Ivan didn't expect to be testing the security so early on in his visit. He was straddling the high external fence, which was adorned with rusty metal spikes, though they weren't sharp enough to really cause any harm unless doing something very, very stupid.

Ivan was doing something very stupid. He had some inexplainable aversion to going through the unlocked servant's entrance - it didn't seem to fit their relationship at all, though posing as a servant would technically be good cover. He hoped no one saw him awkwardly scale the fence, in a way only an acute sufferer of vertigo could. Ivan liked land. Low down, nice and flat land, which he was in moderate danger of returning to at great speed if he was not careful. Eventually he slid painstakingly down the other side and landed firmly in the grounds of Theraldon Manor.

Phew! I hope no one saw that.

Khymarah found herself in the front sitting room this day. It wasn't that anything bad had happened, but she felt pensive. She'd not seen the doctor since their last, passionate encounter and she'd been to afraid it would look desperate for her to show up at his surgery again so soon. Then again, the ruby haired woman felt lonely. Her mind kept playing that night over again in her head, and it was effecting her. Everytime she had a free moment, she would sit and daydream. Like she was now. Sighing, she shook herself from the memory and glanced out the window.

And stared.

And laughed.

It was Ivan, and he was just sliding down the gates. Why hadn't he used the side gate? It didn't matter. Her heart skipped and she quickly stood, almost running to the front door, skirts bundled into her hands. Reaching the door, she paused. Checking her hair and letting down her dress, she tried to look like she wasn't absolutly estatic to see him. Reaching down and grabbing the door knob, she opened it and smiled, watching him.

Ivan saw the door open almost the instant that he turned towards it. Considering the time it probably took to walk downstairs, she had likely spotted him in the middle of straddling the top. This realisation made him look and feel intensely sheepish.

Scratching the back of his head as he approached, then wincing while he twiddled a dredlock, and trying to no avail to force his heart rate down and the blood from his cheeks, he said,

"Uhh, it...it seemed less tall from the ground, my lady."

She raised a hand to her mouth and giggled, he was altogether to sweet when he was busted. Opening the door to allow entrance, she stood to one side.

"Why didn't you just use the side gate? It's not locked." As he came closer, she was reminded of how much he made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. Looking at the ground and back again, she nodded.

"Welcome to my home, Doctor Ivan Mottoni." The galdor said formally, sweeping an arm at the interior.

"Trust me, next time I will!"

Ivan didn't want to mention his aversion quite yet. Maybe it'd be something he'd get used to?

"Yes, I'm here to go over security, so I was just checking the fence was high enough. It's...sufficient."

He unwound a little, calmed and excited at the same time by the sight of her. He looked around quickly - the coast was clear.

"I'm here also to see the painting, and above all, to see you, Khymarah."

He gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek, and stepped inside.

She nodded sagely, keeping the giggles she had bubbling inside her under control. It didn't seem appropriate to tease the poor man any more than she should.



Blushing slightly, she closed the door, facing it to hide the little smile on her lips. Turning back, she bobbed her head.

"Thank you Ivan, it certainly makes me feel...safer..knowing your here. Please, come up to the studio." She walked past him, timidly reaching out hand holding his hand to lead him upstairs. Walking slowly, she suddenly became gripped with nerves and fear. What if he thought she was terrible! What if he hated the picture so far!

...what if he laughed?

"This way, doctor."

Ivan didn't know how awkwardly scaling her fence was meant to make her feel safer, but it was encouraging that she thought him endearing when he was being foolish, rather than, well, a fool.

He took her pale and warm little hand. It was delicate, but had seen work. It had the feel of craft in it - she had been painting.



Something about the way Khymarah said 'doctor' stripped him of his medical license and placed him in a sexual roleplay adventure.

"I can't wait to see!"

Blushing again, she led him up the mahogany staircase, all the while thinking about the fact he would be the first to see her private studio. It was a little nerve wracking to say the least. At the top of the landing, she led him to the left, towards a plain white door. Down the other end of the hall there was quiet talking, laughter and one door opened, a small head popped out and back in just as fast. More laughter.

