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your silver skin soothes my aching curses

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Along with her clothes she sheds her responsibilities and burdens, exposing her raw beauty. In the dark her pale skin seems almost silver, her slender form marked by scars and freckles. As he glances over her body, he thinks that this… this is a woman he could worship.

Calpernia’s lips open slightly, head turning to the side. Her eyes are covered by a blindfold, a piece of red silk, its vivid colour similar to blood smudged on her skin. She waits in silence, seemingly calm but he knows her well enough to notice the tension in her shoulders. Or how she crooks her fingers, not grabbing the bedsheets, not yet.

It’s a question of trust, though he doesn’t want to think about it for too long. He desires simplicity while Calpernia… Well, she is the most complex woman he knows. But they both can pretend it’s all simple, and easy, and the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Curious as she is, Calpernia wants to experience many different things. He’s been a willing participant in everything she’s generous enough to share with him. At times he wonders why he’s so eager to let her do as she pleases, to use him, test his patience.

For her?, he wondered when for the first time she didn’t turn her head as he tried to kiss her.

For her, he knew when she whispered his name in a voice full of raw emotion he couldn’t quite understand.

It’s all for her. So let her use him, it doesn’t matter.

Enchanted by the sight of her glorious form, Samson steps closer to the bed. She looks like a gift. An offering. A sacrifice.

Though he can’t see her eyes, he feels anticipation in the air, her wishes and will burning as brightly as her magic, drawing him to her like a moth to a flame. Calpernia breaths in a steady rhythm, her chest rising and failing. He shouldn’t keep her waiting yet it’s difficult to move. Something twists anxiously in his gut. He can only imagine the look in her eyes, excitement and fear combined together.

His resolve weakens. She seems quite… fragile, resembling a doll or an apparition summoned to haunt his dreams. For a brief moment Samson hesitates. Then his hands move, longing to touch, to feel, to beg her–

His hands hover over her skin. Not now, not yet. First, he has to do what she asked. It’s all about what Calpernia wants, his own desires irrelevant. He gathers whatever is left of his powers, now corrupted by that red kind of lyrium he so loves to hate. Then he concentrates like he was taught so many years ago.

Show me what a templar can do, she told him.

Templar. Calpernia says the word in so many different ways. Sometimes she openly mocks him, his title reduced to a joke. Sometimes she says it like a curse in an angry hiss before pulling him close for a kiss that feels more like a bite. She does it so she remembers to pretend she doesn’t care about him one bit. It all works mainly because they don’t think about it for too long. How convenient.

Why she wants this, it’s difficult to say. Again, it’s easier to accept and follow her words instead of asking question that may reveal a truth they’re not prepared to hear.

Samson wasn’t sure if he could do it, but his body remembers all those years of training, responding to his thoughts. The power that flows through him brings back memories from a different life. It leaves an odd, metallic taste on his tongue.

The feeling of magic dissolving is all too familiar, and that peculiar, hard to explain scent of the Fade disappears in a heartbeat, leaving him with an uneasy sensation that something’s missing and it’s all his fault.

Calpernia lets out a sound, a half swallowed cry, her lips quivering. She grabs the bedsheets, not hiding her distress anymore, arms trembling, knuckles white. The templar spell left her powerless. If this complete lack of magic feels strange for him, then it’s hard to even imagine how it must feel for a mage.

Something inside him laughs, it’s like a deep growl somewhere on the bottom of his soul. He ignores it until it’s silent again. It’s all damaged and red, ready to bite like a rabid animal if he allows it. It’s always there, deep inside him, like a stain he can’t remove, something filthy and toxic he has to hide, ashamed that it exists.

Then there’s silence, a fleeting sensation of magic like an echo in the distance. Calpernia lies still, breathing heavily, pearls of sweat glistening on her forehead. The burning fury of her magic is gone, yet nothing has changed about her.

A shiver of dread slides down his spine. What if it was too much, what if his abilities got somehow corrupted and he damaged –

Samson takes a deep breath. It’s not what is expected of him so he forces himself to calm down. Now that she feels the power of a templar spell on her own skin, and she’s not telling him to stop, they can proceed.

His fingers trail down her neck, between her breasts, then her ribs, and down her stomach. He touches her reverently, ready to stop if she commands. Calpernia lies still; in the dim light her skin looks unnaturally pale, gooseflesh rising in the wake of his touch.

“Do you want me to continue?” he has to hear her answer.

“Yes,” she breathes, her face flushed.

He moves a hand lower and lower until he's twisting and curling his fingers inside her. His eyes observe her reaction, noticing every smallest detail.  How her lips open, the blush on her face goes a shade darker. How her body responds to the way his fingers move in a rhythm that will bring her the satisfaction she craves. How she whimpers quietly, the sounds she makes somewhere between charming and obscene.

Calpernia’s hands trembles as she twists the bedsheets in her fists. She’s not allowed to touch him, she may only take what he wants to give her. It’s quite a change as it’s always Calpernia who commands while he’s merely a fool who obeys and accepts everything she offers.

It’s the sweetest form of torture, and Samson enjoys it a bit too much. There’s something hypnotizing in the way her body moves, her breathing becoming raspy and broken as his rhythm quickens.

His lips brush her jaw. He should tell her how much he enjoys the view of her body in spasms of pleasure, exposed to him completely. But words are hollow and meaningless, he should show her instead. He places a lazy kiss on her cheek, crooking his fingers just right. Her back arches beautifully and Calpernia gasps for breath, her body tense and begging for release. Perhaps she understands what he means. Maybe she can feel the complete and utter adoration in his every touch.

Then, between quiet whimpers and unspoken pleas, she whispers his name. Even with all her magic gone, the way she says it is powerful like a spell. Samson barely registers her loud moan, his senses dulled by a strong ache radiating from his chest.

Calpernia breaths out, all tension disappearing. Samson reaches for the fabric covering her eyes. He needs to see her, all of her, for reasons he can’t explain.

Calpernia blinks, then their eyes met. She seems satisfied, there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. He can’t look away, taking in the moment, trying to keep it in his memory.

“Are you –”

“I’m fine,” she says, scrapping her nails across his scalp as if she was petting her favourite dog. “I never thought it would be so… intense.”

Feeling glad she starts talking before his own voice betrays his fears, he leans in to her touch.

The templar spell fades, magic is slowly coming back, the connection with the Fade reopening. Calpernia's face changes, visibly relaxing as she welcomes back her magic like a long lost lover. How pathetic it is that he feels a pang of jealousy that she cares more about something so abstract like magic, than him.

In a moment of weakness he pulls her closer. He’s still fully clothed while Calpernia is bare, yet he is the one feeling completely vulnerable and exposed.

Perhaps next time he should ask her to lie to him, so he could close his eyes and simply pretend.