Nobody's Business but the Turks | 26th late evening- Xmas 1677

[Guest]

John smiled at her reaction. He loved this, not just his own pleasure but her reactions. It was yet another revelation of some of the pleasures of life. He was surprised when she so quickly gasped but a moment later she cooed just so and squirmed. John suddenly shuddered and came, something unfamiliar to him, but very satisfying. He let out a long, lusty moan. By the time she slackened, he was panting. He’d lost himself entirely for a moment.

 

Her words caused little thrills. He was not used to being called beautiful so it thrilled him all the more. Her hand drew him forward, as if magnetic, and he idly kissed it. He looked down on her full of affection and perhaps even reverence. A shaking hand reached out and gently cupped her cheek before he leaned down to kiss her again. Rather than drawing back up, he settled next to her. His face was amazed and full of his youth and inexperience, worn away somewhat by the lady’s wiles.

 

For once, John didn’t feel like blushing. And he knew, somehow, she’d enjoyed the coupling too. He felt a gently glow, a satisfied weakness. And... he felt alive. Aware of a hundred spells, a thousand colors. Every detail of the world laid bare to him, and all of it looked beautiful.

 

He gently brushed a strand of hair that hung most fetchingly, stuck out of place from their movements. “What should I c-c-call you?” He asked. A simple question, but with layers in the reply.

[Hope]

Settling into a relaxed lovers embrace, the sound of tanbur whispered at the edge of focus, and the world seemed perfect.

 

"Well, I rather liked it when you called me Lucinda, it was a surprise, yet seemed perfect at that moment. Ah, but, what address do you think suits me best? Perhaps it differs in the different roles we take, today, I was your teacher, and there might be many more lessons hmm? We might be lovers, playmates even. And I would wish you to escort me out to parties at times, perhaps another salutation is needed for that. And, yet beneath it all..." she returned his soft smile of the affectionate gesture, her own hand touching his cheek tenderly,"... there is a title I would enjoy from your lips, yet it is taboo, and need not be overused."

 

"My son abandoned me, did you know, only two years ago now he disowned me and left for the colonies. I know I shall never see him again. It pains my heart still." she fell silent a moment, "but you can guess there is more to the tale."

 

Gliding finger, she traced around his jaw, slowly up and around, across his brow and then down his profile, "But tell me of your story, my dear. How is it you are orphaned, calling so, to my wish to care?"

[Guest]

“Corinna?” John offered, cupping her cheek. It was the name of Ovid’s ardent love, who he had written numerous poems and books to. She had helped teach him, and was central to his teaching the art of love.

 

“Teacher, lover, and playmate.” John repeated, readily accepting them all. He left it to her what they would be when abroad. But she had one title she wished, one that even she, experienced though she was, hesitated to say. John smiled warmly, welcome and affection in his face. “Tell me,” He asked. He wanted it, he wanted to know anything that could make her heart sing with joy, “I w-w-will whisper it sweetly when I know it w-w-will make your heart flutter.”

 

“That’s t-t-terrible.” John said, and in his tone and look he meant it. He felt being abandoned very deeply. He leaned forward and kissed between her breasts, just above her heart, then pulled her to him tightly. He hoped it gave her some comfort. Being held always helped him. She said there was more, and John nodded, obviously ready to listen but not about to push.

 

She asked after him, “My f-f-father passed when I was very young. Twelve or so. He f-f-fell ill, and seemed to be getting better, but then… got very worse and passed. My m-m-mother went some five years later, by violence.” John’s tone sunk, and instinctively he clutched her for comfort. “They, uh… I w-w-was never exactly wanted.” John was skirted into very vulnerable territory. It showed in his tone and his demeanor.

[Hope]

"Who is Corinna?" she asked. She never found those old tales interesting enough to read more than a sentence or two. Though she had heard people say names, Zeus, and some some woman rolling oranges, Pleiades, or was that a star constellation, Venus was probably one of those stories too. It was a bit too much academia for the Countess. Lucinda was more interested in the living and breathing, those right before her she could touch.

 

Yet of the name that tickled her mind, she could not say, but glanced away and stroked his arm... sharing something of herself. His reaction held great empathy, his kiss, his embrace. Laid together she begun the tale, "It was before I married the late Earl, I fell in love with poet. As you might guess, I fell pregnant. Yet I could not marry him, what future would there be. I ended things with him, never told him. My father arranged for the baby to go to a home, arranged a sum for his care each month, and made due haste to seeing me properly settled. I suppose that is what I would do to, with a daughter gotten into trouble."

 

"It was not until he was twenty one that I first saw him. He did not know at the time of our relationship. What could I say, how could I tell him?" She left the topic there for a time.

 

John's own tale, very different, yet of such pain. She held him tighter, as though it might help ease the suffering of years. "That must have been awful for you," she whispered softly, "to loose them so young. Before they might fully see the youth become a man, and make them proud."

