quirk of his lips and eyebrows. "What is she then?" A knowing glint flashed in his eyes as his gaze trailed over her pant-clad legs, thinking he had it figured out. "Maybe the trainers sent us a little kitty for motivation? Or possibly a pre-training workout...give us a taste of what we'll get when we're bonded, yeah? Is that it? What are you selling, sweetheart?"

 

[OctopusPrince]

Deidarmia's eyes darkened with animosity at the handsome, cocky stranger who had thought to not only invade her personal space and ignore her warning posture, but had dared to actually touch her hair. The only man who was allowed to touch her wild, unkempt locks was Quinn, damn it. She rose a brow at his flirtations, and the suggestion that she was selling anything, a smirk spilling across her face that would have been pretty if she didn't look so wickedly pleased with the opportunity this man had presented her. " Oh, you want to know what I'm selling, honey?" She asked, " Let me give you a sample." She kept her tone sweet and lilting, just as capable as any woman to be charming in a wanton sort of way, at least it seemed that way until she caught up a handful of that pretty blond hair and yanked the man's skull down onto her knee. The impact landed just how she wanted it, clean between his eyes, and he was lucky she was feeling generous and hadn't used enough force to break his nose with the strike.

"That one's for free, you'll have to pay for the rest." She growled at him, releasing his hair with the intent to shove him back. He was a muscular thing, this idiot who thought he could eye her like a piece of meat and get away with it, but this was a disadvantage all men put themselves at, believing that women couldn't be just as violent as they were. Plenty of times in the past she had given herself and Quinn a head start in a brawl because block headed men like this thought they'd pull a 'pretty girl like her' to ribbons. She had to have done this particular thing a hundred times by then, what with men leaning in to try and kiss her, tipping down to meet her eyes, getting far closer to something dangerous than they should have because they had no sense. A good knee to the face or groin always made things very clear that she wasn't some soft, sweet bar maid.

"I'm not a witch, you dolt, and I'm not a prostitute. I'm here to become a guardian, and if you're fucking stupid enough to just wander into a woman's reach like that, you're gonna be a failure and a half." She chided at the poor lad she'd demonstrated her strength upon, shooting her sharp, menacing glance around at the other men there. "Anybody else want a sample before we take this test?" She asked challengingly, curling her hands into fists and settling her weight a little with her knees, perfectly aware that she couldn't take all of these men, but not about to let them know she was smart enough to know that. Half the battle when being a woman who fought against men was taking advantage of their biases, and she already knew from previous fights that half of these dumb fucks would stand back to watch others come at her one at a time so they could watch her tits bounce than really gang up on her, and that would certainly do them in. She flexed her hands and let her knuckles crack, always one for a bit of drama, before balling her hands effectively into fists again. "Half of you stupid fucks probably would take a hit if it meant you got to touch a woman in the first place-- come on then, mind your own fucking business and leave me alone, or I'll touch you alright."

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Hey!" Lor barked aggressively as they watched her shove Kellar away after giving him a good knee in the face. Another trainee, lighter of skin but just as muscular as his Naroah friend, he was clearly from a lordship family, his hair honey brown and feathered lightly. "What's your fucking problem?" he sneered at her arrogantly. "No women ever come down here. It was a simple mistake."

"You cunt!!!" Kellar roared, his voice deep and graveled, his nose bleeding from the blow despite not being broken. He'd stumbled back into the other men when she let him go but now he'd regained his feet and his bearings enough to glare hotly at her, fires burning with determination in his gaze. Blood trailed a river of scarlet down his lips as he gave her a baleful look through the curtain of his golden hair, spitting to the side in denial of her claims to strength. "How dare you. You think you're cut out to be a guardian? I'll take that challenge! And when I win, I'll bend you over that stone wall over there and take what you're really offering!"

Rushing at her now, Kellar put the full force of his strength behind his fist, only to be sent sprawling as she gave him a level look and darted out of the way. No longer willing to break his fall, the small crowd of trainees parted, barely watching him fall ass over tea kettle in the dusty yard. Not all of them knew each other nor agreed with Kellar, but several of them were willing to take up the challenge for themselves. One by one, they came at her, each man shocked as he was felled by her nimble grace and the power she packed in her robust fist. It was hidden beneath her flowy shirt, those hard packed muscles, but each man got a taste of it as she danced from foe to foe, grunts and exploding gasps flowing in her wake as each man found he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Occasionally, Kellar regained his feet, his rage blinding him to sense, so, he always announced himself with a roar, barreling at her when she was free of a current challenger...and each time, sent through the crowd to the dusty ground with a well-timed kick or simply grabbing his shirt and using his momentum against him to send him sprawling into the dirt. After all, he seemed to like it down there.

It ended up with the men spread out, giving the woman a wide berth, a couple of them trying to catch their breath, while standing, hunched over and leaning, and several laying on the ground groaning and gasping in pain from various blows delivered by the spunky lady. Even Kellar seemed down for the count, too exhausted to make another charge and his rage wilted, leaning back on his elbows, sweating and panting in the dusty hard-packed earth. The only two who were left unharmed and who had yet to charge the short woman with a punch like a bloody wrecking ball, were Lor, the prissy Lord's son, and the dark haired man who'd originally offered up words of reason, calling the witch assumption into question.

The dark haired man was shorter than some of the others, shorter than Quinn even, standing at 5'8". With shrewd eyes and built like an ox, he more than made up for the lack of inches he had on some of the others with the muscles that could be seen beneath his loose, tan shirt, deceptively looking like the loose training shirts some of the others had chosen to wear for their first day. A medium length of dark, earthy brown hair topped his head, bangs swept back from his face, his skin lightly tanned from being outdoors and his eyebrows heavy and arched, giving him a perpetual scowling glare. There were some bladed scars on his neck, chest, and arms, one in particular giving him a bit of character across thin, dour lips. And the way he held himself was with a certain level of awareness and smooth, threatening grace, so much so that he looked less like a trainee, especially now that there were no men around to blend into.

Sweeping a penetrating look of appraisal over Deidarmia, the scarred man turned to look at Lor, raising an expectant eyebrow at him. Jerking his head at her, he smirked slightly and urged Lor, "Go on. Your turn."

Lor looked at Deidarmia and then at the cloud of pain around her, processing it in regards to the prospect of 'taking his turn.' Knowing when to quit while he was ahead, learning from the example of the others, Lor gave Deidarmia another look before shaking his head at the scarred man. "Uhhh...I'm good. I'll just...wait for the trainers to get here."

The scarred man huffed an amused laugh, waved a vague hand at the woman and shrugged loosely. "She's just a girl," he said coaxingly. "You could take her. Go on. Go for it."

"No. No, she's not," Lor said, shaking his head and curling his lip with another wary look at her.

"Smart man," the other said with a gentle nod, his expression neutral and respectful. Then he hauled off and sucker punched him, knocking Lor off his feet and out of consciousness. "Next time you disobey me, I'll send you home, disgraced." It was a simple delivery, cool and confident without malice. Sniffing, he looked around at the men and woman who were still conscious and tucked his hands behind his back languidly. "My name is Uther Dhoul. I'm the head trainer of the guardians. Normally, our first test for new trainees is a sparring match with me. It helps me observe as well as sort you with the right trainers on staff. But since you all wanted to be misogynistic clowns and give me a show--" he had a charming grin as it flashed briefly across his features, tonguing one of his canines with an amused chuckle. "--I figured we'd just sort you that way instead."

Walking with a casual grace over to where Kellar lounged on the ground, holding his ribs as he tried to sit up, Uther gave the blonde a hearty nudge on the calf with his boot and placidly offered, "Go home. You're done."

"What?! Why? Just because she came down here and started kicking our asses??" Kellar huffed and snorted indignantly, his accent growing thicker with a heady twang as he grew more incensed. "I'm here to be trained to fight! I shouldn't get kicked just because some whore bested me! Teach me to fight! I'll show you I can defeat some little bitch by the end of it!"

Uther's perpetual scowl deepened as he glowered darkly at the other man. "You're being removed from the program because you don't seem to like women very much," he said in a deceptively cool tone. "Which, in case you missed it, is the entire point of the guardians." Dismissing the blonde, Uther turned away from him, walking amidst the other men, looking them over, even sparing a look for Deidarmia. "These women are the most powerful beings on our world. Make no mistake, they do not fucking need you. I repeat: You are merely a tool in their arsenal. You are not necessary for these women to be complete. And some of you might not get chosen for some time. What you are here for is to train to serve, loyally, to the depths of your soul and to the end of your days, the one woman who desires to bond with you. To add you to her arsenal of weapons. It is as much a privilege and a blessing as it is a lifetime commitment and duty. Whereas she will hold strength over the ethereal realm, you will lend her your strength in the physical realm. You will offer her companionship, council, and your life, if need be. This is not a calling for men who'd use words like 'cunt' or 'bitch' freely. If you have not yet been divorced from such notions...don't worry. By the time we're done here, you will be."

Coming to a stop in his casual circuit, a half dozen feet in front of Deidarmia, he gave her another interested smirk and sweeping look of appraisal. "I'm tired of hearing myself talk," he said breezily. "They didn't tire you, I hope. Good. Come at me with the best you've got. 'Kellar' me. ...if you can." A smart, crooked smirk touched his lips as his eyes lit with the fire of challenge, his stance imperceptibly changing to become more ready for her attack. Internally, he was ecstatic to have found a student so promising, ignoring completely the fact that she was a woman...albeit with a slight admiration of her muscular thighs and tight behind. He was a warm-blooded man, after all.

 

[OctopusPrince]

Deidarmia had wished with a sudden and powerful pride that Quinn had been there to see all this. Idiot men-- especially that Kellar brute. He'd come running at her with such force and speed that all she'd had to do was duck and put her shoulder to his waist to send him into the air over her, and she'd even gotten a good laugh out of listening to him land flat on his back, obviously having no sense to expect her to divert his attack and use it against him. All of these men had made that mistake in their own way, pulling their punches or assuming the advantage-- one of them had even fallen for an age old trick in Deidarmia's book when he'd gotten a hold of her arm and had really nearly had her pinned. She'd whined and struggled minutely, complaining that he was really hurting her and like a fool with a death wish he'd loosened up his grip. That had earned that particular lad a good sock in the kidney and to get tripped with a sweeping pass of Deidarmia's leg. She'd even given him a good kick in the side for being an idiot. She was his enemy in this moment, who gave a shit if she begged for mercy? Ah, but she was a woman. That was always the thing, wasn't it?

As the teacher made himself known in the group, Deidarmia couldn't help but be surprised by the tactic to hide himself among the students. Looking at him then as he walked about, dismissing Kellar and expressing the fundamental mindset necessary to succeed as a guardian, Deidarmia could tell just from his gait that this wasn't some pompous idiot given a sword and told to protect his feminine prize. She wiped some blood from her busted lip and as Uther, this teacher who would have sent these men sprawling if not for her doing it for him stopped to call her to combat, she smiled, and rolled her shoulders.

