With this one I bring my rating up to Mature for saucy content ahead ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
This was so very wrong. Layers upon layers of wrong.
Lusting for him was wrong, craving his touch. The breathless whisper of his name as he presses my form against the high wall of the bell tower, away, far away from the judging stares of my ancestors. Even the darkest of thoughts burning in my heart, pounding at my souls endlessly, time and time again in blasphemous cycles. And to think all became from the mere gift of sight…
He gave me eyes to see the dark in all; but all I found was a light in him.
This was wrong…and besides, I'm supposed to loath him…
…Figuratively speaking…
The Ashen One is not who he once was. He has gained unparalleled skill with his arms, but far above pure strength, the Champion found something more precious in the grimness of Lothric: Insight. His reflection developed humility in his chest, and humility had a vast toll for him to pay. Long past are now the days of the "speedrun", and heart-born apologies long-overdue have been spoken with sincerity. It warms my heart to see respect lingering in the eyes of the Shrine denizens when he's in sight. One by one he mended the bridges with all of us, giving each a repenting apology, different every time…
Now…I'm not sure if this was part of my own…
…I am not complaining.
Many a-men think of me as the fairest and purest of maidens – and whilst such a titles befits me in these days of dark, there was a time when I was not a maiden at all, and it is so that the fairest of them I am not, and I won't ever be. Tainted in the past via slow nights of "mourning" in the embrace of Andre, or secluded "lessons" in the cares of Lady Irina of Carim…much like the lands we live in, times have changed, and so have our customs…
…Besides, how could I deny him when his own figure puts my own prized beauty to shame?
No-one turned to look at us with a judging eye when a handful of days after he blessed me with such cursed eyes, I voiced in what he thought to be a whisper a plea to develop a deeper relationship between the two of us, and when I pledged to the private nature of our affair regarding the First Flame. The gazes of the onlookers were only scorching, and smug, knowing, and they were often accompanied by sheepish smiles. Nobody stirred an outrage when many-a times we both escaped from the Shrine to sate our carnal desires.
My advances were clear, interested in far more that a fickle flame struggling to grasp its life. I sought something brighter, I sought the white-hot fire of lust burning within his bosom – and he understood, and reciprocated…
…And how scorching his acceptance was.
I relinquish any form of thought when his hand that was on my waist anchors me to reality by roaming upwards and pressing itself against my own ample bosom, with only the thinnest layer of my gown shielding my decency. I heave and for once my conviction fails me, as the tiniest of moans breaks through my lips, melted to his. His advance relents and he breaks our kiss, leaving my mouth lingering still in the cold air. I open my eyes and I see his blue ones, dark and smoldering. He grins at me with lust before coming onto my form and pressing his lips to my sensitive ear, sharp stubble scratching against my cheek.
"Look at you so full with desire, burning in your very skin…How's that for a flame?" He whispers but I barely hear him, lost in my own pleasurous trance. My soft hands cling needily to his back; my movements become more erratic with each second his lips are not on mine.
"Ashen…One" I manage to string between struggled breaths and he cackles before he finally locks our lips together once more with his hand pressing anew against my chest, with a rougher intent. An intrepid thumb finds its way to my taut nipple and the mere graze of it makes a pitchy whimper ripple in my throat. He sighs heavily onto my lips and I feel his grip on me tighten, more lustful than ever. I let out another experimental squeal of pleasure and the dark flames in him dance even brighter.
In a sudden motion he turns me to face my back, one hand holding my own tighter over my body while the other resumes its ravaging roam, plunging to my navel and lower, over my moistened center, pressing my robe against it as he begins to knead. My knees buckle but his vice grips holds me from melting onto the ground in a strengthless bliss, and I moan my lust onto the wall, again and again, caring little for discretion as my world burns down to the two of us alone. Each of his twirls and flicks heightens my pleasure, and I feel my peak nearing, and I welcome it. With one final motion of his digits a fire long gone is rekindled in me, and an instant later my pleasure explodes.
For eons my legs seem to buckle against each other, and my breath refuses to leave my throat, and when at last I undo myself over him, happiness fills me with his embrace, warm and protective, much like the flame I tend to.