 

"It is a mistake, to not love who we are given, my dear dear boy, that they deprived themselves of happiness also. Ah, but perhaps this is not what you mean. I see a little quake, a tremor, a stutter. This no no thing to not love you for." she smiled a little, "or have you some secret yet to reveal, perhaps you turn to a were wolf upon the full moon? I can understand that might trouble a parent." He was so warm against her, and sharing like this, was so nice.

[Guest]

“Corinna was a Roman l-l-lady, the lover of a g-g-great poet, Ovid, and his teacher and helper in… many things.” John found Ovid a great deal more lively than many of the stodgy classical authors. This was the man who, in his catalogue of Roman festivals, included which were best for finding paramours and what sort of paramours could be found at each. And who had been expelled from Rome for indecent writing.

 

When she glanced away, John smiled and waited for her to be ready to look back at him, warm and welcoming when she did. He gently shifted against her, moving closer, as much assurance as he could give. And John listened quietly but intently to her story. There was no disapproval and he gently ran his hands along her bare back in an idle motion.

 

“It m-m-must have been very hard… for you.” John said sympathetically, “But it is a g-g-great thing you cared, that you w-w-wanted to be there. It’s m-m-more than many mothers.” So many ignored their own legitimate children, let alone their bastards. He kissed her affectionately, and still held her close. He looked at her with not only the affection but a growing sense that she was a good person, which was very important to John.

 

And in his turn, John gladly eased into her tight grip, obviously taking comfort in it. “It w-w-was terrible.” John said with a tone not too dissimilar to a soldier recounting the terrors of a battle. His eyes became distance for a moment, he almost seemed to look through her as he remembered the worst of those days.

 

She spoke of loving those with them, “Yes,” John said, through dry mouth. There was a reason John clung so tightly to friends and family. He sounded very sad, wounded as he spoke, “Sometimes I think they only saw a b-b-broken thing.” John said. He knew that wasn’t true, but the emotional wounds it had inflicted on the young boy were deep. “And I sometimes think I think that b-b-because it’s easier to think of them as evil or stupid than j-j-just to admit my parents were full people who d-d-did not love me.”

[Hope]

"Then I would not be Corinna, my poet was nothing so remarkable. Although apparently he's popular enough now, in the colonies, leader of some manner of sect. It is bizarre dear, how lives can turn."

 

"I never carried to term again." she admitted quietly, which possibly explained why she'd not been able to let go.

 

Hold loosening again, she remarked, "Does it strike you, how... well, we are two halves." her hand slid across his chest softly, lips kissing his cheek once more. "... almost as though our past losses can be compensated by each other." it was a coincidence quite bizarre, one that she'd certainly not anticipated. She would not tell John now, but she'd just been looking for a festive seasons pleasurable distraction, and had thought his interests might align with hers. She hardly imagined he might align quite so perfectly.

 

"Even broken toys can, need be loved." she whispered.

 

"It is society who is the villain in our stories, the expectations held, the perfect ideal that so few can attain. Yet no man nor woman is ideal, everyone needs our forgiveness at times, or a blurring of the lines of judgement. If you were judged harshly my dear, avenge yourself by leniency upon them. I have forgiven them already, for here I have their son in my arms."

[Guest]

“As you p-p-please.” John said of the name. He had no real attachment to it, though he liked the idea of some special name to call her. When she admitted she’d never had another child (and that she’d tried), John held her tightly. “It’s alright,” He said, not sure what was alright. He just wanted to assure her, to give her what comfort he could.

 

They were two halves of a whole, two people who wanted to provide what the other needed. “Yes,” John said, a bit meek, “I w-w-was afraid I was just seeing it b-b-because I wanted to.” But at that he gently stroked her cheek and looked at her, eyes shining. “It m-m-must have been so hard.” His tone implied that hardship was at an end, perhaps for both of them.

 

John slid down in her arms, resting his head against her chest, nuzzling in. He listened as she begged forgiveness for them. But John had never sought vengeance, never abandoned them like her son. It wasn’t in his nature.

 

“I love you, mother.” John guessed at the name she so wanted. And with that he rested against, happy her, peaceful, and content. He felt loved and desired, intimate and accepted, and there nothing more he wanted. He clung to her in warmth, drifting with the soft twangs of the tanbor.

[Hope]

"Initially yes." she agreed. The young Lucinda had been troubled: raised with the notion that her greatest achievement would be to procreate an heir, she'd felt less of a woman without. She'd tried all the traditional things, progressing on to those less so. Secret lovers, at first in hope of a child by any means, yet eventually the means became the distraction. Eventually her focus shifted, with time a person can adjust to near anything. "Though not so much now... it is an ache that I barely notice unless I think upon it."

 

Never the less, his next word when uttered caught at her heart. Though jaded, and hearing his claim of love as reckless and premature, the phrase caught at her unexpected. Her breath caught, her eyes turned to meet his then look away. A small smile, concealing a swell of heart much deeper. Falling back into incline, hair spilling out around her face, her voice husky and emotion-touched whispered, "Show me how much my dear boy..."

 

And so the night dissolved into the wee hours, Lucinda extracting his promise to escort her to dinner the night following.

 

 

OOC: fin!