There was something about a candlelit abode that stirred him so each time he entered the dimly lit home; the perfume in the air wasn’t as heady as one would find in a more refined abode belonging to a woman. The air here was floral, but not something synthetically made. This was naturally caused by the flowers in bloom, and those floating in the warmed waters of the tub he approached. The figure there was the source as well, for as each languid stepped carried him forth to her location, her aroma filled his senses. But, despite how relaxing and inviting the ambiance was, there was tension heavily layered around her as well.Revarik had already removed his attire and discarded it at the chaise nearest to the candelabras that illuminate his passage. Tanned skin was bare, musculature was gently caressed by fire-light, but it did little to ensnare the attention of the submerged maiden.It was only when he neared the bath, and rounded it, that she rose from the water in a fluid fashion that the water fell over the curvature of her flesh like an anguished lover pleading to not part from her. Golden curls were adorning her visage, where features were still, stoic in appearance. He took her in there, with every rivulet that ran down her naked frame, as she turned to face him.“Thou art late, Garlean,” it was her voice that he hears, sharper than any blade whilst it pierced the air, as water splashes to the surface of her bath. He smiled them, roguishly. A chin is pointed to the direction of her table, where he brought sweets and hot-chocolate, a way to ease the flames of her rancor, or perhaps quell them all together. It is acceptable, he can see it in her eyes, the smoldering coming to an end as her attention returns to her companion this eve.“With purpose, Shroudmaiden,” his hands rest on the edge of her bath and he leans in, knowing how taunting he was. “May I? Or is it too cold now?” He could see her stand taller, as if trying to make sure that he had to look up to meet her gaze, instead of being leveled. He enjoyed it, the aura of dominance she radiates, for it matched his own. However, he doesn’t wait for a response, he doesn’t care to prolong the wait of sharing this intimate moment. Thus, he stepped inside, one foot, then the other, and wades until he is at her back.Gingerly does he seek the curls of her dampened hair, shifting it from the side of one shoulder, to the other. He takes notice of the scars licked by candlelight’s touch, but dares not to impose his touch upon them. Rivienne said not a word, but he can hear her breathing, steady and calm; she was not going to lash out or make protest, he accepted this. A hand takes her wrist, the other at the dip of her waist of the opposing side, and guiding her along with him, begins to descend back to the bath. “Pray that thou art not late anew, mine fury wilt not be tamed by fanciful delights,” her words fill the bathing area, where silence once reigned. He feels the warmth of the water, still heated by fire cores, but her body was warmer still. Her back was to his chest, her profile was met by his solitary gaze, and he smirked while pouring water to baptize her crown of gold.“We shall see if that holds true then, lover,” he whispered along her elongated ear; Rivienne hated that little pet-name, for they were not lovers intimately. They were lovers of combat, products of warfare that somehow found peace with one another in their collective space. For now, she does not retort with word nor action, Rivienne simply leans back against his broad form, allowing herself to be pampered by the Highlander in shared silence.@shadows-of-valanthius
