#also thought perhaps she might use charcoal (sometimes?) because she could make it herself in campfires!

[kantrips]

This is a birthday gift for @varric-tethras-editor! It’s (kind of I was guessing when I drew it) her non-Inquisitor OC Marin Lavellan, along with a little sketchbook spread inspired by Cam’s fic, Mend My Life which is absolutely wonderful and I couldn’t recommend more.

Happy birthday Cam! You are an absolute gem and I so, so appreciate your contagious enthusiasm, sense of humour, generous support and enormous writing talent. You deserve to have an absolutely lovely day and I hope you do. <3

[beauregardlionett]

my lungs won’t last

AO3 Link

In all truth, Yasha had probably spent far too much time combing the street markets for such a meager gift. But given all the options she had come across in her searching, this seemed like the best option. The Aasimar still couldn’t help but feel like it was a somewhat inadequate gift for the sentiment she wanted to express.

She was sitting downstairs in a corner of the tavern they were holed up in, contemplating. Caleb had mentioned wanting to create his tower for the night, but they reassured him that after the exhausting hours spent on the road in days prior, they were more than content with the inn for one night. So she pressed her back against the wall as a practice in grounding and turned the little parcel over and over in her hands. It was a simple gift, wrapped in unassuming brown paper and tied off with a pale blue ribbon. Yasha debated with herself over whether she should have asked for fancier paper.

Shaking her head, Yasha exhaled long and harsh, working up her courage. She shoved to her feet, startling a nearby patron, and strode with a confidence she did not possess toward the stairs that lead up to the rooms.

Beau and Jester usually shared a room together when they travelled from town to town. But earlier, the little blue Tiefling had exchanged a look with Veth and they ended up bunking together. This left the boys in a room together and Yasha with Beau. Even though they both had a key, Yasha knocked before entering.

Pushing the door open revealed Beau sat up against the headboard of her bed, notebooks sprawled in disarray around her. When the monk saw that it was Yasha at the door, her brow furrowed with confusion. The journal Beau had clearly been pouring over lowered as she sat up.

“What’s up, Yasha?” Warmth coiled a knot in Yasha’s belly at how easily Beau read her. The Aasimar’s expression was not exactly forthcoming, even at the best of times. But when it was Beau, she could get Yasha to spread her emotions open like the pages of a well-worn book. There was a near implicit trust Yasha had that Beau would handle her with care, would turn her fragile pages with delicate fingers and never judge her for stains and smudged ink. She willingly laid all of her emotions bare for Beau to absorb - but perhaps it was not enough. Because sometimes Yasha caught flashes of hesitation from Beau, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Or for Yasha to make the first move.

“I got you this,” Yasha finally remembered to answer instead of just staring at the enthralling lines of Beau’s visage. She awkwardly extended the package toward Beau and tried to fight down her blush.

Beau set aside her journal, marking the page with her charcoal and gingerly taking the parcel. Yasha could see that Beau wanted to look excited, but there was also a veneer of hesitation - perhaps tinged in suspicion - that held Beau back. The Mighty Nein had given each other gifts without cost many times before, but they were all so used to the tangle of strings attached that it was a hard habit to shake. Expecting nothing for free meant that everything free always came with a cost.

“What’s this for?” Beau asked, predictably, but not unkindly. She said it with the cadence of a child trying not to get their hopes up.

“Just...” Yasha started, stopped, and began picking at her fingernail nervously. “I uhm, saw these. In the market. And it made me think of you. They’re nothing fancy, but...I thought you might like them.”

Beau, not seeming to need much more convincing, tugged the ribbon loose and unwrapped the paper. Yasha - to her credit - didn’t bolt before Beau finished unwrapping the gift. Her nerves were chewing up her insides over such a simple present, her finger pick, pick, picking at her nail. She felt a little foolish.

The monk stared down at the tiny box of pale-colored slips of square parchment, quiet. She looked at Yasha and raised one eyebrow, a silent question for elaboration.

“They are uhm...magic.” Yasha wished she could disappear, she felt so flustered. “You can write messages that are, uh...fifty words or less on them. And then you, uh, you whisper the name of the recipient, and it turns into a little bird and takes the message. And, also...if anyone tries to intercept it, the bird crumbles to ash. You know, for...for privacy.”

Yasha knew she had lost the battle with her blush, her face hot and her eyes darting down to watch her mangled nail. When she had purchased the little package, it had seemed like a very useful and thoughtful gift for Beau. But now, Yasha was holding back the urge to snatch the gift away, apologize, and go bury herself under a massive pile of dirt.

“I just thought - you know - with your expositor stuff...it might be useful? That way you don’t have to ask Jester to send messages to Dairon that might be...y’know, secret?”

Beau blinked, looking down at the parcel, then back up at Yasha, seemingly at a loss for words. Yasha took that as her cue to leave and made a hesitant, aborted gesture of farewell. Turning her back, with a soft, “yep,” Yasha started for the door. She was already making plans to find a quiet place to smash her head into a wall.

A little paper bird flapped frantic wings in front of her face, and Yasha blinked. Holding out her hand, the bird settled and unfolded, revealing the two words scrawled in very large, frantic font.

Don’t go.

Yasha turned to look at Beau and found the monk already halfway off the bed and across the room toward Yasha. There was a sheen to her eyes that the Aasimar hadn’t noticed before, and she waited for Beau to reach her, to say something. Because Yasha felt a little lost, floundering for solid footing.

“Thank you,” Beau breathed, eyes locked on Yasha’s. “That was...a really thoughtful gift. No one has ever just gotten me something so specific like this before. I mean...the others have gotten things with me in mind, but never like this. So...thank you.”

Yasha was harshly reminded of Beau’s less than stellar childhood and felt all at once sad that such a simple gift like paper would mean so much. But also proud that she had got something meaningful for the monk.

“Can I kiss you?” Beau asked, voice soft in the otherwise quiet room. “You can say no.”

Yasha nodded without hesitation, and Beau swooped in, hands coming to rest on either side of Yasha’s face to press several breathless pecks against her lips. The taller woman wrapped her arms around Beau’s waist and held her steady, trying to meet the monk’s fervent rush. It was only after the racing of her own heart registered in her ears that Yasha could hear Beau’s voice pressed out between kisses. A breathless litany of thanks murmured over and over again, each one more of a gasp than the last. The Aasimar was beyond surprised that her simple gift could elicit such a response, but she didn’t call it to question.

Instead, she steadied Beau and cupped one hand at the base of Beau’s neck, encouraging this kiss to linger. Pulling back after a few wonderful seconds, Yasha brushed her thumb over Beau’s cheekbone and stared down at the breathless woman before her.

She almost said it was no problem, or to not worry about such a simple gift. But Yasha caught her tongue before it could move. Something like that might seem like she was trying to invalidate the meaning Beau felt behind it. Or that Yasha was trying to make it something lesser. The truth was, Yasha wanted Beau to know how much she thought about her every day. And while the paper birds were nowhere near enough to express everything she wanted to say to Beau, it was a start.

Yasha pressed a careful kiss to Beau’s forehead and instead whispered an overflowing, “you’re welcome.”

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

hi hi hi, please can i prompt something a lil bit angsty (because i do adore my angst). the first serious fight that theo x draco x hermione have, and maybe how they make up after? thank you.

I loved loved LOVED this prompt, and I’m sorry it took me so long to get round to it. If it’s any consolation, it’s nearly 4k words long...?

Featuring: Draco being the grandiose nobleman he was brought up to be, Theo unthinkingly going along with it, one EXTREMELY tired Hermione who is absolutely not up for surprises or grand, showy, romantic gestures, Hagrid, Fang, Firenze the centaur, and a dollop of fluff to wash the fleeting angst and misunderstandings down.

Hope you enjoy it!

___

After the longest week, with barely a moment to catch her breath, burning the candle at both ends, all Hermione wanted to do on Saturday was sleep, read up on a few more things for an upcoming Ancient Studies test, perhaps lounge in the boys’ room down in the Dungeons, and perhaps convince one of them to give her a massage. Simple, humble plans, every last one of them.  

But the universe, apparently, had other ideas, given that it had seen fit to make the busiest week of term so far culminate not in an ordinary weekend, but in Valentine’s Day.  

Wizarding and Muggle alike the world was awash with pink hearts and red roses, and Hermione wanted nothing to do with it. She never had, and she knew that both boys were unfortunately prone to grand displays of affection, and that made her anxious and snappy. She’d spent most of the previous week - in the cumulative half hour that she’d actually spent in their company - trying to hint and suggest heavily that she had no interest in grand surprises and romantic endeavours. The most romantic thing someone could do for her was respect her wishes, after all.  

Quite deliberately, she’d not made any concrete plans to see the boys that Saturday, helped by the fact that Draco had an extensive Quidditch training session scheduled and Theo had some work to catch up, but after she’d woken at her usual time anyway, and had lain there for an hour, praying for sleep that wasn’t going to return, she got up. Her mother had always said that if you can’t rest, do something productive.  

The Great Hall teemed with excitable younger years, one or two unfortunate howlers, and a plethora of Exploding Envelopes filled with glittering confetti hearts from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and she turned around and left before even bothering to step inside. It wasn’t that she hated the sentiments behind Valentine’s at all, but honestly, it just felt rather cheap and the thought of it all simply… exhausted her further.  

Without pausing or returning to the Tower, she made the split-second decision just to bolt out into the grounds and found herself eventually at Hagrid’s hut. He was outside chopping wood and Fang was busy sneakily lapping tea out of the bucket-sized mug that Hagrid had set on a spare stump. The enormous hound looked up suddenly as she caught him in the act, but then gave a low, baying woof of welcome.  

“‘Allo, ‘Ermione,” Hagrid said with a grunt and a little puzzled frown as he straightened from his work. “Good te see yeh. What brings yeh down ‘ere at this time o’ day?”

She shrugged. “Got any jobs I can help with?” she asked instead and he raised an eyebrow and chuckled.  

“Don’t see yeh swinging this around…” the half-giant laughed, hefting the axe that looked like it weighed five times what she did.  

“Preferably not,” she said. “Though I’m not opposed to using magic to get it done.”

“I think I’ve got a few jobs we can do together,” he said. “Fang? Let’s go see Uncle Firenze, eh?” 

They spent the day in the Forbidden Forest with the centaurs, a rare opportunity that Hermione relished, gathering wild mushrooms that only grew in the very depths of the forest and bringing them back carefully in a covered basket for the potions storeroom, among other rare ingredients. She also spent a long time walking with Firenze, the pale centaur quizzing her about the state of the wider wizarding world now, and she in turn asking him questions about the more rigorous sides of the art of divination. The three of them, four if you counted Fang snuffling about in the undergrowth, ate a packed lunch of cheese sandwiches which Hagrid drew out of his top pocket, only slightly misshapen and squashed, and afterwards Firenze showed them some rare, early-spring berries that tasted like pomegranate but had the texture of blueberries.  

At last, her physical exhaustion matched her mental tiredness, and by the time they returned to Hagrid’s hut an hour from sunset, grubby and a little sweaty, she felt fit to fall over.  

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she said, pushing a strand of her ‘witch of the wilds’ hair out of her face, only for it to spring back again. It was so big at that point that a hippogriff chick could probably have nested atop it in perfect comfort. “I needed the distraction.”

He bowed in quiet understanding. “Any time, ‘Ermione. Yeh know that.”

She blessed him silently for not asking any more, and with a nod and a final pat on Fang’s head, she turned her steps towards the castle with no more thoughts in her head than for a long soak in a bath and an early night.  

Again, the universe apparently had other ideas.  

Pacing the entrance hall like his caged namesake, she found Draco looking breathtakingly smart in a set of charcoal grey dress robes and shiny black Oxfords. When he looked up and spotted her, his face did something complicated, the final expression settling on relief, and he came over to her in two quick strides.  

“Where the hell have you been?” he barked, scowling. “Look at the state of you!”

“Out and about in the forest,” she said tersely, hackles rising at his tone. “I didn’t know I needed to report my whereabouts to you, Draco…”

“You —” he began but he broke off and took a breath. “You don’t. Of course you don’t. But I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Theo too. He’s gone to Gryffindor Tower to ask for you again. You weren’t in the library and no one has seen you all day.”

“Why?” she asked. “It’s not like we made plans…”

Draco went still at that, his cheeks first paling and then flushing.  

“Did we?” she pressed, hand on hip, now quite certain that they had not. “Oh god, Draco, don’t tell me you’ve got something dramatic planned for Valentine’s, and you haven’t told me because you wanted to surprise me?” She pinched the brow of her nose. “Please… I told you how I feel about that kind of thing…”

When he spoke again, his voice was cold, defensive, even haughty. “Actually, yes, I do. I wanted to do something nice for you today, and I’d appreciate it if you went and washed the thestral shit off your skin and the twigs from your hair, and changed into something nice. I know you know how to dress up, Granger.”

The frayed end of her metaphorical tether slithered into sight and vanished utterly, and she gasped, “You’d ‘appreciate it’, Draco? Well, you know what I’d have appreciated? Being asked!”

“I’m asking you now,” he said petulantly.  

“No you’re not!” she shrilled back at him. “You’re demanding. This is the classic, old Draco - ‘Go and change, Granger’, ‘dress up nicely, Granger’.”

Draco balked visibly but ground his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he snarled, sounding more frustrated that contrite. “But we’re going to miss our booking, and I’d really like to make it. Please… will you go and change?”

She nearly said yes. Damn her, but she nearly said yes.  

Even after the week from hell, with tutoring sessions and tests and homework and prefect’s patrols, she nearly said yes.

But this time, Hermione Granger was going to stand up for herself.  

“No, Draco, I won’t. I’m exhausted, and all I wanted from today was to relax, have a bit of time to myself, and spend the evening in the bath and then in bed. If you’d told me instead of just assuming I’d go along with whatever grand gesture you’re pulling out of your arse, then maybe I’d think differently. But you don’t just get to order me around like I’m some pureblood debutante to decorate your arm for the evening, Draco. Goodnight.”

And with that, she stormed up the stairs, leaving an astonished and fuming Draco at the bottom, his face revolving through a series of expressions and colours.  

She passed Theo on his way back down and he almost didn’t spot her as he scuttled down the staircase looking equally and devastatingly handsome as Draco had. “Hermione?” he asked, skidding to an ungainly stop and having to grab the banister to support himself as she charged past him.  

“Ask Draco,” she said over her shoulder. “But whatever it is, I’m not going. You two should go and indulge your penchant for lavish evenings on each other.”

“Fuck. I knew it,” she heard him hiss, but to his credit, he didn’t follow her either.

Hermione fumed all evening, and even the bath did nothing to calm her down. Despite her agitation, however, she did sleep soundly, the exertions of the day robbing her brain of the ability to over think itself into ever tighter and tighter circles. Sometimes she could see how far Draco had changed in what would be a year this May, but other times he defaulted to his pureblood upbringing; to the son of a nobleman, used to having people do his bidding without question. She tried to be patient, but at times like this, it irked her more than she would have thought possible.  

The fact that this was their first major falling out - sure, they’d had little misunderstandings and had snapped at each other before now - was also a major contributing factor to the free-floating stress and anxiety coursing through her. What if he never learned to ask instead of demand? Was that the kind of person she wanted to spend her life with? And Theo had been Draco’s boyfriend before he’d been hers. Would he always just go along with what Malfoy wanted? Doubts chased each other like kneazles and bats in her brain when she woke in the early dawn, until she thought she might go mad.  

Malfoy really had been a wonderful boyfriend so far, but he was undeniably prone to bouts of showy, melodramatic romanticism. Her mind conjured images of the diamond necklace he’d gifted her for Yule, and the staggeringly expensive watch he’d gifted Theo, and she struggled to brush them away. He’d come a long way, and he’d changed a lot, but some things took their time, and she doubted whether other things would ever change.

When she stepped out of the Fat Lady’s portrait the next morning, she ground to a halt and almost walked straight back into the tower before the portrait could swing shut. She didn’t, however. She held her ground and stared at Draco who was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, looking like he’d been there all night. The charcoal grey robes were the same, if dishevelled, the shirt open at the collar. Merlin, he really had been camped out there all night.  

He levered himself to his feet and stared at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he blurted before she could open her mouth. “Hermione, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t listening to you at all, and I should have asked, and I never should have just… presumed like that. I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

She stared at him. “So you know why I’m angry.”

“I didn’t ask,” he said immediately. “And I didn’t respect you. I knew that what I was doing wasn’t the right way to treat you, to show you… but I wilfully ignored that and went ahead with it anyway. I was a giant ass and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

His handsome face looked ashen and wan, his eyes pink behind the silver of his irises. He also carried the sleepless smudges of a night spent in a draughty corridor beneath his eyes.  

Looking around, she asked, “Where’s Theo?”

“Hiding,” Draco said bashfully. “And brooding. It’s awful. Sitting here on the floor all night was actually preferable to being around him.”

Fighting a smirk at his humour, she asked, “Did the two of you go last night?” Wherever it was they’d planned to take her.  

Draco’s brows dipped into a deep scowl. “Without you? Of course not.”

At that, she did twitch her lips. “Go and change out of last night’s robes, Draco,” she said gently, well aware that that was one of the things Draco had said to her, sparking the argument off in the first place. “And take a shower while you’re at it.”  

“Hermione —” he began, taking an aborted step towards her, but he swallowed thickly and nodded. “I’ve said what I wanted to say,” he added dejectedly, and turned away to walk down the corridor with his head held in a distinctly un-Malfoy bow.  

Before he’d gone two steps, she reached out and latched her fingers around his wrist. “I’ll see you in the Great Hall in a bit for some breakfast, ok?”

With eyes wide and achingly vulnerable, Draco tried out a little smile on his worried lips. It didn’t stick, but at least it had been there. “Ok. Thank you.”

She rolled her eyes as he walked off, hands in his pockets. “Such drama,” she said as she turned to find the Fat Lady watching their exchange with avid interest.  

The Fat Lady popped another chocolate into her mouth as if it were cinema popcorn, and giggled. “Young love,” she crooned. “I’ll enjoy telling Violet all about this later on! You mark my words. You know,” the portrait added thoughtfully as Hermione started to walk away too, and the witch halted immediately.  

“Know what?” she asked, warily.  

After another chocolate and a quick giggle, the Fat Lady said, “He tried every trick he could think of to get me to let him in. I know very well who he is to you, but I very nearly had to leave my painting in frustration. He kept it up until at least two in the morning.”

“When Draco sets his sights on something, he’s very difficult to dissuade,” Hermione agreed. “Thank you for not letting him in. I wouldn’t have welcomed his presence last night. I was still too angry with him.”

The Fat Lady looked horrified and said, “As if I’d let someone in that wasn’t supposed to be here!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hermione said. “But thank you all the same.”

With a soft ‘harrumph’ around another praline, the Fat Lady nodded.  

Theo was already in the hall when she entered, and she spotted him almost immediately. He was stirring his ceramic tankard of coffee listlessly with his spoon and staring into it like it held the secrets of the universe.  

“Drama queens, the both of you,” she muttered fondly to herself under her breath. Ignoring the Gryffindor table, she turned her steps towards the Slytherin one.  

Her presence there was now not such a surprise that most people ignored her approach without comment, effectively giving her the chance to sneak up on the lone Slytherin, sliding into the space on his right before he’d even realised she was there.  

“Morning,” she said in a low voice, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. The spoon clattered against the mug and coffee slopped over the sides as his fingers released it unbidden.  

“Hermione,” he breathed.  

His whole face was a question, and she laughed. “Yes, I’ve spoken to Draco, and yes, he’s still got his pretty face and both his bollocks.”

“What about his cock?” Theo joked reflexively, nervously.  

“You’ll have to find out later, won’t you?” she deadpanned without looking at him, reaching out to pour herself a mug of tea from a nearby pot.  

After a pause, in which Theo vanished the spilled coffee that had pooled around the base of his own mug, he asked, “So… how badly did we fuck up yesterday?”

She took a sip of her tea and added a splash more milk before responding. “Not going to lie, I was really annoyed with both of you for just assuming I’d be ok with being whisked off to wherever without a moment’s warning. I hate surprises, and you both know it.”

“Yeah…” Theo admitted.  

“So what were you thinking?” she almost shrilled. “That it’d be different if it came from you? That I’ll magically stop hating surprises just because they’re from you two?”

Theo half-shrugged, half-twitched, and said, “Kind of… Look, Hermione, I’m not trying to excuse us - we didn’t listen to you, and that’s the bottom line - but…” he broke off and ground his jaw for a moment.

“Just spit it out, Theo,” she said, turning and resting her elbow on the table to regard him properly.  

“We were raised in a different world from you, ok? From most witches and wizards actually. Purebloods like us are expected to behave in certain… coded ways with the women we’re… courting.”

“‘Courting’?” she snorted, unable to help herself.  

Adopting a sycophantic, over the top manner, he gestured and said, “Wooing, of whom we are seeking the favour, ingratiating ourselves… making our intentions known…”

“Shut up, you pompous prick,” she laughed and his face cracked into a tentative smile.  

He was clearly relieved to find laughter in her reaction, not anger. “So…” he continued in a more normal tone, returning his hands to the table and running his thumbnail along the grain in the wood, eyes downcast. “So… there are certain behaviours we kind of default to, and… honestly, there are certain behaviours that the women in our circles also expect of us. Big, showy, romantic gestures being one of them. You should consider yourself lucky you didn’t wake up to a room full of messenger owls all hooting imperiously and bearing enormous bunches of the rarest roses on earth or something…”

“I suppose I should,” she said, beginning to see it now from their point of view.  

“A pureblood wizard is expected to show that he can take care of the witch he intends to —” he cut off and swallowed, freckles briefly disappearing behind a rising flush. “—to court. That there’s nothing on earth he couldn't provide for her at the drop of a hat. I think we just… we just wanted to show you that we’re serious, but… we may have underestimated the calibre of the witch we’re dealing with here…”

“Maybe just a little bit,” she said dryly, and then sighed. “Did Draco really spend all night outside Gryffindor Tower?”

“Yup.”

“Big, showy, romantic gestures, huh?” she said, plucking a croissant off a nearby platter and tearing one end off. “I’m half expecting him to come in here with a single white rose in his hand,” she scoffed, looking up to find that Theo eyes were now fixed on a point just behind her. Draco had apparently arrived then.  

She saw his pale hand reaching down to the table out of the corner of her eye and when he picked up a silver spoon, she closed her eyes and laughed softly to herself. A tingle of magic nearby told her what he was doing, and sure enough, when she turned around to look up at him from her seat, Draco stood there with a single, transfigured white rose in his right hand.  

“Unbelievable,” she said, rolling her eyes again.  

Silently, Draco held it out to her and she took it. It smelled like summer evenings and she exhaled.  

“Apology accepted, Draco,” she said, glancing around. “Now sit down. You’re causing a scene.”

He slid onto the bench on her right and stared at the empty plate in front of him for a moment, hands resting elegantly on either side of it.  

She reached out and placed her palm over his, feeling the slight twitch beneath as their skin made contact. Hermione squeezed his long fingers until he looked up at her, his eyes shining and his face wracked with a complex mixture of emotions that she had no hope of deciphering.  

“Theo and I talked,” she said. “And he may have pointed out to me a certain ‘difference in upbringing’ that went some way towards explaining why you went to the lengths you did yesterday.”

“I still —” Draco began but she cut him off.  

“We’ve established already that you could have opened your lugholes a little sooner, but I feel like we’ve also moved on from that. It came from a place of love and good intention, and as such, I’d like to propose a compromise.”

At that, Theo and Draco both gave her their absolute and undivided attention and curiosity.  

Stifling a smirk, she said, “I don’t know what it is you had planned for yesterday, and frankly at this point, I don’t ever want to know. But how about we go into Hogsmeade next weekend and have dinner together. I’ll know it’s coming and what to expect, and you two can argue over who foots the bill if you want to make it a romantic gesture. Or we can split it three ways.”

“Absolutely not,” Draco said instantly and something hot flared inside her at that. “I meant splitting the payment three ways,” he added bashfully, seeing where her mind had gone instead.  

At that, the tension shattered and she tipped her head back and laughed, gripping his hand for support as she leaned almost perilously far back. Theo put his hand between her shoulder blades just in case, and half the Slytherin table began to stare at them.  

Theo leaned in close and said in her ear, “You’re causing a scene, dear Hermione.”

She squeezed Draco’s hand and let out a long, slow sigh as the laughter faded. “What am I going to do with you two?” she said, shaking her head.  

“Be patient…?” Draco all but begged, mumbling into his coffee. Where Theo took his black, Draco piled cream and sugar into his until it was barely recognisable as coffee in the first place. She smirked fondly to herself as she contemplated his ridiculously sweet tooth, and wondered if, with his penchant for apples, he also liked sour sweets. Perhaps she’d get Harry to owl her some Haribo to try out on him.  

“Hermione?” he asked, looking up at her. His skin was so pale it was like marble in the soft light of the Great Hall, and he looked eerily like the statue of a saint at a shrine in that moment, all hope and tentative expectation.  

For her answer, Hermione slid her left hand into Theo’s, and then reached up and took Draco’s chin in her right hand, turning him by his sharp and now-just-perfectly-pointed chin. His eyes were wide, gleaming, silver mirrors, fixed unyieldingly on her own.  

Hermione held him there between thumb and forefinger, and as she pressed a searing kiss against his pale lips, she felt Theo’s grip tighten on her left hand.

___

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

[fericita-s]

Beginning After The End (Part 4)

Part 1   Part 2  Part 3

This concludes this story about Thea and Hubert falling in love after the deaths of Elias, Agnarr, and Iduna. Thank you @the-spaztic-fantastic​ for being the best beta ever and saying “YES MORE” when I said I wanted to think about these two and their lives after the events of WAIL. And for her many contributions including the idea of getting Henrik back with these two for some shenanigans and many of the gift ideas. Thea deserves good things!

Elias had shaved every day at home, lathering up with a soap with a distinct scent that Thea had come to associate with him.  She missed the smell of it.  He came home from expeditions with a beard that was coarse and full.  Its roughness against her face when they kissed hello was part of the homecoming ritual, as was watching him trim and then shave it off, the time spent apart measured in how long it was.  She would cup his smooth cheek with her hand and say “There you are!” when he finished and then together they began their favorite part of his homecoming. 

Hubert kept his beard short.  This was becoming a greater challenge now that the white hairs in it were growing faster than the brown.  He would turn to Thea from his dressing table with the mirror propped up and the scissors in his hand, exasperated and possibly wistful and say “Why are the old-man hairs the ones most intent on announcing their presence?” 

She found the best way to assuage this particular fear was to kiss him on the lips while her hands scratched at his bearded cheeks. “I like it.  It makes you look distinguished.  Very reliable for knowing the best way to introduce ice cars to the national railway.” Often the scissors would be abandoned as his hand found places to caress that elicited less verbal sounds of satisfaction from her.

***

Elias had presented her with gifts throughout their courtship and marriage through the imports his family was so involved in.  He paid attention to the latest fashions that his mother and Linnea followed closely and seemed to always be giving her a new bonnet or pair of gloves or piece of jewelry or box of books.  He bought her paints and pigments for her artwork and she exclaimed over the expense, grateful he knew how important it was to her.  She hadn’t packed any of those gifts in the trunks that came to Antwerp, though she had tucked her wedding ring into a pair of woolen socks, unwilling to part from it completely and yet wanting to try living without its constant presence on her hand.

Hubert was similarly generous with gifts.  For their first Christmas together, he had given all of the children their own horses and when Thea gently pointed out that perhaps the twins and Elias were too young for a horse, he bought them ponies as well.  Vadik had also received a pocket watch that Hubert had been gifted from his own father at the age of ten and a letter Elias had written to Hubert announcing Vadik’s birth.  Sasha had gasped when he presented her with a Stradivarius violin. They hadn’t seen her for the rest of the day, the pastoral symphony from Handel’s Messiah filling the house the only evidence of her presence and a testament to her delight.

To Thea, he had given his mother’s diamond ring, resized to fit her hand.  He had shrugged at the extravagance, saying only “Antwerp is known for diamonds and I never gave you a ring when we were wed.” But she had seen how pleased he was when she wore it, how his eyes looked at her hand and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  Later, Sara had hugged her tightly and whispered how glad she was to see her brother in love.

That night when the last carol had been sung and the last candle extinguished, Hubert lit one in the bedroom to tell her of another gift.

“I saved the letters Elias wrote to me over the years.  Yours too, but it’s his I think you might like to see. We started corresponding the year we were all at the Royal Sommerhus together,” he said as he crossed the room to the tall chest of drawers.  He opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers tied neatly with a piece of string. 

“I should have told you about them before, but I wasn’t sure if they would cause joy or bereavement.  But I think either way, the decision is for you to make.” He was looking at the letter on top, and even with only candlelight Thea could see that it bore the creases of having been once folded as a letter.  Hubert didn’t raise his eyes to hers as he continued speaking.