"Ah, teacher-- That was such a fine speech. Why would I fight with you when you have a mindset like that?" Even as she spoke, her tone sweet and praising, she was circling, stepping over a few of the men to clear space for her to move as she watched Uther critically. This man was definitely more trained in combat than she was, but he'd also seen her fight now... half of the advantages she typically had against a man his size were thrown out the window by then because he'd seen them. She couldn't pretend to be weaker and then strike him with unexpected force or let him back her into a corner so to speak, and then take him out when he hurried to grapple her like the other men who had come at her... How to go about it... She knew she had to fight him, this was part of the test, and she'd sure as shit not make the excuse that she'd dealt with these other men to avoid a beating. She had come to be with Quinn, certainly, because they were attached at the hip and had been for close to a decade, but she was also here to learn and the idea that she might gain the skills to fight others without using her femininity to her advantage was a thrill. He had adjusted his stance-- no tripping there, she'd only put herself in line to get grabbed that way. He was very physically strong, that much she could see, and he likely wouldn't make a rushing, thoughtless attack thinking that strength would serve him against her the way Kellar had.

She continued to circle as she reached up to undo her hair, letting it fall in dark, wild ringlets around her face as she stopped across from him. Maybe he'd make a move if she seemed defenseless. Her stance was already made in case he did, that she might duck or sweep a leg out at him if he chose to approach, but she tempted him with it, the way she'd tempt any man with the prospect of an easy attack, her hands up in her hair taming it back into something more manageable. This was not a fight, she imagined, she'd be safe to leave her hair down in. As much as he had proclaimed to respect women and value them, Deidarmia imagined he had enough sense to use whatever advantage he had, and her hair would be one of those things at this point. Men didn't grab each other's hair in fights, most men she'd seen that wore theirs long kept it back in a braid or a bun, the look of long hair falling down one's chest and back typically associated with more feminine styles. That's why she hardly ever felt the need to put all of her hair away during a fight, men didn't think to grab her hair to slow her in the heat of a fight. They hardly ever grabbed her hair, or did any real damage to her face, and they certainly seemed to forget that as delicious and toned as her legs were, they were weapons in their own right. No no, this man probably wouldn't fall for any of that. Good.

She wound her hair up into a proper bun and dusted off her clothes, sighing and grinning at Uther. "Well, if you insist." She acquiesced finally when her little act hadn't served her, coming in close like a streak of lightning, ducking low to aim her fist at his abdomen and dodge what she anticipated might be an initial strike to her upper body. She couldn't let this man hit her in the face or throat-- he'd knock her out cold, that was for sure, so she kept her other arm close to her chest, her fist balled near her cheek to prepare a block. This was the real fight she was expecting when she'd come down to join the guardians, and she'd pull out all of the stops to earn her spot.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

She was...refreshing. Not that she was necessarily the best he'd encountered; there was certainly work to be done. But she had an intuition for the fight that he instantly admired.

Usually, the way things went, Uther would show up to the training grounds after the first had arrived, then mingling with the group of men that would start to fill the dirt packed space, he'd surreptitiously gather information and glean impressions of the new trainees. People tended to reveal themselves when they thought someone in authority wasn't watching but that they had the comfort and safety of peers around them. To look at him, he gave off a seasoned air, but wearing a simple cotton shirt and mirroring anxious, inexperienced behaviors from the others, often helped to hide him among their ranks. Then, there were a couple of organic ways to start fights by figuring out who the "shit stirrer" of the group was. There was always one, the guy who came to be trained yet oddly enough had no respect for authority or following a creed. The one who, in the absence of any trainers present, tried to force the others to accept him as the leader of them. Uther found, the shit stirrer often started up challenges on his own, or he could be convinced with a mild cajoling to do so. Or if there was none, and he had a surprisingly well-behaved and dedicated group, Uther himself had seen enough of them in his time to play the role.

In the end, everyone ended up fighting him. And they always lost. There had only been a handful of times since the matrons had called him to the position that he'd been bested by a trainee and it had only been because those couple hadn't been green like the others. One had been a black-skinned warrior from the Tetu nation, already 10 years a veteran of their military service. Gavin, he'd come to support his daughter when she discovered her blessing and even after she left to return home, her father had stayed on to become one of Uther's best trainers. The second had brought a dagger out during the fight, giving Uther a nice scar to remember him by along his left side, just above his hip. He'd been apologetic after, citing instinct as a factor, and he'd gone on to graduate, chosen by a sweet witch who returned to her home to become an advisor on the city council. Her bubbly nature and the court intrigue were the perfect environ for the knife-weilding guardian at her side.

Needless to say, none of that happened this time around, yet, he hadn't put a stop to the brawling because it afforded him the same information he could have gathered from fighting each of them himself. Just from a different angle. And the one he now knew the most about was the gal at the middle of it. It had been tough to restrain his delight and amusement watching her work and mostly because he was excited to see that despite being a bit out of place here, she didn't hate being a woman. Too many times had he seen female fighters start out thinking they had to be men just to best their opponents, not truly understanding the power they had by virtue of being female. This one had a couple of great advantages he'd already seen, using the other trainees vulnerabilities and biases against them. Facing off against her now, he was thrilled for the opportunity just to get to see what else she had for a man who loved and respected women enough not to take anything she did for granted.

Turning quietly with her as she slowly circled him, putting her hair up in a more manageable state, he continued to watch the way she moved. A sense of relaxing calm came over him as he drank it in, taking into account the catlike grace of her, the way her hard-packed, feminine muscles moved under her clothes as she stepped over men she'd felled, always turning with her to keep her within view. He said nothing in regards to her stated admiration, in the first place, fully expecting, despite having watched her fight, that she'd come up against himself for the ultimate show of skill. Another ploy, he suspected, to try to get under his skin. He had to respect her for trying.

"I do," he gave her a clipped nod, not smiling back but a light filling his green eyes.

She was fast. Being smaller and lighter was definitely an advantage for her, as well as the natural cunning she had in regards to reading her opponents and making split second decisions. But she was unpolished, sloppy. And Uther was pretty fast himself, the calm inside giving him an awareness of everything that enabled him to move like a coil of water spinning through the air.

Already seeing the fist coming for his gut, Uther swept his arm down to not only block her but using the motion to shove her arm inward and up, close to the other she held at her chin to block him. In those seconds of her arms being pointed almost straight up and crossed together in his hold, Uther got into her space, elegantly placing a booted foot between hers on the ground, his thigh and knee grazing her right as he danced close and pivoted back. A flash in his mind as he caught a whiff of her, the odor of spiced cigarettes lingering around her, even as he was sure he smelled of sweat, earth, and steel, having sparred in this space earlier with already enrolled trainees. Muscles rippling in his back and shoulders as he used the hold on her arms to force her upper body downward, snapping a quick, forceful knee up to her gut.

 

[OctopusPrince]

Deidarmia felt the air in her lungs blast out of her, replaced with a quaking, rippling pain that was born from the place where Uther's knee had collided with her gut and had gone outward, clamoring up her body in a way that nearly pushed a yelp out of her if not for the fact that she was gritting her teeth around the sound. Well. She'd been 'Kellar'd, and she could suddenly see why that blundering idiot had gotten so very angry. She had to think quickly though, even as pain addled her senses, and her mind pointlessly supplied her with the fact that leaned over like this, her teacher could practically give her a spanking and she wouldn't be able to do much about it. A better fighter had more of a chance to fondle her than half the men who had wanted to, but had been left sprawled in various states of injury to watch their spar. She huffed out a laugh instead of that sound of pain that had been bitten down and swallowed, and taking advantage of the fact that his grip on her arms was holding her aloft at that angle, she lifted one of her legs and slammed her own knee into the man's thigh just near to his knee. With any luck, it'd send them both toppling and she could roll out of his grip, but given this man's strength and practiced nature, she would count herself lucky if it caused him to loosen his iron-like hold on her arms. She was already pulling at his hold when she found herself over his knee without him relinquishing it, but he was vastly stronger than her-- she'd have to distract him to get loose.

She tried to think of other fights, other things she'd successfully managed to get out of situations like this, but all her mind could conjure just then, disorganized by the pain that was forming into a substantial ache, was Quinn. Most of the times she could remember any man getting a good hit in on her Quinn had been there to take the advantage, never one to worry too much about her when he'd long known it'd take more than a beating to get her rattled. He was always there to trip, punch, or in the occasional dramatic show of force headbutt someone when they had a hold of her, and she did much the same for him every time he got himself into a rough spot with a particular assailant.

She bitterly tried to clear the thought away as she gave in to the idea of falling to the ground if it meant she could get away, twisting her body to try and force Uther's grip to open after her harsh jab to his thigh. She was hear to learn how to protect Quinn-- it wouldn't be okay anymore, to let anyone strike him so she could come in and take her own blow-- and like Uther had said, he might not need her to anymore. She had to be able to hold her own, if he was going to grow to be a powerful witch... as obvious as it was in her mind that they'd walk away from this school together, she suddenly had the striking, brilliant thought that she ought to be worthy of him before she settle into that idea.


Alluna had just arrived down in the guardian's training quarters to a very interesting sight. Part of it was incredibly common, a trail of injured young men all watching, winded and put in their place. She'd expect no less of Uther, really, even after the years they'd been apart. What was unique about this particular scene however, was that Uther had in his grasp, a woman-- small, but muscular, with dark hair and tan skin, a pretty thing that had just gotten a mere taste of the older trainer's combat prowess. She leaned herself on one of the carved wooden beams on the side of the dusty training space to watch, her own powerful, alabaster arms crossed over her chest and a smile gracing her full lips. He might catch sight of her while he was brawling with this last trainee, but it was no matter, she didn't expect him to fall prey to distraction even in such a surprise. She wasn't difficult to see, even in the fall of night, her skin and hair a brilliant white and her clothes similarly light, ethereal shades, a robe wrapped around her that was tied at the middle with a winding sash, one of her thick, pale thighs tipping out of the slit of the fabric and the top of it hanging loose to reveal the curves of her cleavage, enhanced by the press of her arms. This was a bit... heavy handed, she was aware, but well... she'd come down to the guardian quarters with a specific purpose in mind, and she hardly was one for subtlety in these matters.

She glanced over at the men who were left, some of them gawking at her with what seemed to be worry in a way that made her raise a brow. What were they looking so addled about? She was albino, but that wasn't that terribly frightening was it? Perhaps her reputation had proceeded her? No matter. She would discuss it with Uther once he was done with last, trainee. It was a surprise to Alluna that the poor girl didn't faint upon impact, but that in itself was bound to be exciting for Uther when he could so easily send the new recruits into unconsciousness with nothing more than three blows. The girl had kneed Uther's thigh and was twisting her body like a fish trying to squeeze out of net, and Alluna clicked her tongue, not meaning to draw attention to herself, but unable to avoid comment.

