Date: 2013-03-20 05:55 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Temple prostitute. They can all be, or it can be about a single prostitute and a worshipper, whichever floats your boat anon and hopefully mine too!

for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-15 05:11 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
"I didn't choose you."

Mar'i halts her movements for only the space of a sweep of her long eyelashes, then continues filling the bathing pool with ewers of warm water. "No," she says, "the Priestess selected me on the wishes of your father. You will bring bountiful blessings of the Goddess onto your family--"

"I don't believe in any Goddess."

That stops her. Mari feels one edge of her filmy, floaty gown trail into the water like the thick magnolia petals scenting the air. The man, Ibn, is young, her age, and he leans against the white marble wall with an expression that would be called a sneer were he of any class other than nobility. Mar'i understands, suddenly, why Priestess Kate offered her to the father for this task. It will be a challenge.

Mar'i doesn't mind a challenge. It brings her closer to the Goddess with each poorly-tempered man she makes scream her name in ecstatic release. Ibn will be no different.

Putting down the ewer, she moves to the opposite end of the bathing pool and begins descending the steps, her gown drinking up the water as she moves. "It makes no difference if you believe in the Goddess, or do not believe, or wish to be convinced," she says as she steps further into the warm water, never pausing, moving through the length of the small pool. When she begins ascending the stairs on the other side, closer to Ibn, her dress is wet, transparent, molded to her body; the slight chill of the air makes her nipples push against the drape. Despite himself, Ibn's nose flares as if he's scented her, eyes drifting lower to the shadowed area between her legs.

Mar'i stops before the top step and lifts her arms, unfastening the tumult of dark purple hair that is her blessing and glory. Ibn watches it tumble to her shoulders, looking slightly dazed, and Mar'i holds out one strong arm towards him. "Come," she says, quietly but firmly. "It does not matter if you believe or not. For her blessing, I am yours this night."

The dazed look in Ibn's eyes darkens into hunger, and before Mar'i can say anything more he's moved forward, against her, taking her face in his hands as he kisses her and kisses her and walks her backwards down the stairs, the elegant dark fabric of his clothing soaking up water as he plunges into the pool. Mar'i would stop this here, undress him slowly and sensually, but -- nobody has ever behaved this way in the temple before. The idea of elegant, arrogant Ibn wanting her so badly that he walked into the water fully dressed to get his hands on her wakens something inside of Mar'i, a matching fierce desire, a fire low in her belly.

The thick flower petals bump against them, kissing perfume against Mar'i's flushed skin as Ibn tears her flimsy gown from her body entirely, wrapping it twice around his hand before holding her again. The wet fabric slaps against Mar'i's back, her rounded behind, and when she yelps he swallows the sound greedily. "If you are going to be mine," Ibn growls, "I will have you the way I want you."

A perverse, instinctive knowledge in Mar'i bids her to stop and consider, make him wait, and Ibn's practically snarling when she says, "Yes, of course. The blessing of the Goddess grants you this," and reaches to unfasten his trousers. If he's uncomfortable in his sodden finery, it doesn't show in his handsome, almost cruel face; he seems to only be focused on Mar'i, her hair and her body, her fingers working on his hardness. He lifts her by the waist, pulls her against him, and Mar'i is after all a temple prostitute and knows how to position his length and her legs so that she sinks down onto him smooth, silken, holy and glorious.

-- and then Ibn moves, again, forward through the pool until Mar'i's back hits the tiled wall and his cock thrusts fully inside her with a force that makes her cry out, ripples in the water from their wake lapping the edges of her scream. Ibn smiles then, his strange intense eyes pleased but still carnivorous, and thrusts once more. "How blessed am I now?" he demands. There's something in the way he says it that's touching, despite all this, and when Mar'i spreads her legs wider around him, digging her heels slowly into his back to press him deeper into her still, she sees the look on his face change from a spoiled lordling's mean pleasure to astonishment and a truer desire.

"The Goddess finds you precious," Mar'i says, softly, holding his face now and letting the tips of her nails curve into his skin. The touch of pain sparks even more heat in his eyes, his hips twitching, and she adds more. "She finds you precious and so do I." She kisses him, and it's as though they'd never stopped, as though she'd never been chosen to become a temple prostitute and leave the life she'd known out there. "You always have been, Damian."

When she says his name he sobs, one ragged, uncontrolled sound before he wraps his arms around her and slams into her body, face against her breasts as he moves into her again and again and again. "You're mine," he's murmuring in a long, ceaseless, desperately angry growl, "mine mine forever you've been mine." Mar'i cradles his head and throws hers back so her hair brushes his fingers, feeling him grab onto it as he pounds her against the tiled bath wall, her toes splashing through the water with each thrust and jerk. The room echoes the sounds of their coupling, wetness and heat and her voice bursting and dripping down over his low scraping grunts until his mouth finds one of her nipples and he bites as he reaches completion inside her, Mar'i's body responding and taking him in, taking all of it.

She curves down over Damian, her hair forming a curtain, the magnolia and salt scent of them thick inside. "We have all night," Mar'i says, making her shaking voice as soothing as she can, even though she feels her heart's blood might as well be streaming from her lips.

Damian lowers her into the water, hands cupping and caressing her body, eyes soft and pained. When he speaks again, it's only with his mouth against her ear, face hidden. "We have nothing, except the blessing of your Goddess."

"Come," Mar'i says, and her voice is smooth as marble now, hands swift and clever. She is a temple prostitute. She knows what her place is in this world. It would have been foolish to forget. Priestess Kate was right to choose her.

"Take off your clothes, Ibn."

Re: for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-17 09:37 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I'll be in my bunk, anon. Lovely and evocative.

Re: for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-19 06:44 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Blistering hot and gorgeous, sumptuously so, all that thick, wet fabric and the magnolia petals in the water

My hand flew to my heart when she called him Damian <3

Re: for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-19 06:46 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Oh my god this is so wonderful, I will be re-reading this forever, good lord.

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