“He loved you so much Thea.  And he said that so often in these letters.  Sometime casually, sometimes in grand declarations.  And they’re yours to read whenever you want to; alone or with me nearby.”

The diamond had spun on her finger and she twisted it back around as she answered him, careful to keep her voice even so he wouldn’t hear grief in her voice and regret this gift.  “Thank you, Hubert. I’ll read them another night.”

He returned the letters to the drawer and then got back in their bed.

“Thank you for all of the gifts.  The children and I - we’re so lucky to have you.” She hoped he could hear the sincerity in her voice, how much she meant it to be true.  Thinking about Elias was still a wound but it was more of a bruise now, not the gaping wound it had been before coming to Antwerp. And one she preferred, at least for now, to prod and examine by herself.

“I love giving you good things,” he said and she knew he was trying to say something else.

***

The night before Vadik was born, Thea had been so uncomfortably pregnant that she sent Elias to Hudson’s without her.  “Bring me back krumkake if there is any.  Or skolebrod.  Or both,” she’d said as he kissed her goodbye.  He’d returned with both.

When she was so heavily pregnant that only one dress fit and none of her shoes, she felt her stomach had no room for any food.  Hubert begged her to take one more sip of soup, one more bite of bread, and when her contractions began said he would go for the midwife himself and fetch Sasha from school until Thea told him she would rather he remain close by and to perhaps send a servant instead.  

“Try not to get drunk like Elias did when I labored with Sasha.  All will be well.  There’s nothing to fear,” she had said as he left the room.

Thea had cried out once when the midwife said “There’s another!”  Hubert rushed in and saw the birth of the second while clutching Thea’s hand, his mother’s diamond leaving a mark in his palm.

***

Elias had taken the children sailing and riding and swimming and hiking, sometimes with Thea and sometimes not.  He rolled to the very edge of the bed when Sasha and then later Vadik came into their room at the sound of thunder and needed to sleep pressed against their mother. He put a steady hand behind Thea as she carried their babies, pushed the pram or nursed.

Maybe because there were two at once, or because he was older when he became a father, or just because he was a different man, but Hubert held the babies at every opportunity.  They bought a second pram shortly after they realized the need for it, but the twins, Helen and Castor, were still small enough that they fit in one, tightly swaddled and fit neatly together as the family walked through De Zoologie and exclaimed over the animals.  Hubert pushed the pram and Thea would have thought that was the way of it in Antwerp except every other pram they passed was pushed by a nursemaid in uniform.  Hubert smiled and waved to those passing and Thea thought his pride in his family, in their family, was visible to even strangers.

***

“Three babies in two years; I know it’s been rare for you to have time to yourself,” Hubert said, with his hand on the doorknob.  Thea appreciated that he didn’t list the tragedies of those years, only the happy surprises: little Elias and Helen and Castor.  Little Elias was so big now that no one ever called him “the baby,” especially since the twins were currently taking up quite a bit of energy and attention, even spread as it was among Hubert, Thea, Sara, the nursemaids, and their older siblings.

It was their first anniversary, after all, and Thea was determined to have a happy day.  She had planned a menu with the cooks that would rival a royal wedding celebration.  Hubert’s friends and colleagues, who would probably have come to their wedding had it happened with any notice, were attending an anniversary dinner.  Even Henrik was coming. He was in the country to discuss the use of ice in train transport with Hubert and had promised to bring a few surprises of his own.  Thea had raised her eyebrows at this, but Hubert had been uncharacteristically unconcerned.

They were outside of a room Thea thought might be one of the sunrooms.  The Bonfrey family estate was large and she was still learning where everything was located a year into making it home.  The children seemed to learn it perfectly after one tour from Sara on the very first night.  But Thea would sometimes open several doors before ending up where she meant to, and wasn’t helped by the way the children were constantly leaving their books and playthings scattered in different places, a trail of unhelpful breadcrumbs like those from one of Hubert’s book of German fairy tales.

“Sara and Sasha helped me set this up the way they guessed you’d like,” said Hubert, and Thea was surprised to see a red flush on his cheeks, a nervous flexing in his hands.  They’d seen each other through so much this year - the grief of a funeral for beloved friends, a hellish trip across the sea, the birth of the twins - but she hadn’t seen him act like this before.  

He opened the door and gestured for her to enter first and she did.  

“Oh Hubert!” 

The room Hubert had led her into had been a sunroom.  The floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light that displayed the contents of the room to full effect: paints and pigments, canvases stacked high, chalks and charcoals, several easels, hog bristle brushes, even a pantograph for reducing or enlarging sketches. On the wall were shelves that were mostly empty save for a handful of books. 

“They’re photo studies. Of statues, paintings.  Some landscapes and some models,” Hubert said as she stepped forward and traced the embossed titles along the book spines.

Thea moved about the room, her hands running along shelves and then on to the paintbrushes, experimentally brushing them against her palm.  

“I thought you could use a place to be by yourself, to think and to paint or even to just sit and read. I can move the letters from Elias in here if you’d like.”

Thea turned to him and nodded.  “I would like that.  I like all of this, Hubert. So much.”

“Sasha said you’d like those the best,” he said as she examined the canvas. “ And Sara suggested we paint the room white and take out most of the furniture so you can choose how to decorate it.  We left a chair and a stool for you, and the couch for whoever wants to pose.”

Vadik suddenly ran in the room with little Elias close behind and Hubert scooped him up before he collided with the glass jars standing at the ready for mixing.

“And the best part,” he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a key, “is that you can lock it to keep out any unwelcome visitors.”

“Like who?” Vadik asked.  “Uncle Henrik? But he just got here and Aunt Sara told me to fetch you to greet him!”

Thea laughed and ruffled his hair. “No, sweet, Uncle Henrik is most welcome.  Come with me so he can exclaim over how tall you’ve grown.”  

***

The anniversary dinner party went so late into the evening that it was the early morning hours before any guests left for home.  Though Hubert gripped the table when Henrik gave a toast, it was entirely appropriate and never once mentioned Paris, for which Thea knew Hubert was extremely grateful.

When Hubert was walking the last of the guests to the door, Henrik revealed his surprise - paintings and sketches Thea had made and left in Arendelle.  She went through the neatly preserved stack and was delighted to see among them Sasha, age ten and playing her violin, Vadik as a baby sleeping in his crib, Elias in the pond by the Royal Sommerhus, teaching Sasha to swim. She had left them in Arendelle hoping to leave some evidence of her family behind in case they all sunk to the bottom of the sea. Looking at them now, she was surprised to feel only joy.

“Linnea brought them back on her last visit and asked me to deliver them to you personally,” Henrik said.  

He didn’t ask why she hadn’t brought them when she and the children moved here and she was grateful.  He reached for the portrait of Elias that she was now tracing with her hand - one of him in an Arendelle navy uniform, trying to look serious but his smile rendered fully in the watercolor. “Thea, you know he loved you.  And you know he would have wanted you to find love again.  To be cared for and to care for others. To not be closed off and grieving for the rest of your days.” He placed the painting back in the pile and squeezed her hand.  “He liked Hubert.  He would have liked this for you, even though he would never have liked to leave you so permanently.”

***

Hubert helped Thea arrange the paintings Henrik had brought from Linnea.  With each painting she felt a fragmented piece of herself realign and became part of the whole, like a dried out watercolor palette being worked over with water and blending brushes.  Hubert had his hand on the doorknob to leave, but she didn’t want him to go.

“Henrik asked again if I wanted him to pose for me.  Nude of course.”

Hubert laughed. “Again? Is this something he does often?”

“A handful of times.  I think usually it was just to bother Elias,” she said as she fiddled with the nearby paintbrushes and straightened the stack of canvases that were already in a very neat pile.  She picked up the lay figure and worked its arms and legs.  “Thankfully you’ve given me this so I can decline.”

“If you ever need a live model, I’d be happy to do it.  To spare you the sight of Henrik.” He said and took his hand off of the doorknob.  “It’s why the couch is here after all.”  

He sat down on it and then she did too.  

“Did I tell you about the time Elias offered himself for the same purpose?”

“No,” Hubert laughed.  

“I was very flustered - we weren’t yet engaged. I told him of my art classes and the sketches we would do, how both men and women had posed nude for us. I was trying to impress him with my worldliness.  And he said ‘I’d be very pleased to pose for you anytime you’d like.’” Thea glanced at Hubert who was smiling at her story, and smiled in response and in memory of her attempt to show off.

“I told him there was no need as I’d already seen more men naked than I could count, and then he said ‘Just wait until you see what I do with it.’” Thea reddened and put her hand over her mouth, laughing.  “I’m sorry; you don’t want to hear that!”

But Hubert was laughing too and reached for her hands to squeeze them in reassurance.  “You can tell me anything about him.  We can both remember him.”

“Thank you,” Thea said, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling like another piece of herself was connected and whole again.

***

She loved him. She wasn’t sure when it started. Probably long before she said it, probably when her heart didn’t know what to call it anymore.  He had been patient and allowed her to find her way to it, not demanding it of her even when he said it freely and showed her in a hundred different ways.  

“Ice liebe dich,” she said, and kissed him on one cheek and then the other.  “Je t’aime.” 

The space between their lips was so small that she could feel his words as he spoke them, warm as they fell across her lips.  

“I love you too.  So much,”  Hubert said as he gently rested his forehead against hers and put his hands on her shoulders.  He rested them lightly and she could feel them tremble.

“Ik hou van je,” she said.  She had saved that one for last.  

Hubert spoke German when he was in a nostalgic mood and French for everyday.  Flemish was his language for murmuring in her ear while in bed at night, his body surrounding hers and bringing them both pleasure.  He spoke words of affection in Flemish after moments of ecstasy that she guessed he didn’t know if she was ready to hear.  But now, she was. And she was ready to say them too.

“Is that right?” asked Hubert, and pulled back from her so she could see his face.  His was smiling and his eyes were full of such hope and tenderness she knew he meant it was all he wanted.  “You love me in three languages?”

“I love you in every language. And I’ll learn them all, too, to tell you.  You loved me back to life and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say thank you enough.”

Hubert’s smile faltered a little and his brow furrowed.  They were small tells, but she could see them.  Someone who loved him could see that he was bothered. 

“Saying ‘I love you’ is better than ‘thank you.’  As long as it’s not an obligation.  As long as you don't think you have to say it to stay here and be my beloved,” he said, speaking gently and patiently, like always. 

She answered and kept her eyes on his.  She wanted him to feel the truth in what she said.  “No, I feel free.  You’ve made me free to love again. And I love you.”

He smiled and she saw the relief he felt at her words, the joy.  He moved his hands to her waist and her cheek and pulled her towards him in language their bodies were familiar with. “Well then. Let’s love.”

[salavante]

Grey Solidago!

(lol this one was from Jake but he forgot to turn anon off. I’m making ye way through these and will probably post the rest later today or tomorrow - I got Pat and Aesop to go and might just do one more headshot of my choice to make it an even number)

Full Name: Grey Solidago

Gender and Sexuality: Female & Bisexual

Pronouns: she/her

Ethnicity/Species: Grey is a half-Anubii (also known as a Zeke) and a hemilich. Her father, Jonquil, is a full blooded anubii, a race of odd, magically reanimated corpses of unknown origin, and her mother, Hare, is a human. Hare is also ethnically an Ashkenazi jew.  

Birthplace and Birthdate: Maybe sometime in September. Could have been born in either The Tidelands (ranging from coastal sage scrub to salt marshes and deltas/swamps) or The Green (temperate rainforest and boreal pines to taiga).

Guilty Pleasures: Definitely smoking, a bad habit she picked up from her dad. Not really a guilty pleasure, but I also think that her tastes in music are a lot more varied than people would expect, and she can probably find something she likes in any genre she investigates.

Phobias: Nothin really man! Grey is actually the most “normal” and well adjusted of the Solidago children, which still means she’s kind of creepy and peculiar by average standards. She doesn’t like feeling vulnerable or like things are out of her control, and she is good at compartmentalizing her doubts and anxieties. There is a certain, intense rage inside her that is kept under a cool exterior, and inflicting grievous harm on someone who she feels deserves it is not something that troubles her very much. I suppose she may fear taking things too far and doing something very cruel, because she knows she has the ability and emotional capacity to do it.

What They Would Be Famous For: Grey is a fine artist who does very big, lush oil paintings, and while not famous, is notable and has had gallery shows of her work. Grey’s usual job is accompanying adventuring parties to strange locals and then illustrating them in action and doing charcoal studies of ruins/landscapes/etc, as editorial material for the various publications on adventuring and dungeon diving. She’s become a handful of magazines’ go-to gal. Her work is mostly representational, and she seldom makes a piece without doing lots of studies first, but she leans heavy into chiaroscuro and has big, juicy brush strokes. Words often used to describe her work are “eerie”, “haunting” or “intense”.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Probably something really benign like trespassing or going somewhere without a proper permit, Grey is pretty lawful, both of her parents are in a law enforcement esque occupation. They run a very organized adventurer’s guild, effectively, that will cooperate with local law enforcement to catch run of the mill criminals in addition to tackling monsters or liches or what have you.

OC You Ship Them With: Wybjorn has a tiny baby crush on her because he gets crushes on anyone who’s moderately nice to him, but he’s a little too goofy for her, she’s not into it. Grey’s in an awkward bracket of characters because they are kind of our third gen group and there’s only so many of them in the 20-30 range (Grey is 23). She’s also kind of an intense lady, I keep using that word but it fits. Canonically, we’re going to see how Grey and Ozzy fare when we get around to Mindrunner II, the sequel to Ozzy’s original campaign. They weirdly hit it off during Godslaughter, I think they’re both very intellectual people and counterbalance one another very well. Ozzy has a partner already, their name is Rosemary, but Ozzy has two hands.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Jovix-Cailo, probably. He did kill Lysander and broke Grey’s leg. Otherwise she hasn’t really done anything to invoke someone’s ire. Jovix-Diocunigast might also kill her in the final fight, we shall see (I wrote this before the game was over, he didn’t!).

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Grey likes slow burn ghost stories, psychological horror, true crime documentaries, mysteries and thrillers. She’d like “I Am The Pretty Thing That Lives In The House”, “Twin Peaks” and Agatha Christie. She probably reads short story anthologies and paperbacks when she’s on the road for her job.  Anything with well paced tension will hold her interest, but she may tolerate poor writing as long as the visuals in a movie or TV show are good.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: I honestly don’t think she’d treat something with disdain or vitriol like some other characters might, I think she’s pretty good at ignoring stuff that she doesn’t like in terms of media. Not a big fan of slashers or more fantastical horror, she has pretty well defined tastes, and dislikes your usual bouquet of mainstream film genres (romcoms, action, etc). I do think that one thing she truly does not like is any cartoon with singing in it, which is probably something she has to moderately tolerate because she has a young niece.

Talents and/or Powers: Grey has a mostly utility build with a focus on stacking debuffs and interrupting other people’s attacks. She doesn’t have any really big, damage dealing abilities, but she’s meant to support more potent DPS by wearing down bosses with status afflictions. In fiction this manifests as a handiness at weaving curses. As mentioned before, she is also a pretty skilled painter, with her preferred mediums as charcoal, ink wash and oils.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Strong willed, confident, intelligent and classy - Grey has perhaps had self confidence issues in the past, she was kind of a weird looking, gangly child/teenager, but she really owns herself now. She knows what she likes and dislikes and makes her preferences very obvious, and though she doesn’t make jokes very often, has a good sense of humor (which she got from her mom) though it can be kind of dry/morbid. She’s rather private and has an air of mystery about her and a slight eeriness that some may find enticing. She also refuses to stand idly by when there is injustice in her presence, for better or for worse. 

Why Someone Might Hate Them: She can come off as uncaring or cold, and definitely has a terminal case of Resting Bitch Face. Any hiccups in her success in the art world are caused by her being uncompromising with her integrity, and a reluctance to play nice peers and art directors just for the sake of networking or getting a job. Being disingenuous feels counterintuitive to her sense of ethics. And while that’s all well and good, it makes her difficult to work with, and has made her miss out on some opportunities she may have benefitted from. Her bluntness has made her unpalatable to many, and some may see her as being stuck up. She also does not react well to people approaching her with aggression or snideness, and will retaliate ferociously.

How They Change: Honestly, not a lot, she’s pretty stable. Grey has mostly functioned in an NPC capacity up until this point, so there haven’t really been any stories focused on her. Prior to her extra dimensional shenanigans with her half-brother, she had kind of a strained relationship with her mom, who’s she’s since gained a lot more respect and compassion for. They’re on much better terms now. She also started out not liking Ozzy very much and thought he was kind of a weiner, but, they’re very good friends now after having some pretty harrowing experiences together.

Why You Love Them: She’s my only character who’s actually an artist. I don’t tend to like making characters who, well, do what I do. I love illustrating but what I do is still a lot of hard work and I like to take breaks from it. Generally speaking, I prefer to insert my creativity and drive into characters that make things with their hands but don’t make visual art per say. It’s why a lot of my characters are scientists and engineers. So I think it’s a unique connection to have.

[aquilaofarkham]

title: vibas luxuri homo bone rating: general  word count: 2,892 summary: set shortly after the events of Symphony of the Night, Alucard is still trying to adjust to his new life with Maria, Richter, and humans in general. He also decides to pay two very, very old friends a visit.

“Why did you decide to stay? You barely know us and we barely know you. Why do you care so much?”

Richter’s questions are blunt and hit all of Alucard’s softest points. But they are not malicious or come with any ill intentions. Glancing at Maria, the dhampir can tell that she wishes to know as well. No more half-truths.

“Because you remind me of two humans I loved a long time ago.”

read on ao3

--

I’m still not entirely certain about this plan.

Alucard has been repeating this one thought ever since they left the Belmont manor. When Maria Renard suggested that the three of them take advantage of the lovely weather, he assumed she meant something else entirely. The vision Alucard had in his mind was a simple walk throughout the grounds or extensive gardens surrounding their shared home. He did not expect a crowded marketplace filled with shop keeps, artisans, and farmers selling their freshest crops.

Apparently neither did Richter, for he looks just as anxious as the dhampir does. Alucard understands why and sympathizes with him completely. It’s not just the people who are overwhelming, it’s every sound of the market: dogs barking, merchants shouting, and carriages driving atop uneven cobblestones. The two men try to stay close to Maria as she leads them through the streets. Still their fearless leader even in the most mundane of situations.

“What do you think of this one?”

“It looks too dull,” Alucard replies. Richter merely shrugs, something that is uncharacteristic of him.

“How about this?”

“That one is far too gaudy.”

“It’s not the appearance that matters.” Maria rebukes, carefully placing the rose-coloured quartz amulet in her palm along with others all boasting their own unique properties. She withdraws a purse from her belt, shifting through the coins before handing the vendor a large amount. The stones aren’t only for herself; they’re for her two closest companions as well. Hopefully they will provide protection, good dreams, or just some peace of mind. God knows they need it.

It hasn’t been easy, but then again nothing ever is.

Alucard clings to his humans as they make their way from merchant to merchant. So much has changed in his absence; he hopes it has been for the better. Despite the intimidation of such a large gathering, Alucard finds the marketplace fascinating. There’s a small amount of enjoyment in catching brief glimpses as families, couples, children, elders, and foreigners come and go as they please. It reaffirms his love of humanity. Although he has struggled with this love (understandably so), Alucard keeps days like this as reminders. Why he, after three hundred years of regret over an ill-informed decision, finally made the choice to live among his mother’s kind.

It’s not long before something distracts the dhampir. A sudden cry muffled by dozens of other voices. Though to him, it rings louder than anyone else, coming from someone very young and very upset. Alucard searches past the crowds and sees a little girl on the other side of the wide street wearing a brown dress with embroidered flowers. Two older and much larger boys surround her; one dangles a hand-sewn doll above her head while his friend laughs at the girl’s many attempts to grab it.

“That’s mine! Give it back!”

“Like to see you try, runt!” The boy scoffs, holding her down with just one hand.

“I said give it back!”

“Or else what?”

Just as the girl feebly reaches for her doll, the bullies push her to the ground. Alucard hears their ugly snorts of amusement and sees the tears already rolling down her face. They try to run, but the dhampir is faster. Before the boy with the doll can take another step, he appears behind him and grabs the back of his shirt collar. The other one manages to get away, not even bothering to look over his shoulder and check if his friend is still behind him. It doesn’t take much to terrify the little thief; a single concentrated, blood-curdling glare is all Alucard needs. The boy opens his mouth, perhaps to scream or apologize, but all he can force out is a series of stunned gasps.

“That doesn’t belong to you.” Alucard’s tone, while calm, is laced with malice, sounding more like a threat than a simple statement. Without breaking eye contact, he takes the doll out of the boy’s hand and lets him go. He runs faster than a rabbit fleeing from a fox. Alucard wonders if he scared him too much, but it’s only for a moment - a brief one at that. He walks back to the girl who is still on the ground, wiping her tearful eyes.

“I believe this is yours.”

She looks up, uncertain at first, and sees Alucard offering her the doll, his appearance gentle and comforting. Her eyes light up as she takes it and hugs it close against her chest. Alucard smiles, helping the girl onto her feet. He doesn’t need a thank you, her overjoyed expression is enough for him.

“Your hair is so pretty!” She says abruptly. “Are you a prince?”

This isn’t the first time Alucard feels caught off guard and now that he lives permanently with humans, it most certainly won’t be the last. “I... well...” He could play along or tell her a half truth. That he is (or rather was) the son of a lord but before he can say a word, the girl grabs hold of his shirtsleeve.

“Come with me!” She brings Alucard over to a vendor occupied by a man with a white beard encircled by half-finished canvases, sketchbooks, and paintbrushes well past their prime. His fingertips are stained with everything from charcoal to watercolours. Upon seeing the little girl, a look of concern appears in his crinkled eyes.

“Shoshana, I told you not to wander off without telling me.”

“Zaide, look! A prince helped get my doll back! Isn’t he pretty?”

Alucard tells himself not to panic, as much as he wants to. Three hundred years of slumber have undoubtedly taken their toll on his social skills. “That’s... very kind of you, but-”

“She’s right, sir. If you don’t mind me saying.” The older man gently chuckles. “I see my granddaughter Shoshana has already introduced herself. My apologies, young man. She is easily excitable and often forgets that sometimes strangers do not like to be dragged around against their wishes.” He says this while looking directly at Shoshana. She turns her gaze to the ground, feeling a touch ashamed.

“No apology is needed.” Shoshana’s mood quickly shifts as she stares up at Alucard with a smile. There’s the ever-lingering fear that he will saying the wrong thing or open his mouth too wide and reveal his true heritage. So, Alucard keeps his words brief. He thinks it might be better returning to Maria and Richter. Yet that love and fascination with humans overcomes any cautious thought. “I see you are an artist.”

“More a simple tailor than an artist. It’s a diversion from my regular work and occasionally gets me a place in markets like this.”

Alucard looks over each canvas and parchment; everything from a vast landscape to an intimate portrait comes to life through colour and brushstroke. “You’re very talented.”

“And you’re too kind, sir. Actually... no, nevermind.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It would be no bother.”

“Well, would it be too forward of me to ask if I can paint a portrait of you? It’s just that I find beautiful people to be the best subjects.”

“Is that why you paint everyone, Zaide?” While the artist laughs at Shoshana’s comment, Alucard contemplates his request. Not too long ago, he thought he would live with humanity the same way a ghost does, showing himself only when need be. He never expected something like this, especially so soon. Yet despite all this, he agrees. After paying the artist generously, he prepares a fresh canvas, the perfect size for a portrait. Alucard takes a seat and waits for any further guidance while Shoshana plays with her doll.

“Turn your head to the side... a little bit more... there, that’s wonderful. Now if you could take your hair and place it in front of your shoulder.” Alucard follows the painter’s instructions to the best of his ability. He notices how his soft hair has grown much longer and wavier. Its’ also gained back some of its colour, changing from a lifeless white into a light gold, ever since the dhampir emerged from his coffin. Once the painter is satisfied with his subject’s position, he begins mixing colours and makes the first stroke on the canvas.

Throughout this process, Alucard is extraordinarily patient and immoveable. Two things which were very much unknown to him one time he had his portrait taken - an old memory that has remained untouched by the centuries. As the artist concentrates, glancing up occasionally, Alucard is taken back to the day when that very first painting of his life was created. It was a time when he was taught not to be afraid of shadows, and castle walls breathed with a soul of their own. When “home” meant safety, trust, and love. It should be a memory that gives him comfort or at least some bittersweet nostalgia. He wishes it would, just to quell his worry of whether or not he still has a heart. But it’s been far too long and too much has happened. And no amount of sadness changes the serene expression on his face.

“There, all finished.” The artist announces triumphantly. He takes one last proud look at the canvas before turning it around. “What’s your opinion? I tried to capture as much of your likeness as possible, but... to be quite honest it was like painting the sun.”

Alucard relaxes his body and carefully takes the painting, struggling to say anything. In every portrait, he has been portrayed as the perfect balance between his mother and father - innocent, regal, sometimes intimidating. Never like this, never so humble, so contemplative, or so... human.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispers. Realizing what he just said, Alucard lowers his gaze. The artist laughs.

“It’s alright! It’s not narcissistic to say that.”

“Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you for your kind patronage. Let me wrap that up for you.”

After the portrait is safely packages, Alucard says his good-byes to the artist and Shoshana. He walks back through the marketplace wondering where it should be hung in his new home. The dhampir’s thoughts are interrupted when he sees Maria heading towards him with Richter tagging behind.

“There you are,” she exclaims. “You had us worried!”

“My apologies. I was... distracted.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Oh, what might that be?” Maria asks, pointing curiously to the brown envelope that’s as big as his upper body.

“A gift. For myself.” Alucard awkwardly clutches the portrait in his hands. His attention shifts to Richter who refuses to make eye contact. In the (admittedly) short amount of time that Alucard has known him, the young Belmont mostly keeps to himself, favouring quietness. Not unfriendly, just quiet. Still, it’s enough to concern the dhampir. Maria also notices Richter’s behaviour. How could she not? He’s nothing less than the older brother she never had.

“Come. Let’s get away from these crowds.” With Alucard leading the way, Maria gently takes Richter’s hand and pulls him along. There’s confusion, but he does not protest. The three of them walk down the steps of a nearby alleyway until they arrive at a much smaller and practically deserted street. Maria decides to break the tension herself.

“Are you alright?”

They’ve asked him that question before - multiple times. While his choice of words always vary, Richter’s answer remains the same. “Of course I am.” “I’m fine, I promise.” “I’m just tired, nothing to worry about.” Those are good days. Then there are the days filled with “leave me alone”.

“Do we have to do this with all those people around?”

“We can go home,” Maria reassures him. There’s a look in her eyes that says, “this is my fault. I should never have put you through this.”

“Good. Then no one has to see me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen the way people look at me.” With every sentence, Richter’s voice wavers, causing another ache in Alucard’s chest. He’s seen this sort of emotion with another Belmont and it hurts all the same. Every thought he’s ever had of Trevor hurts with longing.

“It just... it doesn’t feel right being around the people I once protected. Not after what I did.”

“Richter...” Maria begins, her voice softer. “It wasn’t you. You had no control over that.”

“It was still me. It was still by my hand. I can’t even use my whip anymore.”

“That wasn’t your fault. None of it was.” Alucard tries to offer his support, but Richter says nothing. He avoids the dhampir’s eyes, opening then closing his mouth as though he cannot bring himself to say what’s truly on his mind. Alucard and Maria wait, never pushing him. Never using force. Finally, he raises his head.

“Why did you decide to stay? You barely know us, and we barely know you. Why do you care so much?”

Richter’s questions are blunt and hit all of Alucard’s softest points. But they are not malicious or come with any ill intentions. Glancing at Maria, the dhampir can tell that she wishes to know as well. No more half-truths.

“Because you remind me of two humans I loved a long time ago.”

It’s a weight off his chest. Judging from the look of shock on both Maria and Richter’s faces, it might have been a poor decision. Yet it is the truth; they deserve that much. Alucard braces himself for their responses, whether they uneasily walk away or berate him for living in the past. The first comes from Richter in the form of him giving his hand to Alucard. He stares at it, puzzled, but accepts.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Alucard can feel him trembling. He offers him one more piece of comfort by placing his palm upon Richter’s cheek. The Belmont once again lowers his head but does not pull away. Leaning forward, Alucard closes his eyes, and softly kisses Richter’s forehead. It isn’t the first time he’s done this. But as long as there are those who need him, as long as there are humans in this world that he loves, Alucard will not deny himself or others of affection.

They turn to Maria, who gives them a weary yet loving smile. “Let’s go home.”

--

THREE DAYS AFTER

When visitors to the Belmont Cemetery arrive at the front gates, they are greeted by a single straight path guiding them deep into the woods. Standing guard on either side are stone statues of warriors who have long since passed. It’s a peaceful place, not one of sorrow but of remembrance. The Belmonts have always willingly put themselves in death’s way for they do not fear what awaits them beyond the veil. For their bravery, deeds, and compassion, it is only natural to celebrate them in life and death.

