Vesper Bay flickered with orange firelight as the beat of drums rose into the night. The music in the square was sweet, and the shadows of the dancers flitted over the statue of Lord Lolorito like fleeting hands. Lively festivities filled the small seaside settlement, and revelry was the order of the evening.Â
Berrod had arrived on invitation, lured by the promise of free food and drink. He wore his usual leather trousers, boots and harness, not quite willing to be caught without them in the desert at night. His host stood waiting for him, silhouetted against the blazing bonfire -- an hourglass in Midlander's form.Â
"'Ey, Gins."
Ginny stepped forward and brought her features into sharp relief; her black hair tied back in one, her blue eyes that shone gold in the light of the flame, and those lips that looked like they may have killed as much as they had kissed. The Midlander woman was dressed in a rather short top that exposed her pinched midriff, connected to a low pair of hip-hugging silk pants that spared no effort in complementing her shape. "Berrod! You came!"
It took considerable effort for Berrod not to choke on his own saliva. She looked gorgeous. Several glittering bangles shook along her smooth bare and milk-pale arms. "Gods save m'loins right now," Berrod muttered.
"What was that?" She asked. Fortunately, his remark had been genuinely missed.Â
"Eh, nothin'. Y'been here long?"
"Only a quarter-bell! I'm glad you came so soon, this music's got me itching to dance." She wasted no time in gripping his thick wrist.
"Ginny -- uh --"
"Don't even try, Berrod, I've seen you dance, you know what you're doing. Come on!"
For all his bulk he was tugged along and cast into the scattering of moving bodies as though he weighed nothing. There were a few couples -- and a sprinkling of Miqo'te dancers, all splashed in the sticky orange light. Ginny had clearly been impatient about getting the opportunity to dance, Â she wasted no time. Her body became liquid flesh that personified the rhythm, each limb moving in expressive tandem with the beat. Her eyes closed and a smile of sheer enjoyment took her lips in an almost sultry quality -- but all her intimacy was reserved for the music.Â
Berrod found himself far too weak in the knees to begin dancing along with her at first, and the reaction shocked him. The Highlander was no stranger to jumping onto a dance floor and keeping close to the most tantalizing female figure he could find, so why did Ginny make him feel like a peach-fuzzed youth?
Ginny moved against him, possessed of a tone both teasing and foreboding. He could feel the heat of her body through his leathers and it set a primal fire within him that he knew she would not quell. Her hands brushed the exposed portion of his chest, her hips ground against his and  her thighs snaked alongside his own. With every turn she made her hair brushed his neck and the sweet smell of it filled his nostrils. He ached with a sudden troublesome hunger -- a need he knew he could not satisfy. Not with her.Â
He finally managed to begin moving along with her -- he wasn't bad at it at all, his training had taught him to move his body on the command of an internal beat; with an actual, audible beat to guide him along, it was child's play. Just as Ginny had grown bold with her hands (quite often they ran along his jaw, shoulders and arms) so too did he seek to do so, planting his hands on her hips. It was all she allowed, for when he slipped his palm onto her stomach she moved in brilliantly timed evasion. At those moments she opened those blue eyes of hers and gave him a smoldering denial. The line was drawn. No matter how sensuously the writhed and gyrated, she remained firmly on the other side of it. Far was it from Berrod's discretion to actually cross that line with her, at any rate. Friends and nothing else. That agreement had been made a long time ago.Â
And so they danced, releasing their worries and woes into the embers that floated into the night's sky.
Berrod had arrived on invitation, lured by the promise of free food and drink. He wore his usual leather trousers, boots and harness, not quite willing to be caught without them in the desert at night. His host stood waiting for him, silhouetted against the blazing bonfire -- an hourglass in Midlander's form.Â
"'Ey, Gins."
Ginny stepped forward and brought her features into sharp relief; her black hair tied back in one, her blue eyes that shone gold in the light of the flame, and those lips that looked like they may have killed as much as they had kissed. The Midlander woman was dressed in a rather short top that exposed her pinched midriff, connected to a low pair of hip-hugging silk pants that spared no effort in complementing her shape. "Berrod! You came!"
It took considerable effort for Berrod not to choke on his own saliva. She looked gorgeous. Several glittering bangles shook along her smooth bare and milk-pale arms. "Gods save m'loins right now," Berrod muttered.
"What was that?" She asked. Fortunately, his remark had been genuinely missed.Â
"Eh, nothin'. Y'been here long?"
"Only a quarter-bell! I'm glad you came so soon, this music's got me itching to dance." She wasted no time in gripping his thick wrist.
"Ginny -- uh --"
"Don't even try, Berrod, I've seen you dance, you know what you're doing. Come on!"
For all his bulk he was tugged along and cast into the scattering of moving bodies as though he weighed nothing. There were a few couples -- and a sprinkling of Miqo'te dancers, all splashed in the sticky orange light. Ginny had clearly been impatient about getting the opportunity to dance, Â she wasted no time. Her body became liquid flesh that personified the rhythm, each limb moving in expressive tandem with the beat. Her eyes closed and a smile of sheer enjoyment took her lips in an almost sultry quality -- but all her intimacy was reserved for the music.Â
Berrod found himself far too weak in the knees to begin dancing along with her at first, and the reaction shocked him. The Highlander was no stranger to jumping onto a dance floor and keeping close to the most tantalizing female figure he could find, so why did Ginny make him feel like a peach-fuzzed youth?
Ginny moved against him, possessed of a tone both teasing and foreboding. He could feel the heat of her body through his leathers and it set a primal fire within him that he knew she would not quell. Her hands brushed the exposed portion of his chest, her hips ground against his and  her thighs snaked alongside his own. With every turn she made her hair brushed his neck and the sweet smell of it filled his nostrils. He ached with a sudden troublesome hunger -- a need he knew he could not satisfy. Not with her.Â
He finally managed to begin moving along with her -- he wasn't bad at it at all, his training had taught him to move his body on the command of an internal beat; with an actual, audible beat to guide him along, it was child's play. Just as Ginny had grown bold with her hands (quite often they ran along his jaw, shoulders and arms) so too did he seek to do so, planting his hands on her hips. It was all she allowed, for when he slipped his palm onto her stomach she moved in brilliantly timed evasion. At those moments she opened those blue eyes of hers and gave him a smoldering denial. The line was drawn. No matter how sensuously the writhed and gyrated, she remained firmly on the other side of it. Far was it from Berrod's discretion to actually cross that line with her, at any rate. Friends and nothing else. That agreement had been made a long time ago.Â
And so they danced, releasing their worries and woes into the embers that floated into the night's sky.
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