Sloppy. Very sloppy. And desperate. Her mind must have been somewhere other than the fight to give Uther a second go at kneeing her, or worse yet, tripping her up and sending her to the ground where he might pin her and end the session all together. That would be an exciting end of things, if the girl fancied men of such caliber-- Alluna remembered well after all, a variety of times in the past where she'd found herself underneath Uther, sweating and aching and thrilled, soundly beaten but certainly not displeased about it.

Deidarmia continued to struggle, too distracted with the task at hand to notice the wandering eyes of the men left over, or to hear the disapproving cluck of the woman who watched at the side, in her last attempt to get free and force them both over, she slammed her side into Uther's abdomen, seeing only one way out of this particular position.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Aware of everything in his surroundings at once, of course, Uther saw her. He didn't need to look at her full on even, just the glimmer in his peripheral was enough. Once upon a time, not too long ago, she'd been a frequent visitor in the grounds, like a moonlit shadow cast upon the dusty earth and training equipment. However, he was so immersed deep in his fighting mode, he only registered the barest pleasure at the thought of seeing Alluna again, before he was once again focused completely on the rare, intriguing student in his hold.

The jab to his thigh did nothing. He grunted, a soft breathy sound, and he blinked at her, shocked as she writhed and tugged in his grip. He'd lost her for a moment, he realized, immediately disappointed then feeling bad for being so harshly critical. A mistake, yes - where had she gone in her slipped focus? - but it was why she was here. And the rest of it had him very pleased. Even the harsh knee to his thigh was a smart, albeit useless attempt to distract him. It told him enough that she understood what the core problem was and making a split second decision to try to alter or correct it in her own favor. The desperate tugging though... That just meant her mind had left the fight. Something they could work on.

Pulling her close once more, Uther snapped his knee up again into her abdomen, and added in a final blow to slam his elbow down onto her back, his weight behind it, letting gravity swallow her for a quick earth-kiss. It was over, but he knew how to finish a fight. She was barely on the ground for a second before he was on top of her, pulling the one arm still in his grip back and around, putting pressure on it to hold her still, even as he breezily straddled her hips with his pelvis.

"Yeild," he said coolly, licking his lips and waiting for her acknowledgement before he released her and stood. Stepping back, he resisted the urge to help her up, letting her do it herself at her own pace. After all, if she were a male student, he wouldn't offer help. Still, he couldn't resist the proud tilt to his lips and the light of appraisal in his gray-green eyes.

"Good. Needs a little work. But your instincts are on point," he said easily. "I think I might have lost you for a second or two. Sorry it wasn't as interesting as whatever else you had going on." Uther tapped his temple illustratively, cocking a glib, disapproving eyebrow at her. "Anyway. I've seen enough. You're in. I hope it's not a problem for you to share the barracks and showers with the men." Not a question. There wouldn't be any special treatment under his watch. Her training would be tailor-made to her, for how men just naturally outweighed her, but other than that, she was expected to be one of the guardians if she were here.

 

[OctopusPrince]

Deidarmia hadn't expected to find herself on the ground in a pinned position, but as she yielded begrudgingly and was released, she couldn't help but feel a sting of disappointment that she hadn't managed to last longer. The fight had ended with the teacher pressed above her, and while she didn't have much time to consider it, the feeling of his weight at her backside and his voice above her commanding her to yield sent a strange sensation up her spine, a tingle she would call familiar save that she'd only ever really experienced such a thrill with other women. The feeling passed however with little notice as her mind wandered back to its original focus, still a bit addled by the pain of combat. Her lip, back and midsection ached terribly, and she knew she'd have some impressive bruises to show off to Quinn the next day, if she got to see him. She hoped so... that they wouldn't be separated for too long at a time because of this witch studies thing. He hadn't told her much of anything about what awaited him, only that they'd selected a woman to be his tutor, which she thought honestly was a mistake.

It'd take a woman of iron will to deal with Quinn, either to avoid his advances without wanting to kill him, or avoid his advances without falling right into his flirtatious traps from the jump. Whoever that woman was, Deidarmia pitied her, if only because Quinn was likely to sweep the woman off her feet and if things got too serious, break her heart. Then he'd really be in for it... She was drawn from her thoughts of Quinn when she'd risen and dusted herself off, frowning at Uther's acknowledgement of her being distracted. How had he noticed that? Well... She supposed he wasn't a trainer for nothing. But it was an odd thing to consider, that thinking of Quinn was a distraction... She always thought of Quinn.

"Thank you sir." She said mellowly, deciding not to answer to his criticism but to accept his approval of her in the barracks. "Yes, that's fine." She added, looking over her shoulder as she rubbed at her stomach to give all of the men that had waited for the spar to end a vicious sneer. She'd have to sleep with a dagger in hand she felt like, but perhaps, if Uther hadn't expelled them they'd shown him something that told him he didn't have any rapists in their midst to worry about. It was then she noticed that they were looking towards the side of the training space, and her eyes followed their concerned looks to a beautiful woman, pale and serene as a moon beam, grinning at her like she had done something both sweet and stupid. Deidarmia could tell just from looking that the woman was strong, probably military trained, and with a robe like that on, she might as well be naked.

"Well tie me down and call me cheesecake." She breathed out to no one, the code word "cheesecake" that was used to signify an incredibly desirable woman between her and Quinn going completely misunderstood as she said it, practically knocked side ways as the woman tipped away from her place in the shadows and stepped out into the light, graceful and steady like a wild cat on the prowl.

"Well?" Came a pleasant but sharply disapproving voice, Alluna's brow arching quite similarly to Uther's as she regarded the remaining lot. "To the barracks with you lot. Do be ready to start early, if I have to come down and find you're any trouble to Uther, you'll wish he'd sent you home this evening." She warned, all of them staring at her stiffly, some of them afraid, others in knowledgeable awe, and among them, the girl, practically drooling as her gaze dropped and rose and dropped again. She hissed out a breath and purple smoke began to pool from the corners of her mouth, her body shifting in shape until, curved around Uther she was no longer a beautiful, robe clad woman but an enormous alabaster cobra, fangs snapping as her voice echoed from nowhere. " I said go." The trainees, some of the more faint of heart ones anyway, yelped like dogs as they scurried off, the girl following them with a big smile across her face that made Alluna both curious and amused herself. She shifted her huge, serpentine body before it collapsed into her original form, purple smoke the last vestiges of the magic she used to shape shift before she was standing before Uther again, her robe still wrapped around her with one side hanging off her shoulder to show a tempting spill of bright white skin.

"Good evening, Uther. Long time no see. How did the recruitment go? It didn't seem terribly out of order to me, even with a lady in your perspective ranks. Brave little thing I imagine." She suggested, her tone more soothing than what she'd used on the recruits she'd scared away. It had been a long time... she'd missed him, though it was beyond her to admit that. The fact that she was here, barely dressed, and alone with him ought to say enough she hoped, one of her hands reaching casually to smooth through her wavy, silky hair. "I thought perhaps you'd be on your way by now... with some lady who could make good use of your valiant nature. What keeps you here? Surely there has been request for you." She asked, her brows furrowing in a minute show of concern for the man, her old friend, and something quite a bit more than that even, if she admitted it.

She would not. Not quite yet.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Amusement danced behind gray-green eyes as Uther watched the trainees scurry away from the gigantic, glistening white snake spooled around him on the hard packed ground. Ever schooled and stern in front of students and foes, his expression registered none of the thrill and delight that coursed through him, not only from watching Alluna's powerful transformation but also from the commanding boom to her feminine voice. Fuck, if his body didn't grow hot and tight at the force of her no-nonsense attitude and aggression. The woman might have temporarily shifted her shape but it couldn't have been a more fitting form; she was a fierce, regal snake in bed and out and he was both momentarily dismayed and excited to see, all of those old emotions were still there inside him.

By the time the woman returned, gorgeous as her shape slithered through and out of the purple smoke, dignified and seductive as she stood before him again, Uther had buried some of his emotions beneath his cold, hard facade, giving her the face he gave to everyone else. "Moonshine," he said in acknowledgement of her greeting, regretting it and internally flustered as he realized how foolishly he revealed himself with the tender nickname. Everywhere else; in meetings with authority, on the battlefield, even in the face of powerful witches displaying their magical gifts, he was unflappable, distant, and coolly perceptive. In a matter of seconds, creamy, milk white shoulder exposed to the warm glow of torches, and glittering, silken snowy locks brushing against her face and kissable neck as she ran idle hands through it... she'd reduced him to a fumbling, mind-numbed youth, saying things he had intended to hold back from, at least until he fucking knew more about how much familiarity was allowed between them. To anyone else, he would continue to look unmoved and unshaken, but she might see his discomfort in the microscopic body cues.

"It went," he said with a gentle side to side motion of his head, recovering some of his stoic demeanor, hiding in the business discussion. "A lot of bar brawlers and rich, sons of Lords, coming here with misconceptions about what it means to be a guardian. Nothing new." A faint curve touched the corners of his lips as she brought up the spitfire, his admiration instantly broadcast. "She'll be with me. I've got high hopes. You missed the first half. She stole the show. In all my years, I've never passed anyone who didn't fight me. But the lads were far from lucky in that regard."

Something within him softened when she inquired after him and his status as unbonded. Why was she asking? Did she pity him? Or was that regret in her eyes now for shutting him down so long ago? All of a sudden, it did hit him, how she was dressed, the time of night she was making her reappearance, and why was she here again? She hadn't said but Uther was no fool, satisfaction blossoming in his breast and fighting with the wounded, petty bitterness of her rejection, until the blooming emotion morphed into a cunning hybrid within. Something akin to a puckish, playful delight.

Within seconds, his body moving with the fluidity of a mongoose, he put himself within her space. The masculine, sexual electricity coming off of him was suffocating, squeezing into her space as he loomed close, not touching her but letting her feel the heat ghosting off of him. It was in his eyes as well, fire lighting them from within, licking with those raking flames over her in a possessive, candid manner. If she thought she was being obvious, then his response was even fucking louder.

Leaning close, breath whispering a tantalizing trail across her exposed skin and cheek, he said in a low, even tone, "There have been many requests since you've been away. None that were equal to me. None that I cared to respond to. I would be doomed a babysitter and resentment of my bond goes against everything I am. I will wait forever for the one I am worthy of..." He was so close, caressing her with his whisper of the last before pulling back enough to fix her with that intense, burning look.

Then a smirk, tipping his head back slightly, his voice taking on a slightly mocking chiding tone, "Have you been remembering to eat?" An old joke. Even after she'd told him 'no', Uther couldn't stay away, relieved to find that her rejection didn't preclude friendship between them. He'd always hoped that she'd change her mind before she left, but either way, he'd been there with her for the rest of her studies, doing what every guardian was expected to do. And he found the role different shades of frustrating and rewarding as she stayed up late nights studying, and he'd find that she'd missed 3 meals. No fucking wonder she was having trouble retaining the information, had been his often delivered reprimand as he hauled her from her room to go to the tavern, pleased for the opportunity to serve her even as he shook his head tolerantly over how absent-minded she could be at times.