Alucard walks alongside his horse further and further into the cemetery. While it is a grey autumn day, the skies are not entirely dark and not all the flowers have died yet, making way for the first snowfall. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a few small butterflies moving through the rows of gravestones. He carries on, slow and leisurely.

Eventually, Alucard comes across a hill. He must be on the right path. Reaching into his large bag, he pulls out an apple and gives it to the horse before tying it to a nearby tree. He looks up and begins his upward trek. Any normal human being would feel the weight of the bag straining against their shoulder but for Alucard, it’s barely an inconvenience. When he makes it to the very top, the first thing he sees is the sweeping vista of the greater Wallachian countryside. The next thing he sees is the very reason why he decided to come here. Two large gravestones not only old, but ancient.

He walks towards them; despite nature reclaiming the stones, they look to be in fair condition. Alucard is surprised, but also relieved. He brushes a few strands of vine away, revealing the occupants of this isolated, special gravesite: Trevor Belmont and Sypha Belnades. Engraved below their names are the words “In times of despair, there is always hope”.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” Alucard says, trying and failing to make this reunion less heart-rending than it already is. Raising his hand to his lips, he kisses his fingertips, placing them on Trevor’s grave first then Sypha’s. Only one word comes to Alucard’s mind: selfish. He was so selfish to leave them. He’ll never see their faces again or hear their laughter. His stomach clenches as the lump in his throat grows.

Now is not the time for tears. Wiping his eyes, Alucard reaches back into his bag and offers the graves two white roses. His and his mother’s favourite. He then pulls out three glasses along with a bottle of red wine. “I couldn’t find any ale.” He mutters, staring down at Trevor. Once all of them have been filled, the dhampir arranges the first two on top of the stones before sitting on a soft patch of grass with his own.

He takes a sip and looks out towards the horizon. Off in the distance, he can see the Belmont manor standing strong. A calm breeze rustles the branches sheltering Alucard as it blows through his hair.

[savinscripts]

❝ To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable. ❞

The cream-colored dress flowed gently around Faye’s ankles, silent and soft as she walked the now familiar path to Fane’s quarters in the heart of the Resistance’s base. Most of the living spaces had been placed towards the,interior of the mountain for safety purposes. Fane’s was no different.,Neither was Faye’s. And while they were nothing extremely decadent or,overly large, they were enough for the people that lived, worked, and,trained here to have a place to call their own. A small piece of quiet,privacy in a loud and boisterous existence.

Tonight, Fane was cooking her dinner. They’d eaten together on a fairly regular basis over the last few months, trading off here and there, and sometimes eating in the mess hall, or even taking their food outside. Since they’d shared a kiss that one evening under the forest canopy, and again a few days later, and again the week after that, they had come to the mutual agreement that such a thing was alright between them. Nothing had become awkward, or even really changed, except they, well… they kissed.

Kissing had led to other things: more confidant and curious touches, kisses in more places, Faye sitting across Fane’s lap as they explored each other, or him leaning over her as she lay on her back. All coming in their own time. But they had yet to cross that last threshold. To shed clothes and push past the last barrier of intimacy that they both wanted - a body didn’t lie, after all - but neither was brave enough to approach.

Until one evening, something had just… shifted. And Faye knew it was alright now. Alright to ask, “Do you want me?” Her fingers had traced his face, pushed his hair back out of his face, threaded through it. “Because I want you,” she told him honestly. “We could… if you like?” It was a question left up to him to answer. Because Faye knew that finally, after three years, she was ready to be with someone again. But there was only one person on her mind. Only one person that was ever on her mind: Fane.

There was no need to spell out what she meant. She just looked at him, the soft smile that was for him alone playing at the corner of her mouth. And when he’d agreed, a bit nervously - but honestly she was nervous too - she’d kissed him again. Slowly and gently. And they’d made plans.

Since then, life had gone on as usual. News came in daily about the Order and their movements, and a strike was building to take one of their smaller bases along the Outer Rim. One that housed a variety of unused equipment that the Order had yet to scrap, but wasn’t willing to leave unguarded. If they could take the base, which was well-fortified, but low on personnel, it would put the Resistance at a bit of an advantage. There were other things brewing as well. Rumors. Talk of the Order invading planets, taking children and young men and women from their families. Building a new slave army. And taking out anyone who might help the rebels at the same time. If they couldn’t drive them out, they’d breed them out. Or so the rumors went.

So tonight, Faye wore a dress. Not because she had to. But because she wanted to. Because there was so much in the galaxy that was dirty and ugly and cruel. Tonight she wanted to be everything that was the opposite. Beautiful and soft and kind. The dress was one of her own. One she liked, and that fit her well, accentuated her figure without being too tight. It was a light cream color, and fitted at the top. She wore low heels in dark grey color, and her hair was up in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. A thick braid twisted down one side, the long ends tucked into the bun, a few flying loose around her face.

Arriving at her destination, she knocked, even though she knew she could go in if she liked. She’d done so before. But tonight was different, and while she was a bit nervous, she didn’t feel awkward or ill at ease.

And when the door finally opened, all she could do was smile, and try not to blush as he regarded her.

Despite the fact he’d been given quarters in the centremost aspect of the mountain, Fane found that he preferred his ship’s quarters regardless. Perhaps it was habit or it was the fact he’d lived there for several years and grown accustomed to the small space and though he felt more at ease there he didn’t particularly have all that much room to host. Which was what he’d offered to do tonight and several times recently for Faye when they shared meals together, which as the weeks had gone on grown more commonplace either due to strategy planning or simply because they just wanted to spend some time together.

There was also the consideration of how else things had changed between them, their kiss had opened up a door that was verging on impossible to close and it was something that had lingered on his mind day and night until finally he’d caved. And now-- Fane wasn’t sure what this was between them, the relaxed coexistence still was present but there was a winding tension that had been building in each and every occasion. His curiosity, interest and confidence growing just as it seemed to with Faye until more than once they’d been left frustrated and worked up but unsure whether it would be a good idea to take that final step.

Because if Fane was being honest he wasn’t how just what would result from that, not that it changed his interest in wanting it. There was also the consideration that he struggled to think about little else than Faye in those times when he wasn’t having to focus his attention on the war efforts. How this would change things concerned him a little, but the frustration was detrimental to his work. There were two viable options; to cease whatever this was or to take that leap of faith and pray that whatever came next wouldn’t turn sour. He’d seen the consequences of that growing up, and if he was honest with himself it was one of the few things that scared him the most. Of losing people he was close and cared for not that he would ever admit that not even to himself.

So when Faye had finally posed that question to him, whether he wanted her he’d been left with a decision. One that had ultimately led to this evening. Not that he had any idea how to prepare or even how it was even going to end, all he knew was that his palms wouldn’t stop sweating much to his annoyance. He’d ended up going out into the jungle to get some things to cook for dinner tonight, hunting he’d come to find was a good way to help clear his head of nuisance thoughts of which he’d had far too many as the hour drew closer to when Faye arrived at his quarters.

One thing that had changed over the months of being on the base was his choice of style, and though it still lacked any real semblance of colour it was just a little more lax in comparison to his former sleek styles. He’d opted for a long-sleeved charcoal tee, the material pinched occasionally to give it a little flare and shaping, combat trousers and boots finished the attire which while casual still held a smart put-together tone to it. He’d just finished simmering the meat when he heard the knock and glanced at the clock, well, there was no turning back now he supposed. Leaving the food to continue cooking he walked slowly over to the door which slid open when he pressed a button and on the other side stood Faye and all words of greeting died on his tongue as he set eyes on her.

Rare was it these days to ever see anyone in anything beyond flight or jump-suits, perhaps the odd uniform if they felt inclined and though he’d seen her in a dress before almost a year ago now (Canto Bight seemed like a lifetime ago now) this was-- Fane didn’t have the words, and it explained why he stood there looking rather shocked and very much at a loss for words. Until he realised he was stood gaping and a touch of redness creeped into his features and he tried to pull himself together, “Faye-- you look--” he blinked his eyes drifting down and back up admiring the way the material flowed and highlighted her figure a small smile gracing his features as he met her gaze “beautiful.” He glanced over his shoulder and then back at her unsure how to greet her even though a warmth had settled in his veins simply at the sight of her but he didn’t wish to presume. He never would, which was why he paused before gesturing into the space “c’mon in? I um-- happened to come across a bottle of something on the Cydonia… I wasn’t sure if you um-- wanted some or--” he shrugged a bit, sheepishly scratching behind his ear.

.

By now, Faye was used to the way Fane sometimes flushed. Personally, she found it utterly endearing. And adorable. But she kept that to herself, only allowing a smile to cross her face whenever it happened. It wasn’t something she commented on often, if at all, knowing it might make him uncomfortable. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him she found him adorable. Not happening. He’d probably look at her like she’d grown another head. Which was certainly not how he was looking at her now. Now he was looking at her… like he wasn’t sure what to make of things. Whatever she had expected him to say, it certainly wasn’t what came out.

Beautiful.

No one had ever called her that. Other than her parents. No one that mattered. A warmth spread in her chest, and she found she couldn’t look away from him for the longest of moment. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly a bit unsure what to do with her hands, but still not feeling awkward. She felt… ready. Was that the right word though? Ready? More like… like her entire being had been waiting on something for the longest, and now it was finally here. So it was more like saying ‘finally’ than anything. A blessed relief. A comfort. Something that was simply good and pure and right.

“Thank you. I um… it’s really the only thing I’ve got,” she said of the casually elegant dress. She came in as he invited her, a small flurry of motion under her feet as the porg - she’d named him Cyd (pronounced ‘Sid’) - scuttled in after her. Faye just watched it go, knowing it would just find it’s preferred spot and nest for the night. It followed her a good bit when she came to Fane’s, having taken a liking to him as well. Cyd was… tolerated by Fane. Faye thought it was just another thing about him that was absolutely endearing.

She looked him over as she came in. “You look… very, very handsome,” she told him. It was the truth. He had slowly but steadily started to come out of the layers and layers of buttons he’d worn all the time when they’d first met. Faye like him either way, but she found this look, dark and elegant, yet still casual, suited him greatly. “I’d love some, yeah, thanks.” They didn’t often drink, as there wasn’t much alcohol on the base. Most of it was saved for special occasions, though now and then a scout ship would come back with a few bottles of wine or spirits, or some local ale they’d picked up. She reached out and touched his arm, smiling as she gave him a small tug.

They moved towards the kitchen and the cooking food, and Faye commented on how delicious it smelled. “You should be a chef if you ever decide not to be rebel scum,” she grinned, reaching around him for a bit of what he was cooking and popping it into her mouth. “‘S really, really good.” He pointed her in the direction of the wine, opened and breathing and chilled on ice, and she took it upon herself to pour them both a glass since he was doing all the cooking. Faye held his out for him - having slid up onto the countertop to watch - when he reached a point where he could step away for a moment. She’d already slipped her shoes off, and her feet swung back and forth idly while she watched him over the rim of her glass.

This wasn’t the first time they’d done this. Not really. He’d cooked for her before. She’d cooked for him. They took meals together in the mess hall, or out in the forest. But that was all before. Before things had shifted. For Faye, it wasn’t going to change anything. At least not in how she treated him. Well, no… that wasn’t completely true. She felt… possessive almost. Over him. Like somehow in the nearly two years they’d known each other he had become hers. Not in the sense that she wanted to control him, or own him, or tell him what to do. Gods no. But in the sense that… he was her person. Everything she did, everything she thought about - other than when she had to compartmentalize her mind for a mission or something similar, and even then it was hard - came back to him. She saw others looking at him. Watching him. Some had even approached him, but Fane had shut all of that down quickly. So Faye wondered… did he think as she did? Was she his? His person? Whatever that might mean?

She watched him as he came to take the glass. Her pulse beat just a little faster as his fingers brushed hers, and her tongue swiped out to wet her lips. “How was your day?” she asked, wanting to know since they hadn’t seen each other really. “They had us flying with the new holo-shields. If we can get them to stay functioning long enough - they’re full of glitches - we might be able to get real damn close to that base.” Talking about ‘work’ was just natural for the both of them. Faye never felt like she had to talk when they had dinner, but she liked to. And they often did. Chatting about this and that. Or about nothing. And if one didn’t feel like talking about a particular subject, they would lean the conversation towards something else. Which was fine.

No expectations. No pretenses. No pressure.

Just like this particular dinner. If what they’d planned for happened, it happened. If not, they would be happy in each other’s company. They wouldn’t force it. Even though they both knew what they wanted.

Seeing how his words caused her to raise a hand and brush her hair back out of the way caused him to wonder if he’d said something wrong, he was hardly skilled in this particular area of conversation as she no doubt knew by now. But she didn’t frown, or step away she just seemed settled by the compliment that seemed fitting for how she appeared right now. He was about to reply when the scuttle of little feet sounded and a rush of orange and brown feathers shot into the room as Cyd shot by chirping as he went and catching Fane a little off guard. Not that it registered, but whatever he might’ve been about to said was quietened as his mouth closed together and he observed the porg go and settle itself up on one of the shelves it had taken a liking to.

“Do I? I just threw it on honestly” Fane still wasn’t sure if this was fitting wear considering how elegant she looked but there was little he could do about it now. Faye stepped inside and he let her step inside before moving to slide the door closed and type in his code to lock the door with a small beep not particularly wishing for disturbances from the world beyond. For a night they could have a time where there was quiet, peace and a little bit of elegance (at least Faye brought the latter aspect) he thought.“ She caught his arm and he was soon enough letting her lead him through to the small kitchenette. “I’m not sure about a chef, I haven’t killed anyone yet but I’m not going to claim anything.” The pinwheels of meat, ham and cheese were cooking and the sauce was simmering but Fane had already prepared a small starter of fish and shellfish he’d caught earlier and made up and spiced with the few herbs available on the base. It had been a job getting and finding the ingredients, it had also involved a bit of a swim and run earlier but he’d managed to get it all together well enough. Then had come the job of preparing it all.

Had she asked Fane wasn’t sure what he would have told her into what he saw her as. A friend yes, a comrade in arms also but there were things he felt about her Fane wasn’t sure he possessed the words for. Didn’t know how to put words to. He felt protective and perhaps a slight ounce of possessiveness towards her and her well-being. Though what any of that meant was questionable and so Fane kept it to himself for the time being, until he had a better idea of what this might be.

But now that was almost done Fane walked over as she proffered the glass, taking it; fingers softly grazing her own and sipping the drink taking the time to savour the alcohol considering it was hard enough to come by a decent quality drink these days. His eyes drifted temporarily to the dart of her tongue across her lips, generally drawing his attention to them as was a general habit these days. But her question put him to rights and he set his glass back down on the counter. “Not bad, had most of the day to myself… Mostly just getting food and stuff” which had been an interesting hunt but ultimately rewarding. His interest perked at the mention of the holo-shields though “yeah? How was it? They seemed to be a bit faulty last I saw but they were saying they were trying to iron out the kinks. I’m still not convinced, but I haven’t given them a go yet so it’s hard to say for sure.”

For now, Fane wasn’t thinking about what the rest of the evening might entail. His only thoughts were on present company and conversation not wishing to get too carried out just yet.

“Mmhm,” Faye nodded as they walked. Though she always thought he looked handsome no matter what he was doing. He could have been wearing clothes straight from the training grounds and she wouldn’t have minded. She hadn’t tried to look particularly elegant. She had only wanted to look nice for him. And she supposed for herself as well. It wasn’t often that they got the chance to be in anything besides their everyday clothes. It made Faye feel like there was more besides fighting and war and flying and planning. Much like it did whenever she spent time with Fane. When he kissed her, or when they sat close to one another, sometimes reading or just enjoying the scenery.

There were reasons they were fighting, after all. And Fane had unwittingly become part of hers.

“Well, there’re worse ways to die than with a belly full of food.” She smiled at him and sipped her drink. It was good, the wine, and she held it in her mouth for a moment, trying to pick out the individual flavors before she swallowed. But she was terrible at such a thing, wine being a limited resource. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t savor it.

Though as she had come to know him better, friend and comrade seemed too small a description for who he was to her. Like him, however, Faye wasn’t sure what word was best. Or if there even was one. She pondered over it sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep, or when they were sat together quietly. She pondered it a bit now, while she watched him fiddle with the food before coming to take the glass of wine. “You caught those?” she asked of the fish. “You have been busy, haven’t you, Mr. Huntsman?” Faye was decidedly impressed. She hadn’t known Fane could fish. Or hunt. It didn’t surprise her as much as it might someone else; if he was going to do something he was going to do it to the best of his ability.

She hummed around her glass as he asked about the shields. “Not as bad as you’d think. They just have trouble keeping up with our agility. Flying straight, banking slow… pretty much anything that’s not a combat maneuver,” she said with a long-suffering look, “is great. The moment I move too fast the whole thing just…” She waved a hand. “- flickers all over the place. If it does that during an air attack… we’re toast.” She gazed at him, eyes taking him in for a moment. “You should. Maybe you can figure out why we’re having so much trouble.” There was a slight bit of frustration in her voice. The tentative date for taking the base was looming within the month. There were still so many things to do. So much to plan for and take into account. So many to worry over. Though Faye could say that only one person sat at the top of her list.

Which is why times like this were more important than ever.

“There’s worse ways to go,” he agreed before taking another sip of his drink and smiling a little at the thought. Really, it wasn’t the worst one he could think of and at least you’d be enjoying yourself at the end (sort of). But Fane was no real connoisseur of such artforms or even beverages. All he knew was whether something tasted good or didn’t, before the age of six he’d led a rather privileged lifestyle but beyond that Fane struggled to remember anything beyond the distant fringes of space. The exploration of new planets in search of a home and hideaway to rebuild and reclaim what had been stolen from them by the terrorists and traitors that called themselves the New Republic.

There were no such luxuries in the Unknown Regions, what they had they had scavenged and forged for themselves. Every opportunity fought tooth and nail for. They had been forged in the darkness and constructed themselves a bigger and better force to combat their enemies considering they now lacked the numbers the Empire once had. The Order was smaller by comparison but their technologies and equipment far more advanced which was how they had returned to try and take back what was once theirs. Fane had grown up in a society skewed in their beliefs and opinions, with nothing more than the military propaganda and stories of what life once was like before it had been taken away. His hatred had been imbedded at such an age where it could be crafted and controlled and moulded until he was just another weapon to be utilised to strike fear and terror into those who crossed him.

But none of that particularly mattered, five years he’d been free from those shackles and constraints and he could only hope that perhaps he was better for it. So when Faye mentioned the fish Fane gave them a cursory look, “it’s not difficult when you know how to make the right equipment” it was a passing remark, never claiming any sort of responsibility or entitlement from the achievement that catching them might entail. Gloating or gleeful wasn’t in his methodology. “I did a lot of stuff like this when I was younger, considering it was this or ration cubes and we all know how bad they taste” rare was it for Fane to talk about his life growing up. But sometimes the odd tidbit fell in every now and then, which apparently was one of those moments.

“Why not see about fixing some stabilising thrusters to them?” Fane suggested as he picked up the two plates of shell and general fish placing it down on the table which was already set up. “I’ll send one of my techs to go and have a look at them if you fancy? If there’s anyone who will have some idea it’ll be my guys.” But Fane didn’t dismiss the notion of flying one himself, he’d give it a test run and see how it went but he never was the sort to promise anything unnecessarily.

Faye’s parents had been farmers. Before they were part of the Resistance. Grain farmers. They lived a decent life. Faye had never gone hungry, had always had clean clothes, and both her parents loved her very much. They’d lived a simple, clean life. A quiet life in the countryside. Until the world had changed. Both her parents were still alive, back on their home planet. But the farm was gone. Destroyed when the Order tried to take over and they wouldn’t relent. Like most people Faye had known.

“Never could catch a damn thing anytime I’ve been fishing,” she commented, thinking back on the times she’d gone as a child. There had been no propaganda in her life then. Only a hatred for the people that sought to take what others had worked so hard for. A desire to see them driven out, destroyed, because it was what was right. The Order claimed to want peace. And Faye had no doubt that they believed what they were doing would achieve that goal. Though Faye’s idea of peace was quite different that the demonstrations she’d seen over the years. Peace through tyranny wasn’t peace. It was fear. It was humanity cowed and subjegated. Too afraid for themselves or their loved ones to fight back.

Faye wasn’t afraid. Not for herself. She would fight and die if she had to, if it helped take down the Order. Did she want to die? Of course not. Faye wanted to live. She wanted a life after the war. She wanted a place of her own, with water and greenery and maybe a family one day. A husband. Someone who loved her and she loved in return. A simple life, but one that wasn’t boring or sheltered.

So she smiled when he mentioned doing it when he was younger. Little slices of his life slipped out now and then, and Faye held onto each one. Held onto the bits and pieces of what made him who he was. What made him someone she’d grown to think of as vitally important to her own life. “Maybe you can show me sometime. I never could catch anything,” she said with a small laugh. As he picked up the plates and ushered them to the nicely set table, Faye slid down off the counter and padded over, setting the wine bottle down in the middle where they could reach it. She wasn’t sure what she might be able to help with, if anything, so she just left herself available to grab anything else that might need setting out.

“Stabilizing thrusters…” she repeated thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah… send them by anytime. I trust them more than some of these hack jobs around here. Not that they don’t mean well, but… some of them are new recruits and shouldn’t be anywhere near a ship without supervision. I’ll have my guys looking out for some smaller thruster parts in the meantime. The less weight we’re carrying the better, even if it’s only a few pounds.”

Once everything was ready, they sat and started to eat, still chatting about the fighters. The fish was absoutely amazing, and Faye made sure Fane knew it, though she didn’t keep on about it, knowing he didn’t like to be overly praised. Though she also made sure he knew how nice it all was: the dinner, the wine, the table set up. Everything. And while she didn’t truly feel the need to say ‘thank you,’ as this was for them both, she certainly wanted him to know it was all appreciated. As was he.

They drank the wine slowly, both of them savoring it and trying to make it last. Faye’s foot brushed his beneath the table at some point, and she left it there, resting gently against his boot as they finished up. Faye stood to clear their plates, telling him it was only proper since he’d been the one to do all the cooking and preparing. When she came back a few moments later, leaving a small standard issue kitchen droid to do the actual dish-washing, she stood behind him and rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, testing to make sure it was alright. Her fingers pressed into the muscles there, trying to ease out the knots that were almost ever-present.

“Always so tense,” she said quietly, though there was gentle teasing in her voice.

Once a long time ago Faye had asked him what he would do in the future, when, if the war was over and Fane had not particular answer for her because if he was being brutally honest he didn’t know where he would fit in a world without war. What use would he be in a world where there was no real need for espionage? For subterfuge and any of the other things he was trained and capable of? He’d never considered the idea or prospect of settling down, not particularly viewing himself as very worthy of such niceties (that is if he even made it that far in life). Not even now did he particularly stop to consider such things, it was only on the occasion of Faye’s prompting and discussion of such things he even attempted to try and contemplate such a future.

“Could do, though mostly I just spearfish” he explained around the occasional bites of the appetiser “we didn’t have the luxury of choice especially when we were landing on new planets-- you never knew what life forms you might encounter… More often than not it just wanted to eat you.” Not only had the lifestyle been cut throat but the environment had been too. Kill or be killed, that was all he could remember really of his own childhood exploring planets. No person was spared regardless of their age. If they were capable of learning they were put to work and duty.

“I’ll mention it to them, have them come by and take a look” Fane remarked with a small nod as Faye suggested they came by. “Issue is while the weight would perhaps compromise agility it would increase stability-- it’s a balance of finding the right amount of both hm?”

The meal was good enough in his opinion, nothing spectacular but he’d done what he could with the things available. By the time they were done with the appetiser Fane had gotten the pinwheels of meat and cheese from the cooker serving them up with a side of vegetables. Conversation flowed more freely around food and with every glass of alcohol that was slowly drained between them until Fane was feeling a little more relaxed and comfortable as he always tended to regardless with Faye. Though a part of him felt inclined to intervene he didn’t and opted instead to sit and watch knowing that Faye would insist regardless.

She arrived back behind him and where once there may have been an initial tension present under her touch he was comfortable and used enough to such things from her that he merely turned his head back enough to look up at her. Though it was hard not to let his eyes roll closed and to groan under the pressure of her fingers not realising how tight they were until she drew attention to them “that’s me,” Fane couldn’t even bring himself to disagree with the assessment.

“I never tried spearfishing. Was always with a cane pole or net. I’d love to give it a go though.” She didn’t expect him to drop everything and take her into the forest to go fishing. But it was a nice thought that maybe one day they could venture out and take the time for that. Though it would take more than an hour or two. She laughed a bit at the comment on getting eaten, not asking for specifics about where he’d been and with whom. “I’ve only ever been almost eaten a couple of times. It was not fun.”

The alcohol only served to add to the relaxation she felt. It was comfortable here, the food was good, as was the company. She didn’t drink much, as it wasn’t readily available, and she also needed to almost always be ready to jump into her fighter at a moment’s notice. So true relaxation was rare. This was probably as close as they’d both come in awhile.

Faye looked down at him as he turned his head. “Well, let’s see what we can do about it, hm?” A soft smile settled on her face as she continued to work the knots from his shoulders. Her hands were firm and steady, and she worked from the base of his neck out towards his arms. Every now and then she would comb her fingers through his hair. “Better?” she asked after a bit, though she didn’t stop what she was doing.

“It’s not easy,” Fane said thinking back to how long he’d spent earlier wading through the lake patiently waiting for just that right moment in the water. He’d always had an odd sort of sense and feeling for this sort of thing like he knew just when was the best moment to move or strike for maximum result. What it was he couldn’t say, though those who had any sort of sense would have been testing his midi-chlorian levels by now (it was standard practise to pick exceptional fighters in the Order) considering elevated levels tended to correlate with a force-sensitivity. Not that such things had ever occurred to Fane over the years, mostly attributing his results to simple luck and nothing more than that. “But sure, I’ll take you spearfishing sometime.”

Fane rarely let himself indulge in such things, and perhaps had it not been for Faye he likely wouldn’t have done so presently either. There was no point letting it go to waste, and between then they were draining it rapidly and Fane would have been lying if it wasn’t going just a little to his head. But where with others he might have worried, with Faye he felt secure in the knowledge that whatever happened it would work out in the end. They trusted one another implicitly and it was part of why whatever this was worked so well.

“Mm, indeed let’s see” he agreed a little more quietly now his shoulders sinking a little under the press and exploration of her hands and fingers. Though the occasions her fingers combed through his eyes drifted closed, relaxing into her touch having grown rather accustomed to it over the years “actually yeah. Though-- seems unfair I get special treatment and you don’t either…” he pointed out tilting his head back into her hands so he could look at her slightly upside down “hm?”

“Like I mind that. You should know me better by now.” Faye loved a good challenge. She loved learning things she didn’t know. Seeing things she’d never seen before. Experiencing new things for the first time. So if Fane said he would take her, then he would. She nodded in acceptance, hoping she wouldn’t let him down too much if she was rubbish at it. She’d noticed how keenly aware he was at times. How he seemed just… sense things before they happened. It struck Faye as an uncommon trait, though nothing that would have made her think he could be a Force-sensitive. She’d never met a Jedi in her life. They were myth in this time. Legend. All gone except for Luke Skywalker and a twenty year old girl from nowhere. But sometimes it only took one tiny ray of hope to fuel a rebellion. The Order told everyone the Jedi were wiped out. Extinct.

Or they had. They knew better now.

Which made for a whole other set of problems.

But that wasn’t for tonight.

Faye continued to rub his shoulders, growing quiet for a bit as she let herself enjoy the simple act. When she’d first met him, a lifetime ago it seemed, Faye would never had guessed they’d end up… well, as whatever they were. Friends. Companions. Trusted allies. All of the above and more. There was no one else she cared to do this with. No one else she cared to spend her precious time off with. No one else she cared about so much that she would take the time to make sure every tense knot of muscle was gone before the night was through. She cared about all her friends, her brothers and sisters in arms, loved her family. But with Fane it was… different.

And Faye for one didn’t care to put a name to it just yet, if ever. It worked. Why label it?

She grinned softly as he slowly loosened up, the wine making it’s way to both of their heads. But in a pleasant way that softened their movements and loosened that tiniest bit of inhibition that had been holding them back. Just enough that if it was meant for them to go further, they would, but with heads clear enough to know and remember. A small laugh worked it’s way out of her throat as he looked back at her. She stroked her fingers over his cheeks, smiling down at him. “You can repay the favor in a bit, hm?” Leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “This is for you right now.”

