[Past] The Night

Malachai chuckled softly at her comment about words carrying monumental importance. You’re not wrong, he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. Some words have the power to tip the scales of entire negotiations. But the trick is knowing when to let them out and when to hold them back. He turned back to the bookcase, his fingers trailing over the spines, though not before catching her pouting. Patience, as you’re learning, is more than just a virtue. It’s a weapon. But don’t worry; I’ll teach you.

At her quip about his charm being exhausting, he smirked, shaking his head. Ah, but the mask has its uses, he teased, glancing over his shoulder at her. It shields the world from my full, devastating magnificence. It’s really for everyone else’s benefit. It was a mask that had

After a few moments of searching, he plucked a volume from the shelf. This should do, he said, holding up a modest book of poetry. Something quiet, with just enough rhythm to lull us both to sleep. He turned to see her rising from the couch, her playful words about sleeping nude stopping him mid-step. He tilted his head slightly, admiring her boldness and the way she was teasing him back. The more bite she had, the more intriguing she became to him. Still watching, an amused glint flashed across his eyes. I may have promised to help you settle, but you’re making it increasingly difficult to keep things… simple.

Still holding the book, Malachai crossed the room to where she stood near the bed. Setting it gently on the bedside table, he began unbuttoning his outer robe. All the while his gaze stared into hers. The fabric fell away from his broad shoulders, revealing the crisp lines of his waistcoat beneath. With practised precision, he unfastened the vest as well, draping both pieces over the back of a nearby chair.

Now bare-chested, his toned frame caught the flickering light of the candles. He lifted his undershirt from where it had been tucked under the vest, holding it out to her with a wry smile. This should do nicely, he said. Better than an outdoor robe for sleeping, don’t you think?

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. Turn around, Lia. Let me help you into it.

As she turned her back to him, he’d slip the shirt over her head, then shoulders, his hands brushing lightly against her skin as he adjusted it. His cloak either fell away at her own accord, or he waited, his undershirt following her pace. It would be too large, oversized on her smaller frame, and fall just above her knees. He straightened the fabric with deliberate care, lingering for just a moment before stepping back.

There, he said, his voice soft but steady. Much more practical. And you’re forgiven for peeking. I haven’t given you much option. His smirk returned as he gestured to the bed. Now, shall we? I believe I owe you some hands-on reading.

@Ophelia Jolfy