She definitely didn't look like she was starving; in fact, she looked good enough to eat. Stepping backwards smoothly, putting about a foot or two distance between them, Uther held his playful smirk as he regarded her again with a knowing cast to his features. "Why have you come back?" Surely not just for him...although if she wanted to admit that, he'd be the first to bend the knee to anything she asked of him.

Say it, his green eyes glittered with boyish amusement, the private conversation passing between them borne from relaxed familiarity.

Then a huffed breath, eyebrows bouncing in preparation for any resistance from her. Say it. Or you get nothing from me now.

And he fucking meant it. He was stubborn and he didn't mind finding someone else to bust one out to right now. Not nearly as satisfying or even remotely what he desired but if she intended to coddle her pride and leave him alone anyway...

 

[OctopusPrince]

Alluna took in his closeness with unflinching acceptance, her head tipping and her eyelashes low as he spoke to her, the energy between them practically palpable up close, the blatant desire there enough to blush the air around them with a heated, sensual aura. She rose her brows at him in kind as he backed away and asked her if she'd eaten, why she'd come, and compulsively, as though all of this was a dance, a match and a flirtation in one, she took slow, easy steps around him, bringing a hand up to brush her fingertips under her chin, cocking her head to the side as amusement pooled in her sharp blue eyes. "I've eaten, yes." She assured, candidly and with a glimmer of playful pride because she remembered just as well being whisked away and begrudgingly eating her fill, the lectures about how she'd waste her energy studying and she'd lose her powerful form if she deprived her body. He had taught her in more ways than that not to deprive her body, and she could tell just from the look on his face that he was offering-- with some sort of caveat-- one of those needs. She watched his eyebrows arch at her in expectation, and she considered him, calculating as always.

"Well I'm a tutor now," She drawled, waving the hand that had been under her chin as though the information was no surprise. "In fact I've been tasked with something quite peculiar... There's a man here with magical talents- he had his interaction with the stone of awakening and apparently the marble floors in the grand hall will never be the same, big, scorched hoops all around it... I don't know what sort of man he will be, but with power like that I'm sure I can make something of him." She knew what he wanted, what he wanted her to say, but she was never one to make anything easy even for herself. It was hard to admit in any fashion besides this, being dressed as she was and coming in the night, that she'd missed him and his touch, and by answering his question at least in a way, she gave herself the room to build up the courage. Alluna was a brave and blatantly honest woman, to the point of harshness on most occasions, but with these matters even then, after years on her own and years before that with him at her side, she was still clumsy at this, still not quite sure how to ask to be nurtured, touched, cared for. She paused in her step and pivoted, drawing near to him to close the space he'd made as she rested a hand on his shoulder and circled around him. She was only two inches taller than him, but it served her in moments like this as she rested both of her hand upon his broad shoulders and tipped just so, her lips grazing his ear.

"I only came back to say hello...I'd..." She hesitated, and rephrased, sighing at herself, "To say hello to you... but it seems I've been called to service this school of ours." She brushed her lips along his jaw and placed a delicate kiss upon his neck, feather light and demure for her, a cautious admission of her already exposed intent. Uther would know well enough from the past that she had no hesitance typically, that it was an odd choice of action on her part not to simply throw herself upon him and cup his face in her hands for a heated, eager kiss, but just then she was testing the waters as well. He'd called her Moonshine, and her heart had fluttered. His eyes were full of amusement that she remembered well, but he was standing apart from her. He had always given her the right to say no to him, so she could only do the same, regardless of the circumstances. It was quite a bit of growth on her part, to say that much at all without diverting the subject or hiding her feelings behind more practical intent. But there was no practical intent in this, how she'd come here-- she'd wandered and fought and saved people's lives and none of it had felt complete and fulfilling without him there. She had come, just to be with him again.

Her hands slid from his shoulders down his back, able to feel his firm muscles in completion beneath the cotton training shirt and taking advantage of that as she kneaded her thumbs into his shoulder blades and her fingers into his ribs. "You're in knots, Uther," She whispered at him, grinning playfully, "Why worry if I've eaten when you haven't taken time to stretch? I would be terribly distraught to have you pull a muscle this evening." It was a flirtation, a challenge, and a joke all in one, the complexity of their communications multifaceted by then after years of practiced word play. She let her hands ride the length of his back and the buzzing, vibrant desire between them broiled out of her as she spilled her breath along his throat and jaw, provocative enough that she prepared herself for him to turn and catch a hold of her, but slow and gentle enough that he could step out of her hold if he wished, and disengage from her teasing. "To think I came all the way from Zocatros to find you still here and in desperate need of a proper massage...Well worth the travel, to be helpful to a dear friend...Hmhm.." She chuckled a little, the sound pleasant and sweet as she continued to slowly press and pull and knead at the muscles of his back.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

It was a minor footnote in the bigger conversation they were having but it did get a brief pause from him. A male witch? How was that possible? Would there be more male witches now? How would that change things? It was a very bizarre notion and Uther was willing to consider it an anomaly, much like the female guardian trainee he'd just accepted, and nothing more. At least until proven otherwise. The witches and guardians were hundreds of years old, as old as the birth of humanity. Magic belonged to the fairer sex and nothing in Uther's understanding of it would change that.

Unlike the fight with the spunky female trainee, Uther allowed Alluna to leave his sight as she playfully wandered around him, his focus attuned to her and "watching" her with all of his other senses. When she drew close again, warmth filled him, his nerves lit by her faint touches and the intimate sound of her voice. It was...different than it was before. She was different. Quieter, softer. Not by much, as her boldness showed through, her hands stroking deep, swirling circles into his back muscles, pulling a rumbling sigh from his chest in spite of himself. The words though...that was pure Alluna.

For all his admiration and respect for women and witches, Uther didn't consider himself in the least bit some submissive pantywaist, sitting here in longing, waiting and begging for her barest attentions all these years. So, even as he'd become adept at reading between the lines, getting to the heart of her in the shit she refused to say, it irritated him that she didn't have enough maturity or grace to just tell him what she wanted. In the same vein though...his expectations had grown incredibly high for what meeting her again one day would be like. Because he'd fully expected her to find someone too.

And swirling around and over everything was the pure light and joy he felt to see her again. He couldn't deny the way his heart sang for her, the pride that puffed in his chest to note the subdued, hesitant, almost...apologetic way she flirted now. Still bold, still in his personal space, but with a subtext of permission asked in everything. It was enough. Besides, if Uther wasn't a milquetoast usher boy, then he certainly wasn't some moody, pouty youth, demanding splints and bandages for his bent up dick. He knew what he wanted and he was man enough to admit that her side-stepping giving in to him completely, while making those concessions non-verbally, was exactly the woman he'd been waiting for and dreaming of. Besides...he'd make her audibly beg in a few minutes.

The tension loosened from his shoulders as rolled them gently under her hands working at his back and he breezily commented, "Well... Peytar offered a couple times to work out the kinks for me. But after the first time, he almost fucking killed me, I decided I could live with a couple of knots. The work never does get easier. And nobody touches me like you do." Peytar was one his trainers and longtime friends, someone Alluna might remember from being here before. A mountain of a man, grey and just as seasoned as Uther, his witch was one of the matrons, so, he wasn't going anywhere, happy to lend a hand to pass his knowledge on to the new trainees. The man was built like a mammoth bear, blocking out the sun when he stood next to people, and with a booming, savage laugh that was infectious by the cook fires but chilling on the battlefield.

Turning smoothly, staying close to her, Uther gave Alluna a penetrating, unyielding look, silently searching her eyes for a moment. Even though he was just slightly shorter than her, his presence held a command that afforded him some measure of dominance, so, it felt natural to curl the edge of his finger under chin, his thumb perched there to hold her steady. "I missed you," he murmured in a low, authoritative purr, his voice rasping with a tight desire. One more dance of his eyes, tracing over her full, plush lips, then to her eyes again, before he closed the distance between them with an earth-shattering kiss.

Suddenly, he was closer than close, hand slithering over the silky fabric she wore, behind her to the small of her back, pulling her flush against his granite form, which swelled and rose up to meet her gladly. Down over her plush backside to her hip and thigh, he lifted her leg by the pit of her knee, draping it against his waist, the slit in her robe climbing obscenely higher. Lips grasping at her, demanding and possessive, his other hand plunged into her snow-white tresses, cradling the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss further.

He was more than ready for her, grinding against her and pulling her in with rolling motions of his hips, letting her feel every line and cord of the muscle that currently ached for her. They'd had fun in the training grounds before, and anyone who came by would have sense enough to leave rather than face his wrath or the embarrassment of getting caught watching. But he'd give her the choice, since she was being so accommodating herself.

"Bed or dirt?" he asked in a husky voice against her throat, only stopping his onslaught of passion to mutter the words, before licking and nipping at her in feverish need.

 

[OctopusPrince]

Alluna listened as he mentioned Peytar, a chuckle leaving her at the mention of the lumbering, impressive man she recalled quite well. She certainly expected to see him again, and it would be a good time all around now that she wasn't a student he had to keep a respectable distance from. Uther had been swept away by Alluna's nature and companionship enough to step over the line of appropriate interactions plenty of times, but Peytar was surprisingly determined to regard Alluna with an appropriate professionalism in consideration of her position as a student and she'd always wanted to toe her way over the line into being good friends with him too. There were so many good memories here, suddenly pushed to the forefront of her mind as she worked her hands along Uther's back, along his sides, down over his hips, then back up his back again.

Spars and talks and late evenings together, and so much laughter... she'd laughed more in the presence of this man than she had even as a child, forced out of her serious, ferocious nature into a more relaxed and contented state by Uther alone. This is what she had neglected to see when she'd turned him away-- he was much, much more than his combat capabilities, and while those were top of the line in her youth she had already decided she'd be strong enough that she wouldn't need such protection.

She had achieved her goal-- she was sincerely one of the strongest witches of her age, but that strength had not saved her from missing laughter, from longing for the touch of someone competent and trusted, from forgetting to eat and sleep and care for herself. Uther could protect her when she needed it from any outside force she could imagine... but he could also protect her from her own folly, and that was what had drawn her back to this place, to him. She had at least matured enough to recognize that in her travels away after graduating from academy, but to say it... to say it out right? It made her gut twist to even try and conjure the appropriate words to tell Uther the mistake she'd made in leaving him here.

Luckily however, she had to abandoned that thought as he wheeled around and captured her chin in his fingertips, her eyes momentarily wide, hopeful-- her expression was accidentally quite honest only in the fact that he had turned to her with such abruptness that she hadn't had the chance to retune her seductive, relaxed composure into something less blatantly full of longing. He told her he missed her. And then he kissed her. By the Light...

She wrapped her arms around him like he might keep her afloat at sea and kissed him with all of the vigor he gave and then some, tongue relearning the cavern of his mouth, nipping at lips and tongue and pouring a sweet sound of pleasure between them as he caught up her leg and pressed up against her. Yes... He still wanted her-- she had sense enough to know that just about any man with eyes would want her before knowing how dangerous she was, but Uther knew all, had been left behind, and yet, he still held her like no time had passed at all, and she had to thank the stars for it.