Fane hardly minded other people failing, it was a learning process for them. He never held them to the same standard he did himself considering that would be, in his opinion, unfair. Not that it didn’t mean he wouldn’t push them to their supposed limits if he thought they could take it, Fane sometimes took recruit training depending on what his schedule entailed-- it was just another responsibility he took on and it helped him get to know some of the recruits in their ranks though not all were keen in how hard he sometimes pushed them. But ultimately, it was all for the greater good. They were at war. They needed to be able to defend themselves to the best of their capability and the pushing he did would help ensure they were ready the next time the Order descended.

Fane appreciated the time he got to spend with Faye, perhaps more than he always let on. She seemed to understand or at least appreciate the quietness he tended to keep in his life beyond work (rare as time off like this was unless she physically dragged him off). She also took the time to see that he was alright, pushing against and sometimes even past the front he tended to keep even though occasionally such advances left him feeling a bit uncertain. But never uncomfortable he found which he put down to his trust in her.

He didn’t care for drinking much, but it was nice to simply relax and unwind under the slow touch of Faye’s hands. Her laugh brought a smile to his lips as he looked up at her, “what if I’m feeling impatient?” he questioned warmth blooming under the kiss she pressed to his forehead. But he made no effort to move just yet enjoying her attentions too much to interrupt.

Faye thought that failure was really the only way to learn. Failure and determination, and trying it over and over until you got it right. Though having a good teacher helped. And Fane was an excellent teacher. Faye had watched him with the new recruits. He pushed them, but no harder than he would push himself. Which wasn’t saying much since Fane pushed himself past his own limits.

She could see the difference in them though, those young men and women. Even older recruits were given no leeway, which most appreciated. The Order wouldn’t go gentle on them, so why should Fane? No. In Faye’s mind, he was doing them a favor.

Faye did appreciate his quietness. Too many people she knew felt the need to fill such things with chatter. And while Faye would never deny being one to go on about certain things, she appreciated the stillness. The way it eased her after a long day. The way they might not say more than a few words to each other, but she always left his side feeling better. And she always made sure he was taken care of as well. That he remembered to eat, or that a wound he might have acquired wasn’t left to fester, to be ‘taken care of later.’ And she did push, just a little. Only as much as she felt she could. And it was always gentle, never overwhelming. And sometimes she made headway, sometimes not. But it was all a work in progress.

Much as her helping him to relax was.

So when he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but smile back. It changed his whole face, made his dark eyes dance, made him look years younger than his usually stern countenance did. Not that he looked old by any means, but he had the stubbornness of a man twice his age. She only pulled back a bit after the kiss. Strands of her hair tickled his face. “You? Impatient? Well, now that’s a first isn’t it?” But she leaned up just a bit and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was an awkward angle, so she didn’t go much further. Pulling back again, she raked her hands through his hair. “Care to move somewhere more comfortable?”

If people tended to commented on his teaching methods Fane would simply make the very same point Faye just thought of, the Order would never go easy on them. Storm-troopers had a lifetime of training and so had Fane, you couldn’t beat them with tactics that might seem fair. Underhanded motives and outmaneuvering them was the only way and chance they had to win in the long run. But none of that mattered right now, the world was beyond the door that was sealed and locked away for now. For now the extent of the world was himself and Faye. Nothing more than that and for now he could let the rest drift away. Something he’d noticed happened more and more the more time he spent with Faye.

Fane never had much reason to smile, or even to show anything more than a general neutral opinion of anything going on around him. That simply was how he had been raised and what had stuck with him over the years. The question was whether it was a good or bad trait. Whatever the case, it had helped him survive. “Apparently you seem to bring out my worser qualities,” he commented his head tilting back just a little more when she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth though it was more upside down than anything considering how his head was angled on the back of the chair. Pleasant enough, but Fane had come to learn he desired more than passing moments during the course of development whatever this was between them had taken.

A low breath left him as she raked her fingers through his hair, “depends, I might need incentive to move hm?” He was joking, but Fane had begun to grow more accustomed to letting his sense of humour show just that little more than he had before.

“Who said impatience was a bad thing?” she said as she moved to kiss the other side of his mouth. Soft and lingering, but not the true kisses either of them desired. Faye laughed, a low sound that was accompanied by more fingers in his hair. It was thick and soft, and though he normally kept it neatly combed and tended, her attentions had it curling around her fingers and looking rather disheveled. It was a look she’d come to love seeing on him. A look that was just a bit less refined, a bit less tightly bound. She liked him all the time, of course, but seeing him in a different light was always agreeable to her.

“Ah, so it’s like that, is it?” Though there was humor in her voice as well. They tended to play off one another sometimes. If the mood and moment struck. It was never forced, just always seeming to fall into place in the right way. Letting her hands drift from his hair, she touched one to the back of the chair, using it as a pivot point as she stepped slowly around him to stand beside him instead of behind. She let it drift down his arm to his hand, fingertips brushing his until they curled around each other and she had a gentle grip on him.

“Will my word be enough to sway you?” Her cheeks were flushed gently from the wine, and bits of her hair had started to fall around her neck in tiny, loose curls. Beneath the fabric of her dress, her nipples were hard despite the comfortable temperature of the room, and her eyes were dark and watchful.

“A lot of people usually, it must be especially if patience is a virtue hm?” Fane had grown accustomed to these such attentions from Faye, the curl and drag of her fingers through his hair a normal occurrence by now. Her kisses while pleasant were hardly satisfying for either one of them and he shifted feeling just a little bit more restless but he suppressed it just for the time being. He was curious to see what she had in mind after all.

“Maybe I want to be difficult,” though his smile widened into more of a grin then watching in his peripheral vision as she circled around, closer until she could drift one drown his arm and grasp his hand in her own loose but with enough intent to draw his attention entirely. A general rhythm for the both of them, where one set the pace and the other settled into it comfortably in this instance Faye happened to have taken the lead and Fane would happily let her lead. They understood that if something was wrong either one of them would voice their problems, not that he saw any if he was honest.

“I suppose it might be enough,” he agreed slowly looking at her with a considering gaze, contemplating her appearance seeming to think it over before he turned and rose from his chair, body straightening to his full height and he could look at her. Her body betrayed the things she wanted, and Fane’s generally observant nature meant it didn’t go amiss but for now he left it seemingly unrecognised letting her pull him in the direction of the bedroom that was attached. “Will this be comfortable enough for you?” he asked a teasing lilt to his tone their hands trailing between them still connected by the curl of their fingers.

“Since when do you care what people think? And virtue, like sin, is all relative, hm?” The world wasn’t black and white. Faye knew this well. So did Fane. Morality, and the things people would do, or be forced to do, were all shaded grey. Especially at times like this. But Fane wasn’t trying to get into a philisophical debate tonight she knew. Neither was Faye. They could chatter on about things unrelated to what they were doing if they chose, and sometimes they did, interspersing it between more pleasant things. But Faye didn’t care to do that either. Not tonight.

She knew her chaste kisses would be slightly frustrating, but she wanted to go slow. Find their rhythm. And maybe she sensed that restlessness in him and wanted to see how far he would let it go. Not because she was being a tease, not a cruel one at least, but because she wanted to know his limits.

He was starting to loosen up, she noticed, as he relaxed more and more. Perhaps the wine helped, or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it was both. Either way Faye found it utterly appealing. “Do you now?” she grinned, though her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she took his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Faye felt no pressure in guiding things between them. At least for now. She had more experience, after all, even though it had been a long time. But she had no doubt that no matter what happened, Fane would catch on quickly. He always did. So much that it astonished her at times. And she would be lying if she said she didn’t wonder how long it would take him to get a feel for this as well. For the inevitable. Be it tonight or some other night.

Faye’s only worry was that she would let him down. That it would happen, and he wouldn’t like it. Or he would ask what all the fuss was about once it was done. She worried that the things Jevara had done to her would sneak back up on her and she wouldn’t be able treat him like he deserved. Though so far, those thoughts of her time as a slavewife hadn’t surfaced. The slight worry about not being able to please him did, but things were going well, so she didn’t linger there.

She tugged gently on his hand as he rose, standing a head and then some taller than her without her shoes on. Faye was under no illusions that he didn’t notice every tiny detail of her responses to him. The flush of her skin, the increase of her heartbeat, the slight flutter of her breath now and then. He was observant, after all. They made their way towards his bedroom, a room Faye had seen but never truly stepped foot in, and Faye looked back over her shoulder at him. “I’m sure it’ll suit just fine.”

There was no attempt to create a discussion regarding the matter, although Fane still found himself commenting regardless “though it would depend who it’s relative to. Some people care more than others.” But soon enough such matters were set to the wayside. He had come to learn by now that Faye wasn’t generally a tease, not unless there was some deliberate goal she had in mind to achieve and even then it was rare. Things had changed a little from normal though, not massively but enough he’d noticed the passing brushes of her hand or deliberate movements she made to catch his attention and where he might once have been irked by how easily she could draw his focus he found he was, surprisingly enough, rather pleased by it.

He understood her intentions though, they both tended to understand what one or the other wanted within reason to the point sometimes words weren’t required to pass a sentiment or feeling to the other. It was a little like that now, though he had a feeling the restlessness also stemmed from the anticipation over what they had ended up discussing the other day. He felt, nervous, unsure but also that very same familiar curiosity and excitement that tended to come with new territory. Which they might perhaps end up exploring tonight.

So the curl of her fingers into his own, the sight of her flushed and already apparently interested led to his heart thumping just a little more firmly in his chest. Her tongue drew his attention to her lips almost inadvertently and Fane swallowed shallowly. But he didn’t feel deterred only his curiosity edge that little higher. Though a part of him just wanted to kiss her and savour the soft and familiar warmth he had come to associate with her pressed up against him. In due time, at least a part of him hoped so.

The room when they entered was sparsely furnished, almost spartan with everything made with a familiar military precision even the bed was made up without a single crease or fold present. A few books lined the shelves, clothes folded neatly and a few other odds and ends dotted around. Indicators of his discipline even in the space that was supposedly where he was meant to unwind and relax. He didn’t have much he kept, sentimentality not a thing that had ever been shown or encouraged and if he’d been asked to leave immediately a bag would have been completely packed in under five minutes. He wasn’t sure what Faye would make of it, it wasn’t much but it was all that he had and he glanced at her both curious and unsure as to whether she would mind how barren it almost seemed. Arriving at the edge of the bed he sat down so that he was looking up at her. “It’s more comfortable than most places I’ve had to stay across the years so-- there’s that.”

Faye looked around as they entered. It was a clean space, very tidy and well-kept. It suited him though, and Faye didn’t mind it at all. Her own room was a bit less neatly pressed. Her bed normally went unmade, and while she didn’t have all that much, she tried to keep what she had taken care of. Though her clothes tended to end up in a pile over a chair instead of hung up as they should be. She had a few books, not as many as Fane, and nothing truly sentimental either, other than Cyd. Several plants littered her shelves and a few larger ones sat in pots on the floor. Faye loved the greenery, coming from being a farmer’s daughter.

But she didn’t judge Fane’s choice of how to keep his living quarters. They were his, after all. And a neatly made bed came unmade just as easily as anything else. “I like it,” she told him. “It’s peaceful. No distractions.” He sat, and Faye didn’t let go of his hand. Instead she stepped between his knees, his own height and that of the bed giving him a full view of her breasts at near eye level. When she did drop his hand, it was only to raise her own to his face again. Her face turned a bit more serious, though there was still lightness in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here… that you stayed. I think I’d miss you if you weren’t.”

Faye didn’t let her sentiment find a voice very often. She was the sort of person who liked to show things, not being good with words. So the statement - fueled a bit by the wine that had gone slightly to her head - held more weight than it would coming from someone else. So much said in just a few words. Things that Faye didn’t even realize she was saying, even as she only spoke the truth.

Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. “Would you miss me? If I was gone?” What prompted her to ask such a thing, she didn’t know. It simply felt… right.

“No distractions ‘cept you,” he amended with a little grin as he looked up at her from where he was now perched on the edge of the bed his fingers still lightly toying with her own, legs splaying just enough to accommodate her standing between them. Despite everything they had trialled and experimented between them Fane still did his best to show her a certain level of respect and though he found his eyes drawn away from her face he tried never to gawk or stare like some immature teen. They were adults after all. He sat back just a little enough that he could comfortably look up at her without needing to arch his neck too much into the act.

Seeing her face grow more serious he wondered what was on her mind, though she soon voiced it and it left him again, a little surprised and a little unsure how to respond. But he found himself moving a little, his hands raising to bracket her hips as he gazed up at her his eyes unfathomable but something akin to pleasure and a genuine enjoyment at hearing her say this. To show him an attention he’d long since been starved of. “Really?” he wasn’t sure why he found it so hard to believe that someone cared enough to say they’d miss him but it was hard to truly comprehend after the life he’d grown so accustomed to living.

What also surprised him was that she even took the time to verbalise this, and if he’d been clearer in his mind he might’ve questioned why she felt so inclined to say this to him instead of just showing him as she’d been inclined before. Her thumb grazed the corner of his mouth and his head turned, pressing a small kiss to her hand before it smoothed back over the dark scruff lining his jaw. “I would-- but you aren’t going anywhere, you’re here… with me.” Which had to mean something didn’t it?

Faye hummed a small laugh, finding his humor pleasant and warm. They’d kissed often in the last few months, even worked up to a few searching touches here and there. Caresses over clothes that served to both intice and frustrate them both. But Fane was always respectful. And Faye tried to be too. Though her mind often wandered, and she sometimes wished he didn’t ask for permission quite so often. But she understood why he did, and she appreciated it every time, even if she grew slightly frustrated at times. Not with him, but with her body’s own responses that she could do nothing about. At least not with him present.

“Yeah, really.” Her hands moved to his shoulders as his moved to her waist. They were warm, like twin points of flame, even through the fabric of her dress, and Faye let out a tiny breath of air. Why had she chose to speak out loud now? The wine had made her feel relaxed yes, languid even, but it hadn’t taken over her faculties completely. Perhaps it was because she didn’t want him to think what they were doing - or might be doing - was offered out of pity on her part. Or that it didn’t meant anything to her. Because it did. It meant more than she could say. So she said it as best she could, in a way that made sense at the time.

When he spoke, saying that yes, he would miss her, but that she was here, with him, in such a matter of fact way, Faye couldn’t help but smile. And it wasn’t a grin, but something smaller, softer. Something private. Just between them. At the same time, something warm flared in Faye’s chest, and she felt her heart speed up in time with the sudden rush of… affection? No, that didn’t seem right. It was bigger than that.

“Yeah…” she said quietly. “Yeah… I am.” Faye leaned down and kissed him then. Slow and soft like they always started with. To find what worked. To find the right pace. The right way of things. But as much as she wanted to go slow for him, a tiny part of her trembled with anticipation. It had been a long, long time after all.

Fane tended to stand on circumstance, and though it was almost two years ago now that they had met the circumstances under which they had met were fraught with things that concerned him for her well-being. Not that it was perhaps his domain to worry but it didn’t change the fact that a part of him did, because he wasn’t sure what would or wouldn’t potentially upset her and that was why he felt so inclined to check. After all, once he had and knew he didn’t need to do it again.

His fingers pressed small divots into her dress through the soft material of her loose dress feeling the warmth of her body beneath. He’d grown more comfortable in touching her like this over the time they’d gotten to know one another rather more intimately but he still never liked to stand on ceremony and assume something he did would be something she in turn would enjoy. He was clear-headed enough to be sure in what they were doing, and also in thinking of what it might mean in turn down the line but he didn’t want to consider those things just yet. Not when this was still so new between them.

Her smile flooded him with warmth, something he noticed happened more and more whenever he was graced with her smiles. And Fane found himself smiling in turn giving another small squeeze his eyes filled with a softness that was only ever reserved for when he gazed at her. And for those that knew they might have called it love.

Nothing more needed to be said, not when she was leaning down and he was supporting her so they didn’t entirely topple over onto the mattress. Though his arms slipped further around her pulling her in and tilting his head up mouth opening to the slow and deliberate pressure of her mouth against his own.

Little steps here and there was how they worked a lot of the time. A brush of hand that turned to a more confident touch when given the go ahead. A subject touched on that wasn’t diverted. Push and pull, give and take. It was simply what worked, and neither had a mind to question it. Not when they didn’t have to. Not when it brought them both happiness.

Faye had never been in love before. She loved people, of course. Her parents, friends, her comrades. But being in love was different. It snuck up on you. One day you looked at someone you’d known for what seemed like forever, and something shifted. And then you realize, that from this friendship has grown something - someone - that you can’t imagine yourself without. So if all that held true, then perhaps she was in love with Fane. Though what she was required to do with that feeling, should she ever realize what it was, Faye had no idea.

Right now, she was kissing him, and his hands were on her waist. He was pulling her in, his mouth already opening to hers. Before they could topple over, Faye slowed her movements. Pulling back slightly, her hands fell to her sides, and her fingers caught her dress on either side. Slowly, the fabric crept up her thighs, until it was high enough that it didn’t keep her from settling across his lap. She did so slowly, letting him see the rise of the material that exposed the long expanse of her legs. And when she placed one knee on either side of him, letting the fabric fall back down to pool in his lap, she waited, making sure it was alright and not too fast, before she resumed her slow exploration of his mouth.

They had a rhythm that worked between them, some days that consisted of them taking their time to find it. To push or edge back depending on what each other wanted but Fane had grown to notice there was more push of late than anything else. A push towards a boundary they’d been dancing around rather a lot but if tonight ended as had been suggested things would likely change entirely. Though what that meant Fane wasn’t entirely sure yet or what it would mean for either one of them.

Just as Faye would tell him if things were too fast for her he would tell her likewise, it was an act they’d gotten rather good at over the last two years whether it was in work or anything else besides that. Though these moments they had begun to share recently were entirely different to the ones they shared when they had jobs to do and roles to play.

So, as Faye rose breaking the kiss momentarily to move closer and take the time to hitch the skirt of her dress up enough that she could straddle his lap Fane’s hands rose just a fraction higher rubbing her waist through the material of her dress. He still acted to support her so they didn’t fall just yet explaining why one hand; fingers splayed over her ribs stayed put but he took the opportunity presented to him to lean in and press a kiss on the slope of where her neck met her shoulder. His lips ghosted a trail of peppered affections down the line of her clavicle before he backtracked until his head rested just under her chin breathing more shallow as his hand drifted down, fingers softly tracing the bare skin of her newly exposed thigh. Curious but slow in their explorations, wanting to see how she reacted before his head tilted back and he met her kiss slowly.

Things would change after tonight. Faye knew they would. Just like she’d known they would change after she’d kissed him that first time. It was nothing drastic, but a slow change that had happened over time. The loosening of a tight muscle here, a low rumble of a laugh there. Small steps, each just as important as the next, with little pushes along the way the get them over an obstacle that stood in their path. Never crashing through it without thinking, but always observing, adjusting, taking another path if the first one didn’t work. All because they cared. They wanted what was best for each other, even if they never said it out loud.

She settled over him, the play of his mouth over her skin pulling a small, shuddering breath from her lips. He trailed fire over the arch of her collarbone, his breath warm and shallow as he came to rest against her. Her hands, shaking slightly, rose back to his shoulders, and she breathed him in, trying not to roll her hips as his fingers brushed the bare skin of her thigh for the first time.

Faye’s own breathing grew more shallow, and she hummed her approval in his ear, giving him permission to explore. It had been… god it had been years since someone had touched her so gently and with such reverence. To say it didn’t make her feel slightly heady, and a bit powerful, would be a lie. Their mouths met again, and it was slow, but deeper than before. Faye flicked her tongue against his, and her fingers drifted, dancing slowly down his chest to tug just so on the hem of his shirt, seeking permission to pull it free. To touch skin that had yet to be explored.

The hum of her approval in his ear served as encouragement for him to continue, and where it was once just the pads of his fingers pressing into her skin his hands flattened, palms pressing into the warm and firm curve of muscle typically hidden by the flight-suit Faye often wore around base. Considering they always had to be ready to fight at any point it was understandable even if it did little to flatter her figure. Not that such suits were designed to be the epitome of fashion, but if the dress she wore tonight highlighted anything, it was the fact he could certainly grow used to appreciating her figure along with several other things he could name that had nothing to do with her physicality.

It just so happened today, this was the thing he noticed most prominently and a part of him could only hope he would be able to learn how to help her enjoy whatever the rest of the evening entailed. Because if what had come to pass so far was anything to go by-- Fane was almost certain he’d be pleased by the outcome. But he wasn’t about to get ahead of himself, for now savouring the softness of her skin as he smoothed slowly up and down her thighs hands occupied with this act as she pulled him in for another kiss.

He’d grown used to kissing her like this, the slight battle for dominance something he’d grown rather fond of and when her tongue retreated he took the opportunity to nip at her lip knowing well enough by now she enjoyed this. And then her hands were tugging at his shirt and he made a low noise but created just enough space that she could do as she silently sought. To remove it and pass yet another new barrier between them.

His hands flattened over her thighs, smoothing up higher towards her hips and back down. Faye hummed in approval once more. She was toned from years of flying and fighting, and the softness that she’d put on during her time as a captive was nearly all gone, replaced by well-used muscle. The bolder he grew, the more Faye took it as a sign to push just a little more. To go just a little bit further. He would let her know if it was too much.

She gasped, a tiny breath of a sound, as he nipped her lip, but pressed back into him, grinning against his mouth as she tugged on his shirt. When he gave his permission, and gave her ample room, she pulled the fabric free, but didn’t pull it up and over his head just yet. Her mouth broke from his, and she rested her forehead against his temple as her fingers found warm skin. Faye knew a bit of what to expect from seeing him training, but to feel it, the softness over lean muscle that moved slightly with is breath and as she touched him, that was another thing entirely.

Her fingers curved around his waist, dragging back up over his stomach, over his ribs, over the roughness of his nipples, until all he had to do was raise his arms and the shirt would be gone. It was a slow progression as she took the time to touch him, to feel the contours of his body that she was getting to know for the first time. Finally, she pulled back and looked at him, hands splayed over his bare chest under the shirt that still remained for now. Seeking permission. Seeking approval. Seeking whatever made him happy.

The small bite to her lip made him grin a little against her lips, always pleased when he was capable of drawing out responses such as these from her. He found it was rather exciting in a way and it only made him wish to strive to gain more like this, more recently he’d found himself wondering what else he could draw forth from her almost a general challenge to himself. He’d felt more confident in testing boundaries and every new encounter resulted in his curiosity and anticipation notching ever higher. So, this and the curl of her fingers in the thin material of his shirt felt like a blessed relief he didn’t even realise he’d needed up until now.

So, as she pressed closer the movement anchoring her hips more firmly into his own a low breath of warm air left him, which was just as quickly inhaled as her fingers sought out the skin that was always kept hidden beneath. Fane very rarely let people touch him, let alone linger in their affections so this was-- again, entirely new and heat rushed through him her fingers leaving hot scalding trails over his skin.

She seemed to grow more confident, gripping and touching his body with more assurance that he wasn’t about to stop her but he found his heart thudding and breath growing more shallow the further her hands slid under his shirt. Faye looked up at him then, her hands pressed to his chest which rose and fell with every breath he took and there was barely a moments hesitation as he finished the job off for her. Gripping the material where it had raised and pulling it up and over his head to discard it (for once) without any real consideration about keeping it tidy. The air of the room was warm, though only light this deep in the base was from the lighting present on the walls. Nothing natural but enough to cast his athletic frame; sculpted by a lifetime of hard graft and training, littered with scrapes and scars of all manner of variety into view. His hands drifted back to her thighs, gripping them once more and meeting her eyes a general sense of confidence in him as he sat there despite his state of undress hoping she liked what she saw.

From the moment they’d first kissed under that tree at the edge of the base, Faye had told herself that she would be as honest in this as she had always been with him. So her responses to him, to the way he touched her, kissed her, looked at her even, were nothing but pure and real. She didn’t hold them back, allowing him to see and hear what he did to her, even though it flushed her cheeks more often than not. But why hide it? Why hide the fact that she like what he did? That she enjoyed his hands on her, gently exploring? His mouth doing the same? Why deny what they’d both agreed to?

There was no missing the way his own body responded as Faye ventured into new territory, slipping her fingers across the taut skin of his stomach before exploring further. Was she the first one to touch him this way? Yes. Yes, she was. He’d as much as told her so those long weeks ago now. The thought gave her a rush, and her own breath stuttered for a moment as she waited on his permission. She didn’t have to wait long, and he was doing the work for her, pulling the fabric over his head and discarding it in the shadows. That alone would have let Faye know he was utterly here with her, in the moment. But the look on his face, the sharp, shallow rise and fall of his chest beneath her hands, and his own growing more confident over the curve of her thigh… all that let her know as well.

Another barrier gone, Faye sat back just a bit, unable to take her eyes from the sheer madness of seeing so much of his skin all at once. She was captivated. So much so that she could only trail her hands, fingers dancing feather-light, down over him. Over every ridge and scar, every dip and curve gained and refined by the life he led. “Beautiful…” she found herself whispering. Her eyes rose back to his, searching, one hand over the pounding of his heart, the other touching his face again. “Lay back?” Faye asked, her face holding a question as well. ‘Is that alright?’ it asked. ‘I want to see you…’ it said.

There was no controlling how his body responded to her, Fane had begun to realise that when it came to Faye he had very little say in much of anything especially if there was something she wanted. Whether that was somewhere else or here and now. Such as her silent suggestion for his shirt to be discarded leaving him a little rumpled much like how she’d ended up dislodging his hair from its typical neat comb; replacing it instead with wild waves and odd angles. Rare was it for anyone to be capable of driving him to a point of not caring how he might appear, but Faye was capable of getting him to do many odd things by his typical standards.

And he was with her, entirely. Whether it was his curiosity or genuine enjoyment was irrelevant because what truly mattered was the fact he wanted to be here. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her and whatever else he was allowed to do because nothing else felt quite so exhilarating as this.

She sat back and it left him looking at her, his chin tipping just enough to gaze at her; his ebony hues dark and primal as they admired her in kind while his fingers gripped just a little harder having settled at the apex of her thighs. His fingers lightly traced the juncture of her thigh ghosting down but not quite venturing further considering when he was debating doing just that she had conducted her own explorations of his body. Calling him beautiful, and the word and the way in which she said it might’ve been enough to steal all the air from his lungs. So her follow-up request was met with a glance at the bed which they were just on the edge of for the moment. “Come with me?” he gave a small nod further up the bed figuring it would be more comfortable though he had to consider the fact she was currently (and very distractingly) pinning his hips down.

Faye admired how he looked anytime. His tightly buttoned every day appearance, though that had started to shift slightly towards items like he was wearing now, or the rumpled state he was often left in after their encounters. It was especially thrilling for Faye, as she thought such a state was quite pleasing. Especially as she was the one who caused it. Her own state was usually less well-polished, tonight being the exception. She wasn’t sure if Fane preferred either look, but figured it didn’t really matter. He liked her. That was what mattered.

And to see him loosening up, not being quite so stressed about so much, made Faye happy. Especially as it was his own choice to do so. No one had forced him, or coerced him. He had done it all on his own. Something as small as leaving his shirt on the floor was a big step from a year ago. There hadn’t been anything wrong with how he chose to function in his daily life, and Faye liked him regardless. But it seemed to weigh less on him, which was good.

Her own body responded in kind to the reactions of his own. To the touch of his hands, the brush of his thumbs over soft, warm skin that hadn’t felt a kind touch in years. Faye exhaled as he squeezed just so, and couldn’t help the rock of her hips against his own. But then she was admiring him, and her head was growing muzzy with the feeling of touching him and vice versa. The world narrowing to just him and her and the gentle, searching play of fingers and mouths over warm skin. So when he bid her to come too, she nodded. Unsure what he wanted just yet, Faye kissed him once more, softly, and then (reluctantly, and with a small mewl of disappointment) slid from his lap and moved on her knees to lay against his pillows. She reclined comfortably, propped on her side, her dress still riding high on her thighs, and held out a hand to him, silently beckoning him to join her.

Once again they were a study of opposites, where Faye had opted to dress up tonight Fane had reverted to the opposing end of the spectrum in simple verging on casual choice of clothing. And had she asked, just as he’d told her earlier he thought she looked incredible not that it mattered either way what she looked like at the end of the day so long as he had the pleasure of her company. That was in itself enough for him.

He was keenly aware of how she was reacting, paying close attention to inform the things he did. It was a learning experience after all, not that this was why he was even interested in what might come next there was curiosity there yes, but mostly there was an enjoyment he never truly realised up until it had practically kicked down the door and barged into his life. It was such a difference to the things he was used to that he found himself anticipating everything with bated breath. The rock of her hips into his own caused his breath to catch low in his throat, heat rushing south and settling in his belly his cock already half-hard in the confines of his trousers.

But then she drew away and Fane was forced to take a moment to try and regain his bearings considering the dizziness that had overcome him. Though it wasn’t long before he was crawling up to relax beside her; hands sliding up the outside of her thighs to where her dress had bunched high on her legs as he sank down to immediately capture her lips as the mattress sank a little under them.

