#after the night they had the sexy ticle fight

[sabraeal]

The Daisy Chain, Chapter 8

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

At long last, the end of this series! AO3 informs me that the last update was in December 2017, so uh....enjoy. This was written for @puffdragongirl for her birthday, which is TODAY because I am an adult who can totally finish things on time. Just...ignore that this fic has only needed one more chapter for two and a half years.

The room is dark when she slips through, silent save for the sound of Obi’s breath, thick and heavy with sleep. Shirayuki sets her back to the door, guiding it shut softly, the latch engaging with a sharp click.

It’s just how she left it: his coat slung over the back of his chair, the spray of paperwork across his desk, the soft glow of the stone on the bedside table; how it looks every night she’s snuck in to steal his warmth.

Save for the clothes strewn by the beside, of course, shucked as quick as corn at a husking, and the bare body sprawled beneath the sheets.

A hand claps to her cheeks, burning. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t even thought it could, but--

Her eyes adjust, enough so that she can trace the sharp lines of his face in the darkness. Her heart clenches, overwhelmed with fondness, and she cannot hold back her smile. Shirayuki may not have meant for it to happen, but she’s glad it did.

His robe slides from her shoulders, joining his jacket on the chair. Cold air stings her skin, and before she can give a single shiver, she slips beneath the covers, pressing her body tight against his. He’s warm under her hands, bare-chested beneath the cocoon of covers. She would never dare, not even in summer, but Obi is a furnace; only seconds beside him and she’s warm from head to toe. By morning she’ll be a sweaty mess, and--

And that could be from an entirely different reason than she’s used to.

Shirayuki raises herself onto her elbow, watching his chest rise and fall beneath her hand. She knows this rhythm well, the long lull of his sleep; it’s been her constant companion these past few years, the last thing she heard before her dreams pulled her under. To think, for so long she fooled herself, believing that she could sleep as easy with another’s.

He sighs, head tilting on his pillow. The lines of his face are slack, unwary, his breath steady and slow. Perfectly peaceful in this place.

Her mouth rounds into a faint smile. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His breath stutters, and she smothers a smirk. As if she couldn’t tell he was faking after all these years.

His nose wrinkles, eyes screwing shut. “I see Master is telling my secrets now.”

Her hand cups him, his cheek stubbled against her palm. With no hesitation, he leans into it, nose nuzzling down its hatched lines, the heat of his breath skating down her wrist. “Obi.”

He sighs, eyes slitting open to reveal a sliver of gold behind the cage of his eyelashes. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Never?”

He rolls up onto his side, lips brushing the base of her palm, sending sparks down her skin. “Not ever.”

Her mouth slants wryly. “So much for that.”

A laugh rumbles up from his chest, muffled by her palm. “Well, I wasn’t the one who told you.”

“Why.”

Obi blinks, eyes wide and gleaming like coins. “I...” His fingers clench in the sheets between them. “I didn’t want you to act any differently. Or...or make you feel that you had to-- to--”

“Love you?”

“Pity me.” His fingers wrap around her wrist, slowly stroking down to her elbow. “I consider myself a pragmatist, after all.”

“Obi.” She rests her forehead against his. “No more secrets.”

His chest trembles beneath her palm. “But how will I maintain my reputation as a man of mystery?”

She shakes her head-- or rather, rolls it along his forehead, noses brushing at the tip. “Have your secrets, then. Just not from me.”

His breath leaves him on a sigh, body relaxing under her touch. “I could live with that.”

“Good.” Shirayuki tilts her head, their noses parting as she closes that last breath of space between them.

A sparks courses through her at the touch, catching the tinder in her belly. It smolders, each brush of his lips against hers fanning the flame, threatening a blaze. Her fingers clench at his shoulder, and his answering moan makes her wonder if they could close the gulf between their bodies and start again, picking up where they left off--

“Are you all right?” he breathes, putting a healthy, finger-width of space between them. “Are you sure that we--?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, chasing his mouth, feeling that sweet rush of victory before he pulls himself back again.

This time, it’s further, and when she opens her eyes, an incredulous arch of an eyebrow waiting for her.

“No,” she admits, bowing her head against his shoulder. “I mean, yes to-- to wanting. But I’m not...” She bites her lip. “It was never going to be an easy conversation.”

His mouth curves mischievously in the dark. “It could have been easier.”

