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"If not a dance, then maybe a kiss?"
A question, lingering in the space between two new lovers. Hands softly cradling a face, fingers tracing over new horns and new scars. The air smelled sickly sweet. This is how Wyll found himself, isolated on the shoreline, trying to get away from drunk tieflings, and consumed in the gaze of a half-elf that held him so gently. He was supposed to be sad, wallowing in it, learning from mistakes. Instead, he was falling in love.
Strange, really. Éabha is not a soft creature, she is not gentle. She is the rainstorm in a heatwave, soothing, but laced with lightning. She is a kiss upon your lips that leaves you breathless. She is energy; pure, unrelenting, contagious, sickening. She wields the beauty of poison, yet makes it better with a single touch. But here, in this moment with Wyll, Éabha was none of those things. The natural chaos inside of her is calmed, soothed to a quiet murmur. She had never known stillness to be so... nice. Éabha held him like she didn't want to break him, didn't want to scare him away.
Wyll closed his eyes, sighing. He leaned into the lavender hands that cradled him, "Just the one." The two shared a moment. A silence. A breath of relief, then one of excitement. Éabha's thumb traced his cheek as he met her eyes, a silent confirmation of her continued consent. He gently brought a hand to her hip, one to her neck, and leaned in. The moment his lips brushed hers, his entire body was jumpstarted. Kissing Éabha was like a shot of pure adrenaline. He wanted more, an instant addiction. Their lips lingered a second too long. Wyll pulled away, audibly sighing again with the effort to restrain his lips from exploring more of her - his hands, however, lingered.
Éabha met Wyll's eye, the gentlest smile he had ever seen on her face. He hadn't known her long, but even so, he hadn't thought this possible from her. His heart sped up, it softened, his head was spinning. Gliding his hand on her neck up to her face, he willed all of his genuine emotion into the shine of his eyes, laced it into his words, "There will be another time for us." He touched his forehead to hers, breathed in her scent so it could follow him into his dreams. It was a silent plea to wait for him.
Éabha giggled, once again a recognizable form of herself, and softly tapped her closed hand on his cheek - barely a whisper of touch, mostly a tease, "I know. I'm looking forward to it, cutie!" She winked, and her hands left Wyll's skin. He could already feel the achey burn they left behind. It was enough to crave her for a millennia. He swallowed dryly as he watched her skip away. Never before had he known someone to slink past his defenses so easily. This woman was going to consume and transform him, for better or for worse - and he wanted nothing more to be her willing main course.