Faye could feel the press of him between her legs. It set a fire in her own belly. One that rolled higher with every touch of his hands, every press of his mouth. Every rock of his hips and breath of sound. She wanted to touch him so badly. And she would. But not just yet. There were things she wanted to do first. Things she wanted him to do. Wanted him to experience before she took him in hand.

Her own head was swimming with wine and sensation, and she was glad that he didn’t wait too long to join her. She hummed into his mouth as his hands slid over her thighs,rucking the dress back up. She wore panties beneath, something delicate and soft, and already they were damp with want. Faye pushed up onto her hip after a moment, her hands trailing down his side, butterfly touches that barely brushed skin. Her mouth followed. Slowly down his neck, taking her time over his collarbones, down the center of his chest. She paused over one nipple, and after looking up at him to make sure he was still alright, she gently closed her mouth over it, sucking it gently into a hard peak. Her thumb flicked over the other one, and she made soft humming noises as she worked.

If he could get drunk off of feeling anything he was sure whatever was flooding his system right now would be it, every nerve felt like it was aflame and wherever her hands tracked felt like trails of flame were left in their wake. Every touch, sound and feeling rousing him to things he’d done his very best to ignore up until now and considering ignoring this would be a serious effort in itself Fane felt any of his will or any doubts that may have been lingering in the back of his mind crumble away.

By now her dress was over her hips and a glance down made him wet his lips in anticipation and suddenly he wanted to see, to touch more of her all while a part of him wondered what the softness of her skin would taste like. His hand smoothed over the curve of her hip fingers lightly catching in the material of her panties but not quite sure enough to make any move to take them off right then. And any such thought was gone from his mind when she was sliding down his body, the warm wetness of her lips closing over the dark peak of his nipple causing him to suck in a short huff of air groaning and arching a little under her ministrations. “Fuck--” his own hands had shifted to her ribcage on the material of her dress and suddenly he wanted it gone. Curling his fingers into the fabric he tugged insistently making his wish clear “lemme feel you-- please. I want to touch you.”

Faye was slowly getting lost in the feel of him beneath her hands. In the way his own moved over her. The drag of his fingers over the material of her panties made her hum appreciatively, and she worked her way down his chest with slow precision. He tasted divine, clean and soft and warm. When his back arched as she laved at his nipple, she grinned, feeling her belly tighten along with his hands over her ribs.

His wishes were made clear, and Faye stopped what she was doing to look up at him. He hardly ever asked for anything, always waiting for permission or easing into things. She smiled at him, a soft expression that was a bit nervous. Settling to her knees beside him, she watched him for a moment before reaching up and pushing one strap off her shoulder. It fell loose down her arm, the material catching on the curve of her breast. She did the same with the other, the fabric rising and falling with her breathing.

She let it be for a moment, letting him look at her, before she let it fall away completely. Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall around her, and the dress was soon lost to the shadows. She settled back against him, nosing along his jaw. “‘S okay?”

He was genuinely surprised at how something so simple as another person’s lips could make him feel this incredible, it was mind-altering and breathtaking simultaneously and Fane was struggling to keep his thoughts on any single coherent track. If he was honest he was struggling to imagine how anything could feel as good as this while wondering why he’d denied himself this for so long. But would it be the same with any other person? Would he trust them as implicitly as he did Faye to be capable of laying himself bare and exposed as he had.

Rare was it for him to feel inclined to ask anything of her, not wishing to seem presumptive or as though he expected to be given anything. He didn’t expect her to do anything she didn’t want and it was just one of the many reasons why this, whatever this was between them worked. But he knew right then that he wanted to see her, to admire her just as she was admiring him in kind; laid out bare for her to explore as she chose. Which prompted him to ask, which in itself was his own way of asking permission she didn’t have to do this after all, not if she didn’t want to. But she was moving shortly after her asked, sitting back and letting the dress slip from her shoulders and if he hadn’t forgotten how to breath before he did then.

He couldn’t stop how his eyes were drawn, to the rise and fall of her chest and the gradual slip of material until it was gone and almost instinctively his hand lifted gently brushing her shoulder, arm and back again before his questing touch moved lower until he grazed the curve of her breast savouring the softness of her skin under his touch. He was transfixed, and it was only when she was climbing back above him and nosing at his jaw that he let out a breath he barely realised he’d been holding. “Yeah-- S’just--” his head tilted back to look up at her affectionately “you’re beautiful.”

Faye’s eyes never left his face as she slipped out of her dress, baring her whole self to him. Even when his hands found the supple flesh of her breast, touching lightly, she looked only at him. Though she made a small sound of encouragement, that he should feel free to touch more of her if he wanted. Because god she wanted him to. It took everything she had to hold back, to go slow, to let things ease in instead of just devouring him where he lay. It would be easy, she thought, to have him moaning under her in second, but she didn’t want that. She wanted to savor this. She wanted this first time, his first time, to be something he never forgot. To be something he cherished.

Like she wanted him to cherish her. Even though she didn’t realize it yet.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that.” Faye smiled softly down at him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her own. Her bare leg curved over his, still clad in his trousers, and she took a moment to trace her fingers down his chest. They curved over his hip, dipping beneath his waistband as they drew back across the soft skin of his stomach. She wanted to see all of him, to touch and taste him, but she wanted to give him the opportunity first. To touch her like he wanted. To take that next step.

He’d come to learn the sounds of encouragement she made when he did something she liked, they served as a quiet guider for him to understand what she enjoyed in comparison to what she didn’t so much. But the encouragement as he traced the firm curve of her chest only served to give him the confidence to touch her more insistently, more curious about what it would mean or result in. Just as she did for him earlier his fingers flicked over the dark straining buds firm and sensitive followed up by a soothing squeeze his eyes and features entirely engrossed in the act of learning and drinking down every response he could draw from her. But all the while he paid attention to her, his eyes occasionally drifting back up to glance at her. And suddenly he felt hungry, to taste more of her just as she had started on him earlier.

He’d just started to sink a little lower, towards the spot where his fingers toyed, gripped and teased when she spoke and when her own hands began to resume their own attentions. The weight of her leg settling over his made him stop long enough to look up at her while his fingers idly circled one of the firm buds. “Must be true then,” he said quietly though he noted himself how his voice had roughened to a throatier rasp when he spoke.

There was no controlling the arch and lift of his hips as she let her fingers pass under the waistband of his trousers a rumble echoing low in his chest. Wanting, needing more of her touch but all the while wanting to taste her himself. “Can I taste you?” he asked after using a moment to try and compose his shallow breaths and sucking at the juncture of her neck and shoulder his tongue dragging a short line over her skin before nosing in affectionately. Whether he was doing this right he wasn’t sure, but he was going on gut instinct, about what his body was screaming at him to do and what it wanted.

His fingers and mouth were already like hot coals being traced over her skin. When his fingers flicked over the straining buds of her nipples, Faye sucked in a sharp breath. The ache in her belly eased lower, and she knew when he finally touched her where she wanted it most, he would find her panties soaked through with her desire for him. A desire that had pushed everything else from her mind. The war, the Resistance, the impending battle for the Order’s base… everything but him and the way his hands seemed to already know her. The way her own couldn’t get enough of him.... The way they wanted more, wanted all of him. Her mouth watered at the thought of tasting him, and she vowed that before the night was through she would. She would taste every inch of him. Every cord of muscle and ridge of bone.

“Must be…” she sighed, too taken with him to think about protesting. And to her, he was beautiful too. So beautiful. And she would give him anything he asked for. Anything at all. So it was a resounding, “Yes…” when he asked to taste her. “Please, yes…” His mouth on her neck was divine, the pressure hard enough to leave bruises, but soft enough to still be gentle. Faye was quickly coming to the conclusion that she didn’t want gentle. She wanted to be possessed. Taken. She wanted to be the only person that ever saw him like this. The only person that she ever allowed to see her like this. That fact slammed hard into her consciousness, and it was such a powerful thing that Faye was forced to open her eyes.

They were blown dark, and then and there she realized that this was something more than quiet affection or even close friendship between them. She wouldn’t name it yet, because it scared her to death. And she had to be sure. More sure than she had ever been about anything in her life. The press of his hips pulled her back in, and she pulled her hand back a bit before letting it drift lightly down the front of him. A wanton sound worked its way up her throat as she slipped her fingers over the hardness pressing against the dark fabric. She wanted him so badly, it was all she could do to keep herself in control. This was for both of them, yes, but she cared more about him than herself right now. So she took the time to keep touching him, letting him get used to the feel of her hands over the hardness of his cock, confined as it still was. Her breath came shorter and faster the more his mouth moved over her skin. And he grew more confidant with each passing minute.

“I’m yours… taste what you want. Touch what you want… I’m yours. Only yours…”

“Mm, must be,” he echoed softly against her skin where he rested for the time being nosing and tasting. Satiating his curiosity and desires to learn and chart every inch of her skin because the more that was unveiled the deeper his hunger grew. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, and his question was the precursor to that end so her affirmative made him grin against her skin pressing a softer kiss to shoulder then before he shifted lower. Oblivious to the realisation that was sinking in while he began to explore with curious enthusiasm.

Her fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin of his abdomen and the front of his hardness confined yet making its presence entirely known made him moan. Unable to control how his hips pressed forwards needily, wanting more than just the pressure she was applying that brought a lusty haze over his mind. And then she took him in hand and his head pressed into her chest suddenly struggling to remember how to breathe with the soft strokes of her fingers. But he nosed against her, sweat already beading at his brow as he shifted lower until he could suck a straining bud into his warm and wet mouth, his tongue swirling in a lazy circle around the firm bud before drawing away his teeth scraping gently over the peak silently hoping she wouldn’t mind the attention. He was testing, trialing out things she’d done to him that he could only hope would feel just as good to her as they did him.

Moving over to lave and attend her other breast he eventually pulled off with a slick pop. “Where do you want me?” he asked throatily, “tell me what you like-- what you want” because he wanted it all, wanted to learn everything she could ever enjoy though he was struggling to focus under the attentions of her hand which drew occasional wanton sounds from his mouth.

The feel of him in her hand, even through the layers of fabric that still separated them, was enough to make the last of Faye’s already tenuous hold on herself fall away. He pressed into her hand, making wanton, needful sounds that went straight to her center. Her fingers gripped at his hair, holding him against her as he panted for breath. She could feel the slickness of the sweat on his brow, and she made a sound of her own - slightly bereft - as he slipped lower and her hand slid a bit away from him.

But as his warm mouth closed over the hard bud of her nipple, the sound turned to a hiss of pleasure, and her head fell back. She cursed to herself at the drag of his teeth, squeezing her thighs together to give herself some sort of relief from the ache between her legs. He moved on to her other breast, and Faye let the movement push her onto her back. Her eyes were dark and hooded as she reached for him again, drawing her hand more insistently over him and hooking her fingers in his belt.

She was so far gone, so far over the edge of reason, and wanted him so badly, that she could no longer control what she said. Which is why when he asked her where she wanted him, the only thing she could say was, “Inside me… now…” Faye pulled his belt loose more roughly than she had planned to. “I want you… just you…” Finally her fingers found warm skin, velvety soft and hard as bone, and she let out a breath, utterly pleased at what had been waiting for her. “Do you want me? Do you wanna touch me first? See what do to me?” Her panties were soaked through, and she knew once he touched her, once they crossed that threshold, that she wouldn’t last long. But they had all night, after all.

The hiss of pleasure made a pleasured warmth swell in his chest, along with perhaps a touch of smugness over the fact that it was him who had been able to draw these sounds from her. To be able to reduce her to this panting and wanton mess who wanted him so much she was practically marking him with her grip not that he minded, finding that he actually rather liked the firm grasp of her fingers and nails as they dug into his body. Her head was thrown back and she was pushed back under him and a thrill shot through him at the fact.

But he wanted to learn everything she enjoyed, and anything he could do to bring more of this apparent pleasure to her. And when she gave her breathless insistence of wanting him inside of her his nostrils flared a little, his desirous gaze dark and wanting just as much as his hips were jerked by the sharp tug of his belt from its loops. He wasn’t sure whether her words were simply lust-driven, but regardless they made him smile against her chest though his breath caught in his throat as she took him in hand and he groaned against her skin. “Yes-- yes, I want it all” he rumbled struggling to focus on anything beyond the grip of her hand and the sensitivity he felt to her touch.

Emboldened by her own exploration his hands moved to hook in the edge of her panties, pulling them down perhaps a touch too sharply in his need before they were discarded. His fingers dragging up her thighs to grip her hip and pin her down before his hand tentatively dipped between her legs and he let out a breath at the slick slide of his fingers which stroked her gently. “You’re so wet--” he half-laughed feeling dizzy and light headed all at once “all for me?”

Faye had tried her best to retain some form of control over herself. To go slow and make sure this lasted. To make sure he enjoyed it just as she was certain she would. She had no idea that he would affect her like this. Turning her into a trembling, gasping mess so quickly. Faye was quite aware she was attracted to him. Very much so. But this was something else. If he had been anyone else, she would have called him out as a liar for never having done this before. It came so naturally, so easily, and he caught on so quickly that Faye would never have pegged him a virgin.

Her nails drug over his skin, through his hair and down his shoulders and back. There would be marks, she knew, in the morning. Though he didn’t seem to mind. Every action of hers caused a reaction on his part, and she was fascinated by each and every one. By the sounds of his breath, the way it stuttered and huffed over her chest; the insistent press of his hips into her hand as she sought out the hard warmth of his cock; the groan that followed.

There was lust in her words, but she was yet to be completely blinded by it, though the haze was closing in fast. But no matter what, everything she said was the complete truth. She wanted him. Only him. And no one else. She wanted him in all the ways a woman could want a man. His response as she cupped him in her hand was enough to drive the breath out of her, and she wrapped her hand around him a bit more firmly, but still gently, and gave his cock a few experimental strokes. Including tracing her thumb around the head, slicking it with the precum already leaking down his shaft. “You feel so good…” Faye groaned, letting her fingers search out the soft skin of his balls. She cupped them gently, just as he tugged her panties loose. The air of the room hit her overheated flesh, and the drag of his own fingers up her thigh, followed by the firm pressing of her hips into the bed, had her opening her eyes to look up at him.

She wanted to see his face when he touched her for the first time. Her mouth was lax and swollen, her own eyes dark and hooded, and as his long fingers dipped between her slick folds, Faye sucked in a breath. Her hips pressed up towards his touch. Or tried to. He still held her fast. The way he seemed so joyously suprised, so astonished, that she wanted him like this, warmed a spot in Faye’s chest. She raised a hand to his face, turning him towards her.

“All for you… it’s always been for you…”

He was surprised but also pleased that he learned this evening what he could be capable of when he put his mind to it, affection had never been a particular interest of his. Why would it be when for so long it had very rarely been shown to him? His only experience was seeing other people and watching the stupid actions it resulted in them doing all in service of that other person, for the sake of love. It seemed, silly and trivial that someone else could mean that much to you at least in his mind.

They seemed to move and work in tandem, for every give there was also a take for action there was a reaction and the drag of Faye’s fingers had him arching up ever so slightly into the rake of her nails, his breath huffing out in response. The groans and arch of his spine serving as proof that he was thoroughly enjoying this and that was before she even sought out further aspects of his body.

There was a struggle, between trying to breathe and making noise when she held him and when she started to stroke and pull he shivered molten heat pooling in his belly and the drag of her thumb resulted in him squeezing his eyes shut tightly and a needy gasp escaping him that was muffled by where his face was pressed into her heated skin. “That’s-- fuck” he wouldn’t last long, not like this and as her fingers continued to explore he felt his belly tighten in response to her words and the cup of her fingers around the heavy hang of his balls. It spurred him on, needy and far more desperate in his act to remove the barriers between them. But he soon found himself transfixed, by how hot and wet she was and he repeated the drag of his fingers to check he wasn’t imagining this, wasn’t imagining how she writhed and twisted under him.

He was gazing down at her body, curious and entirely taken at the same time. But his head turned under her guidance, his dark eyes locking with her own and another soft laugh wanted to bubble up from his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure whether there was anything else she wanted him to do, though she’d made her wants quite clear and figuring it best not to deny her or himself what they both wanted he eased his weight more properly above her until his hips were flush with her own and the press of his cock settled between them. But as much as he wanted it he felt that inclination to check, to make sure she was okay and that she was comfortable. His hand brushed her face gently his face hovering close enough he could feel the warmth of her breath “you okay?”

There was nothing for it. The more he reacted to the touch of her hands, the more such needful sounds escaped him, the more his own fingers continued to drag over her sensitive flesh, the more lost she became. Her own struggle was between holding back and surging forward. Between staying here beneath him and letting him guide how fast he wanted to go, to rolling him onto his back and taking him herself.

But she didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to stop touching him. Didn’t want him to have to stop touching her for even one second. He looked at her when she bid him do so, and her hands moved as he shifted, settling on his waist. It felt good, his weight against her, solid and warm, like the hardness pressing between her legs. Her thighs cradled him, as she looked up at him, her gaze soft and affectionate.

“I’m okay,” she said quietly. She lifted her head just a bit, brushing her nose along his. “Are you?” Her hands roamed up his back, rubbing gently while her foot moved over his calf. She couldn’t help but press up into him slightly, her body’s response to him being so close to where she wanted him to be.

If she had given into her whims he would never have complained, in fact he was almost certain he would have enjoyed such an act though he couldn’t say for sure. But right now he didn’t want to move, from the cradle of her arms or legs as he settled above her so close to what they both wanted. But he felt inclined to check just to be sure. And with her answer he felt something inside of him settle, comforted to know that she wanted this too though the evidence was readily apparent regardless.

“Mm, I am” he said quietly taking the time to enjoy the brush of her hands and the stroke of her foot along his calf. He shivered against her, already breathless and his eyes wide with anticipation. His hips had began to slowly rock against her, but it was too much to hold back now and he shifted a hand to help guide the way not quite confident enough to do this without. But once he’d lined the slick tip against her it was a matter of pressing forwards and into her, a moan ripping its way from his mouth wanton and desperate along with a string of various curses. “You’re so wet, fuck me--” not only that she was hot, wet and tight around him. And it felt no less than divine a sweet delirium that was washing him away until with a few rocks of his hips he was seated deep, hips flush with her own and panting harshly against her neck where his face had hidden itself away.

Perhaps the next time - for Faye was fairly certain (she hoped) that this wouldn’t be the only time this happened - she would take over. And it would be him on his back beneath her. But for now she was utterly content with how things were going. It felt right. It felt like they’d done this hundreds of times before, even though this was their first.

“Good.” Her hands played their slow melody over his skin as he started to move. The press of him between her thighs was gentle yet insistent, and she wrapped her legs loosely around him as he guided himself inside her. Her hands had moved to his shoulders, and as he slid home they gripped him tightly. Faye’s head fell back and a sound that was just as desperate and wanton as his own slipped from her mouth. Each movement of his hips made her tighten around him, and her entire body thrummed with desire. Overheated and oversensitive, she tightened her legs around him and gripped his hair. Her chest rose and fell beneath him as she panted, her willpower ebbing away in the face of something that felt like the sweetest bliss she had ever known. Something that felt like she could die right now and be happy.

Her hips rolled beneath him, and she tightened around him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck and shoulder. “More…” she panted, dragging her nails up his back. “I want more…”

For the moment, all Fane could think about was the present. There were no thoughts of the resistance or the impending missions or anything else. There was only the warmth of Faye’s skin, the press of her fingers and familiarity of her presence he’d come to notice relaxed him almost more than anything else he tried to achieve such an end. And this, there was nothing to describe it beyond incredible and perhaps the best experience he’d ever been given.

Because this sort of attention, affection after so long of nothing of the sort felt like rain after the longest drought and he was almost sure that once he got a taste there would be no getting enough of it. Later, once they both settled he was sure that there would be contemplations and considerations of more because if the act itself was anything like the prelude then he was already sold. He was sure there would be more to learn also, and Fane was nothing but the most diligent of students.

He settled and her legs and body gripped him close, keeping him flush against her and for a moment he simply lost himself in the warmth of her but there was another overriding urge. More base and primal that urged him on not to mention her own encouragement, the rake of her nails that caused him to draw his hips back instantly feeling bereft as he left her before he thrust back in. Slow to begin with but with further encouragement he began to pick up a slightly faster pace as so many things raced through his mind. “You’re so beautiful-- so, so beautiful” it was the only thing he could think to utter right now because she did and a few harder kisses to her neck interspersed his words.

It was a crime of the highest order that no one had thought Fane important enough to be shown love or affection. That until now he hadn’t known the feeling of an intimate touch, or even a kiss until a few months ago. What kind of people had his parents been, what kind of life had he lived before she’d met him, when he’d been with the Order, to know nothing but duty? To know nothing of this?

Because this was more than she had ever imagined. More and everything all at once. All her other experiences fell away in the face of the feel of him inside her, in the readiness of his body against hers, the way he grew so still even as he trembled. She trembled too, and they both lingered there for a long moment, in that first breach of shared intimacy, pressed so close they might have been one person, savoring the feeling before other things took over.

And it wasn’t long after that the urge to move became too great, and when he did, Faye could only encourage him. The slow drag of him as he pulled nearly all the way out, leaving her feeling empty and barren until he pushed back to the hilt. She held tight against him as he started to move faster, one arm wrapped around him, fingers twisting in his hair while she buried her face in his neck. The other leaving red marks along his back and the curve of his ass as she tried to pull him closer, pull him deeper into her.

Every cant of his hips pushed a short, desperate sound up from her throat, as she was soon breathing hard, her body dotted with sweat. Her cries grew louder, more ragged, and more frequent - some sounding near painful - as he seemed to find a rhythm that suited them both. She could only press her own kisses to whatever skin her mouth could find as he called her beautiful again. Her own words, both affectionate and wanton, were lost in between the slide of their skin and the press of their mouths when she was finally able to capture his lips again.

To him this wasn’t a crime, it wasn’t anything other than a general fact that he’d thought typical for any in his position. There was no time for affection and showing care when you were quite literally reconstructing your lives from the ruin and shambles that had been made of them when everything was taken from you. It was a rather hypocritical mindset considering what the Empire had done prior to its destruction but it was all he’d known, he’d only been six when everything in his life had been uprooted. Everything he’d known snatched away. It bred anger and resentment; both of which had been swayed and influenced by the Order to their own end. To keep him in check and toeing the line to their own end. One day he might tell her, and if she asked he likely would also but she had yet to inquire and as such he kept such matters to himself.

They had finally crossed the line that up until now they had been precariously dancing along the edge of, never quite daring to cross due to the uncertainty of what lay on the other side. Or well, uncertainty on his behalf because a part of him worried that he might disappoint her and disappointment did not bode well for him. He could only hope she would understand if things didn’t go quite as smoothly as she might’ve been used to, she had been patient so far but kissing and this were worlds apart. But there was also no helping the thoughts coming to mind, the wonderment when he pictured what it might be like to be under her, behind her and any other way they might be able to do this because if it was as incredible as this was then he wanted it all. Wanted her.

The haze had settled over him, wanton desire and lust fuelling his determination to meet her request of more. She could have everything he had for all he cared, so long as it meant that this didn’t end any time soon. Not the rake of her nails; scrabbling for purchase at his back urging him on for more, to move deeper or the other wound tight in his dark hair.

His breathing was short and harsh and when the tug of her hand brought him up to kiss her again and he let her tug at him willingly, noting what she wanted in the hopes of memorising for future use. Typically, the sounds she was making would have made him slow at least to check on her but he was lost in the press of their skin and the fierce devotion melting into every press of their lips. It wasn’t perfect, it was messy and real and that in itself made it all the better in his mind but he wanted all of her. Wanted so much more and on one harder stroke he accented it with a sharp bite of his teeth into her lip, tugging away and unable to help the smirk on his features as crimson began to flow and his hand moved, the rough pad of his thumb dragging over her swollen lips.

He could never disappoint her. He hadn’t so far, and Faye had no idea how he could possibly do so in the future. Perhaps it was optimistic of her. Or perhaps it was something deeper than that. Something neither of them could put a name to yet. Just like the feeling that washed over Faye as she held him close, turned his mouth to hers, pulled his body deeper into her own inside the welcoming circle of her thighs. It was unnameable, but it felt right. Felt like coming back to a place you didn’t know you missed.

Her own mind wandered too. But only to the same places as Fane’s. Wondering what it would be like for him to flip her on her belly, or set her on the counter. Or even what it would feel like for him to taste her like he’d wanted. She shivered at the thought, and hoped to be able to find out. If not tonight, then at a later date. Right now, the sharp pant of his breath called her back to the here and now. As did the way he started to move faster and with more determination. It wasn’t perfect, but Faye didn’t expect it to be. Just as she didn’t expect anything between them - whatever their relationship might become after tonight - to be perfect. Far from it. They were two imperfect, emotionally scarred people living in the middle of a war. Each with their own jobs - important ones - outside of this room and away from each other. It would be the opposite of easy no matter how they chose to more forward.

The way they kissed stole Faye’s breath. Even if it hadn’t rushed out of her lungs with each thrust of his hips, the way his mouth moved over hers was enough on it’s own to make her forget how to breathe. She was so focused there, on how he was trying to give her what she asked for, that the bite to her lip took her by surprise. Faye gasped, her hands tightening against him. She opened her eyes where they’d been closed. Warm blood ran down her chin, and she watched him closely as he brought his thumb up to brush over the wound. Something deep inside Faye stirred to life, and she captured his thumb in her mouth, sucking the blood from the pad. When she released him, she leaned up to capture his mouth again, hands stroking over his face, trying to pull him closer. She felt like she’d been marked. Marked as his. And that gave her a heady feeling, that only the press of his body inside of her and against her could match.

They were two separate people, but with time and some graft on their respective parts they would be able to learn how to help the other shoulder or even offload some of their respective burdens. It was a learning curve, at least it was for him to trust someone enough to even let them in enough to permit them to help. But perhaps Faye and this and everything else she gave to him would be a turning point. After all, the night was barely even beginning, and if their minds were already drifting along similar tangents it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be time for further explorations. After all, Fane was already certain this was not nearly enough to sate him.

He couldn’t help but grin just a little smugly as he drew back enough to look at her, to admire the red trail from her lip and down her jaw that he pressed with the pad of his thumb. Their eyes met and something sparked, some instant and deep-rooted connection that stirred something in him he didn’t quite know how to name. There wasn’t enough time to contemplate it anyway, not as she took his thumb into her mouth and sucked it clean the sight and swipe of her tongue surprisingly pleasing to him. He felt inclined to praise her then, to tell her how good she was but she was pulling him in again for another desperate kiss the taste of crimson fresh on her lips and he flicked his tongue out to swipe it away the intensity notching up to the point his nose bumped against her own and their teeth occasionally knocked leading to a muffled bit of laughter.

And though he was enjoying this, he felt compelled to try something new and in an instant had gripped her tight and rolled them over the sheets tangling under them as he settled on his back. He was settled just as she sank down on the stiff length of his cock and the new angle caused him to groan audibly back arching up slightly hands moving to grab her breasts and squeeze them more roughly.

Between the two of them, they had most always gone with what felt right. With what seemed the correct course for whatever the situation might be. And so far it had worked well. So why change things? Go with what felt right. And for Faye, this felt very, very right. She would never do anything that didn’t. And while some things may have required a slight push, or a step outside comfort zones, it always held that sense of being okay.

Faye wasn’t sure where her limits were. It had been a long, long time for her, after all, and while she was ready and willing to give him whatever he wanted, and to use up every moment of time they had before tomorrow, she wasn’t certain about herself. Though right now she never wanted this to end. She wanted more. And he was certainly giving it to her in the sting of his teeth against her lip. Flushed and panting, their eyes met as she swiped the blood from his thumb, and something inside her shook loose, rose to met that part of him that she saw rising behind the dark pools of his eyes. It stirred in her chest, rumbling and purring and when he flipped them over and she sank back down onto him, their positions reversed, she let out a moan as her head fell back.

Her body adjusted quickly to the new angle, to the deeper press of him inside her, and she didn’t bother to worry about the sheets as she followed every instinct her body was screaming at her and started to move. His hands rose to cover her breasts as she rolled her hips. The sensation was a fullness she’d never felt before, and not just physically, as the length of him slid nearly all the way out and back in with a controlled sway of her body. “Fuck…” Faye breathed, covering his hands with her own over her chest. She was starting to sweat, and her hair stuck to her neck and shoulders in wavy ringlets. Blood still ran in a thin trail down her chin, and droplets dotted her chest as her head fell back again.

The new position let him rake his eyes over her body, appreciating every inch of skin on display and the sight of her made his mouth water while he looked at her like she was the most luxurious feast for a starving man. His dark eyes bright and attentive despite the way his pupils were blown. Her hands raised to cover his own which by now were fondling her breasts as they bounced with every sharp ruck of their hips and sway of her body over his, rubbing them and teasing the dark buds of her nipples with his every and entirely undivided attention.