“I...I don’t think so.” His gaze is dubious when she leans back to meet it. “I could have been better prepared, and I could have, ah...avoided this sort of confrontation, but--” her fingers tips idly on his skin as she gathers her thoughts-- “this was never going to be...clean.”

He hums, unconvinced. “If you needed this conversation at all.”

“I did. We did.” She lets out a huff; if only words came as easily as kisses did when she was with him. “I think...I think I knew-- I knew when you said I couldn’t-- that a princess couldn’t work beside a common boy.”

“Ah, Miss!” He jolts away from her, as if her touch scalds. “You shouldn’t have listened to me. I only--”

“No.” Her hand cradles his cheek, and she leans in, rubbing noses together once more. “You were right. I just wasn’t ready to hear it. And when he asked for my hair, and you told me to tell him to come get it himself, I--” her breath catches in her throat-- “I knew he wouldn’t come.”

“Well,” Obi drawls, mouth rucking up shadows. “Looks like you missed the mark on that one.”

“That only makes it worse. He only came to collect, not to-- to--” she sighs, shaking her head-- “not to see me. This isn’t the way I wanted to start the conversation but...”

She worries her lip, choosing her words carefully before saying, “If this hadn’t happened, I’m not sure I ever would have had the courage to walk away.”

“Well,” Obi laughs after a long moment, teeth flashing white in the dark. “If you’d wanted to leave so badly, all you had to do was as--”

Her hand pushes at his chest, playful. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I know.”

“It’s only...” She curls in closer to him, her feet pressing against his shins. “It’s so much easier to do something when it isn’t just for yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He catches her hand, pressing it flat against his breast. “Before I met you, I did everything just for myself. Wasn’t too hard.”

Beneath her palm, his heart beats slow and steady, as faithful as Obi himself. “And now?”

His thumb strokes down the long bone of her hand. “And now I have so much more to lose.”

“No.” It’s little more than a breath, her fingers curling into his hair. “You have so much more to live for.”

His lips curve, entirely too inviting. “That’s splitting hairs, Miss.”

“You know,” she manages, eyes fixed on the full bow of his mouth, “I liked it better when you called me by my name.”

His breath stutters in his chest, his heart racing just beneath her palm. “Ah, but did you really like that, or just what I was doing while I used it?”

Heat pounds through her as she remembers the way his hands had gripped her thighs, how they had felt wrapped around him, how he had felt as he moved deep withing her--

“Can I say both?”

One of those hands grips her now, firm against the round of her seat, and drags her hip-to-hip. “You won’t hear any objection from me.”

Ah, yes, it certainly-- certainly doesn’t feel like he has any objection. Or, um, clothes.

Her cheeks flare unbearably hot, but she’s never been one to back away from a challenge-- or such a welcome invitation.

“We were interrupted before.” Her hand snakes from his chest to his shoulder, and oh, it would be so much easier if she was the sort of girl who was used to this, to asking for things, but-- “We shouldn’t leave things unfinished.”

She expects his mouth to tilt, for a wicked smile to spread across his lips as he slides her impossibly close, the heat of his breath skating across her skin, but--

But instead he only pulls back, concern furrowing his brow. “You didn’t--?”

“You didn’t,” she breathes, palm smoothing down his side. “Don’t you want to?”

“I--” The excuse dies on his lips, swept away by the slow brush of hers. He groans into her mouth, fingers digging hard into her thigh. “Ahh, Shirayuki, you--”

“Mm,” she hums, pressing closer, mouth tucked against his neck, his pulse thrumming against her lips. “I like the way you say it.”

“Haah?” he manages, hips canting towards her as her fingers trace over the curved bone of it. “What do you--?”

“My name.” He hisses as the words form against his skin, head tilting back. “I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

Her hand drops those last inches, wrapping around the hard length of his cock. He jumps under her touch.

She hadn’t touched it the last time; between the way his fingers had felt and the urgent need to have him inside her, she hadn’t even thought to try. But now its heavy weight is in her palm, both solid and soft. The skin is like nothing she’s ever felt-- well, at least not with her hands-- smooth and stretched tight over the firm flesh beneath. She knows it’s not bone, that it’s only vascularized tissue filled to the brim, but it’s hard enough that--

“Shirayuki,” he pants, forehead resting on hers. She blinks up at him, confused, until she realizes her hands have moved on their own, tracing along the bulging vessel on its underside, and--

And that’s working for him. Curious.

