Oh wow. Erik gets the front row seat to the wave of adoring fascination that River feels hearing his original accent; she has to shake it off or the eggs will burn, which feels unfair to her. Still...
Soon enough, though, breakfast and coffee are ready. River gets the plate and cup on the table, briefly murmurs a prayer, and then retreats to give Erik control.
There's really nothing like having his ego stroked by her adoration from the inside. He'll have to make a point of whispering naughty things to her in this voice from now on. For the time being, however, he'll return to his customary Midwest accent. It's easier to stick to just this one after all the training he put himself through to cultivate it. But, just before he does switch, he lets her hear a long rippling chuckle in his native accent, because it's worth burning the eggs just to see her reaction to it.
"Do you pray before every meal?" he asks her as he settles at the table. He's the picture of prim and proper with his elbows up off the table to slice into her eggs.
The first pass with the knife barely does more than pop the yolks. He laughs at himself, and then speaks up to let her in on the joke. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at your cooking. I'm so very used to using only the barest amount of my own strength lest I break the plate in half. I'm still adjusting."
But, here now comes the moment of truth. He takes a bite and... moans so obscenely one might wonder if River has a caller over after all. "Dear God, I forgot how different the taste of food really is."
Do you pray before every meal. The question gets a sort of chagrin in response, the kind a person feels when caught mispronouncing a word they've only read, and never heard aloud. Soldiering habit, she explains. Sort of. When times are dire, that's a good time to beseech Red Troth for a path to victory or the Quell for a merciful judgement, but otherwise? A meal might be the only blessing in a day's march, so you don't go bothering the gods with a warrior's inevitable bitching and moaning and carrying on.
This will be the only coherent thought for a minute, because Erik's reaction to breakfast gets gales of lilting laughter.
"No matter how many times you speak of them, I'm always struck by how different your people's relationships to Gods are compared to my world." How different things could have been...
Her laughter draws his attention away from such philosophical musings. It ripples inside his mind, filling his blood with heat like a rising fever. Oh. It really is. He can feel his body flushing warm with a new kind of hunger. Well, if it was ever a secret to begin with it won't be now. River's laughter is sexy as hell for him.
"You have such an effect on me," he says in mild embarrassment. "Keep that up and I'm never going to make it outside."
He laughs--and surprises himself in the process because it sounds like her but not her's--and has to rest his fork lest he choke while doing it.
"If I had more than one day to spend, I might still try." Not really. Probably.
The heat in him still hasn't subsided and it brings to mind a new and softer thought. "I've always loved how hot you run, you know? Your arms, yes, but your passions as well, River. I truly do not know how to thank you for giving me your body and your trust with it. I won't ever forget this."
The warm feeling that comes from River is all affection and fondness. This is my art, you know? It's nice to be able to make people happy with it...you especially.
"I'd never considered if something like this could be an art before I met you. River, you have opened my eyes to so much new beauty." That's saying more than he knows how to actually express.
He punctuates this with a sip off coffee and coughs. "This, however, might take some time to grow on me. How can it smell so nice and taste so bitter?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lordoftheozarks) wrote2023-06-13 08:20 pm
no subject
Soon enough, though, breakfast and coffee are ready. River gets the plate and cup on the table, briefly murmurs a prayer, and then retreats to give Erik control.
This will be good.
no subject
"Do you pray before every meal?" he asks her as he settles at the table. He's the picture of prim and proper with his elbows up off the table to slice into her eggs.
The first pass with the knife barely does more than pop the yolks. He laughs at himself, and then speaks up to let her in on the joke. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at your cooking. I'm so very used to using only the barest amount of my own strength lest I break the plate in half. I'm still adjusting."
But, here now comes the moment of truth. He takes a bite and... moans so obscenely one might wonder if River has a caller over after all. "Dear God, I forgot how different the taste of food really is."
no subject
This will be the only coherent thought for a minute, because Erik's reaction to breakfast gets gales of lilting laughter.
no subject
Her laughter draws his attention away from such philosophical musings. It ripples inside his mind, filling his blood with heat like a rising fever. Oh. It really is. He can feel his body flushing warm with a new kind of hunger. Well, if it was ever a secret to begin with it won't be now. River's laughter is sexy as hell for him.
"You have such an effect on me," he says in mild embarrassment. "Keep that up and I'm never going to make it outside."
no subject
no subject
"If I had more than one day to spend, I might still try." Not really. Probably.
The heat in him still hasn't subsided and it brings to mind a new and softer thought. "I've always loved how hot you run, you know? Your arms, yes, but your passions as well, River. I truly do not know how to thank you for giving me your body and your trust with it. I won't ever forget this."
no subject
no subject
He punctuates this with a sip off coffee and coughs. "This, however, might take some time to grow on me. How can it smell so nice and taste so bitter?"