He swallowed thickly, finding himself wanting to suck on her skin, to taste her again and nose in her warmth. But he was lost in the feeling of surrender. Of allowing her to set the pace, having given over control entirely considering how she was riding him. Occasionally the pace changed, switching and shifting from hard and fast to slow and soft and more than once she rode him until his cock almost slipped out of her slick cunt. Every act made his abdomen tighten and one hand finally slipped to grip her hip pulling her down to grind and swivel her hips, this particular act making his own head tip, eyes rolling back into his head as a string of curses and moans fell from his lips.

The molten heat that was flooding through his veins was starting to build and settle, and his nails dug half-moons into her warm flesh. “You look so good like that--” he gasped lowly when his eyes managed to open, his brow and hair damp with sweat “Gods you look so divine...” Another firm sway of her body had his mouth gaping and his body tensing again, the shaft of his cock throbbing “that’s it-- fuck-- that’s it darling.”

The way he looked at her was nearly as enthralling as the way he felt beneath her. Never in her life had anyone ever looked at Faye like Fane was gazing up at her now. There wasn’t a word that came to mind, though she was admitedly distracted at the moment. It was almost… powerful, in a way. Especially as she watched his face, watched the response of his body to her own. She could feel the tremble and tighten of his muscles, the way his hands would squeeze her breasts just a bit harder when she moved in a way he particularly liked.

He looked resplendant spread out beneath her. His control, his tightly knit persona, and his quiet demeanor had been replaced by something else. Something that was almost feral. Something that was made of instinct and need and the wildness that lived inside everyone, but was buried too deep for most to find. His wildness was there, in the darkness of his eyes and the stain of her blood on his lips. In the shudder of his breath and the sudden grip of his hands against her hips, holding her against him while his cock throbbed inside her.

Faye reached out as he stretched beneath her, stroking her hand along the line of his neck. She wanted to taste him again, but he held her fast. So Faye could only move her hips against him. Huffing a breath as his nails dug into her soft skin. When he turned back, flushed and damp and singing her praises, Faye smiled down at him. “Tell me what you want…” she breathed, taking his encouragement moments later to continue exactly what she was doing. Slowly, she moved over him, her belly tightening as her clit brushed against him with every roll of her hips. “Tell me what you need…”

Faye wanted to see him cum. She needed to see it. And while her own climax wasn’t all that far away, she wanted him to go first. She wanted to see him come undone, feel him inside her as it rolled over him, and know that she had brought him there. She had given that to him. Then they could worry about her.

There wasn’t anything she was doing he didn’t like, though idly he noted this wasn’t the greatest spot to taste her but he could settle for the sight of her rising above him. The sight of her taking her pleasure just as much as he gained his own from this act. His hands smoothed down over the curves of her hips, curling into her body and gripping with such a force there would certainly be marks left afterwards. He was learning certain things he hadn’t entirely realised about himself this evening it seemed, namely, that he rather enjoyed something a little less simple and something that perhaps toed darker urges.

His neck was a long line, the muscles and tendons taut and sinewy in his attempt to breathe combined with how he was stretched out under her. If his words weren’t encouragement enough for her the way his hips actively rolled and rocked to meet her own certainly would be. He was breathing hard now, chest rising and falling between the praises leaving his lips but the coil was winding ever tighter and he felt him fast approaching an end. “You-- all I need is you, all I want is you” he managed to get out voice strained as his body started to tense.

It wasn’t much longer before he finally gave in to the overwhelming urge to let go, he’d wanted to try and make this last for as long as he could. Eventually his cock throbbed and his muscles banded taut as he came with a cry, pulsing deep inside her and shivering pleasantly at the boneless feeling starting to wash over him as he sagged down; dark hair damp with sweat and sticking up at odd angles from where it had been tousled by the act of rolling them along with her own hands. His eyes were closed for a time as he tried to regain a control over his breathing, his hands still holding her hips but more loosely now as his movements began to slow. An arm wiped over his brow, dropping overhead as he looked up at her a breathless laugh leaving him the act serving to soften his typically stern features considerably. “I never knew-- it was that good.”

Let him mark her. Let him leave bruises and handprints and teeth marks over every inch of her body. Let others look at her and know they came from him. That of all the people on the base, all the people he’d met in his lifetime, Fane had chosen to let his guard down with her. To be vulnerable with her. To give his body to her. And Faye had done the same. She had done the same, and she didn’t care who knew it.

There was a point where Faye knew they were nearing the end. At least for right now. His movements came faster and his breathing turned rapid and uneven. She braced herself against his chest with her hands, the overheated flesh slick with sweat as she watched his face as her body moved against him. His words held a weight all their own, and as much as Faye wanted to capture his mouth right then, she couldn’t. Because he was right there, and if she stopped now it would be lost. So she kept up the relentless roll of her hips, taking him in as deep as she could and feeling her own release growing closer.

And when he finally came, if was with a cry that Faye felt deep inside herself. Stirring that same place that had been brought to life by the sight of her blood on his lips. “That’s it… god, that’s it…” she crooned as she felt the warmth pulse inside her as his hands gripped hard against her. Faye kept moving, drawing out every last ounce of the orgasm, every last tremor, every last moan and gasp. When it finally subsided, and she could feel the warmth leaking out of her, Faye hummed in contentment, even though she was still left wanting. But she slipped forwards onto his chest, panting and sweating and grinning back at him. “I love it when you laugh,” she said against his neck. “And I’d forgotten how good it could be.” Her voice was sleepy now, despite still being near the edge of her own release. “I guess… that means you liked it though?”

Unlike Faye, he still felt the need to maintain certain boundaries outside of the confines of their quarters. There were too many prying eyes and as she had generally come to realise, PDA wasn’t something he was still entirely comfortable with. Not unless he was the one who chose to initiate it. Not that he cared so much as who knew, it was more than he cared about who saw. He didn’t like people knowing his vulnerabilities and Faye was fast becoming one of those he was starting to realise.

Her encouragement caused him to try and push on for as long as he could, until he quite literally sank under her his eyes rolled shut until his mind eventually came back to him. Feeling the weight of her leaning down and settling against him their bodies flushed and warm and Fane flashed his teeth in a lazy grin of his own. “Guess it’s another thing you tend to provoke,” his fingers dragged gently up the curve of her spine before his palm pressed flat into the small of her back smoothing her skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment of quietness between them, looking at her with a curious and slightly concerned expression especially when he let his hand press over the marks he’d dug into her hips. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you want me to do?” he asked wanting to ensure that this had been just as good for her as it had been for him, and if he was honest despite the sated bonelessness he couldn’t help his curiosity over what else he might be able to do for her.

Faye knew he didn’t care for displays of affection around others. She tried to respect that, and keep the professional boundaries in place when they were anywhere that wasn’t private. But sometimes she couldn’t help it. Sometimes she just wanted to touch him. It was never anything over the top, but she might brush his hand when they were stood close together, and she had even stolen a kiss once when they were alone in a corridor. But for the most part she kept to herself, knowing how he felt about it.

But they weren’t out in public right now. They were here. And there was no one else. There was nothing between them but skin and sweat and the desire to bring each other pleasure. And as Fane found his own, holding out as long as he possibly could before he was spent, Faye smiled contentedly. Laying against him, she could feel him smiling. “I think it might be my favorite,” she said of his smiling. “Though this is hard to beat.” She pressed a kiss to his sweat-slick neck as his hands smoothed down her back.

“I’m okay,” she assured him. “I liked it.” He asked what he could do for her, and Faye pushed up just a bit. She still felt the tightness in her belly that had yet to find release. Her body still wanted him. So after a moment, she slid down beside him, taking his hand in her own. Bringing it to her mouth, she kissed his knuckles before spreading their palms over her belly. “Touch me?” she breathed, leaning in to nose along his jaw. “Touch me like you did before…”

With time he would grow more used to and comfortable with the concept and act of affection. It was just that currently the topic was still something he struggled to openly broach. Though what they had done, and shared tonight was certainly paving the way for him to realise that it wasn’t the end of the world to enjoy himself every now and again. Though actually getting him to go through with it was another thing entirely.

Feeling her nuzzle against his neck he stretched out, lifting an arm overhead while the other stayed wrapped arouund her grumbling a little in a contented fashion as his back clicked and he settled again. His head turned, the rough stubble of his jaw pressing into her damp curls breathing her in quietly. “This is very hard to beat,” he agreed voice a low rumble as he stifled another chuckle in the press of his mouth to her head.

“Yeah?” she propped herself up and Fane’s head tilted as he gazed up at her trying to figure out what she wanted. He wasn’t sure what else he could do for her and he felt a little-- embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to pleasure her as she had him. He let Faye take his hand, the warmth of her lips pressing to the hard ridges of his knuckles before sliding it down her belly and Fane pushed himself up onto his side, nudging her to lie back as his hand slipped between her legs; the apex of which shone with evidence of what they’d just done. Leaning over he dipped his head pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, trailing down her neck and collarbone until he could suck a nipple into his mouth while his fingers set about slowly stroking over her leaking entrance. He did this for a little time before an earlier thought came to him and his chin lifted along with his hand which he brought to his mouth to lick them off.

The taste of her made him groan around his fingers and if he hadn’t just come he was sure this would’ve done him in alone. A thought came to him and he looked at her, unsure but curious “can I-- taste you?”

Now that they had crossed this particular threshold, Faye hoped he would see that not only could it be fun and feel good, but it could take away some of the stress he carried on his shoulders constantly. Because he did. He carried so much weight, and she did too, but they were different in that Faye seemed to find relaxing easier than Fane. Though he was slowly coming around. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to do this again. That it didn’t make her feel things she couldn’t explain, things she didn’t want to put a name to just yet. Things that scared her just a little, but things she wasn’t about to give up.

Faye closed her eyes as his warm breath moved over her temple. It felt good, despite the ache in her belly that had yet to be fully satisfied. This was just as intimate to Faye. Or very nearly so. This gentle aftermath of soft words and touches. It was something she’d rarely shared, and Fane had never shared. “It is,” she smiled.

He asked his question, and Faye knew he might think he hadn’t done a good job. “Yeah… it was…” She shook her head, her smile turning shy. “Never felt anything like it.” And that was the truth. She had never felt that sense of… connection, that she felt with Fane. And he had pleasured her, very much. She just hadn’t quite reached her peak yet. So as he acquiesced, she lay back, drawing a short breath as his fingers slipped back over her sensitive flesh. He kissed her gently, and she turned her face towards him, her lips parting as he moved down to take her breast in his mouth. Her hands carded in his hair, and she hummed her approval at how he touched her. It felt… god it felt good.

When he pulled his hand away, Faye opened her eyes to watch as he sucked the shine from his fingers. Her bottom lip worked it’s way between her teeth as he asked his second question. Her heart fluttered in her chest. No one had ever done that to her before. “Yeah,” she nodded, feeling a bit nervous but not about to tell him no.

He was still doing his best to learn, but for that he sometimes needed her prompting or guidance. Not to say he was entirely clueless, he could tell when she was enjoying something but there were things he wanted to learn that took time and patience to understand. Such as this, because while she’d given him the chance to experience something he’d never felt before he wanted to do the same for her. So her instruction to touch her as he’d done earlier was closely heeded, but then he remembered kissing her neck and tasting her skin and wondering what she truly tasted like.

So his fingers took their time, lazy and deliberate while she caressed his hair and stroked his face while humming her approval. But it didn’t change the stirring urge that was creeping up. Something had been unlocked earlier and had been present in his mind ever since it had even come up. But as she bit her limp he looked at her, eyes growing a little more serious despite how he continued to suck and toy the sensitive bud of her nipple as his fingers slipped over her to circle her clit slowly “definitely?” He was giving her a choice, it was something he would always actively make an effort to do; give her a chance to say no if she wasn’t sure or entirely comfortable.

It didn’t matter what he wanted in the end, only that she enjoyed it and wanted what he had in mind.

Fane caught on to everything he did with a quickness that never failed to surprise Faye. And this was no exception. Since the first time she’d kissed him, he’d become aware of the way she responded to things she liked, and to things she didn’t. Though he was adept at knowing what she liked as well. Faye tried to do the same, following the responses of his body to figure out what he liked and didn’t. Tonight was a first for them both, and while the things that had been obviously pleasurable for him would never leaves Faye’s mind, there was still much to explore.

Things neither of them knew they wanted. Things neither knew they enjoyed yet. But Faye was more than willing to travel that path with him. There was no interest in anyone else. Faye doubted she could ever get so close to another man. Or another person in general. Fane just seemed to… know her. Understand her. She didn’t question it. Because she didn’t want to lose it.

“Definitely,” she assured him with a smile. Now that the subject had been broached, Faye felt an urge to know what it was like. To know what it felt like to have his mouth on her, where they’d been joined so closely only a few moments before.

He couldn’t think of doing this or even experiencing this with anyone else, and why would he want to let his mind drift to such things anyway? To let that happen would not only be rude, inconsiderate but a generally dick move especially considering it was Faye he was here with right now. It was Faye that he was sharing these experiences with and frankly only her he wanted to continue experiencing these things with and not only because it felt incredible but because she seemed to understand. Not everything, considering he hadn’t told her all there was to know about his life, but enough that she was willing to be patient as much as they could be.

With her assurance given with a smile this time Fane felt a little happier, how she’d worried at her lip had made him slightly concerned he might’ve suggested something she wouldn’t or didn’t like. Which was part of the reason he gave her an option to backtrack if she so wished. But she made her mind up and Fane pushed himself up from where he rested, stealing a kiss from her before he slid down the bed kissing over the softness of her belly and occasionally pausing to suck marks into her skin more confident regarding this now and working to build her back to the edge she’d been on.

His mouth gradually moved lower, nudging her legs apart to accommodate for more room and now that he was knelt he could see the evidence of what they’d done coating her thighs and making them shine. “You look so good,” he uttered after taking a short breath his ravenous eyes meeting her own before he let his body flatten, hands rubbing her thighs affectionately before he pressed a kiss to the apex of one and then the other. “Tell me how it feels? If you like it?” he murmured after the small tender pieces of affection and only when he was sure she was comfortable and settled did he lean in, tongue flicking out and dragging a long stripe against her entrance, cautious at first and barely a brush to see how she was but wicking a little their combined arousal from her and making him groan as the taste filled his mouth and he paused glancing up at her before repeating the act again a little more firmly this time.

Faye watched him as he made his way down her body, missing the taste of his mouth but unable to help herself when it came to wanting more. Her belly flexed as he pressed a kiss to it, and she opened as he asked her to, feeling slightly shy as he reached his destination. She blushed at what he said, and it eased her nerves just a bit as their eyes met and she saw the way he wanted her. Even now, after he had already reached his own climax.

Faye nodded, legs shaking slightly as she lay back on the pillows. She watched him though, unable to tear her eyes away. At least until he flicked his tongue across her slick flesh. She sucked in a sharp breath, and her back arched a bit as her hands twisted in the sheets. And then he did it again, and Faye moaned. “That feels… it feels amazing… don’t stop…” she breathed.

His breathing had grown shallow, struggling to focus on anything beyond the overwhelming and mouth-watering taste of her one taste had been all it took. Emboldened by her words and the sounds she was making he opened his mouth just a little more, using his fingers to part her while he tended to her rather diligently, the rough scrape of his short beard rubbing against her sensitive skin when he pressed in against her more insistently. Her moans filling the room told him she was building again as did the way her legs clamped tighter.

Occasionally he dragged his tongue in a lazy zig-zag motion, before he sucked at the swollen sensitive bud of her clit curious and testing different things to see what she liked. But all he knew was that “I want to hear you,” he murmured in an almost sing-song fashion before diving straight back in with a new sense of gusto and confidence that hadn’t caused him to be quite so been earlier. But this, having her like this made him feel-- He felt incredible. Powerful that he was capable of doing this and his nose nudged her clit as his tongue flicked out again but instead of dragging across her he pushed inside her fucking her with his tongue and alternating this with little lazier sucks before he would shift and kiss her thigh leaving wet, sticky marks that shone in the low light of the cabin.

Now and then he bit down on her thighs, leaving red marks in his wake but always returning to that spot between her legs he found he enjoyed rather a lot. His fingers slid down then stroking the wet mess he’d made, not a moment later two slipped almost effortlessly deep inside of her while his head bowed and he sucked on her throbbing clit. “Gods-- I want to hear you, I want to taste you-- I want everything,” he muttered his breath hot and wet where he panted nosing the soft curls as he kissed her belly which flexed and jumped much like her body under each drag and crook of his fingers.

Faye’s mind was losing the capacity for coherent thought. If she didn’t know better, she would have called Fane a liar for saying he’d never done this before. Of course, she never had either, at least the part where his face was buried between her legs. Dear Lord where had this been all her life? Her hands tightened in the sheets as she felt the slid of his fingers that preceded the warmth of his mouth. The rough scrape of his stubble only added sensation to her already overwhelmed body. So much that she couldn’t help the way her thighs tried to close around him, to trap him there and never let him leave. She had no control over her reactions, over the way her body rose up from the bed, back arching as he explored her more deeply.

“Fuck…” Even the low, gravelly rumble of his voice made her moan. Faye could probably have gotten off on that alone, depending on what he was saying. Perhaps they could try it at some point in the future. Though right now, Faye’s mind was here. On the press of his tongue and the bite of his teeth. The pressure of his fingers as they - gods above - pushed inside her. If anyone had been walking by outside his door, they might have heard her. But Faye didn’t care. Let them. Let them know she was in here with him and he was pulling such sounds from her. Let them know she was his. Because she was. Completely. Even if she didn’t realize it yet. Whether or not he felt the same, she didn’t know either. But there was no one else. How could there be? Who else could know her so well? Who else could put up with her chattiness, her quirks, her moods that ranged from childlike giddiness to dark and sour, and her pig-headed stubborness?

No one, that’s who. Except Fane. And while none of this crossed her mind right now, with his fingers deep inside her and his wicked mouth around the hot spot of her clit, it would hit her one day soon. And there would be no going back.

But right now, she was close again, so close, and as he nosed along her belly, she slid a hand into his hair and did as he asked. Faye doubted she’d ever made such sounds in her life. Needy sounds; sounds that were lewd and almost painful in their desperation. She was a quivering mess beneath him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care one bit. Not as she begged him for release, not as she murmured how good it was and how good he made her feel… and when she finally crested, bright white and searing behind her closed eyes, it was his name she cried out as her body arched beneath him. Her entire being tensed, and her thighs clamped tight around him as her head fell back and her fingers gripped like a vice in his hair and in the sheets.

And when she came down, she was boneless and panting, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and only had eyes for him. “Kiss me…” she said in a release of breath, reaching for him with trembling hands.

He was thankful for the broad width and strength of his shoulders which kept her thighs from entirely crushing him against her, not that he would have minded he found himself thinking as he took his time to pleasure her. Finding he rather greatly enjoyed how this simple act seemed to make her writhe and squirm, just for him and a flare of possessiveness overcame him. He found right there that he didn’t want to share this, share her with anyone else. Not that he felt inclined to tell her this unsure how that would be received all things considered.

They were in a war after all, there was no time for feeling or behaving like this. Selfishly. Even if for once in his life Fane felt inclined to do and just that. His thoughts caused him to slow a little, but the arch of her back and pressure of her legs trying to draw and keep him close brought him out of them.

But that was a matter for another time, all he wanted right now was to give her the same pleasure she’d given to him not all that long ago. She obliged his request and he smiled against her, resuming his affections easily his mouth and fingers working in tandem to build her until she reached that edge before pushing her over. He worked her through the high, grunting a little against her as her thighs tightened again but his fingers slipped out replaced by the hungry lave of his tongue as he drank down every ounce she had to give wanting everything she had just as she had done to him.

The grip of her fingers in his hair were painful, not that he found he minded. In fact, he rather liked it and her request caused him to finally lift his head, mouth, beard and chin glistening wetly while he breathed shallowly. Her request didn’t need to be repeated before he was crawling up the bed, shifting to brush her face with his hand and catch her mouth with his own in a firm and slower kiss.

Faye didn’t know what was going to happen tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Soon she would get in her fighter and put their current home at her back as they tried to take the Order base. Would they succeed? Faye didn’t know that either. But what she did know, what sat so firmly in her chest that she wondered if it hadn’t always been there, was that she would come back to him. She would always come back to him.

He was the only person she wanted to come back to.

What that meant, Faye didn’t know that either, but she let it sink it. She let it take her over, the warmth spreading out and consuming her. And as he rose from the cradle of her thighs - to touch her so gently and then press his mouth against hers - Faye knew this was something more than friendship. She kissed him back, reveling in the heavy weight of him resting against her, and when they pulled apart, Faye rested her forehead against his.

“That was… amazing…” she breathed, snuggling against him more firmly.

Right now all that mattered to Fane was the fact that she was here, and that for the time being they were safe and the world outside the door for a time wouldn’t intrude. For now it was simply them, and they had taken the time to share something that Fane didn’t truly know how to put words to or even if he wanted to put words to it. He knew the world would break through eventually but for now he was willing to ignore it and cherish this time for what it was worth.

So he broke loose from the cradle of her thighs, as much as he wanted to stay right there, and moved back up his weight settling down against her comfortably. When their foreheads pressed together Fane could only smile his nose lightly brushing her own.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly feeling content and pleasantly sated after everything “I never knew it was that-- Incredible.” Another kiss was pressed to the corner of her mouth as his arm shifted to slip under her back and keep her close though there was barely an inch between them anyway with how he had come to rest against her. There was no wiping the smile from his lips as he settled against her, the warmth of their bodies causing him to hum low in his throat. “Is it always like that?”

Faye let herself be pulled in, and they twined around each other like serpents, warming themselves in the other’s presence. Her body ached, but it was the good kind of ache. The kind of ache that left you sated and wanting to do it all over again. But not just yet. Right now, Faye was perfectly content. She shifted, making herself comfortable against him as he asked his question.

Though for a moment it made Faye uneasy. Not because of anything he had done. But because of what the answer was. “Not always, no. Sometimes it’s… awful. Like with… with someone you don’t…” She paused, not sure of the word she should use. “With someone you don’t care about. Someone who doesn’t care about you.” It was obvious she was talking about her time in captivity. “But other times it’s good. When it’s with someone you like. But… like this? I’ve never felt anything like this.” Her voice was still soft, and sounded a bit awestruck. She stroked a hand down his arm, over the fine hairs there, over the dip of muscle that was his bicep. Faye truly thought she could look at him all day and never get tired.

For a moment it had slipped his mind, and the tension that jolted through her body was something he could feel almost immediately and he immediately knew his mistake. But she didn’t push him away, for which he was thankful but if she had he would have moved as she wished. He grew quiet as she spoke, dipping his head to press a few more soft kisses to the underside of her jaw; deliberately affectionate to hopefully put her at ease despite the topic she was talking about. Though when she mentioned never having felt like this--

He didn’t know what to say, and her hand stroking down his arm drew him out of his surprise. “Really? Not with… anyone?” he wasn’t sure if the sentiment pleased or terrified him simultaneously. It was probably a bit of both if he was being honest though pride stopped that from happening. He shifted a little, arm tightening just a little more securely around her. “Does that mean we can do this again?” he asked with the barest hint of cheekiness in his tone as he nosed against her warm and damp skin.

Talking about it wasn’t as hard as it used to be. Most people on the base knew what had happened to her, but not the details. Only Fane knew that. And so talking about it with him was fairly easy, though she couldn’t help the bad memories it dredged up. Memories of losing her autonomy. Losing any choice over her body. What she wore. What she ate. What she consented to sexually. Which was nothing. Never once did she consent when it came to Jevara. She’d merely borne it.

But here… here she was safe. Here she had choice. Here she had respect. Here Fane wanted her absolute consent, just as she wanted his. The affection was welcome, and she tilted her head a bit, humming her approval. “Really,” she said to his question. “I’ve never…” Now it was Faye who was at a loss for words. They stuck on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t know what they were. She felt what she wanted to say, but expressing it was more than she could do right now. “No one’s ever made me feel like you do.” It was honest enough, and seemed to suit.

Though she laughed a bit as his arm tightened around her. “It means we can definitely do this again…”

Typically, Fane tried not to bring up Jevara it was simply easier for the both of them though mostly for Faye’s sake rather than his own. Jevara was a slimy git and just one of the many scumbags trying to capitalise their gains off of the suffering of innocents elsewhere. The only thing Fane might have thanked him for was the opportunity to be introduced to Faye, which had led to their friendship and in turn led them here.

Which was partly why he asked her so many times whether she was okay, or what she enjoyed. Not to mention the most important being what she wanted. After all, having no consent before or the last time she’d been in a situation like this Fane didn’t wish for her to slip back into those times or those feelings. Again, when she tried to explain what she felt Fane wasn’t sure what to say about it and he settled for pressing little displays of affection into her skin; branding her with kisses. “Well I’ve never felt like this with anyone else either so…” he didn’t know what that meant, but it was just as much the truth as what she had said to him.

“Mm, good because I really, really want to do this over and over again” he grinned into her neck glad to hear her laugh after everything.

Faye wasn’t one to believe in Fate or Destiny, or any of those things. But… she did believe that she was meant to be on Canto that day. She believed that she was meant to be there, and she was meant to meet Fane. He had been her savior, for lack of a better word. And while she hadn’t trusted him at first - or only trusted him marginally more than Jevara - it hadn’t taken long for him to earn it. Not that he had been trying. Fane wasn’t the type of person that really cared if others trusted him or not. It wasn’t up to him to sway them. But the people that did trust him did so unfailingly. Fane gave them no reason not to. Just as he had Faye.

“I guess we can… figure things out together then?” she asked. It was a bit hesitant, the lingering feeling of not knowing what this was hanging on the edges of her words. But it wasn’t hesitant in a way that said she didn’t want this. Because she did. She wanted this. Wanted him. And whatever came with it.

His stubble on her neck tickled, and she snorted another laugh. “Me too… and we have all night, hm?”

Fane would never claim to be anyone’s saviour, there was far too much blood on his hands for him to ever feel comfortable in taking that particular title for himself. No, Fane was simply a man that was trying to do his best with the hand he’d been dealt in life. To do better than what he’d been raised for and encouraged to pursue in life, because there had to be more to life than the order and formality he’d been taught and drilled to observe. Which was precisely what Faye, and even his crew on occasion had presented to him.

The hesitance was something he understood, because honestly it was something he felt too. Right now there were too many unknowns and things he wasn’t sure how to put into words that he could well and truly make sense of them. But so far they had made sense of things together and it made the most sense for them to continue doing so. Together. So as she suggested exactly that Fane gave her a smile, fingers curling lightly under her jaw and pulling her in for a softer kiss before murmuring “yeah, sounds good.”

Her laugh made him smile more broadly against her lips “mm, and I have full intent to make the absolute most of it.”

Faye knew a bit about where Fane had come from. Not many specifics, but she knew that he had wanted something better. Something more. And that was part of the reason she tried to show him that life was about more than duty and fighting and war. Because what was all that for? If not what came after? Faye didn’t want to fight for the rest of her life. She wanted a home one day. A family. Someone to spend her life with; a peaceful, fulfilling life.

She wondered what Fane wanted after all this. She’d asked him, and he’d said he didn’t know. That he’d never considered it. Perhaps she would ask him again later, when the war was won (because they would win this) and they no longer needed to live every day waiting for the next battle or surprise attack. Perhaps when that wasn’t in front of him anymore he would know. Or at least be able to think about it.

But right now they were here, and he was smiling against her mouth. “Careful there, you might end up smilin’ in public, and then what would we do?” she teased lightly. They kissed slowly, and her hand traced down his ribs, feeling the ridges of bone beneath as she made her way to his hips. The skin there was soft, and she spent a while just playing over the crest of his hipbone, down the outside of his thigh and back up. She wanted to memorize what he felt like, in case it was a while before they could do this again.

Had she asked the answer would have been just as uncertain as it was before. Fane didn’t know what he wanted, or even where he wanted to take his life after this was all over. He’d been born and raised for war. To fight. To live and breathe the task that he was trained to do, whether that was infiltrating foreign nations or destabilising planetary systems. He could do it. But life after it all was said and done for? There only existed a large question mark there.

For now though he was content to make do with what they had here, and Fane settled into the warmth of her embrace and the stroke of her hands down his back and rubs. His breathing was shallow as he traced her jaw with his fingers soft and gently affectionate strokes between their slow kisses. He could grow used to this, the slow and gentle affections such a change from their typical fast pace lifestyles.

“No one would believe it… They’d think they were imagining it… Because I obviously never smile.” Eventually, Fane shifted from above her not wanting to crush her entirely under his weight and opted to shift beside her though an arm remained lazily looped around her waist. His eyes closed, though Fane wasn’t asleep simply settled in the comfortable post-coital warmth of the tangle of their bodies beside one another.