“Shirayuki,” he tries again, fingers gripping so hard they could bruise. “You don’t have to--”

His voice is lost, falling into a guttural groan as she finally moves, stroking her hand down the length of him. Heat pools between her legs at the sound of it, at the way his hips jerk between each stroke, chasing her touch.

She hooks a calf around his thigh, steadying herself. “I want to.”

His head tips back, exposing the tender skin of his neck, and Shirayuki knows an invitation when she sees one. Her mouth finds a ridge of bone, suckling at the flesh there, drawing out the most intriguing sounds from his throat.

“Shirayuki.” He’s panting, painfully hard in her hand, but still he manages, “I don’t want you feel like you have to-- that I have to--”

Her teeth nibble at the bone. He curves into her with a moan, hands clutching at her, dragging blunted nails down her back.

“I don’t,” she breathes, pulling away far enough to see how his pupils are blown, only that thin wire of gold remaining around the eclipse of his eyes. “I want to make you feel good. As good as you felt in me.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, hips bucking against hers as her hand slides along his cock, steady and sure. It’s-- it’s sticky now, some sort of liquid pearling at the slit on its head, but she isn’t disgusted, not in the slightest. Oh no, she smears her palm over it, rubbing it down his shaft, and is rewarded with another moaning laugh.

“If you keep talking like that, none of this is going to last very long,” he warns, words pulled taffy long as he thrusts into her hand.

Her pace stutters. “Do you need it to?”

Six years she’s worked in the clinic, solving every issue from bee stings to pleurisy, but none of them help her here, not when she is feeling as far from clinical as Wilant is from Wistal. She knows the mechanics, how to insert a round peg into a round hole, but these finer details can only be found in a library called experience, a place she has never been.

“Is that better for you?” she worries. “Should I go slower?”

His breath gasps against her shoulder, fingers bushing mindlessly down her back as she lingers on every stroke.

“Anything is good,” he croaks, “just as long as you don’t stop.”

The ache is voice is answered between her legs, pulsing at every hitched breath, at every lost word. But this isn’t about her; it’s about the guttural noises wrenched from his throat, about the way his hands can’t seem to pull her close enough, about the hot breath panting against her neck. It’s about how he took care of her before, laying her back and taking her so sweet, so gentle, and leaving nothing but pleasure behind. He took care of her, and now it’s time for her to take care of him too.

She wants this to last, to bring him to the same dizzying heights as he had brought her, to watch him shatter as he comes--

But oh, her arms are tired. They never mention this in any of Yuzuri’s novels.

“Something wrong?” he grunts, head lifting from the mattress. It’s only then that she realizes she’s slowed, her movement jerky, and-- and--

Well, she can’t imagine it feels good.

“My arm is tired,” she admits, heat flaring over cheeks. He lays a kiss there, muffling a laugh. “I’m not used to this sort of, ah...exercise.”

“Oh,” he croons, finger tracing along her burning triceps. “Your poor scholarly muscles aren’t used to this kind of abuse?”

“No, they aren’t.” She sighs, giving her hand a disappointed glare. “Is there anything else I can do?”

His mouth rounds into a wicked curve. “Oh, I could think of one or two things...”

“Oh!” She blinks. “What is it?”

He laughs, shaking his head, and waves her hands away. “You’re too easy, Miss. And it’s fine, I can finish this. After all, I’ve been doing this myself since--”

“No.”

He stares at her, and she stares back, just as surprised. “I mean, I want to.” She lets out a shaky breath, tracing his vein with her finger. “I want it to be me.”

Obi groans, loud and long. “Alright,” he murmurs, reaching for her. “Alright.”

With no warning at all her word tilts, settling only when she’s on her back, Obi hovering above her. He parts her legs, and oh, the wetness between them floods out, coating the tops of her thighs. She hadn’t known-- hadn’t thought--

His hips settle against her, his cock pressing into her belly, and-- and she knows the moment he feels her, feels how wet he’s made her, because he rounds over, mouth open against the collar of her nightgown, and moans.

“Shirayuki,” he gasps. “Shirayuki, please-- aahh.”

Her hand finds him again, wrapping around his cock, and her other follows, until every inch of him is covered, and the sound he makes when she moves is--

Is short lived.

His mouth presses hard against hers, no longer those hesitant, gentle brushes, but instead tangled tongues and sharp teeth. Her heart pounds, but it’s not the rabbit tattoo fear, but the ravenous drumming of a larger beast, one hand raising not to push him away, but draw him closer.

