And he was there, waiting for his wife's inevitable return. Sometimes when they had minor spats, Nyx excused herself and came back when she was calmer.
She had never taken this long before.
His head was down over some parchment, and a quill was in his hand, scratching out line after line of a poem he had been working on. When Nyx returned, he did not lift his head.
After a moment, however, he set his quill down and leaned back in the chair.
He was still angry with her childish behavior. Her absense had made him even more so. Had this been a child of his, he would have immediately turned and expressed his disappointment in her actions, his frustration at her refusal to do her duty. But this was his wife. As such, she was accorded a different kind of handling.
Her wings dissipated - they were unwieldy indoors, and were dripping all over the carpet. The carpet dried under her bare feet even as her chiton dripped onto it. She peeled the wet thing off, cleansing herself with a thought even as a new one replaced the saturated dress. The wet chiton disappeared as quickly as her wings had.
Her hair was next, and slender fingers worked rapidly through the wet, dark curls, changing them from soaked and dripping to merely damp and fragrant, as though fresh from a bath.
She was still cold, but she trusted that would remedy itself soon enough.
Taking a seat, she regarded her husband for a moment.
"Erebos," she responded a bit stiffly; cautiously.
The sound of his wife stripping behind him twisted itself around his waist and tugged him out of his seat. He laid his hands on the side of the table and stared hard at the ink drying on his parchments. He did not use sand for his ink; he found it blurred the letters, and he liked his letters crisp and clean.
He was going to turn around. Grab her. Shred any scrap of clothing she wished upon herself. And throw her into bed. Show her. Teach her. Frustrating The Darkness was never a wise plan.
He would not admit that there was something hidden under his iron will and logical mind that had been afraid, terrified, that she wasn't coming back.
He hated that she made him this angry. He hated that she got to him so quickly, so damned easily. He wanted to teach her a lesson. But he kept control of himself. Finally peeling his hands away from the table, he turned around and stared at her.
The intensity of his gaze spoke of many things, and it inspired many things in Nyx. Clearly, her husband was quite angry with her. Clearly, he was utilizing all his control to keep his calm. But something else, something dark and smoldering was in his gaze, as well. Nyx recognized it, and the feeling it inspired in her - but she pushed it down
( ... )
Comments 19
She had never taken this long before.
His head was down over some parchment, and a quill was in his hand, scratching out line after line of a poem he had been working on. When Nyx returned, he did not lift his head.
After a moment, however, he set his quill down and leaned back in the chair.
He was still angry with her childish behavior. Her absense had made him even more so. Had this been a child of his, he would have immediately turned and expressed his disappointment in her actions, his frustration at her refusal to do her duty. But this was his wife. As such, she was accorded a different kind of handling.
"Nyx," he greeted softly. But not warmly.
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Her hair was next, and slender fingers worked rapidly through the wet, dark curls, changing them from soaked and dripping to merely damp and fragrant, as though fresh from a bath.
She was still cold, but she trusted that would remedy itself soon enough.
Taking a seat, she regarded her husband for a moment.
"Erebos," she responded a bit stiffly; cautiously.
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He was going to turn around. Grab her. Shred any scrap of clothing she wished upon herself. And throw her into bed. Show her. Teach her. Frustrating The Darkness was never a wise plan.
He would not admit that there was something hidden under his iron will and logical mind that had been afraid, terrified, that she wasn't coming back.
He hated that she made him this angry. He hated that she got to him so quickly, so damned easily. He wanted to teach her a lesson. But he kept control of himself. Finally peeling his hands away from the table, he turned around and stared at her.
That was all.
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