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Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching. Goldspice worked with a steady beat, hammering the gold she had saved into a sheet. Moss watched her, interested not so much in the work as he was in her. She was like a piece of craftwork in and of herself, something he had seen grow and thrive through the many turns. Her skill with the precious, rare metals just proved what he knew was within her. Goldspice's heart was as detailed as the pieces she made. He liked to fancy he knew the secret intricacies of her inside and out as well as she knew her craft. For instance, he knew that, soon, beads of perspiration would form on her brow and between her breasts. He watched her, almost tasting her salt on his tongue. Later, if the gold cooperated sufficiently, he would have the chance. Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching. Her strokes were firm and never missed their mark. She was one with her work right now, and he wondered if she even realized he was there. Surely she knew – he had told her he was coming to watch her work. Goldspice had smiled at that. She enjoyed his company, as long as he didn’t try to “help” her with her work. He almost laughed as he remembered his first misguided attempts to show the expert her errors and the near violence which instead ended in a most satisfying lovemating. Moss cast an affectionate glance around the forge, spotting a few familiar tools before returning his attention to the slim, muscled arm wielding the small hammer. The fire burning hot within her carefully reinforced forge cast a golden tint to her bare skin, a warmth he instinctively knew would be found in her touch. It was becoming mesmerizing. Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching. Moss felt his insides twitch a little and he considered the motivation for an instant before something more emerged from the usual presence of affection and attraction. The steady rhythm of her working was calling to his musician's mind and he could tell a song was rising inside of him but he hadn’t brought his drum. He could use his hands, but on what? Things in the forge were either too hot or too hard, and they wouldn’t create the sound he wanted. He looked around, the new impulse drawing his attention readily and turning his thoughts to any and all percussive possibilities. Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching. His lovemate was only using one of several hammers. He could use one of those. But… he wasn’t sure they were the right instrument for the sound he wanted. The echo would be too hard, too cold, wouldn't it? The slack tub caught his attention – there were a couple of wooden spoons near it, which he knew Goldspice used to stir the waters. ‘Yes!’ he thought to himself and took two in hand. Now, for music. And the first beat he would add was a slap of water. Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching Slap. Goldspice sent him a wordless question as she worked, a quick sideways glance risked from her task to see what he had begun in her particular sanctuary. He responded with his own send, **Making music with you.** He did not look over again as he searched the immediate area for additional inspiration. Moss felt her send-smile, though, and grinned. This would be fun. Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching Slap. He looked around. There was so much more to add. To the slap of the water he added a stomp of his foot and a ring caused by his hitting a hanging pot. Ching. Ching Stomp. Ching. Ching Slap Ring. Then he added knocks on one of Goldspice’s worktables. Knock Ching. Ching Stomp. Ching Knock. Ching Slap Ring. Moss was starting to feel even more complex rhythms building around them. Goldspice reacted to the music as well, and she increased the pace a little. He grinned. Adding more and more sounds to the impromptu song, using only the items found in the forge, together, they made a percussive musical rhythm that had his toes curling with the pleasure of creation. Knock Ching Ching. Ching Stomp Ching Splash. Ching Ching Knock Bang. Ching Slap Ring Ching. They went on, both perspiring as they worked. Moss and Goldspice linked minds in sending and shared the rhythmic beat of the shaping tune as it paired with their heartbeats, reflected in their breathing. The intensity sang along his nerve endings and he sensed the echo of it in his lovemate, an enveloping warmth growing between them that went beyond the physical exertion. It was new and fresh and instinctive, a steady gathering of sounds building to something he knew could never be reproduced except, perhaps, between he two of them. All too soon, he noticed the sheet of gold smoothing to perfection and knew it was time to end. Moss pulled the beats slowly, allowing the music to fade, and finally Goldspice was alone once more in her work. Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching. And she stopped. Smiling, she looked up at Moss. He met her amber eyes with a smile of his own. No words were spoken as she transferred the now even sheet of gold to her table. She would work on it more, later. He helped her to dim the fires with water, enjoying the sound and hiss of the steam, wishing he had thought to add that sound to the beat. Maybe next time. Now, with the absence of their manufactured music, he found new awareness of his lovemate's presence - her form and scent and sound. He lowered the bucket carefully before looking up once more. Goldspice had a tune all her own, contained in her heartbeat and the sigh of her breath. Drinking in the sight of her bathed in sweet, salty sweat, Moss took her hand in his and pulled her close. Words were not needed. The promise shared between them, of rhythms yet to be made that night, lay open.
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