Letting go of the doctor's hand with an apologetic smile, she reached into her purse for a small silver key, putting it into the door lock and turning it with a satisfying 'click'. She rested her hand on the door and looked back at him.

"Prepare yourself." The galdor said with a nervous grin, then she opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was medium sized, and paintings of all sorts hung on the walls, on freestanding easels and even leaning in a pile against the wall. White sheets covered some of the paintings on the easels and a large freestanding mirror was spotted at the back of the room, beside a large easel and a small table with paint pots on it. On the easel was a painting of a familiar woman, standing in a desert scene, wind whipping back her hair and traditional mugrobi outfit. Shutting the door behind Ivan, Khymarah walked over to the painting and gestured.

"This is it." The ruby haired woman put away the key and looked nervously from Ivan to the painting and back again. She couldn't seem to keep her eyes on him, worried of laughter or failure.

At the opening of the door, a waft of that creative solvent smell filled Ivan's nostrils, and he found himself inhaling deeply. Compared to the plain hall and door, the interior was a real feast for the eyes, and he took a moment to look around. All around paintings of various subjects could be seen, where they weren't covered in a sheet, or being leaned upon by a more recent work.

The level of artistic accomplishment was high - she'd reached a kind of refinement normally seen well into an artist's third decade of work. Palettes went from subdued earths to flexible, almost synesthetically inspired bold hues seen in works from the Bastian Masters. The focal points in most were enhanced by a creatively uneven distribution of attention, almost like an image in a dream. And some indeed did appear to be views of environments that only the imagination could conjure.

After looking for a few moments Ivan could pick out which paintings were commissions too, the lines felt restricted, itchy footed, like they wanted to dance, visible in the more fluid personal pieces.

For a woman who had not experienced the touch of a man, she had a very confident knowledge of the human form.



He wanted to immediately tell her how amazing it looked, even in its unfinished state, but he stood gawping for a moment. He then stepped closer until he was inches from it, studying the brushwork in detail. Turning to her, his open mouth changed into a sideways grin.

"It's...incredible!"

He took steps back, worried the eager flicking back and forth of his attention on the painting and on Khymarah would cause his tied up locks to touch the wet painting. Standing beside her he again regarded the painting from a distance as a whole composition.

"Are you sure you've never been to Mugroba?" he grinned more.

"The way the sand is whipped from the top of the dune...it's just right."

Ivan also noted that she had accurately captured the beauty of form he saw in Khymarah, that she, as a galdor did not. The dress made her look so exotic! And Ivan allowed his mind to wander a little.

The galdor felt a release in her chest, like a lifted weight. Her smile broadened and she blushed with pleasure. It just felt good to have someone say that.



Laughing, she shook her head, waving a hand.

"I'm really glad you like it, I wasn't entirely sure about the colors, but I felt the fiery tones would work well with that situation. And the wind, it reminded me of hair, I can imagine the sweeping gusts." She pointed at the dress.

"Is it correct? Like I said earlier, I used myself as a model. I'm sorry if it looks a little too much like me. I can change that if you need." Her words were coming a little fast, like she was eager to get the sentences out.

"That's just right. The desert people sometimes called them "strands". Infact that's where the term "hairy weather" comes from, you know."
He wondered if Mugrobi trivia was really going to interest her that much.



Ivan turned back to her, his smile wide and wicked.

"Don't you dare change it."

Being alone in her studio, the scent of her field and the fumes complimenting eachother, Ivan felt a thrill. Turning, he brought her close and kissed her deeply.

"Your eye for form...refined brushtrokes...delicate curves..."
He said, gasping between kisses.

His left hand descended her spine, and stroked past a cheek on its way to her thigh. Leaning forward further, he pulled her right leg upwards a little.

