Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was only enjoyable so long as she was enjoying it. Ovaan flushed with shame as she tried to pull away. Had he done something wrong? Was she mad at him? He knew that he'd overstepped a very large boundary. Oh, what was wrong with him?! Why did being bad have to feel so good?

"Sorry." He mumbled gruffly, blushing. He put a hand on each of her hips to help support her so she could get off of him, out of his lap. He didn't consider her waist to be another thing that was kind of sensual to touch. He knew nothing about women. He was embarrassed about how he'd gotten carried away, upset that she had asked him to stop, and overall confused because it had felt so good. His pulse still hadn't slowed, as if he'd been flying very fast.

Ovaan flinched when she touched his cheek, expecting her to slap him or claw him with her nails. He relaxed when she instead carressed his cheek, leaning into her touch. A hand moved to cover hers, holding her warm palm against his cheek. He was silent for a moment after she spoke her request. Finally he replied. "I'll try. My wings are still damp, I might not be able to fly." Flying would require him to carry her, which meant holding her close. He flushed at that thought, but it was a happy one. He hesitated before releasing her hand from beneath his so that she could get off of him so he could stand up.

Ovaan stood and stretched his slightly cramped muscles, flapping his large moth-like wings experimentally. He shook his head. "The only way out of here is to fly." He reached back and gently stroked one of his wings, sending a shiver down his spine as he he did - that area of wing was fairly senstive. It was still damp, but they could probably survive. "I'll just have to fly slower than usual." He said, speaking it almost as though it were a suggestion. She had agreed to return with him to the tree. He did not want to get on her bad side and make her change her mind. After a small hesitation, he held his arms open to her, silently beckoning her closer so he could pick her up to fly her out.

It took Ovaan a moment to take off because he had to catch his breath, which was very hard to do when he held the object of his affections so close that he could feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed.

Feeling nicely light-headed, he took off.

It was still drizzling by the time the broke out of the ground. Ovaan battled the impending doom of his wings becoming too wet to fly again by speeding up. Moving his wings had dried them and was now keeping them dry. His hand on the back of her head pressed her face into his chest as his body tense, his flight speeding up. He rolled over midair, now holding her on his chest, as he barrelled into the little cove of the tree, landing sprawled, momentarily exhausted, on his back and letting her roll off of him or remain laying on top of him as she pleased.

"That...wasn't...so bad..." he panted.

Ovaan was as red as Kelala, and once again there was a struggle for breath that didn't all have to do with the mad flight. Though it was nice to blame it on that. He shook his head, rolled onto his side, and then jumped to his feet.

"Are you alright?" He asked Kelala after staring at her dazed form in confusion for a moment or two, the sound on the rain and their breathing the only noises breaking the silence. "You look ill."

Ovaan watched her with his usual curiosity. Everything she did confused him, then amazed him, then fascinated him. Not always in that order, too. He rung the liquid out of his hair, flapped his wings just in case, and pulled the strange jewelled comb from the single set of drawers.

With his usual disregard for personal space, he took her by the arm and pulled her to a sitting position on the floor. Kneeling behind her without giving her any sort of explanation, he worked the comb through her damp hair. Considering how much joy he seemed to find in playing with her hair, it was surprising that his own dark locks were always in such tangled disarray.

When her hair had been worked into a soft, dark silk, Ovaan hesitated, wondering what to do next. On impulse, he let the comb fall to the floor and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face in her neck, absorbing the warmth that had become an addiction to him. "I'm sorry." He moaned into her neck, apologizing for everything he could in three choked syllables. Then he pulled away from her, horrified with himself. He didn't want to act like a child around her. He wanted to impress her. He wanted her to stay. He just wanted...

"I left you down there." When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. His tone sounded surprisingly...sane. It was the serious, intelligent tone he'd used when he'd first confronted her, before he had seemed completely insane. "I knew An'shek would attack you if you tried to get out, and I knew you would, but I left you down there anyway..." His tone wasn't miserable. It was quiet and serious, his gaze trained on the floor beside her. There were only a few inches between his body and hers and a part of him begged him to close the distance, but he was too ashamed of himself to touch her. "I can tell you're mad at me. You get all quiet and thoughtful when you're upset with me, which is how you usually act around me. But I don't care if you hate me." For a moment he seemed to struggle with his own thoughts. Then he heaved a sigh. "No, that's a lie. I care very much if you hate me." In a sense, he was rambling, but it was the most intelligent rambling he'd done in a long time, and the most sincere, honest little speech he'd ever given. He still couldn't bring himself to look at her.

Slowly, Ovaan looked up, swirling purple eyes meeting her rich gold ones. His eyes were moist with tears he refused to shed. "You think I'm insane." He said softly. "I know you do. You feel sorry for me." Though he wanted nothing more than to lean into her touch, he forced himself to pull away. "You don't hate me because I'm too pitiful to hate." His words were bitter, and once again he looked away from her.