He could have turned her away and she would have forgave him that. She'd hurt him, she knew she had. No matter how regal and patient and good he was, he could be wounded and she had done him harm to leave their friendship open ended, to graduate and leave without any real admission to her feelings for him. She thought she was doing him honor, to let him find a witch that would need him more than she did... he was so well trained, so loyal, so upright in all the best ways that she thought to claim him only when she knew all of his virtues would be dishonorable. She knew better now, after many places and many nights and many men, that there was no one else who would do, no one who was more worthy of her, and she'd come back to admit that some how, with some semblance of grace.

When the kiss was broken, she shivered out a breath, arching only to allow her other foot to leave the ground. She wrapped her thighs around him, sure that he'd hold her and able to hold herself against him with the strength of her legs latched around his hips and she grinned at him at his question, raising her eyebrows at him in what was classically a look she gave when he'd asked a question he ought to know the answer to.

"Do you think I have the patience to make it to your quarters?" She rolled her hips against him and buried one of her hands in his hair, pulling both to get a rise out of him and to give him her answer, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she looked down at him with nothing short of pure, unabashed lust. "If you want to make me be patient, I will be," She offered in a hushed, heated whisper, the words meant in more context than this one, both a show of sexual submission and another, small step towards admitting her intentions and feelings as she batted her eyelashes at him slowly and the fire returned completely, "Don't make me wait long. If you'd like to have me on clean sheets and in privacy, I suggest you run."

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

To be frank, Uther didn't have the patience for it either. Especially not with her legs coiled around his fit waist, a panted groan leaving him as she rocked her hips against him, rubbing the hungry bulge in his trousers at the soft, pliant warmth at her center. Hands cupping her ass cheeks flexed with a couple of needy gropes as he made the decision, his body graceful as he swooped them down to the ground, a cloud of dust kicking up around Alluna's shoulders and his knees as he laid her on her back.

She'd returned to him, she wanted him, and he could only hope, although her motives were left unstated, that things would be different this time. Would he finally, after almost two decades of his own training and then rising as a trainer, be able to leave this place? Would she stay and tutor and they could work side by side, whipping the younger generations into shape, just as Peytar and Deirdre did? Either way, he was in a celebratory mood. He wanted to hear her voice raised and echoing into the vaulted steel rafters, amplified by the airy space of the training compound. After the years of his Alluna eclipse...he wanted his brothers and even the new trainees to know: the moon shined for him again.

Freeing himself of his loose training shirt, dense, hard-packed muscles rippled as he bunched up the cloth and tossed it aside, revealing a body browned by the sun, old pale scars of varying character decorating his arms, chest, and stomach. His back was practically clear, revealing him as a man who never turned and ran from a fight. Most of his scars could be seen for what they were, shallow bites from training swords. But a few here and there told deeper stories of fearless brushes with Death, the great Master.

With renewed vigor, he began to kiss her again, hands working at the belt that held the night colored robes on her luscious, feminine form. Unwrapping her like a packed lunch, wrapped in layers of wax paper and twine from the butcher's, the silken sash sliding through his fingers in repetitive motions as he tugged at the middle, finding the ends, then again at the middle, knowing already from the way she'd wrapped her robes before, how to find her plush, feminine form beneath. The robe drifted open, his scarred hands pushing it aside to reveal her creamy, porcelain skin, letting it fall from both shoulders and off of her beautiful athletic curves. His lips danced with hers as his hands traced old, familiar paths, smoothing over her tight, fit stomach, giving one of her breasts a coaxing squeeze as he passed to drift to her back.

"Fuck..." he muttered against her lips, smiling softly as one hand cradled her back, fingers stroking appreciatively over the bunching, rippling muscles there. "You've been keeping up with your work outs. Maybe we should have started this by sparring." He loved to fight with her, the way she moved, the cunning and intuition she possessed in the midst of a brutal fight. She could knock him out if she got through his defenses and he loved that about her.

With her legs still caging his hips, Uther loosened his belt, his mouth pressing bruising nips and kisses along her neck and collarbone as he worked himself free of his stifling prison, the loosened trousers bunching low on his backside and thighs. 9" of excited, veined manhood jutted from between thick, muscular thighs, a more dark, browned olive cast to his virile piece than the rest of him. He was uncut, his erection naturally forcing his foreskin back to reveal the glistening, rosy-purple head, and his balls, for all their heavy, rounded weight, were compact and tight under the thick, corded muscle that topped them.

Rubbing his curved cock to slide teasingly between her legs, dividing her plush, pale pussy lips with it, lathering her up, even as he let her wet the length of him, Uther latched his lips onto one of her nipples, tonguing the soft, spongy nub to wakefulness, grazing his teeth against the erect flesh in a titillating manner. If he knew any better, he wouldn't keep his throne overtop of her for long if he didn't get to business.

 

[OctopusPrince]

Alluna's body didn't so much as tense as she found herself laid on the ground, completely trusting of Uther but also able to predict his movements as she kept him close and wrapped up in her limbs, kissing him with a blatant eagerness, her voice already quietly expressing her pleasure in whispered, panted moans between them. She helped him get out of his shirt, but let him struggle with her robe, enjoying the way he still remembered how she tied her sashes as well as making him struggle through it to get to his prize. Her body for all of it's ethereal whiteness had a way of flushing when she was aroused, tinged in places a delicate, delicious pink that Uther seemed to follow his mouth with when he kissed and bit at her, bringing her to arch herself up beneath him. Her throat, the curves of her breasts, her cheeks and of course the swelling, burning hot lips of her sex had all flushed a noticeable shade of pink like her whole body was drunk from just from Uther's presence.

She dug her fingernails into his back and dragged slowly, pulling him in against her and provoking him in the same pass because by the Light, it had been far too long since she'd been this excited to be in bed with another person. Alluna had had her fair share of sex away from the school, with men and women alike-- it hardly mattered what gender someone was if they managed to catch her eye, but for the most part she found little to be pleased about. It had been like changing dance partners, all of them unable to find her rhythm, while Uther had obviously memorized it and when he slowed tempo to tease she knew just how to get him to speed back up. She smiled when he suggested sparring, reaching a hand out like lightning to catch his face so that he would look her in her eyes. "Who said we won't spar this evening?" She flirted, raising her brows at him in challenge. She felt such teasing as he pressed against the slick wetness of her center, the curve of his cock riding it's way over her clit with each tempting pass and bringing her to buck against him, her intense gaze on him falling shut as she allowed herself in a rare moment of vulnerability to be distracted by pleasure.

That lasted a grand total of a blissful four seconds before the hand that had cupped his jaw had slid downward to take a vicegrip hold of his neck, pushing him back and over until another dust cloud burst beneath them and Uther was on his back with Alluna above him. She kept a hold of his throat and hissed as she leaned down at him, clicking her tongue playfully as she allowed her hair to fall around their faces like a curtain.

"If I don't have the patience to make it fifty paces to your quarters, I don't know what made you think I have the patience to allow you to tease me." She chided with the sweetest tone she would ever manage as a battle hardened woman, sliding her hand off of his throat to tip back, sitting up right over Uther as she caught his length in her palm and lined them up, sinking with a shivered, arching breath onto him with all of her weight. She closed her eyes and dragged her nails across the muscles of his chest, adjusting to the feeling of being so perfectly full, but that moment of peace passed too and she brought her hands to either side of Uther's torso, her hips beginning to bounce expertly over his. Her muscles rippled easily as she landed her ass against his hips again and again, not rocking her whole form like someone new to a good ride, but using the powerful small of her back to lift and fall and grind, building up some speed before slowing into sensuous, dance like circles, her internal muscles a continuous, slippery flex around Uther to give him a variation of mind numbingly pleasurable sensation and remind him with complete certainty why once they'd done this years ago, it was impossible to turn back from it.

She missed him. She missed him, too. So very much. Just say it. For Gods' sake, just say it.

She leaned down to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his head to cradle it from the ground as she continued over him, speeding up, speeding up, whining high against his mouth over the erotic clap of their skin clashing together again and again. She told him what she couldn't say with her kiss, with her hips, with her voice. At least, that's what she told herself to fight the emotions warring with in, pleasure and delight battling with guilt and the pressure to give this man what he deserved for being so loyal, so patient, so everything she had needed long before she had realized it.

"Uther." She whispered against his lips and a moan chasing after his blissfully spoken name as she slowed her hips if only to make this last. Her thighs were already quivering against his hips, and she was so wet the glistening nectar was dripping between them down Allluna's thighs and over Uther's balls alike it was so eagerly produced. She panted and hid her face, caged by one of her arms and the side of his neck as she tried to catch her breath, rolling circles over Uther's cock as she tried to regain some semblance of composure. She knew the tables would be turned on her again for this-- the last thing Uther would allow her in these situations was composure, to play at coy ease when he knew multiple ways, every way really, to turn her into a shivering, sobbing mess of need. Uther could relinquish her of all defenses and make her beg, if that was what he wished, and Alluna would not put it past him to do so, to shirk her of her regal, serious and collected manner as deftly as he had revealed her beneath her robe.

Still she tried it, if only to provoke him, always to provoke him, leaning up to look down at him with an easy smile across her kiss bruised lips. She tossed her hair to one side, letting the torch light hit the blossoming kiss marks on her neck and collarbone and she looked down at him with such a soothed, pleasant, almost cocky composure that she knew any second he'd have her back on her back, or perhaps on her stomach, or even against a wall. He was strong enough to put her wherever he wanted her, after all, and she was curious where his body would send them next after so long apart.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Even as the hot scratches on his back lightly tingled when he was flipped over to press against the ground, Uther smirked and huffed a soft laugh at Alluna, amused by her coy reprimand. Predictable, and exactly how he liked things, letting her take charge of the moment, a rumbling hum of satisfaction dragging from his chest and throat as he slipped into her with ease. Like coming home, she was perfect, tight in all the right ways, gripping him with wet, silken walls, the blushing pink of her pussy lips swallowing him with each rapid, controlled hump of her hips.

In the dalliances he'd had since they were apart, never had he met a woman so in charge of herself and him. There was no one worthy of getting tossed to his back for, let alone anyone willing to do it. Everyone seemed too intimidated to knock him around, or they put on a front, pushing a wildcat bravado that came off as ingenuine and infuriating. Many a second night's stay had to be declined simply because they were too dull, too basic, or made too many false, immature assumptions about what it meant to be a 'dominant' woman, never really owning it.

Hands cradled her hips, letting her glide on top of him, her pussy drooling on him in a steady flow, veined cock glistening in the torchlight every time she humped up to reveal it. Her hair cascading around him, brushing feather light against his cheeks and neck as she swayed above him, smelled overwhelmingly of lavender and sunflowers. Her own handmade soap and other womanly hygienic things, he knew, her talents and skills going beyond simply magic and how right she could fuck him. He still had a spiced cologne she'd made for him but ever since she'd left, he rarely wore it unless with the intent to get laid after treating a woman to dinner or such. Memories flooded into him, his nostalgia blissfully sweet as she worked to pleasure him now, his lips capturing her bobbing nipples for playful, rumbling suckles as she stoked those fires higher.

