bethen avilla ; the circle mage (bethe) wrote in thedas,
It took every ounce of willpower to resist the urge to hold on to Aurin's hand, pull him next to her on the bed, kiss him tenderly on the mouth, and other places, maybe over those scars, then curl up in his arms and sleep away the rest of the day.
But in the battle of head versus heart, her mind won out. It always did; that's what mages were conditioned to do, to control their passions and thereby neutralize their danger, and she took those lessons seriously. It was how she had defeated a demon before. She could do this, too, then. Bethen let him go, resting her hand in her lap and staring intently at the spot that his lips had touched. Maybe this was just a passing feeling, maybe she was just in an emotionally vulnerable place at the moment, maybe she was mistaking his care for something else, maybe he didn't even think about her in such a manner -- not that he should have been, he was a templar, and weren't they supposed to be celibate? Even if she were any other woman in the world, not a mage, not some terrible seductress witch -- no matter the reason, Bethen was convinced that it would have been a mistake, even if every inch of her skin ached for more of his touch.
These feelings, these desires, were taking her by surprise as they grew within her, especially since they had never really crossed her mind before. Not seriously, anyway -- she was a grown woman, she understood attraction and courtship, and she knew about the physical process of consummation. But she had never experienced such a deep want for it, let alone the fulfillment of these cravings. Strange, then, that it would be Aurin, of all men in the world, to suddenly stir such buried, primal instincts in her. The same Aurin who once was an awkward, skinny little boy who grew up lonely in the Tower, until she came along and offered to help him find a book, as well as her friendship. It seemed so...wrong. And yet...here they were, and he was now a handsome and wonderful man, and in these few minutes that had passed between them, she was finally seeing these qualities for the very first time. But she couldn't do anything with this newfound awareness, not without someone getting irreparably hurt.
She tried to push those thoughts aside as she turned her bleary eyes back up to him, laughing warmly while she shook her head, "No, don't be silly. I've got my own clothes that fit me much better. I don't care if it's summer, you can't just wander about the Keep without a shirt. I'll dress you myself if I have to." This wasn't going to be an argument. She meant her threat -- stubbornly, she would try to wrestle the fabric back onto him, even though he was far stronger than her physically and it would be no effort to overpower her. It wasn't just the sheer impropriety or absurdity of allowing him to leave without it, but genuine concern that he needed it more than she did.