[D4 LN Once Upon a Troubadour, CLOSED]

[Marcus Kendall]

"Dance?" Marcus shuffled in his chair, turning to face Chantelle. "I don't think I dance very well." He sounded more puzzled than anything.

[Chantelle Rossette]

“Wha’ a shor’ memory mon loulou ‘as,” Chantelle cooed teasingly, “we dance’ at de crawdad boil, non? You will do fine.” Straightening, her long fingers trailed in his fur as she stepped away from him, sweet bubblegum notes rising in the air. She twirled, moving in a circle about him, the full skirt of her sundress flared and swished about her, enhancing the motions she made. “Don’ ma’ me dance alone.”


——
[D4 LN] Vanz Kant Danz, he Should Try Dance (Dexterity 3, Expression 4, Dancing 1, Striking Looks 1): 9d10o10h8 3

[Marcus Kendall]

The beast stood up, his eyes intent on the dancer, watching her spin and spin, elegant as she was. When the egret stopped, Marcus wrapped one of his big claws around the her waist, his coarse fur brushing against her clothing. The other paw found its way to her shoulder, gently stepping closer so that his toes brushed with hers. Fur, feather and claw, the beast lead, trying to sway the egret around.

_ _

D4 LN dexterity+expression: 2d10o10h8 1

[Chantelle Rossette]

Once again she let him lead, expertly reading the movement of his body and anticipating where he wanted her to be. A dash of natural talent, a sprinkling of dexterous grace, and four semesters of dance in college working together accommodate whatever expertise the beast might have lacked. Chantelle swayed with him, left hand on his shoulder and the right folded against his chest, over his heart.

[Marcus Kendall]

As they swayed, their bodies entangled, the beast's lips found Chantelle's neck, gently nuzzling against the soft feathers. He held her small frame firmly close to himself. "You smell so nice." Marcus whispered, his voice deep even as the air was heavy with the scents of plums and wine. Amidst the heavy, more carnal emotions there was a small, barely noticeable tone of raspberries - the scent of affection.

[Chantelle Rossette]

Putting her faux wings about his shoulders, feathers rustling against fur, she stroked the back of his neck, unsure what to say. The heady smell of lust was just as intoxicating as any real vintage, and her own passions enriched the perfume, adding warm cherry notes of genuine tenderness to the complex blend. “Dank you, Marcus,” she let her eyes close, tucking in her beak and resting her head against his broad chest, letting the earthy, life-giving scent of his fur envelop her senses.

[Marcus Kendall]

His claws pulled her closer, lifting her from the ground. The beast carried the egret easily, slowly swaying with her in his arms. His snout pressed against her neck, leaving a trail of hisses her his mouth sought out her shoulder. "You like this?" His voice was throaty and coarse, brimming with desire.

Little by little, Marcus eased his claws lower until he held her rear in his hands, slowly grinding his hips against hers.

[Chantelle Rossette]

She shivered a little, a bouquet of uncertainty and longing, the reminder of the beast’s strength was both intimidating and reassuring. She knew he would protect her from danger, unless he was the danger, yet she trusted him implicitly. As he pushed his hard body against her soft one, she murmured, warmth pulsing through her delicate frame, “weh,” she reassured, “I li’ dat.”

[Marcus Kendall]

"Good." his murmur was that of the summer nights, of stars above the woods. He could feel him, warm, coarse and so very very close. The thin layer of her dress did little to protect her. He half-walked, half-shuffled towards a wall, gently pinning her in place. "You not scared?" the beast asked, his lips nibbling her delicate collarbone, his musky, earthy scent filling her senses. The notes of plum and rich red wines lingered in the air.

She would be able to feel just how tense he was even as he kept pressing his body against hers, his paws kneading the flesh beneath.

[Chantelle Rossette]

There was nothing but downy soft feathers under the dress to protect her either, her coat not as thick as his. Chantelle’s breathing trembled in her throat, “shoul’ I be?” Surely he could smell the trepidation on her, but she could not discount that the plum and wine was beginning to overwhelm everything else. Her long fingers combed through the fur of his shoulders, her beak gently preening about his ear.