Her nails drag down his scalp, urging him to take more, to nip at her lips and lick her teeth, and he does, he does, but-- but his hips rock into hers, the base of his cock hitting her just where she needs it, just where she’s been dying for attention, and she whimpers.

He stills against her, and when she opens her eyes-- ah, when did she even close those?-- he’s staring down, jaw slack and eyes dark, and--

And then his hands are on her, one buried in her hair, holding her to his mouth, and the other palming her ass, holding her steady as he grinds into her, keeping pace with how she works him, driving her ever faster, rougher, until she can hear the wet slap of him between her legs and--

And it isn’t fair. This is for him, just for him, and all she can think is how good he felt in her, how good he would feel in her if only he wanted it--

“Shirayuki,” he whimpers, pulling at her lips. “Please, please...”

“Obi.” His name is little more than a whine. “Obi, you have to-- you have to tell me what you want.”

His head shakes buried in her shoulder now, sweat dripping onto her skin. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Please.” She tangles her fingers in the bristle of his hair, tugging him back until he meets her eyes, desperation plain. “I want to make you feel good.”

His eyes flutter shut, a blush spread across his cheeks, his chest, and all he manages is, “Yes.”

“I want to make you feel good,” she tries again, but oh, his hips are so distracting-- “But I need you to tell me how.”

He groans. “I want--” a hiss breaks through his teeth as she rubs her palm over his head-- “I want to be inside you.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh.”

“Ah, no.” He lets out a pained laugh. “We don’t-- you don’t--”

“No--” her hands drop from him to tangle in the hem of her nightgown-- “please--” she drags it over her head, thighs opening wide for him-- “please put your cock in me.”

He stills above her, jaw slack. “Oh,” he manages. “Alright. Yes.”

She’s still sore from the first time, but she’s so wet he hardly has to do more than push and he’s seated in her. It’s an odd sensation, different than the last, as if she’s tight and worn at the same time, raw and still wanting. He thrusts, breath hissing between his teeth, and oh, yes, that’s what she’s wanted since he pulled from her that first time, to feel him in her again, right where he belongs.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and then he’s lifting her hips, tilting her just the way she needs for him to be deep inside her, hitting her in a way that’s so perfect, too perfect, he is perfect-- “Fuck, you can’t just-- you can’t tell me that if you want-- If I’m supposed to--”

Oh, she hadn’t...she hadn’t known she was saying that all out loud.

“I want you,” she tells him, little more than a whisper in his ear, rolling in to meet each of his thrusts, her body humming with that elusive static, building with each thrust of his cock in her. “Please, I want you.”

“Haah.” He nips at her collarbone. “You feel much too good for talk like that.”

She grunts, confused, and he presses a sweet kiss to her lips, at odds with the desperate way he’s rolling into her. “If you keep talking like that,” he tells her with a laugh, “I’ll come.”

Something deep within her clenches, and they both moan. “I want you to come,” she tells him. “I want it--”

“Ha-haah,” he puffs, fist clenching in the sheets. “Good, because I-- I can’t-- I’ll pull--”

“No.” Her thighs squeeze tight around his hips, keeping him buried in her, allowing him only the space to keep his rhythm. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

His eyes pulse wide. “But I could-- you might--?”

Words fail him, and he just lays a hand on her stomach, and she knows with a clench of her heart which ones they were, which future he didn’t dare bring into the space between them.

Her hand lays over his even as her hips goad him on. “That wouldn’t-- it wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“Shirayuki,” he manages, bare moments before he crushes her to him, pumping into her with abandon, saying the most wonderful things in her ear--

And then it’s over, his large body dropping limply over hers, their sweat mingling with their skin.

“Ah.” He rolls to his side, freeing her from his weight. Strangely, she misses it. “You didn’t manage it that time, did you?”

The heat is almost unbearable now that he mentions it, and she squirms against him. “I’m fine. I don’t need to—to come again.”

He gets a wicked look on his face. “Oh, no. This is an easy fix, Miss.”

He kisses his way down her body, and by the time he puts his lips against her cunt she—

“Well,” he laughs when he ears have stopped ringing. “Clearly we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Her limbs are limp, languid. “Later,” she promises as he settles beside her. “In the morning.”

His eyes widen even as hers close. “Yeah,” he murmurs as sleep pulls her under. “In the morning.”