Faye would never deny that she loved the thrill of going fast. It was one of the reasons she’d become a pilot. She loved flying, and racing speeders, and jumping off high cliffs into the water… she liked adrenaline and adventure and everything that came with it. But this, this quiet solitude of just them, was fast becoming her new favorite pastime. Being a pilot was her job. Being a soldier was her job. And she wanted that. For now.

But this… being here with Fane… this was something that she quite suddenly realized she could want after all that was done. That he could very easily be a part of her ‘after.’ The thought took her breath a bit, and as he shifted she settled a bit more securely against him, her hold tightening ever so gently. What if… what if he didn’t want this after it was all over? What if he wanted to go back out there? Go back to the life he’d led before? A thousand ‘what if’s’ ran through Faye’s head, but she pushed them away as best she could. It was all hypothetical anyway. The war could last for years. Decades. They could die tomorrow.

She pushed that away too, not wanting to ruin this night with anything but good thoughts. “You never smile for them,” Faye said quietly, enjoying the weight of his arm around her. Her own eyes fell closed, not sleeping either, but merely absorbing the way he felt, the way his heart sounded in his chest, the way his breath moved so softly over her hair. Memorizing it.

And Faye found herself thinking - despite all efforts to the contrary - that if they did die tomorrow, at least they had had tonight.

Growing up there had never been the luxury of time for anything that might be considered fun. Unless perhaps you included flying simulations but even then they were drilled and done in such a sequential order that all the original fun was sapped away and it was just another part of the duty. The rush of adrenaline came in those moments when they landed on a new planet, unsure of what they would find and whether it would even be possible to settle there. Not to mention the near-death encounters on those very same planets they ventured onto to explore further.

He felt how her grasp suddenly tightened just a fraction more as he moved, and his head tilted looking at her curiously and wondering not for the first time tonight what was on her mind. Though he would have felt rather unsure had he known the truth. Mostly because he didn’t know what sort of life he might end up wanting if this all ever came to an end. Not that there was a guarantee of seeing it. They might all die in the next raid or the one after that. It was partly why he never tried to think of anything beyond that. There was no point dying with regrets of things that might’ve been at least if he didn’t think about them he didn’t have to technically regret them.

“They never give me a reason to smile,” he shrugged his shoulders slightly as they both settled more comfortably against one another; Faye with her head pillowed on his chest and him with his arm about her. After a while of silence Fane’s fingers trailed over her waist “tell me about the first time you flew a fighter hm? Where did you learn?”

Faye’s childhood had been filled with laughter and the wide-open spaces of the wheat fields of her home planet. Nothing sky above and earth below. Green and growing and alive. Her parents were farmers, but they were also part of their planet’s defense forces. Part time as they got older and started a family, but they still drilled on the regular and came to the defense of their home when things got hairy.

As for now, or what came after, Faye had always known what she wanted one day when she grew up. Home was green fields and fresh air, cold winters and warmer summers, mountains and trees and life. At least that’s how she had felt then, that home had to be a place. And she still felt that way for the most part. Though perhaps one day, home might come to mean something different.

But right now the base was home. And the future was uncertain. They would cross that bridge when they got there. Though Faye did know one thing: she wanted Fane in her life. In whatever for or fashion she could get him.

She smiled as he spoke again. “And I guess I do? I’ve seen you smile more tonight than the entire time I’ve known you. I must’ve done something right.”

She settled down, rubbing her foot lightly over the top of his as he held her close. His heart beat under her ear, slowing a bit as they lay still. “The very first time? I was… man, I was… eighteen? Nineteen maybe? Just old enough to join. My dad taught me how to fly speeders and a couple of smaller transports when I was younger, but an X-Wing is… something else entirely. We had an amazing instructor. Fought during the first war.”

“What about you? When did you first fly? I mean, you’re almost as good as me,” she grinned, the subject being one of constant light-hearted debate between them.

For a time Fane’s childhood had been grey steel and city streets and a sky that existed somewhere beyond the the constant wash of city fog. He saw his mother occasionally, whenever she happened to be on world. For the most part he’d been raised in his father’s charge and vaguely he could recall times in their home where his father was working in his office (a space he was never permitted to enter without first being summoned). He could remember having toy figurines of stormtroopers and battleships between lessons about historic and key military figures.

But that all vanished when the Empire collapsed. What Fane could recall of that day was how he’d just finished school and gotten in to sit down and start his homework when one of his father’s agents had rushed in. An occasion that never happened. He’d been told to pack a bag and that they would be leaving in five. Fane and the few possessions he’d had when he was six years old was ready in four. He could recall the agent ripping his uniform logo off his jacket before the pair of them had fled through back streets as the city imploded around them. People yelling, families screaming as they were torn apart as the order that had been instilled in the city that had never seen a single rebellion since the time of its conception fell apart.

Fane recalled the last sight of what he thought of as his beautiful homeworld being just before the lid was shoved atop the cargo crate he was loaded into; barely able to breathe before the ship took off. How he’d spilled onto the deck when they’d reached the rendezvous point with the few others who had managed to escape with their lives. He’d felt so much anger and resentment at the time and the Order had taken it, shaped it into making him a better soldier under his father’s careful guidance. Family was a very different concept in Fane’s eyes to what Faye likely knew but it was all he had.

“I guess you do,” he agreed quietly not saying anything more on the topic. She could take it how she wanted, but the fact he’d agreed spoke volumes. Still, he wanted t know more about her. Explaining his question into where she’d learned and once she started to speak he stretched an arm to fold behind his head out of the way while she rubbed her foot against his own. His eyes were closed against the light of the room and it gave him the opportunity to imagine a younger Faye, flying about on speeders.

“Almost as good as you… Pah. But the first time I flew? Oh-- well,” his eyes opened as he looked at the ceiling thinking and counting the years. “As soon as I could read I had an interest in fighters, it was one of the few things my father encouraged me to take an interest in.... Had I gone on to the Imperial Academy I would have received a formal flight education… But… after the uh--- rebellion on Vardos… We didn’t have anything really… Everything we did have, all our technology was gone…” everything was gone. “So um, I continued to study and some of our lab technicians who escaped with us managed to scrap together some simulators that started my lessons, most of my experience came from that… That was the first opportunity I got for the most part. My first experience in a proper ship?” Fane shrugged his shoulders a little “thirteen maybe fourteen? We managed to take over a pirate convoy to take their supply… But the pilot on our crew got injured so I had to take over in steering the ship back to rejoin our fleer… After that the ship became mine until we finally got our hands on some proper fighters…” When you were living the way Fane was, scavenging for survival waiting on the tech team to develop some revolutionary piece of equipment that might make it a little easier to survive the next day there was no age limit to what you could do. No capable hands would be spared if they could work and this was entirely normal for Fane.

Faye couldn’t fathom having a child and not wanting to be with them. To see them grow and learn and accomplish things. So she wouldn’t have understood how Fane’s mother could have left him like she did. Duty or not. There was no duty that was more important than one’s family. One’s children. And while children grew up and had lives of their own, and sometimes parents had to leave them for various reasons, they were supposed to come back. Parents were supposed to come back. Especially mothers.

Though Faye had known nothing but love and nurturing from her own family, so she was perhaps a bit naive. She knew not all families were like hers, and that children grew up differently all around the galaxy. But she still found it hard to fathom.

She hummed at his answer, smiling to herself that she could seemingly make the impossible happen. So she tucked the information away, saving it and the memory of his own smile for a time when she would need something happy to look back on.

Though her smiled faded as he went on, telling her the story of how he learned to fly, which was decidedly less happy than her own. “Vardos?” This was the first time Fane had mentioned his home planet. A planet Faye knew from reading about the first war. A fairly peaceful Imperial planet destroyed by the Republic. She pushed up on her elbow and looked at him. Not with pity or anything of the sort, but with something along the lines of an apology. “I’m sorry that happened to your planet. Not everything the rebels do is warranted.” She watched him for a moment longer before taking her place back. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it out.” Faye left off the fact that if he had gone to the Academy, they would’ve been enemies instead of… whatever they were to each other. She would have been shooting at him instead of kissing him.

Small mercies, right?

He went on, and Faye listened quietly. “You piloted a ship when you were fourteen?” There was a bit of amazement in her voice, and a great deal of respect. “Show off.”

“When I was fourteen I was planting wheat. So exciting, right?” Again, Faye knew everyone grew up differently. Fane’s childhood had been much different than her own. There was nothing wrong with it, and she wouldn’t judge him or think any less of him for it, but she did think he had perhaps missed out on a few things. “You said you were with you dad, right? Where was your mum?” Realizing that the question might not be appropriate - because what if his mum was dead? Or had been killed? - Faye sighed, feeling terrible.

“I’m sorry. That was… you don’t have to answer that.”

“You don’t need to apologise for it, it was a long time ago now...” Fane said as she commented on the Republic’s actions a small frown appearing on his features. Thirty odd years in fact. A long time by most standards and the same length of time the galaxy had known peace. Not that he’d known the same. Only the burning anger of wish for retribution that came with having something you cared for violently ripped away at such a young age. Not even Faye’s comment to say she was glad he made it out eased the latent anger the topic brought about in him. Knowing better than to open his mouth and say something he might regret he simply opted to say nothing.

“Fourteen thereabouts… Can’t remember exactly, it all blends into one between the flying and exploring” he shrugged his shoulders slightly never inclined to make a big deal of something that might be construed as impressive by any feat. He didn’t like to brag and therefore he tried not to, at least not directly. Still her mention of wheat brought a faint smile to his lips “well, wheat sure beats an entire landscape made entirely of transparisteel or duracrete so… I guess you got the better deal on that front.”

Vardos was the place he was born, though few happy memories truly existed there some but not many. He had better memories of his days at school than those he had made in his home. He recalled fragments of a comfortable life in a high-rising apartment where he’d lain awake at night, covers pulled up and the coloured illumination from the Kestro traffic trickling into the room despite the tint of the windows and attempt at soundproofing. He remembered the nights where the hum of the traffic was replaced by the sound of his parents arguing and bickering or making snide remarks about some trivial topic or another. They took their frustrations out on one another and he had merely been a side point in their consideration. They loved him, at least-- his mother loved him. What Fane’s father felt was a mystery to him beyond the disappointed look that plagued his childhood and drove him to develop an almost insatiable need to prove himself.

Any smile that might’ve existed prior had faded by the time she asked about his mother and in that moment the years fell away. He wasn’t here with Faye, he was four standing on the launch pad just outside the central military district of Kestro city beside his father. He’d just kissed his mother goodbye before she boarded the shuttle, set to head off on an advertising campaign for the Empire (of which it seemed more and more happened to be coming up as the arguments at home continued to grow worse Fane noticed). Not that he commented. He knew better than to speak out about things that weren’t his place. He was stood silently, watching as the shuttle lifted off bearing his mother to some distant system where he wouldn’t see her again for years and never again on his homeworld.

It’s best for everyone she’s gone. She’s a Alois in name only. We-- you and I are the true Alois, and Alois don’t cry do they?

No, sir Fane could recall a younger version of himself answering in a voice thick with unuttered cries of grief. A mantra that had followed him through the years, battle-hardened and forged himself in the towering shadow those words cast.

Feeling unbidden and rather unwanted emotion rising in him Fane merely shook his head not particularly wanting Faye to see the wash of emotion the topic brought about. But he’d spent long enough learning how to mask these things and so any tears that might’ve welled up were pushed back until he was left staring at the ceiling intensely. “She’s gone,” two words spoken with such finality that it said in itself that he wasn’t going to say any more than that. Though what gone meant was vague, and the word deliberately chosen for that exact reason. His mother was long since dead but at least this way, this way it left the potential for her to perhaps be out there somewhere amongst the stars. Living her life. Alive. Well. Happy.

“Still,” Faye said quietly. “I know not all Imperials were bad people. Even now. Just like all citizens of the Republic aren’t necessarily good people. I hate that bad things like that happen.” But she said nothing else on the matter. Faye knew that in war there was hardly ever black and white. There was good, and there was evil. And there were many shades in between. So many outcomes. So many different paths. Like when the notorious Sith Lord Darth Vader had turned on his Master at the end of the first war. He had been a good man in the end, deep in his heart, despite what the world - and his own anger and hatred - had done to him. Fane was a good man too. Though Faye suspected there was darkness in him too. Just as there was everyone. What that darkness might be… well, that was for another night.

Faye smiled. “I loved to explore when I was younger. All around my parent’s farm. Around the flight school. Around the bases. Even here I’ve been exploring. There’s a waterfall about a mile from here. Huge pool of crystal clear water at the bottom. We should go sometime. Swimming that is.” Faye had never heard Fane brag about anything. Though she would have told him that acknowledging his accomplishments wasn’t the same thing. People that had to brag about their deeds were seeking attention and praise. Fane never wanted either. A fact that Faye found appealing.

She laughed a bit as he gave her the better end of the landscape deal. “I guess so, yeah. Horizon of blue and green for as far as you could see in one direction. Mountains in the other. Sunsets… fireflies… all kinds of wildlife. It’s beautiful.” Her fingers stroked along his stomach. “Maybe you can come see it some day. When all this is over.”

The moment the question had come out of her mouth, Faye regretted it. It had just… happened. She was curious. And he was talking about his father, so why not ask about his mother? There was a subtle shift in his body beneath her, and while nothing drastically changed, she could tell the question affected him. Faye had never asked a lot of truly personal questions. She had never felt the need. Besides, it worked better to allow Fane to divulge things about himself as he saw fit and was comfortable with. Like his true name. Which Faye didn’t know. She had no reason to think that the man she knew was someone else altogether. Though if she’d thought hard on it she might have been unable to recall a Savin that had been, or was, a high-ranking Imperial officer. There were lists in the control room, of the ones they knew about, their stations and regular movements. And Faye wouldn’t find the name Savin even if she went back and double-checked.

So as the question about his mother was met with a long silence, and then a simple, short answer, Faye knew she’d erred. She didn’t raise up to look at him, allowing him the privacy of whatever emotions were playing across his face in combination with his words. She only blinked back her own tears at causing him pain, and pressed herself closer against him. Her hand found his around her waist, and she threaded her fingers through his. “I’m sorry,” she said once more, even softer than the last time.

The sort of exploration he spoke of wasn’t the kind that Faye described. He meant landing on abandoned planets with no idea of what the fuck was down there or around the next corner. More than once he’d almost lost his life on one of those expeditions before he was anything close to being considered an adult. But not wanting to sour the light-heartedness of what she described he merely made a low sound in his chest. “We’ll see, I’ve still got a new set of dispatches that need overseeing.” Not to mention the mission that was upcoming to take an Order base. If Faye wanted Fane to do anything of the sort with her she was going to have to drag him away to it which she probably would at some time or another.

He shivered a little under the stroke of her fingers over the sensitive expanse of skin but made no move to shift away from her touch in fact, he rather welcomed it finding the sensation of something so simple surprisingly comforting. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing, a steady sync between the two. “It sounds it,” he could imagine such a sight though to the suggestion of seeing it one day he merely shrugged. They would just have to see whether they lived long enough for that.

One day, Fane would tell her the truth. Just as one day he would tell her more about his life and his childhood but finding a moment that felt right and a moment where he was comfortable enough to speak about such things were few and far between. That didn’t mean to say he never would. Just that-- for now it suited him better to not have to worry about such matters. He’d survived angry trade lords and space pirates, he’d survived the Order, storms, poisoning, monsters that defied explanation and so many more things besides all of those that it was no surprise he’d changed his name. Created and crafted a brand new identity to separate himself from that of his old life. He couldn’t very well go around calling himself Alois without bringing the might of the Order sniffing in this direction.

There was a reason he’d survived for so long.

He didn’t say anything more on the topic, not even as Faye pressed closer and apologised. She hadn’t meant to. He knew but it didn’t make it any easier for him to broach when he really wasn’t mentally prepared for it and after everything they’d done together tonight he wasn’t in any state to do anything other than turn over and rest now. But instead of doing as his body wished he stayed still, arm folded under his head while the other let her smaller fingers lace with his own. “S’late,” he finally said any earlier inclination towards spending the rest of the night exploring and experimenting well and truly killed in the aftermath of that particular topic “should probably get some sleep…”

Faye wasn’t one to shy away from the unknown or the dangerous. Flying into a firefight was both of those things. She’d never had the chance to do many on-planet missions that didn’t involve her unit providing air cover to the people on the ground. But that was what she did: she flew. She flew, and she protected her army’s soldiers by stopping airborne and land borne threats before they could reach them. Many times Faye had had close calls, but never anything that had caused her to fear for her life. Not anymore than she did every time she got into her X-wing. It was all a game of chance.

She hummed when he didn’t turn down her offer. She meant it. And she knew it might never happen. A lot of things might never happen. Though they couldn’t live their lives as if they were already over, could they? Otherwise what were they fighting for? “I know,” Faye said quietly. How could she forget about the upcoming mission? Especially when she would be the one leading the first wave of fighters?

Her mouth turned up into a gentle smile as he shivered beneath her fingers. She felt like she could lay here for hours just running her hands over him and never grow tired of it. “Just something for later. And it is. I miss it,” she said after a bit, her voice soft. She hadn’t been home in years. There was an ache in her chest for those green fields and the mountains that Faye couldn’t put words to. She realized after a moment that the ache also included Fane. But she tucked that away for much, much later.

Faye didn’t expect him to tell her his secrets. Or the reasons behind the things he did. If he wanted to he would. If he didn’t… well, Faye was hardly in a position to ask such things of him. They would go day by day, and take things as they came. Faye could wait. Because it was worth it to her. He was worth it.

Faye knew him well enough by now to know that the subject had touched a nerve. How deeply rooted and raw it was she had no idea. But enough to change the mood of the evening. There was a distance there that hadn’t been there before. Not between them really, but between anything personal that might be shared. At least for now. And for that Faye was ashamed of herself. The last thing she wanted was for him to equate tonight with a bad memory. To equate her with a bad memory. That thought hurt almost as much as the thought that she had caused him pain.

She squeezed his hand in agreement as he said they should sleep, and shifted against him. Faye wouldn’t ask about his mother again. Not for a long time. Because she didn’t want to ever hurt him. Even accidentally. Because this wasn’t just some one night stand to her. This was… so much more. So much more, and even now, when she couldn’t put a name to it, the thought of losing it already scared her to death.

The key to getting the truth from him, no doubt something Faye had already learned by now, was to give him time which meant patience was required along with the trust that he would speak when he felt ready and willing to do so. The information he gave about himself was few and far between but when he felt ready and willingly inclined to share it then he did. It was quiet moments like this, which would likely occur more in the future which helped in breaking down the barrier that stopped him from talking so much about the things that truly bothered him.

Faye had inadvertently stepped on a landmine with her question, and though Fane didn’t blame her for it. How could he when she didn’t know what and how that question made him feel? He knew that the resulting effect of the memories not to mention the guilt it dredged up would kill his mood for the rest of the night. Not that he pushed her away, not in the physical capacity at least considering he was too comfortable with her pressed up against him to even want that but there was an emotionally present distance there. A step apart in terms of what he felt inclined and capable of sharing with her currently.

Fane didn’t equate Faye with a bad memory, in fact some of the best he’d had were with her in the last few years they had taken to get to know one another. Nor did he think that the topic had anything really to do with what they had done and shared tonight either. All he knew was that he didn’t feel quite so inclined to be as exploratory as he had earlier, the guilt lingering in the back of his mind with whatever he chose to do now. It would fade if not by the morning in a few days, but for the time being it was what it was but Fane had dealt with worse. This was a guilt that had lingered with him for years by now that it really didn’t faze him all that much anymore.

The squeeze to his hand let him know she’d heard him, and he let her shift to find a position in which she felt comfortable his arm remaining wrapped around her. He’d trained himself to fall asleep almost on command when he wanted and he could sleep almost anywhere by now but he wanted to make sure she was comfortable first. Much like Faye he didn’t know what this was, all he knew was that despite the slight shift in mood was that this mattered to him. When she was finally settled he breathed quietly his eyes falling shut and a few moments later he was already beginning to drift off.

[gymwrites]

Second Thoughts: A Fan Sequel to First Times

[Author’s note: Happy Christmas everyone! Yes, ST still lives and it’s crazy people in the fandom still read it. I have the ending almost set in my head, and will keep writing until it’s done. I’ve also gone back and re-written past chapters, to make it better. Thanks Jenkenlee wherever you are for kickstarting this. You can read her First Times here.]

This chapter was written to The Kiss, by Mervyn Warren]

Links to: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (Part I), Chapter 5 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part I), Chapter 6 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part III), Chapter 7, Chapter 8 (Part I), Chapter 8 (Part II)

Chapter 7: Like This

 “Seda, I’m going to kill you.”

“Alka - ”

“But after the all-around final. For Russia’s sake.”

“Aren’t you overreacting just a little?”

“Overreacting? What were you thinking?!”

“…”

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Just tell me what happened first, and afterwards if you so choose you may end my life.”

“Unbelievable.“

“Did you two…? Well. You know.”

“I swear to God, Tutkhalyan - ”

“Something happened didn’t it? Didn’t it, Alka?”

“I’m going to count to three.”

“What?”

“Start running.”

“Can’t we just talk - “

“One.”

-----

“The two of you are so adorable together. I can’t believe it actually worked!”

“You’re not even hiding the fact that you set us up.”

“Simone gets credit too. And why would we hide it? It was genius, if I say so myself.”

“Right.”

“Wait. Why that look? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“You missed the first half of training, Als. That’s sacrilege for you. Spill.”

“Don’t you have other, more important things to worry about? Like, oh I don’t know, an Olympic beam final. Which you’re going to be amazing in, by the way.“

“I’m not letting you out of this apartment until you tell me everything.”

“Laurie, it’s like I told you - “

“Either tell me everything now, or I wake Simone up from her nap. And you know what she’s like when you come between her and nap time.”

“Okay. Okay!”

“Well?”

“It was the freaking Titanic.”

“Oh my god. Steamy, forbidden sex in an abandoned transportation vehicle?”

“No! I mean smash-into-iceberg, people-screaming-everywhere, all out Titanic disaster.”

“But... I don’t understand. I thought she still loved you.”

-----

“Do you still love me?”

The second thought racing through Aliya Mustafina’s mind is whether it’s possible to re-bottle the startled silence she had sent ricocheting into the air. Fear had frozen her at first. But then the silence… It loudly announced to the world how her heart still drummed to Raisman’s every breath. The girl need only ask, and it would crumple like paper in the palm of her hand.

“You can’t say it. But you do.” Aly sounds weak with relief. And dangerously hopeful. Her face slowly lights up, and she tightens her grip on Aliya’s hand. 

The Russian curses inwardly. Not even the musical whirring of a nearby icecream truck, nor the high octane shouts of a dozen excited kids clamoring after it, can mask her stunned speechlessness. The question she had hoped would never surface was now glaringly out in the open. Worse still, it demanded a response she wasn’t ready to give. Admit to the truth, then what? Why risk reopening wounds that were just beginning to heal?

“Asking me another thing, Raisman. Please,” she eventually pleads quietly. To her dismay, Aly fixes her searing gaze even more intently on her. 

“You love me,” the girl murmurs, in a wondrous haze. “I see it. No, I feel it.” Aly’s words grow steadier, like she’s suddenly found clarity amidst an overwhelming deluge of emotions.

The midday sun blazes relentlessly down on them. But it’s not what’s causing the feverish wave Aliya feels engulfing her entire body. Her heartbeat, now a battering ram against her ribs, insists she let go of the stubborn, rational need to protect herself from what might hurt her - or be really, really good for her. 

Perhaps sensing the lowering of Aliya’s barriers, Aly leans forward, close enough that their brows almost touch. Gentle determination dances in her eyes, deep pools of amber that leave no doubt as to where this moment is headed. Those impossibly beautiful eyes, Aliya frets to herself, are going to be the end of her. They have always been.

Aliya isn’t sure if Aly actually spoke her name; just before their lips touch, it’s more like she breathes it, the way an artist breathes color onto a canvas of dreary greys, blacks and charcoals. 

It’s a slow, careful kiss at first - for about a heartbeat.

Then comes the rush of painfully, wonderfully sweet sensations. The delicious scent of her that wraps around Aliya, filling her lungs with each quickening breath. The affection with which her fingers trace the line of Aliya’s cheekbone. The way she pulls Aliya closer with an insistent, passionate longing. Soon enough, everything gets lost in a wild sea of desperation. Soon enough, Aliya finds herself kissing Aly back with a ferocity that takes them both by surprise.

She has never wanted anyone or anything more. 

In a single kiss, Aly Raisman gives her something infinitely precious - a deep knowing that life is found in the melding together of our deepest desire with our greatest fear. But it takes from her, too. It takes her very breath, suspending her existence the way gravity suspends the planets in their orbit. It would take her sanity too, if this kiss, this feeling that she could chase the wind and catch it, were to ever end… 

And there was no doubt when the Games were over, it would end.

The dire thought jerks Aliya up short. She hastily pulls away from the kiss, lips swollen and head dizzy. Heart beating madly, Aliya abruptly averts her gaze towards the ocean, where the crest of a large wave is receding. Aly’s eyes widen in worry, but she says nothing. 

Another salty breeze whips past, grazing Aliya’s skin and eliciting a shiver. She draws her knees close to her chest, as if the action might contain the uncertainty now flooding through her.

If her breaking away had surprised Aly, it doesn’t show.

After only a brief hesitation, the American calls Aliya’s name again. When Aliya doesn’t answer, she reaches out to cup Aliya’s cheek, tenderly tilting her face to meet her gaze, and speaks to her in a soft, but strong voice.

“I know you’re scared. I am too.”

Aliya closes her eyes. “Da. We should being scared. We should not doing this.” Even as she savors the warmth of Aly’s touch, she's steeling herself against the idea that it could ever amount to anything more than a stolen moment on a beach in Rio, far away from the reality waiting for them back at the Olympic Village.

“Being scared doesn’t stop us from training every day of our lives on equipment that could literally kill us,” Aly protests. “And it definitely doesn’t stop us from loving what we do. How is this is any different?” 

“Aly. You are knowing how.” Aliya gives her a look, but at the same time can't keep a corner of her mouth from pulling up into a near smile. Persistence looks good on her.

Aly drops her hands in resigned defeat. “I can’t help it. You have me. I’m completely, totally, and utterly yours.”

Aliya’s stomach does a wild lurch. “What if someone else is more good for you?”

“There is no one else, Aliya.” 

“You cannot knowing that.”

“I do know. You’d think that after all these years…” The fierceness in Aly's voice fades, and she chokes up a little. “I’m not making the same mistake of letting you go again. You’re my one. Where else am I going to find a Russian gymnast who gets me like you do, who drives me crazy like you do?” Lowering her lashes, she adds quietly, “Sometimes, you say my name, and the next thing I know the whole world goes up in flames.”

For a moment, Aliya can’t speak. “Other gymnast can doing this for you,” she eventually counters feebly. 

Aly draws back sharply, as if stung. A shadow of doubt flits across her face. “No. What are you talking about?”

Memories of her earlier exchange with Eythora leap to the front of Aliya’s mind. The girl’s bold pursuit of Aly had left an indelible, if unpleasant, impression on her. It wasn’t easily forgotten.

“Thorsdottir.” Then, as if Aly looks confused because she doesn’t recognize the name, rather than because she doesn’t understand why Aliya is even bringing her up, the Russian hurriedly clarifies, “Eythora Thorsdottir. She say she will fighting for you.”

The astonishment on Aly's face intermingles with a flash of hurt.

Perhaps Aliya mentions it because some part of her believes the unselfish thing to do is help open Aly’s mind to the possibility of finding happiness with someone else. Or perhaps she secretly wanted to test how Aly would react. Much as Aliya hates to admit it, the Dutch girl was probably capable of uprooting to go study at an American college if it meant being closer to Aly. Her English was more than good enough. It wasn't uncommon for western Europeans to spend their collegiate years in the States.

She had options that weren’t open to Aliya.

“You’re not making any sense,” Aly says shakily. “Did she say something to you?” But before Aliya can respond, Aly bites her lower lip, and shakes her head to silence her. “No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to talk about her. No one else matters here. No one, except you and me.” She looks resolutely out at the sparkling blue-green ocean, as if avoiding eye contact will make the Russian drop the matter.

Aliya directs a troubled stare at her. “We cannot being more than friends, Aly.”

“Friends?” A mix of consternation and disbelief comes through in the raised inflection of the girl's response. “We can never be just friends. I know that. You know that.”

“Why not?” Aliya raises her own voice to match Aly’s.

“You can’t. Not with someone you’ve never stopped being in love with. And who you know loves you just as much, even if they can’t say it.” Aly folds her arms stubbornly, daring Aliya to find fault with her statement.

“It is you who saying we are friends, Raisman!”

“I know. At the time, I thought it made sense, that we could still be in each other’s lives without being... more.” Aly's shoulders slump. Her eyes glisten with sorrow. “But look at us, Aliya. We’re terrible at being friends.”