Even the sounds she made, a beautiful chorus, articulating her pleasure perfectly, heating his blood as her inner walls stroked him rapidly, clutching him in intervals to unbalance him with the variety. Not that he was a quick comer, although, with Alluna, it was debatable on occasion. His name on her lips, hushed, spilling into the air between them, the wet, fleshy sound of their bodies colliding together adding a backtrack to her sexy demand. When she slowed, he blinked in mild surprise, smirking as she hid her face, trying to collect herself as her body shivered above him, on the verge of losing control. His response was to bite her shoulder, scraping his teeth on her blushing, pale skin, briefly pinching what soft tissue he could gather between them.

How ridiculous. Here, he was denied the assumption she could be teased, yet she dared think he was tolerant of her coquettish meekness? One look at her face, though, as she rose up again, hair glittering as it was swept to the side, confidence glowing within her mercurial gaze, was all he needed to know about her brief "lapse" in commanding action. A hungered growl left him, reverberating through his clenching teeth as he held her in firm hands, plopping her back into the dirt on her back. The movement and his resulting raising up on all fours, pulled him free of her rosy, glistening lips, damp dirt clinging to his sweating back muscles in patches. Cock so hard, as he hovered above her, it was parallel to his muscled stomach, practically touching his belly as it lightly bobbed and flexed in excitement. Not giving her a chance to fight him, Uther grabbed her hand and wrist, pulling her arms above her head and pressed them to the dusty ground.

Cocking his head, giving her a mockingly stern look, Uther chided her, "Moonshine..." Then a flash of a playful grin as one of his hands drifted down to cradle her chin between perched thumb and finger again, lightly kissing her lips. Reaching lower, his fingers stopped at her breast to swirl over her left nipple, flicking over it repetitively to get her shuddering even more, finally moving lower between her smooth, fit thighs. His magical thumb continued its swirling dance over her clit, pausing occasionally to thrust his fingers inside of her plush warmth, teasing her more for a moment. She could have struggled out of his hold if she wanted to, especially chaining her with just his one hand gripping her wrists but for now, he maintained the upper hand, giving her body what it wanted, in pure, persistently caressing ecstasy. Ever the trainer, he broke the sloppy, heady kiss, cockily asking her, "What did you learn?" huffing in breathy amusement against her lips.

Then due the urging of his dick, Uther got her turned around, disentangling her legs from his hips to put her on her stomach. Manhandling her into position, he got her chin and breasts to the ground, her butt propped up, legs spread, exposing her vulnerably. Positioning himself on his knees, looming behind her, Uther didn't wait, thrusting right in to her gorgeous, arousal-swollen slit. Grunts and deep, bestial moans left him in occasional huffs and bursts of pleasured exclamation, driving into her with brutal abandon, knowing her body could take the full, torrential force of his desire. Muscular fingers, rough and manly, dug into her hips, bruising her porcelain skin with his prints, her pert buttocks bouncing with every slamming impact of his lustful pelvis against her. The fires she'd worked so elegantly to feed were roaring now, his end within sight as he humped her heatedly. A hand swooped low to cradle her chest, cupping one breast as he pulled her up to support herself on her hands on all fours. Like a lion-skin cloak, he covered her back, hand clutching messily at her throat and chin, her hair, like spun silver curling through and over his fingers and against her cheek as he forced her to kiss him over her shoulder.

With deep, rolling thunder in his chest, he came, thrusting three final times, harshly into her, the hand still on her waist yanking to pull her back, filling her to the hilt, even as he filled her with his thick, creamy seed. Nuzzling her cheek, panting lightly, he laid kisses on her neck and shoulders as his body shuddered through the waves of bliss crashing through him, even after his cock had finished its delighted spitting inside her.

 

[OctopusPrince]

Alluna had been so agonizingly close from Uther's fingers working inside of her that when he'd tossed her over onto her stomach she had very little sense left to torment him, let alone answer his question of what it was she'd learned. She let out ragged breathes that were punctuated by high, sweet moans, her voice cutting the air like a bell each time he thrust into her. She had dug her fingers into the sands, her head tipped forward and her back arched to let Uther in as deeply as her plush backside would allow until he'd cupped her face and pulled her in to kiss him, her teeth tugging at his lower lip right before her mouth hung open and her body flexed, shuddered, choked sounds of pleasure pouring out of her as she came. Her muscles squeezed appreciatively around his cock in rapid, sporadic pulses, and her thighs were soaked with the result of her pleasure, her whole body quivering under him as she felt him topple into a climax as well.

Her mind was hazed over with a warm, blissed out fog as she nuzzled at him back, nothing left after such brutality but their genuine affection as she reached one of her hands back to stroke his jaw and cheek, turning her head just so to kiss his forehead and hair while he in turn pressed kisses along her shoulder and throat. It was wonderful, the reverberating pleasure, the still interlocked connection of their hips, the feeling of being full of him in every way once more. How she'd missed this... even the sting where bruises were forming on her hips from his grip were precious and missed. They were both dirty and dusty and fantastically sated, and she could recall a dozen times they had been like this before... it was as though, at least just then, like no time had passed between them at all. It gave her hope in that way that she wasn't too late to win him back completely. After all, morning would come and while Uther wasn't the sort of man to step into a trap and find himself regretful and fool-hardy, even in the case of a woman, she again would not find it in herself to blame him if he sought distance between them for how she'd left him behind. She tried not to think of that then as she started to catch her breath, shaking her head firmly and laughing a little as a cloud of dust spilled from her hair.

"I do believe some clean up is in order here." She sighed, releasing his cheek to reach between her thighs and catch up some of the slickness she'd spilled on her fingertips. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and just because she could she sucked her own flavor off of her fingers, raising a brow at him as she looked to him from under her eyelashes. "You did well, Uther. Fantastic as always." She wasn't one to praise anyone who didn't deserve it-- Uther would know that to be praised at all for such a performance meant he'd gone well beyond her expectations. She was still a bit dizzy with the aftermath of her orgasm after all, and her skin was flushed that beautiful, telling shade of pink that gave away the heat he'd ignited and sated in her.

She wanted to ask him if he'd let her stay the night-- there were two options on the matter really that she struggled to consider when he was still inside of her and her muscles were still quivering a touch, distracting her from calculation. To ask would be an out right admission that she wanted to-- there was no harm in that was there? If she simply asked, it wouldn't be something sappy and over dramatic. Though, to ask would also imply that she thought he might say no, and then he might, and she'd be left to wander back to her room, dusty and full of his come and alone for the evening. If she assumed she was to join him, that would not be terribly unusual or remiss, but it would go against her desire to give him complete freedom to choose her again... perhaps sleeping together, actually sleeping together, would be too intimate too soon.

Even the wild throws of sex could not quite compare to the evenings they'd spent tucked against each other, trying to sleep but failing to do so because one or the other always thought of something more to say, quietly laughing at some idiotic thing a trainee did, some blunder of a new teacher, some technique that was worth trying out in the field. She remembered the way it felt, her cheek pressed against his shoulder with her nose pressed to his neck while his fingers wrapped themselves in slow spirals around strands of her hair, or nights where he bore his weight upon her because he knew she could handle it, his head rested comfortably upon her breasts and his arms wrapped around her tight like he might not ever let her go. That had been intimate. The feeling of his fingers combing through her hair, the brush of their ankles under covers, the slow, even, soothing sound of his breathing while he slept... that had been more intimate to Alluna than any sexual depravity she had humored from him or anyone else.

She let him kiss at her skin, but knowing Uther he could most likely hear it, she was thinking so hard, and in a split second decision so as not to ruin what she had gained in that evening, she asked. "To bed?"

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

They were still dancing. He could feel it. Not that he expected her to say anything or admit anything right at that moment - his detumescing member was still plugging her up, warm cum, slippery and messy coating the helmet after all. But he wondered when he'd get the conversation from her and it made him hesitate in responding to her inquiry about bed. Because he wanted her there. Of course he fucking did. After the heated fun, wrestling across the dirty training grounds, owning her inside and out, being mounted and ridden by her as well, as if no time had passed between them at all, his soul be damned if he even considered for a moment the prospect of sleeping alone. He just wished more had changed. And the longer she went without the words being articulated, the more he dreaded that he'd misread her.

On the one hand...who gave a shit? She'd come home, to him, having journeyed out in the world, finding she preferred her independence, yet missing him, coming back to do her duty, she'd given him another blissful night to remember her by. Wasn't it enough that he could be here for her, to give her what she needed, as he always did? Then, on the other, that felt rather pathetic and desperate to him. He'd put his life on hold. Not directly for her but he'd be lying to himself to say that he didn't reject the occasional witch graduate who came down from the academy to choose him, with the hope that Alluna would see sense out there and come back to retrieve him. He'd expected her to find someone. If not a guardian, then at least a companion.

If she hadn't come back to bond with him, and they were just playing, having a good time for old times sake... He wanted to want this. If not simply because it was pouty and passive-aggressive for him to take a stand now, after they'd fucked. Then moreso because it was in his nature to care for her. She might not need a guardian. Maybe all she needed was a good fucking and someone to look after her while she trained this male witch. Was he really so wrapped up in ego that he couldn't give that to her? Besides, if he knew her at all, and if she did intend to call on him, then she was likely tormented with the struggle to make the right word noises at him about it.

It took only a second for him to come to terms, giving her a contented curve of his lips, an indulgent expression, kissing her shoulder in acquiescence. "Mine. Yes," he murmured in agreement, grunting softly as he pulled back, his softening length still half-masting, yet spent and placated. Sitting back on his haunches, he took a moment to watch as his thick, milky white cum dripped lazily from her pink, gorgeous slit, pride puffing up his chest over the delicious sight. His cock twitched in his lap and he likely could have gotten hard again, but insted of feeding it, he smirked lazily and rose to his feet, offering her his hand to help her up.

His private quarters were luxurious and cozy. Low ceilings, ornate furniture swallowing floor space, giving everything a very warm, intimate feel. The small sitting room that the door opened into held a hulking desk with two curved back, black-stained wooden chairs in front of it. There was also off to the side, two small round tables, one holding a lamp, beside a pair of rich, yet aged fabric chairs with animal claw legs on a simple rug with Valheru designs upon it. This was where he met with trainees privately or where he sat to eat alone when he needed to get away. A tall book case was up against one stone wall and a tapestry was hung from another, depicting a recreation of a very well known painting that hung in the assembly hall for the witches. It depicted a witch battling a beast-like monster of menacing visage, accompanied by demonic goblin entities swarming the path. While the witch shot blue light spilling from her hands, the guardian at her back faced the smaller enemies, fierce, brave, sword sharp and true.

Occasionally, when Uther needed to reprimand a trainee or talk the more promising ones out of abandoning training, he liked them to see that tapestry. The witches got to see the painting whenever they gathered for assemblies in their great hall, but it was a nice reminder of the ideal the men were expected to hold in their hearts and visualize in their minds to reassert focus and remember why they were here.