She didn't realize she had wanted to feel his kiss so much. Closing her eyes, she gave into his embrace, returning the passion with a deep seeded need that she couldn't grasp. A small whimper escaped her throat between his gasped words.



The galdor felt the moment of his hand even through her skirts, and as it brushed her rump, she felt her field pulse delightfully. It practically danced as he pulled on her leg from the thigh, and she lifted her hands to rest on the back of his neck, allowing him to pull her closer. As he leaned against her, she felt a firm warm pressure between her legs. Suddenly, everything came crashing down. She put a hand on the table, paint pots bowling over onto the floor. Pulling away, she turned her head.

"Ivan, stop. Stop." She said breathlessly, trying not to notice the hard lump against her pelvic bone. It scared her and thrilled her all at once.

Ohh, godsdamnit!

Ivan tried to bring himself under control, which in this case felt similar to trying to remain sitting on a horse that had stopped at a cliff edge from a gallop. What had he done wrong? Had he misread the situation?

Presently he noticed that while he may not have been too forward, part of him really was. Embarrased, he crouched and righted the paint pots. Cerulean blue hue and permanent rose flowed together on her studio floor, and mingled futher away into a mauve spiral.

"I'm sorry, I, uh..."

Ivan wasn't sure how or what to apologise to exactly.

"Do you have something to soak this up with?"

Khymarah straightened, taking her hand from the table and looking around almost in a daze. She felt absolutely useless, it wasn't like it was wrong. And what was so scary about it? Blushing, she nodded, stammering.

"I..yes..yes I do." She walked briskly to a white sheet and tore it off a painting, hurrying back and kneeling on the floor beside the paint, mopping it up almost angrily, not caring whether her forest green dress got messy or not. Not daring to look at him, she stopped midwipe and fought back the urge to cry. What the clock was wrong with her. She wanted to have him touch her, it felt so good. But an instinctual part of her brain told her that it would be a little scary, and a little painful. Their were things that happened in between that she didn't understand, and his engorged member was one of them. Furrowing her eyebrows, she continued wiping.

"I am so sorry." She said to the floor, pretty sure the apology was aimed at Ivan.

Ivan looked up in suprise.

"Sorry? You've got nothing to be sorry for."

He held her hands between his own paint stained ones, and saw her reddened eyes.

"Oh Khymarah, forgive me, I know, I'm going too fast. I don't want to upset you, but holding back with you, it's...not easy for me."

His eyebrows raised some and a corner of his mouth perked up.

"It...seems like unfamiliar territory for you. How much do you...know about it all?"

She couldn't bring herself to look up at him, instead staring at their hands. How could he stand her? Every time he wanted to be close to her, she turned him away. It must be frustrating.



Finally raising her dual coloured eyes to his own earnest hazel ones, she blushed and smiled a little. Although she felt really bad, it still flattered her to hear that. A remembered thrill dashed up her spine and she resisted the urge to shudder.



Her blush turned a deep red and she looked at their hands again.

"I...well...ahem.." She bit her lip and closed her eyes briefly.

"I understand anatomy, I know that was...you...your.." The red head left the sentance hanging, taking a breath.

"How much do you know about casting a spell?" She asked in a quiet voice, trying to show that she knew as much about this stuff as he did about casting. Brunnhold didn't run a course on this stuff, and she'd not had boyfriends at school to discover things along the way. After Brunnhold, it was much the same.

Yup.



"O....oh..oh, wow. Ok."

No wonder she was timid!

He didn't want her to feel like it was her fault she didn't know about these things, but by her age, he had assumed it had already been giggled out of her through her teens. She really must have been very isolated at the university, and he felt a little pity for the timid redhead. And his penis must have been an enormous suprise.

"So you mean to say, when you feel urges....you've never done anything about it?"

Khymarah watched him slowly dawn with the realization of just how pathetic she was. It was stupid, she was stupid. The ruby haired young woman focused on their clasped hands again, to embarrassed to look at him.



This brought her back to his face, with a puzzled expression.

"Urges? What...what would I do about..." Her eyes went a little wider and she looked away with a stammer.

