There are always a number of things I do to relax. I spend time in the gardens among the herbs and sometimes I sit with Sebastien underneath the Mimosa tree and tell him stories of our homeland. He looks up at me with sleepy, amorous eyes and hands me violets and lily of the valley that he’s just picked from beneath the tree.
But among my most favourites are spending a quiet evening in the library at home after dinner. The fire warms the entire room with the soft crackle and the scent of alder wood is not nearly as welcome or as fragrant as the whiskey cured tobacco that my consort, Sebastien, has taken in a pipe. There are always books and wine, and warmth. And somewhere in that time there is always the inevitability of skin touching skin. Breath mingles to reveal more skin, consuming each other in the rising tide of forgetting absolutely everything outside of that very moment. The world stands still and the only mark of time is the rhythm of the ticking of the clock on the mantle, of breath, stroke and soft sighs.
That to me is relaxation.
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Character / Folklore/ Mythology
Word Count: 218
Crossposted to
Life Belongs to Sekhmet 