A door beyond the desk led into his bedroom, an already small room dwarfed by a four poster bed, sheets a dark maroon color. The rug in here and the painting on the wall held depictions and designs from his home nation, Ferrin. He didn't come from a Lord's family but he'd lived in the city and he took pride in his people and his heritage. Whenever he heard news from them, of government movement and treaties with other nations, he always paid it mind, even if his loyalties now focused mainly on Valheru and whatever witch might eventually call him to the bond. Strangely enough, Ferrin always had a queen leading the government.

Off the side of the bedroom a door led to a very Spartan washroom with an indoor plumbing showerhead and drain in the floor. No latrine throne because they often smelled, no matter where they were placed, and there was a communal group of doors outside the barracks, but a clean chamber pot sat underneath his bed. They took turns in the shower, clean and lightly damp, climbing into bed together. They didn't sleep for another hour or two, staying up late into the night catching up. Truly, this was where the time and distance disappeared, Uther letting the walls down for her, laughing with her, teasing her, and eating up stories of her adventures and exploits. Her gifts were particularly compelling and he loved to hear about how easily her touch brought her foes down.

He too regaled her with tales of training, briefly getting stuck with a trainer, Thom, who shouldn't have been promoted, weak and spineless, spreading his toxicity and insecurities onto his student. What was worse, because he'd never been bonded, when Thom's trainee started getting attention to one of the witches in her senior year, Thom had sabotaged the trainee's connection with her, grinding him with long drilling schedules that not only kept him from any free time but also exhausted the man to almost breaking. When that hadn't seemed to work, Thom had started spreading unflattering rumors about the trainee. Finally, Uther was confided in by the training guardian, desperate for interference but too honorable to report his trainer for the gross misconduct. It had been a good day to send Thom on his way, having totally undone all of his own training by being a petty asshole. It was a nice, juicy bit of drama to share with her, as was the witch, Lyra, who'd been determined to have Uther, thinking him "needing a firm hand" meant he wanted to be abused and bullied into bed. Uther joked with Alluna that one of the deeper stab wounds in his abdomen had been from an overzealous Lyra getting hot under the collar when he stoutly rejected her. He did comment breezily that no doubt, Lyra was the type of woman who would have brought a knife out if she thought he might be convinced with a bit of "poking."

When sleep did finally find them, Uther cradled her against him, hardened feet rubbing softly at her elegant, muscular calves under covers, fingers stroking her creamy shoulders and back as his massive chest rose and fell with deep, slumbering breaths. Pre-dawn morning, Uther was actually roused by Alluna's lips wrapped around him. Already hard and ready, he hummed delightedly as she remembered how he liked it, lipping at the loose skin covering his reddened head, teasing him before taking him all the way in, breath from her nostrils tickling his pubes as she swallowed on him, choking groans ripping from his throat in passionate desire. He took her again in the safety and comfort of the bed, sating them both before the breakfast bells had tolled. Laying on his stomach, he let her ease the tight knots in his back and shoulders, melting into the bed under her hard and probing touch, smoothing him out like a hot iron.

Sitting up as she dressed, Uther reached for her, halting her progress to get back into her robes, pulling her close to stand between his thighs. Kissing her lavender fingers, nuzzling her knuckles, he looked at her with tender longing. "I have to do sorting today and I'm taking on that female trainee," he said in low, mellow tones. "And I'm sure you'll be working late as well. Have lunch with me tomorrow. Show me how you feed yourself," he teased her. "If I don't see you before bells toll for evening studies, I'll hunt you down, haul you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and shove a meal into you. Like old times."

 

[OctopusPrince]

Alluna had delighted in the evening-- it had been so long since she'd been so at ease and entertained. For the years they'd been apart, she'd spent most nights alone or among disappointing company, men who wished to impress her into submission or women who wilted under her strength, and many, many times, people who were there more for the intrigue of sleeping with someone so deadly than to actually see her for the woman she was. If she had known so many people would willingly climb into bed with a viper just to see if it would bite she would have been more cautious in those earlier days and time only made her more harshly discerning of who she allowed close.

Her reputation as a warrior began to proceed her and that became easier and easier as intrigue for her deadly touch became fear for its effects and the idea that she couldn't control it. That wasn't all foolishness, when she'd arrived at the academy for witches it had been because she had come of age and in her resplendent beauty many young men had vied enthusiastically for her attention. She had been sent for training from the nation of Phetros, a place known for its darker skinned beauties and rich, vibrant culture. The birth of a pale child into such her reputable family had nearly been taken for some sort of curse, but she had been a rather normal girl, stubborn and quiet, but capable of sweetness and loved by her parents. As she got older, the tolerant but suspicious perception of her pale features seemed to change in a way she did not favor. Among her many peers her albinism set her apart as a unique pearl with all of the lovely, curving features of darker women, but white as snow instead of the more common deep browns of her fellow women. Her unique mutation brought plenty of attention when she had been young, but when she'd reached maturity and her body had unfurled into a swelling bust and wide, supple hips, she suddenly was less of an eye sore and more of a treasure to be claimed. That came with all sorts of efforts on the part of boys in her home clan, unwelcome kisses to her knuckles or cheeks, flirtatious touches along her neck or her hair, and a variety of other romantic gestures that put them in harms way by making contact with her skin.

She'd left a string of puking, ailing men in her wake until she'd arrived at the academy to see her deadliness trained and sharpened to a point, and for it, that morning after crying out into the quiet dawn under Uther's practiced, magnificent form, she could allow such affections from the only man she wished them from, his boldness to press his lips to what was practically the most deadly part of her an act that sent a thrill riding up her spine. Her fingertips were dyed a cool shade of purple up to her middle knuckles from the potency of her deadly magical art, a stain that revealed how easily and how often she could produce the toxin and administer it with skin contact alone. And yet, he kissed her there, pressed his cheek against her knuckles in a way so endearing she thought she might buckle and wrap him up in her arms, tip him back into the sheets and have yet another go at him for his sweetness. There was no time though, she needed to see to her new student-- the male witch, so she smiled down at him for his demands and gave a curt nod, her eyes bright with adoration.

"Perhaps I won't eat just to see if you can manage it like in the old days, Uther." She brought one of her hands up to stroke his cheek fondly, her thumb brushing that familiar scar that traversed it's way across his lips and up his cheek. "I only joke," She amended, leaning down to press a kiss to his brow. "I would not make you wait to see me." She said it and it felt like the earth might swallow her whole to lay something so bare even when it was wrapped in a completely different context, so she quickly added, "Lunch. I will remember. Enjoy your time with your new girl, then. Do tell her to keep her eyes above the waist, or next time I see her I will make her regret her gawking." She chuckled, reminded of how the girl's eyes had wandered her form the night before like she was trying to drink in the sight and keep it for later. Bold little brat-- Uther would get on fine with her if she was as brave as she was brazen.

Alluna tucked her finger beneath Uther's chin to kiss his lips properly before she wound her robe closed and headed out of his quarters, dignified and stern once more just as her lover, and hopefully soon, her guardian tended to be when wandering the halls of the guardian's training school. She made her way beyond there in the quiet, still morning by memorization alone, having wandered down into the guardian's sect and back up into the academy so many times she could likely do it blindfolded. Heading into her room, she dressed for the day, and only realized with an amused, flattered look in one of her mirrors that she'd have to change into something more concealing because Uther had left her with a plethora of dark, blooming bruises across her neck, her collarbone and breasts.

She wouldn't have it any other way, but she dressed herself from the light, flowing top she'd chosen into a high-necked, close fitting top that tucked itself into her high waisted breeches, the colors of all she wore cool blues and deep purples that made her paleness strikingly blatant, if not soothingly soft against the darker, cooler shades. She pulled her hair up into a high ponytail and regarded herself in the mirror again, her body a fantastic specimen of both femininity and strength and the proof of her sexual exploits hidden away.

She made her way through the halls then to the dormitories for the witches, recalling with ease where they had put the male witch even though she had protested to the idea of a man being in such quarters at all. She had little fear for the little spit fire in the guardian's school with Uther around to care for her, but a man in the women's quarters? It was like letting a fox go breezily wandering into a chicken coop and expecting it not to feast. And she found the man just as she feared he might be, sprawled across the bed with a woman tucked against him, a bottle of feather having leaked its last onto the floor leaving the room to reek of sex and booze. She grimaced, and made her way around the bed, first grabbing a hold of the girl's ankle and dragging her down the bed, clapping a hand over her mouth just as she was about to scream in alarm.

"Get your clothes and go to your room, you fool. Should I catch you even looking at this man for more than a moment I will make your academic career here nothing short of torture." She hissed down at the girl viciously. "Are we understanding each other?" She asked, feeling the girl nod her head weakly under the fierce grip of her hand, her pretty dark eyes wide and teary as she recognized just who had a hold of her face.

"Get out." Alluna finished before releasing the girl, watching her scamper away panting, nearly throwing her dress on backwards and simply picking up her sandals in her hands before she was out of the room. She regarded the sleeping man then. Quinn, was his name-- dark hair, roguishly handsome, on the thin side, but not terribly weak looking... this was the first man to ever gain ethereal, magical powers? This hound dog who had used his first night in the academy to get laid had burned rings of ash into the great hall around the stone of awakening? If she hadn't heard it from the matrons themselves, looking at him now she wouldn't have believed it. Well. He would learn his first lesson upon awakening, and she intended to teach it to him with a memorable sort of agony.

She sat down on the bed across from him and rubbed her hands together, focusing herself to the task. Just a pin prick. Just enough to make him vomit up his insides and regret the night of debauchery he'd committed on those hallowed academic grounds. She could do that, she assured herself, even though she'd only used her touch in the last several years to deal lethal blows with her poisonous talents. She leaned over the man and pressed her fingertip to his collarbone, sliding the finger slowly down his chest until she reached his navel. The touch left a streak of deep purple on his skin that faded like disappearing ink as the magic took hold and she crossed her legs and waited for him to register the pain, the twisting in his gut, and the devastating nausea that would set in any second and wake him from his sweet little dreams.

She hoped he'd vomit on his bed, that would be funny, and she'd make him clean it up too. And once he was done retching and writhing and being pathetic, she'd let him know that she'd make him feel a thousand, a hundred thousand times worse if he brought another girl into his chambers while he was studying there. It was hypocritical, but she didn't care-- she was a far better witch than him, a rigorous student in her time, and she was in charge. He would do as she said, not as she did, and that would become crystal clear by the end of the day.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

What a way to wake up. One minute, slumbering deeply, spread out, bare-ass naked in the tangle of sheets, warm and cozy, a supple, plush body right next to him. The next, there was a twisting fire in his guts, yanking him unceremoniously to full consciousness. The fact of the matter was, Quinn was a pro when it came to hangovers. Ever committed to living in the moment and having a good time, he didn't really hold back when drinking, especially if he found a new spirit that he particularly enjoyed. And he had developed a pretty good tolerance for such body abuses, rarely if ever drank under the table.

