mistletoe meme comment with your character bam, now your character is under some mistletoe. no moving until you lock lips with someone. easy as it sounds.
I would not dare to assume that all of them fall on the complimentary side of the line. In any case, a man needs but one. [ Just whom is rescuing - or ensnaring - whom, here. ] That his enemies may know who to curse for their misfortune.
[ Manners? Hah. This is being polite, Nuada likes the Arda elf. He's capable of much worse ... at least when not reclining against a wall, intimately, with a new found comrade. ]
Such a threat, indeed. I'm a-flutter and shaking at the very thought.
Or which warrior to praise when all other words fall away.
[ Sort lips brush along a pointed ear, silk-wet with a fleeting lick. Thranduil's hot breath remains there as he pushes a smile against a temple, an arm wound around Nuada's waist and the other trickling long fingers through that enticing hair.
He noses along a cheek, his attention down on the locks. ]
[ Or a gift, if the occasion calls for it. Nuada pushes away those thoughts, preferring to concentrate on more pleasant thoughts, like ... oh, who's a tease now. His teeth bare when Thranduil's tongue finds his ear, and there's a fleeting prayer that Nuala is also enjoying this. ]
Not words I was thinking of speaking publicly, dear one.
[ His laughter is low and huffing, and the six-foot-seven Elvenking somehow manages to hide in the curve of Nuada's neck. Innocent, so very innocent as he presses his cheek to a swathe of sleek locks. ]
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[ Manners? Hah. This is being polite, Nuada likes the Arda elf. He's capable of much worse ... at least when not reclining against a wall, intimately, with a new found comrade. ]
Such a threat, indeed. I'm a-flutter and shaking at the very thought.
no subject
[ Sort lips brush along a pointed ear, silk-wet with a fleeting lick. Thranduil's hot breath remains there as he pushes a smile against a temple, an arm wound around Nuada's waist and the other trickling long fingers through that enticing hair.
He noses along a cheek, his attention down on the locks. ]
Your hair was once a darker gold?
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[ Or a gift, if the occasion calls for it. Nuada pushes away those thoughts, preferring to concentrate on more pleasant thoughts, like ... oh, who's a tease now. His teeth bare when Thranduil's tongue finds his ear, and there's a fleeting prayer that Nuala is also enjoying this. ]
Once, when I was younger.
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[ His laughter is low and huffing, and the six-foot-seven Elvenking somehow manages to hide in the curve of Nuada's neck. Innocent, so very innocent as he presses his cheek to a swathe of sleek locks. ]
You seem quite young with me.