"Oh! Oh I...well...I mean...thats not how a lady..acts. I mean, its...thats.." She shook her head. It had never occured to her to 'act' upon those feelings like the ones he stirred in her. The red head knew that they started...down there, but she'd never once thought to...do anything. Clearing her throat, she spoke.

"No."

Ivan dried his hands on the cloth he was using, and when the pigment would not smear any more, he sat himself down next to her. They were both on the floor, covered in paint.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, it's a natural feeling."

Ivan put an arm around her waist, leaned towards her ear, and whispered,
"I can show you. We can go as slowly as you like."

Khymarah sat back on the floor and watched him as he purposly wiped his hands on the cloth, her blush still present. She couldn't imagine a more embarassing thing to say to someone she had feelings for. He came over and sat beside her and she looked down at her skirt, leaning on one hand and brushing paint off her skirt with the other. Now came the speech about how it was all alright and she didn't need to be ashamed, with the slight tone of pity. Thats how it would go.



The younger woman's hand froze and she stared at her skirt, into nothing. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears and her face felt hot. Turning her head slightly to look at him, her expression a little worried looking. Swallowing her nerves, she nodded slightly, not trusting herself to speak.

There was something incredibly adorable about how entirely nervous and scared she was. Ivan hoped he could remain as slow as she wanted him to go.

He took a hand and placed his over the top, lacing his fingers through hers. Face still close, he sniffed her hair and kissed her at the corner of her jaw, moving slowly down across her neck, feeling heartbeats and breaths pass so close under the thin tissue.

He pressed their combined hand first just below her sternum, feeling her diaphragm quiver and her core temperature rise.

Taking shallow breaths through slightly parted lips, Khymarah closed her eyes and held herself still under his tickling kisses, goosebumps rising on her porcelain skin. Her body responded in kind, and she shivered slightly. His hand on hers was warm and guiding, and she allowed him to move it.



The pressure was comfortable, and in the back of her mind, she felt the scared little girl starting to come out. Concentrating on his soft lips, she pushed the nerves away, waiting to see what he would do next.

The feeling of her submitting completely to his lead was a powerful turn-on, and Ivan had to concentrate on remaining in control.

His mouth found its way gradually to the soft 'v' of her windpipe, and he pressed on it playfully and firmly with the tip of his tongue, then moved further up under her jaw, onto her chin, to her lower lip. Catching her lip in his mouth he chewed gently and sucked, causing bloodflow and sensitivity within to increase.

He guided her hand up to trace the ridges of her sternum, then slowly across her left breast, making a sluggish spiral over the top and round the far side. When they reached the tip he curled her fingers very slightly into the stroke. The corset was thin, and he could feel well enough where he was at all times.

Ivan edged bit by bit around her until he sat more behind her and could play puppet master more effectively.

A soft sigh escaped her parted lips as he pressed with his tongue, delightfully lost in the sensation. Lower down, a little jolt took her body, and she made a slight gasp. It was a new feeling, and definitly not unpleasant. Her field hummed gently around them.



Khymarah felt the jolt again, a lot stronger and deeper. A soft, barely there moan escaped her red lips as he moved further around behind her. Every nerve, every bit of her being was focus on his guidance. Her breathing came just a little faster.

Ivan fed on the little sounds escaping her, and he felt her field hum pleasantly. Mages always made for very responsive lovers, though it wasn't quite as though she was unaware of his feelings either - he was positioned directly behind her now, and hoped his mast was not causing her discomfort.

With their right hands, Ivan drifted up over her collarbone and pushed down the left shoulder of her dress, exposing a little of her corset. Curling his fingers between hers, he unhooked the first two eyelet clasps, then guided their hands onto her bare flesh.

Ivan tilted his head and continued kissing the right side of Khymarah's neck, with his free arm reached forward to her left thigh and brought it closer. His fingers traced her medial hamstring tendon from beneath her knee and pulled her dress upwards at the same time.