As a gurgling groan bubbled from his throat in discomfitted agony, his mouth filling with nauseated saliva, Quinn expertly turned onto his side, reaching quick and low with a waving hand, searching out the chamber pot. There was already vomit rising in his esophagus, breath hissing rapidly from his nostrils in panic as he kept his lips clamped shut, haphazardly dragging the fine Naroah glass pot under his face. It was timed just right and he thought he had fricking nailed it as he opened his mouth, letting loose the flood of sick right into the big-bellied pot.

But more kept coming, his shoulders shuddering with it, his already precarious leaning over the side of the bed, put to the test as he slid off the down-mattress, gravity grabbing hold of him, the rest of him too preoccupied with wretching to keep himself from falling to the ground. It was...a mess. Suddenly, he wasn't feeling so self-assured about his next morning expertise as he continued to heave, more bile and watery substance coming from him, splattering the floor, the pot sloshing dinner chunks from last night as he hit the ground with his shoulder, arms flailing out. He struggled like a dirty, disgusting, illness splashed fish, trying to sit up and failing as his stomach continued to pulse and contract violently. So, he just accepted his humiliation, mostly turning on his side as his body shuddered and dry heaved, just in case anything else came up, knowing, with the confidence of a drunkard, that it would eventually ease and leave him be.

When it finally passed, Quinn lay panting on the stone ground, brows furrowed as the nausea "hovered" still, the trembling ache in his stomach muscles adding another layer to the twisting, burning pain in his guts. And still, he couldn't find himself hating the unfamiliar drink from the night before. If he'd known the featherblossom packed this kind of punch, he might have been more careful about finishing the bottle - but let's be honestly, likely not; the chamber pot would have been placed closer, though. Hm. Wait, had he finished it? He couldn't remember. Groaning softly, grimacing over the death-awful taste in his mouth and the smell of bile, Quinn opened an eye and looked around for the discarded bottle. He found it on the rug near the wall, lazy in his aching nausea, still gagging softly deep in his throat, as he clutched the rug in hand, pulling the bottle by increments closer to him. There was barely a mouthful left in the bottom, but Quinn upended it into his mouth, gloriously shameless, laying in his own sick filth on the cold stone ground, still chasing the oblivion the sip of feather promised.

The taste got a hum of pleasure from him, finally sitting up with a dragging grunt, sniffing as the trauma of his awful hangover subsided enough for him to at least push it to the back a little. Blinking, gasping, eyes red rimmed, he finally noticed that he wasn't alone. He'd assumed he was... Simply because such a violent episode of vomitting usually didn't go uncommented on by any bed mate still present. Besides, he vaguely remembered...uh...Amanda? Possibly. Anyway, he vaguely remembered that she had some sort of test this morning and likely wouldn't have stayed long enough for him to wake so. He couldn't help the huffed chuckle that came from him to think, Oh, shit. That might not go well. They did study fire last night together but not in a way that would be useful to her. At least not for a witches test. Instant regret lanced through him for laughing, his body shuddering over the pooling thickness in his gut, like something inside of him was just waiting to rebel again.

Blinking and frowning at the mysterious pale beauty sitting on his bed, Quinn discarded the empty liquor bottle, scratching his naked thigh idly as he looked her over. With how prim and proper she was, practically covered up to her chin, Quinn didn't suspect that she was here to give him a "good morning" wakeup call. So, there was one person she most likely could be.

"You my new teacher?" he asked, his nose crinkling in an uncertain grimace at her, wondering at his luck to have made as good a first impression as he had. Well, if she didn't hear about him, then she had to find out sometime who he really was. "I uh...just tried feather for the first time," he offered lamely, the only self-consciousness he felt coming from the fact that he was splashed with vomit that hadn't made it into the chamber pot...and he'd rolled around in. Other than that, there wasn't much to be self-conscious over; tall, broad-shouldered, with athletic, wiry muscles, he was built like a runner. What he lacked in bulk and mass, he made up for in slender abs and tight muscles on his thighs and arms. And his cock was nothing to sneeze at either. Even flaccid, he was a nice, thick 7 1/2", fully erect, curving a proud, solid 8".

Another wave of destructive nausea, like aftershocks after an earthquake, hit him, pressing the side of his fist against his lips to stifle a gasped burp. "Sorry...still hittin' me good... Can I meet up with you later?"

 

[OctopusPrince]

Alluna watched Quinn's struggle with a calm indifference. She'd seen far worse in her day after all, so watching her student writhe, vomit, and end up smeared with his own sick hardly even caused a curl in her own gut, the only real swell of emotion from the display coming from the fact that he'd reached for the alcohol bottle as soon as he could control his body enough to do so. Well, if he was trying to 'hair of the dog' his way out of the magic she'd used on him, it at least meant that he thought it was a hang over, and that was further validated by the fact that the only demure explanation he had for himself was that he'd tried featherblossom for the first time the night before. She regarded him with cool, dark eyes, and moved to stand from where she had sat down on the bed, clasping her hands behind her back in a soldierly fashion as she walked her way around the bed, a safe distance from the splashes of his vomit, but looking down at him with her brows gently pinched, her pretty lips turned downward in disapproval.

"Absolutely not." She answered glaring down at him. "As you can see, you've already made work for yourself to do this morning, and unfortunately due to your frivolity, it has nothing to do with your magic training. Though I suppose it may teach you that here in this academy, such behavior has consequences." She let her eyes fall across the floor at the mess he made to clarify what she meant before looking at him again, her expression all the more stern.

"My name is Alluna Jahdiel. I will be your tutor for the next year, and if you make yourself into anything worth having around besides a drunken bed mate, the remainder of your study here. I would like to impose upon you with distinct clarity the standard I wish to hold during our time together, so," She sank slowly, her thighs opening as she rested on her elbows on them to support her weight, near to him now and looking him in his face. "If you thought your hang over was unpleasant, I would like you to imagine the significantly more vile bodily episode I will give you if I catch you in bed with another student again. Fraternizing with your fellow witches and guardians is not prohibited, but you can't even keep yourself conscious while using your magic. If that girl, or any other witch knew that you don't even have the skill to focus long enough to wield your talents with intent, they'd tip their noses up at you and you'd spend the rest of your days here chasing skirts unsuccessfully." She hadn't anticipated taking this angle with her student, but it was coming to her quickly with the sharpness of her mind that at least now, the best way to get through to the hedonist, was to put his hedonism at a price.

"You are a danger to your fellow classmates." She said firmly, "Until you can protect them from your out of control capabilities, you should not be taking them into your bed like you know when and how your power will expose itself. To simply assume that they won't manifest themselves and do harm while you're fucking or drinking is the height of hubris, and if you come to regret it because you lose yourself to your talent and harm any student or teacher, the consequences to that will be even more catastrophic than what even I could offer you. Keep that in mind, the next time you see a woman you find yourself wanting to recklessly bring near to you." She gave this advice from experience, though she'd hardly spent her first night, or even her first several months there bothering with anyone for sex or romance.

"Today we have much to study, Quinn. You will clean yourself, and this," She pointed a casual finger at the mess, "Up, and then we will begin your training. Do not idle, do not dally, and do not think I am your friend in this. You will do things at my pace, at my schedule, and I have been ready to begin for about half an hour at this point. You are already wasting my time." She moved to stand and smoothed her hands along her close fitting top, clicking her tongue and pointing to the wash room that was part of every student's dormitory, holding towels and toiletries for the girls, but in this particular room, a proper shower similar to Uther's if only to keep the man out of the communal washing pools for the female students.

"Get on it." She urged, curious to see how seriously he would take her assessments, along with her threat and sternness. She had a feeling he wouldn't go easily into doing what she said, even though he desperately needed to bathe himself and clean up his sick if he didn't want his room to reek of it for weeks, faintly laced into scent of the room until it was properly cleaned. "Once you've gathered the dirty towels you'll use to clean up your sick, we will go wash them, and waste more time on the consequences of your actions." She said cooly, taking steps away from him before leaning against the wall near to the door, crossing her arms and raising a brow at him.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Those were...a lot of big words. Talk about "frivolity". There was no need for all that flowery shit in her condescending little rant. He was annoyed by her tone because it meant she looked down at him but mostly, he was bored, checking out at different parts because she took too long to just get to the fucking point. Quinn preferred people who spoke with purpose rather than meaningless arrogance and this chick seemed to not only resent him for some reason - likely because of her own insecurities, he imagined; was she intimidated by how gifted he was? Or was she jealous of...um, Audrey? Maybe. - but also she seemed personally offended by him.

She momentarily had his attention back when she crouched down, his eyes drifting between her legs as she opened them and he spent several minutes wondering, with skin pale like that, what color her pussy was. Was she all pink? Was she milky white? Or was she like...Avril? Anyway, purple and rosy like an exotic flower or bird? He betted she had a hefty bit of "tongue" between those lower lips, and a smug, crooked smirk danced upon his features, his cock twitching in interest.

Then he was forced into everything else she said, frowning at her with narrowed gaze and a surly jutting of his chin. One thing Quinn didn't deal well with: shame. Anyone trying to hold him accountable for things, especially making him feel guilty and pressured, would not have an easy time of it. It just didn't stick well and he rebelled like a stubborn child.

"Pfft!" he huffed dismissively, sitting back, using his hands to support himself on the dirty floor, regarding her breezily. "Yeah, sure. I'm wasting your time. Laundry and shower. I guess it's a good lesson plan. Definitely gets us closer to the goal of handling the stone statue or whatever in a year, no problem. Thanks, teach!" He waved his hand at her, giving her a positive sunstar gesture with finger and thumb making a ring, just as condescending as he gave her props for daring to discipline him over something he'd already explained to her and wasn't his fucking fault.

Getting up from the floor with a grunted groan, his stomach still roiling testily, Quinn gave her his ass as he bent over to pick up the chamber pot, moving slow and deliberate as he righted himself, turning slightly to give her another smug twist of his lips, raising an expectant eyebrow. "I appreciate your concern or whatever," he shrugged nonchalantly, wandering to the washroom, dumping the chamber pot down the drain, setting the glass bowl in the bottom of the shower to be rinsed while he scrubbed himself off. Coming back, he frowned with glib, pursed lips, shrugging again. "But that's never happened before. And it won't. I'm not dangerous. In fact, after I'm done cleaning up, how about I show ya? You seem like you could use a good fucking to loosen you up. Kill two doves with one stone: Release some of the bottled up tension from that stick plugging up your ass and prove to you, I can get pretty passionate and not lose control. In fact, I bet I can get you to come three times before I do. How 'bout that for some magic, yeah? Heh."

Quinn leaned, standing in the open doorway to the washroom, clutching on to the doorframe above his head with his fingers, as he gave her a playful smirk, licking his teeth cockily. He knew he looked and smelled atrocious but he was confident that he could still melt her ice-cold exterior. "I promise. I will not be a waste of your time." Lazily, he let his eyes wander over her form, his cock twitching again as he once again pondered the visuals of her albino vagina.