Aliya resists the temptation to shoot back that one of them is terrible at it, even though deep down she knows Aly is right. The day she can look at Aly and not want her would never dawn, not in a million years. Still, didn't they owe it to their sanity to at least pretend to try?

“What we are now, if not this?” she demands, voice slightly strained.

To her surprise, Aly snatches Aliya's hand from her lap, bringing it swiftly to her chest. “We’re this,” she determines fiercely. "This... this thing that lets us feel what the other person is feeling, like we’re one and the same, but not.”

Aliya’s heart does a violent flip as Aly presses her hand emphatically, willing her to feel the full import of her words. 

“Whatever this is, that makes chocolate taste like so much more than just cocoa butter, and milk, and way too much sugar. Whatever it is that makes me smile like an idiot every time I hear a Russian song. That makes waking up every goddamn day actually matter.”

They lock eyes. For one heart-rending instant, Aliya feels like she might just surrender herself to the glaring truth that they had always been, and could only ever be, absolutely mad about each other. That there was no possibility of them ever being apart again. And yet...

“This, like we are four years ago?” The Russian instantly regrets the accusatory tone that bleeds into her retort. She registers the hurt that flickers across the American’s face. She feels a stab of anguish as Aly lets her hand drop.

“Aly," Aliya quickly stammers, "I not meaning…” As she struggles to unbound the tight knot of emotions holed up in her chest, Aliya curses the English language. Things were already too complicated as they were. “I only mean we have doing the same before. And we know how it will be ending,” she explains, brokenly and not very well.

Aly’s eyes darken as Aliya’s words eventually sink in. Another silence that seems to drag on for an eternity follows. It fills Aliya with guilt. She hadn’t meant to resurrect past ghosts. She really had forgiven Aly for everything - if indeed there had been anything to forgive.

At last, the girl offers a faint smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. You’re right. What was I thinking?”

The defeat in her voice and posture cut Aliya to her core. Even though Aly barely moves a muscle, Aliya unmistakably senses her retreat. She fights the urge to throw her arms around Aly again to keep her from slipping away.

“Aly. You and me - ”

Aly cuts her off quietly. “No, I know. You, in Russia. Me, in the United States. It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.” 

Recognizing the raising of a wall when she sees one, Aliya shuts her mouth. A gloominess descends on them both at an alarming speed.

“We should probably be getting back, anyway.” The forced easiness in that statement puts Aliya on edge. She watches silently as Aly gathers up her clothes, methodically rolling them up so they fit snugly into her small backpack. The girl lifts her towel up by the corners, flapping it several times in the wind to dust off the sand. Then she wraps it around her waist, before checking the time on her phone. “The bus will be there in about ten minutes. We should go now.” 

Aliya glumly nods her agreement. She stands and reaches for the red dress she'd thrown down on the towel. 

“Aliya?”

The Russian's pulse quickens. She looks up, heart in her throat. “Da?”

“Maybe you should try being nicer to the driver this time. So he’s not so scared of you and shaken up.” Aly throws her a half-hearted grin. “I actually want to make it back to the all-around final in one piece,” the girl jokes, not even trying to land it with any sort of conviction.

Oh. A proper retort eludes Aliya, so she just answers with her own weak grin. “I try.”

The American extends one last lingering look, before she turns to start walking.

A sudden urgency rises inside Aliya's chest. Ya tebya lyublyu, Aly. Stay here on this beach with me. Don't go. Don't you ever leave me again. 

“Aly. Wait.”

Aly spins promptly back around to face Aliya. Her expression makes it plain that she’s afraid to hope, but wants more than anything for Aliya to give her a reason to. Aliya hesitates.

“I - I am sorry,” she finally manages falteringly. She sees disappointment etch itself into the taut lines around Aly’s face. Sorry, Aliya rages at herself. What an utterly useless phrase that articulates exactly none of the convoluted, soul-shaking emotion she feels for this girl. If only things were different. If only she and Aly weren't born in places so far apart. But then, she wouldn't be who she is, and Aly wouldn't be who she is... and they might never have found their missing pieces in each other.

“I’m sorry too,” Aly whispers, with the sadness of someone who’s finally resigned themselves to the end of the road. “But... better to have loved and lost, right?”

It’s a familiar phrase, even in English, but Aliya can’t quite pinpoint from where.

As she watches Aly trudge slowly up the sand towards the busy avenue, she remembers: in Yegoryevsk, in the warmth of her family living room.

It was something her grandmother always used to say to her, when she was still an impressionable, impulsive child. ‘Lucse ljubit i poterjat, cem sovsem ne ljubit,’ she would whisper comfortingly, as she held a distraught ten-year-old Aliya in her slender arms the day a boy she had a silly crush on moved to St. Petersburg with his diplomat mother.

Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. 

For the first time in her life, Aliya experiences what it’s like to doubt the wisdom of her beloved babushka.

-----

We drifted apart     clouds on different winds long we fought to hold     our misty grips but in the end we were again     clouds on different winds.

- Atticus

[truckthesefeels]

Rob the Bank (then take me home)

Armitage Hux, under extenuating circumstances, extreme duress, and the influence of alcohol (again), attempts to purchase a greeting card. He brings his live-in werewolf along because it’s Kylo’s fault they need one.

A direct sequel to Dog Whistle, with the added element of being almost not about werewolves at all. It’s probably necessary to read the first part first.

Rating: M Warnings: mild exhibitionism, alcohol use, non-main character death mentioned in passing, unseasonable discussion of St. Patrick’s Day, werewolves (if you squint), soft as heckkkk (except for the references to past violent crime) Words: 3200

[Dear anon who requested this: sorry... that this took ten years and that the one thing you asked for does not actually take place. Dear everyone else: sorry that I only listened to Placebo and Kate Nash while writing this and as a direct result it turned out insane and also unmoored in space and time.]

He sees how they look at him, when he stands next to Kylo. They—anyone, little old ladies, families at bus stops, store clerks. This store clerk in particular. Rough piece, they’re all thinking about Kylo. Thug. They’re looking at how Hux shines his shoes and thinking that Hux has found himself a nice side of beef with his hired muscle, and then they’re thinking that he probably takes it rare with a little au jus. Not their fault: lycanthropy aside, Kylo still looks like someone who would tear your throat out. Probably with his teeth. Probably in a back alley somewhere.

He certainly isn’t someone who looks at home in a Hallmark store.

But of course they're in a Hallmark store.

Hux is halfways to drunk in a Hallmark, actually, because they're intended to be going to Ren's great-aunt's cousin's funeral. On his mother's side. Or something. It is definitely supposed to be a funeral; Hux was never quite sure of the relation and now he has no idea. He isn't quite sure why he'd let Ren convince him it was appropriate to pre-drink a funeral, either, even the funeral of a ninety-six-year-old woman he's fairly certain Ren's never met. Now that he's gone and done it, it turns out it was a terrible idea and there's no way Hux can attend.

The thing is, when he found Ren, he didn’t know what he was finding. When Hux let Ren into his home, he didn't know what he was letting in. He’d thought it might kill him. And when he let Ren into his bed, when he let him in and then climbed straight in on top of him, he absolutely didn't know that Ren was staying. (He must have assumed, as one would assume with almost anyone, that he was dealing, here, with an adult. Surely this adult lives somewhere. Surely he'll leave eventually.) Except that it seems like where Ren lives now, is with Hux. In his house, in his bed. On top of him and underfoot and huge and permanent.

He goes, sometimes, and then he comes back, and then one day over mostly burnt toast at the breakfast table he’d looked up and asked, “Will you go to a funeral with me? On Friday. I mean, you don’t have to. I just haven’t seen my family in a while, so it’s kind of…”

He didn’t say what kind of thing it was. Hux didn’t ask him to. It was a surprise to learn that he had a family at all.

And Hux, who hates his toast cooked any further than a four on the toaster’s little dial, somehow said “Of course I’ll go” without thinking about it for a second.

He’s done plenty of thinking between now and then, thinking he hates himself for agreeing, thinking of course he agreed, and then that of course he’d go for anyone, anyone who asked him—he would not, that’s a lie, but then there’s no one else who would ask him and there never has been—and so, that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? He thinks now, again. He’d have said yes to Ren, and by some vagrancy of fate it was Ren who had asked him. Here they are.

Every display in the damn store is green and Hux can’t understand it.

“Okay,” Ren mutters to Hux out of the side of his mouth. A pep talk—possibly directed at himself. He glares around like he too has noticed the unhealthy colour scheme. “Okay, we’re going to do this as fast as possible. Get in, get out. Clear mission. You like those, right?” Ren has his shoulders hunched in like he’s afraid he’ll knock over some piece of kitsch and be made to pay for it. Hux knocks a shoulder into him, because Ren could burn the whole fucking store down and Hux would probably help, it’s that awful. Also it’s slightly by accident because Kylo stopped walking when he hadn’t expected and he’d been using Kylo to keep him going in a straight line. “D’you think all the sympathy cards are gonna be fucking St. Patrick’s Day themed too?”

“Oh, Christ, is that what’s happening here?” It’s overwhelming. The clerk can go fuck herself, on second thought—it’s not her fault what she thinks of Kylo next to Hux, but the look she’s splitting between the two of them, like she’s listening in and wondering whether she should call the police or not, absolutely is.

Hux hates it here. He hates it, hates it, and yet here he still is.

He opens his mouth to tell Ren what he damn well thinks and all that comes out is: "Ren.”

Ren turns to him, still mid-glare, some concern sliding in like he thinks Hux might be about to embarrass them—as if he would ever—and Hux’s mouth is still hanging open. He’s not sure how to shut it without incriminating himself. “I'm so fucking happy," Hux says. Caught. “Ren. I am.”

Then Ren gets a read on Hux—on something about Hux that Hux is not doing on purpose—and smiles, wide and without hesitation. Both his dimples show at once: his whole sullen face is changed to something completely else. "Yeah," he says, slow and silly when Hux was deadly serious, but at least it’s not a question when he says it.

Somehow he's right in Hux's space so there’s nowhere to go that wouldn’t trap Hux up against the St. Patrick's Day cards—who the fuck gives a St. Patrick's Day card, Hux would like to know, and he’s Irish—and he buries his face in the side of Hux's neck and just... doesn’t do a thing, although Hux might have let him. Hux holds his arms very stiff at his sides. "Yeah," Ren says again, like they're telling secrets. As, indeed, Hux supposes they must be. Ren’s chin digs sharply into his shoulder when he presses as close as possible there and then tries to get closer. "You didn't know?"

He didn’t know and he couldn’t be expected to. There’s no baseline for it.

Ren does this thing that no partner of Hux's ever has: he stays. Not just in Hux's bed but really with Hux. But in Hux’s bed, too, yes. After, when they've both come spectacularly and filthily and when usually, one might roll over and—well, roll over and spoon, or fight over who doesn't get the wet spot, or call a cab or something—Ren doesn't go. He always stays instead. He stays, almost unimaginably heavy on top of Hux, lets himself go soft there, lets himself settle in to breathe like he's not squashing all the life out of Hux. Hux knows enough about wolf physiology to have... theories, about what exactly it is that Ren finds satisfying in this. But the problem is, Hux likes it. He would like to lie like that forever, wet spot and crushed ribs be damned.

He’d choose it over almost any other thing, he’s just realized.

Maybe Kylo really did know it already. Maybe Kylo can scent it or something, how absolutely calm and still Hux goes, how much he doesn't ever want to push Kylo away. Maybe it explains where Kylo had found the guts to ask Hux to come along with him.

Here next to the cardboard sign that says Luck O’ the Irish, he shoves Ren off with a sharpish push to the middle of his chest. "Ren! Sympathy card! For Great-Aunt Whoever." Hux needs him to be at a non-distracting distance for this. Not so close that Hux is thinking about getting closer, too. "Just... just pick one and we'll mail it in. It's that rack." He's pretty sure. That rack’s not as green. Ren's pectoral muscles are still distracting even at arm's length, and it probably isn't helping that Hux has somehow failed to reclaim his hand from where it's spread out against them.

Ren's grin widens somehow. Like this is what surprises him. "You're fucking trashed, huh?"

"It was not my idea.” He’s a little wobbly, though, true enough. “And I am the—the goddamned voice of reason, here; I'm insisting that we don't go. You can't go to a funeral like this. It's disgraceful. We'll send a card."

"Hux, I had one beer. With lunch." Ren sounds so soft, and Hux knows what that tone means. It means Ren’s biting back the kind of full-blown smirk that’s worse than his grin, that will have Hux spitting at him.

"Before a funeral,” Hux spits anyway: “it's completely inappropriate."

"You had whiskey. And like four sweet potato fries. And then three more whiskeys."

This is perhaps true too. Hux hasn't been to a funeral since his own father's, and in fact he'd worn the same charcoal tie to it that he is wearing today. He must not have shoved Ren away as hard as he'd thought he'd done, because Ren is right back in his space again, looping his arms carefully around Hux's back. Something about the sure way he does it tricks Hux into doing the same. Now Hux is half-drunk and hugging in a Hallmark store. It's more egregious than being nuzzled against the St. Patrick's Day cards was somehow, perhaps because he is an active participant in it.

He very much regrets mentioning any kind of happiness, ever, fleeting as it is turning out to be.

"You could just have told me you didn't want to go," Ren says. Hux thinks Ren's actually swaying them back and forth very slowly and calmingly, foot-to-foot, although that could be his head sloshing around. Either way, it's very nice. It doesn’t quite mesh with the smirk Hux had thought Ren was holding in. Makes it hard to keep scowling into the side of his head, especially since Ren can’t see that Hux is doing it.  "I didn't even know Aunt Maz; I was only going for Rey."

"Sorry." Rey, Hux knows, is the only member of Ren's family that he still talks to, or at least the only one he ever talks about. Hux isn't totally sure what their relation is, either. Sister? Cousin? Packmate? “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Shouldn’t have what, he doesn’t quite know.

He isn't totally sure what happened to the rest of Ren's family, but now that he knows they exist, he has some theories about why Ren's face looks the way it does when he doesn't talk about them. One of the reasons he has never asked is because not all of Hux's theories involve all the members of Ren's family being alive. This, if nothing else about Ren, is something that Hux can understand very well.

"Hm," Ren says after a minute, like he’s carefully considered it and Hux's apology just doesn't signify. "Let's go home. I'll email Rey later—don’t think she really expected me to show anyway." But he doesn’t stop anything that he’s doing.

Hux squeezes. Ren is, among his many dubiously good qualities, very solidly squeezable. His hair smells amazing even here in this terrible place. Not participating was really never an option.

"That... claim." He didn't know he was going to say that either, but he’s had four whiskeys at noon and now it's said.

Ren goes still and stiff in his arms. This is not something they've spoken of since the very first time, when Ren swore not to do it. Or swore not to hurt Hux, like that was the same thing without question.

"What is it? Exactly?"

"We don't need to," Ren says quickly. Extremely quickly. "That... other pack. They're not—it's not a problem, I told you. I know I got cut up pretty bad." This is an understatement; even with Ren's impossible healing, Hux can trace the scars across his face and down his side and he does so now. He can track those scars even through the dress shirt that Ren had to buy specifically for a funeral that they’re not going to ever make it to now. They are marks of Ren's physical protection, of his stupidity, of his willingness to let himself be gutted for someone he didn't even know. "But I won the challenge. The issue is settled. They're not. Um. Not coming back for you."

He holds Hux tighter when he says it, even as he stretches a little, preening a bit under Hux's touch. It's stupidly endearing, if not entirely reassuring, but this is not what Hux means. He only has one question.

“It wouldn't make me... like you? It's not the bite?” He only has one question and he’s not even sure if the answer makes a difference.

“It doesn't make you a—not like me, no. Jesus.” Ren pulls back now, gives Hux a frantic little shake by the shoulders like he knows what Hux was thinking and he’s not sure if he hates it or not. “But it's a permanent alignment, Hux. You'd be mine, and. And it can't be undone.” Ren’s voice is nervous but the thing underneath that is pitch-black, predatory. It’s there in the way his fingers dig into Hux’s flesh, the way he pulls back but even so he’s looking. It's another feeling Hux knows well. “You could never undo it.”

“And you are also mine?” His huge worried thing, his huge hungry thing, so keen to protect Hux from everything and anything and especially from himself. Just dangerous enough that a little protection might be warranted. This doesn’t count as a question because Hux knows the answer without thinking about it.

“I am. Yes. I would be.” He’s so still. But still there.

He knew the answer, and even so Hux’s blush heats up from the bridge of his nose to the top of his forehead—hopeless. He is filled hopelessly with an unexplainable love, right up to the same rising waterline. He should have—should have checked for it. Should have known. It must be pouring out of his ears.

Ren is on him, slamming him back into the St. Patrick's Day cards so hard this time that the cardboard shamrocks rattle. Something jams into his kidney and it fucking hurts, and the sound is like two six-foot tall men have tackled each other in a shop full of tat. Which they have. Hux can't believe that no one has come to try and interrupt the scene they're making, and he doesn’t care to stop until someone does. Maybe the confluence of capitalism and false sentiment has created some kind of liminal zone where no one can touch them. Maybe the shopgirl isn’t here clearing her throat at them because she’s busy dialling 911.

Maybe it's because Ren has one rock-solid thigh pressed into Hux so hard and so sweet, but his hand on the back of Hux's neck is gentle. He'd kill anyone who tried to look twice. Hux would definitely help him. No scene could matter.

“The last funeral I went to...” Hux is slurring not because of the whiskey but because his nose is mashed up against Ren's ear and he's not inclined to change position. “The last time, it was,” he chokes on My father, can’t say it. It was a decade ago and on a different bloody continent is even lonelier, somehow. “I'd have shot him myself,” is what he ends up saying, unsteady, “only somebody got to it first. So I shot them instead.”

“They can't have you,” Ren growls, as he holds Hux and holds him and holds. As if the people he’s talking about aren't already dead. “They can't get to you. I won't let them.”

Completely inappropriately, now Hux is the one who’s trying not to laugh. He thinks what’s bubbling up inside him might be something much worse than what this card store was built to withstand. A black kind of joke, a joke like a tar pit if it’s a joke at all, but Ren is here. Ren is here and Ren has him, and Ren knows from bad. Hux lets himself kiss Ren first one time, just a peck, and squeeze him tight around the ribs some more. “It's not a fucking blood pact,” he says. This part, the trial, is a confession. “It was ruled self defence; I was acquitted.”

He’d walked out of that court with his knees shaking and caught the first fucking flight across the Atlantic, destination anywhere else, running, but here he is now in a fucking Hallmark with an impossible person. With something he doesn’t let himself look at straight on on a good day, let alone when he’s drunk before two.

He slides his death grip up from Ren’s middle to his huge tense shoulders, to his disaster of a haircut, to both sides of his glowering face. Holds him there white-knuckled while Ren stares straight back.

 He’s going to tell Ren that he means it, that he’s happy with him, that he’d rip anyone in half that tried to stop him now—fangs or no. That he’d let Ren put his teeth in his neck if that’s what this means, and he thinks that it might be. That he’s serious, so serious, they have to leave right now or it’ll be Ren he’s tearing into and they’ll both be arrested.

He’s going to let Ren take him home, and it’s their home, together, like it was never Hux’s home when he was alone. Before that he’s going to let Ren hold his hand – in the street, in the taxi, in the goddamn queue line to buy a sympathy card that Ren will barely even check to make sure that there are no leprechauns on it. He’ll probably sign the card next to Ren’s name. Tomorrow.

Before that, after that, sometime in between those things:

He’ll be the one to hold Ren down for once. He’s going to close the blinds at three PM and do a shoddy job of it, and he’s not going to care if the neighbors can see it when yanks off Ren’s tie. It’s a tie that he borrowed from Hux, the navy one with a little stripe to it, which is also inappropriate for a funeral. The whole incident almost made Hux want to ask Ren if on top of everything else he was colour-blind like a dog. He doesn’t care; he won’t care where that tie lands or about any of the rest of it.

In Hux’s bedroom in the middle of the afternoon, tipsy and so certain, so certain now, he’ll push Ren down and bite at him when Ren is the one who hesitates. They’ll be as naked as if the idea of going to a funeral had never existed. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe this will be all there ever was, this huge and simple thing, and nothing else will happen after. Ren will open his eyes suddenly into Hux’s messy, determined kiss, will push at Hux a little until they’re staring at each other, and Hux will look straight down into him and realize it was possible to be more naked even than that—to be completely bare before another person and to be completely unafraid.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ren will say. The second time he’s said it, exactly like this.

[goldenglitzer]

Roots of the Isles

Chapter 1: The One Where Willow Accepts

~ Storm. Thunder sounded around her, and lightning illuminated the sky, giving her surroundings a greenish glow. Before her, an impossibly high cliff -- no, a leg. The leg connected to a charcoal body, towering past the clouds, and somewhere up there, glowing green eyes looked down upon her. And she felt anger, her fury rising and rising and rising- ~

Willow generally considered herself to be an observant person. Whether this stemmed from a caring nature or an analytic ability, she wasn’t sure. What she did know was that she noticed things that the average person wouldn’t, such as how Luz simultaneously tensed up with nervousness and filled with energy when meeting new people, how Gus would hum a pop song under his breath while he was working on a new spell, or how some of the Beast Keeping students’ hoods shifted whenever they were trying to smuggle the cuter animals of the Bestiary out.

Lately, she was noticing how Amity wasn’t being as mean to her anymore.

At first, Willow had attributed it to a lack of contact. After all, with Willow being placed in the Plant track, she didn’t have any classes with Amity anymore (and good riddance, in her opinion). The only times they ever saw each other were passing in the halls, or occasionally encountering each other in town (usually with the popular girls surrounding her at all sides, sometimes even making biting remarks towards Willow).

However, starting after the most recent Covention, Willow noticed that even the existing contact had started to lose it’s hostility. Amity’s glares at her whenever they crossed paths in school began to lose their usual anger, until it was entirely gone (and was then replaced by something resembling sadness? Willow didn’t like to think about that too much). As much as Willow nearly lost it when Amity made the remark towards her while prepping for the Moonlight Conjuring, she had to admit that a secondary purpose of it was to get her posse away from Willow (even if she would have much preferred Amity simply say nothing). And even those sorts of situations had started to disappear, as, after a certain point, Willow saw Amity in town with her friends less, and more with older green-haired individuals that she assumed were her siblings (she vaguely remembers seeing them with Gus sometimes).

And when Amity gives her the slightest of nods as they pass each other in Hexide’s hallways, it takes all of Willow’s self-control to keep her from looking back to see if Amity had suffered a traumatic head injury.

So there it is; while Amity might not necessarily be trying to be nicer, she is certainly trying to be less mean towards Willow. Change that Willow had never expected in a million years, all happening over the span of a few weeks. And Willow only knew one force of chaos and change strong enough to cause this.

In retrospect, she should’ve known that Luz was somehow involved with Amity. It was clear that there was more going on at the Covention between the two than simple opposition and rivalry, even if Luz never talked much about what happened after she followed Amity offstage (Unfortunately, Willow’s was too distracted by the incredibly awesome witches duel between their mentors to follow Luz.) and on the rare occasion that Amity was brought up in conversation, Luz was almost imperceptibly withdrawn and nervous. It only requires Willow to put two and two together, and she has a rough idea of what’s been happening.

And her first reaction is rage. After all, this is a betrayal, isn’t it? One of her best friends, hanging out with her worst enemy (although, a traitorous part of her mind reminds her, that wasn’t always the case). And the possibility that Luz could do the same thing Amity did, leave her behind, and maybe even rub it in her face, fills her with primal anger. She lets the rage fester in her body throughout the school day, feeling it coil and spread as magical power just under the surface of her skin, before storming out of Hexide and immediately into the woods. 

And she unleashes it all. She almost feels the rage explode out of her, tendrils of her wrath becoming actual vines and roots that lash out at anything within the relative vicinity. She doesn’t care much; nobody’s around, and right now she wants to rampage, to tear the world apart because how dare it. She feels her consciousness slip, and falls back into the world in her dreams, the primordial green glow and the towering titan and the eyes and the fury-

She snaps back to her senses and almost immediately feels guilt. While she’s certain there are trained witches out there that could cause more destruction, she’s created a small wasteland in under a minute, with broken trees strewn across the ground and caught up in a mess of thorny vines. Had any creature or person been in the vicinity, they would've been killed, and the thought of that makes Willow sick to her stomach. She hopes she’ll never have to use her magic for that purpose.

As Willow tries to repair some of the damage she caused (the area is healthier by the end of it, but it’s not really the same as before), she reasons out her revelation. Yes, there’s still anger there, and a bit of insecurity (only a smidge, she tells herself), but she’s not as overwhelmingly wrathful as before. She knows that Luz isn’t really like any of them; she’s a dreamer, passion and energy incarnate that has arrived in a new world and is determined to make it work for her. She likes to see the best in others, and it’s not unreasonable to think that she’s found some qualities in Amity that she’s found redeeming (what those could possibly be, Willow has no clue). Willow also knows that Luz cares deeply about her too, and as such, it’s unlikely that she would simply abandon her like that (despite what certain parts of her mind keep thinking).

Ultimately, Willow is confused, and decides that the only way she’s going to figure it out is to get the truth out of Luz. Once home, she sends a letter to Luz, asking her to meet in the marketplace tomorrow, finishes her schoolwork, and tucks in for another day. The same dream as the last few nights happens again, and Willow begins to wonder if this is going to be a thing for a while. The next day, school is fairly uneventful, although Principal Bump does pull her aside at the beginning. Apparently having become aware of her outburst, he lets her off with a light scolding, but he does say he will be talking to her later, which leaves Willow slightly scared and intrigued.

When she and Gus pass Amity in the hallways, Amity offers her a subtle nod again. Willow does not grant her a response, and when Gus turns to her and asks “What was that about?” she simply shrugs (it’s nice to know that he noticed too, though).

Finally, school is out and, after bidding Gus goodbye (they would be practicing combo spells later in the day, of course), she heads to the marketplace. Soon enough, Luz arrives there, shouting out her usual energetic greetings with the world’s brightest smile on her face (later, when Willow learns that Luz’s first name means “light” in the human language of Spanish, she can’t say she’s entirely surprised). Still, Willow came here for a purpose, and she interrupts Luz’s happy march towards her with a simple “We need to talk.”

“Oh! Um, okay!” Luz manages to get out, and Willow can tell that, behind the bubbly exterior, there is a hint of panic in her eyes (perhaps she’s been expecting this conversation, Willow muses).

“You and Amity have been hanging out together.”

And there was the full panic.

Luz fumbles with her answer, uttering a series of “ums” and “errs” and “wells”. Willow adores Luz, and finds that she has so many traits that make her a good friend and a great person; however, Willow knows that, when Luz is introduced to an uncomfortable situation that she isn’t used to, she can be dishonest in an attempt to please the people around her. Willow hopes to Belos that she isn’t this time.

With a hallowed breath, Luz admits “Yes, I have.” Confirmation. For some reason, it doesn’t mean as much to Willow as she thought it would. “I didn’t mean to, though! We just kept bumping into each other, and running into danger together, and I kept learning things about her, and-” she pauses, with a defeated sigh. “I’m sorry, Willow. I saw how she’s treated you, and that isn’t right. It wasn’t right of me to betray your trust either. I can stop talking with her, if you want. Or if it’s too much already, you don’t have to be friends with me anymore.”

It hadn’t occurred to Willow that those were options, but now that she thought about it, she was within her rights to decide on at least the last one (and the first one was still understandable, if also very unethical), and from Luz’s body language and the way she had offered the choices, she would genuinely swear to both. However, she could also tell that Luz’s heart would absolutely shatter if Willow accepted either of those options, and when she tried to visualize herself accepting them, all she could think of was the cold fall day when she realized her and Amity were no longer friends. She knew that pain. Did she want Luz to know that pain too?

“No,” she decides. “You haven’t betrayed me, Luz.” She sees Luz visibly untense, and almost feels an aura of gratitude radiating off of her. “I’m just curious about it.”

She’s able to get Luz to talk about her various encounters with Amity, the most significant of which involving life-or-death situations. While at this point Willow has accepted that Luz was cursed to have danger follow her almost anywhere, she was still fairly certain her bubbly friend was going to give her grey hairs by the time she was twenty. She listened as Luz told her about Amity’s more hidden traits; her volunteer work at the Library, her love of the Azura series (Willow always considered the books a bit too unrealistic for her tastes), her older siblings who kinda bullied her (but also don’t, sometimes. “It’s complicated,” Luz says, and Willow lets it be at that for now), and even her bravery when protecting Luz or rescuing her siblings. It occurs to Willow that she never really noticed many of these things about Amity, even before they drifted apart. It somewhat disturbed Willow to consider that, while she knew Amity for almost her whole life, she didn’t “know” her.

“And yeah, now we’re setting up a Secret Azura Book Club together, and we’re going to have our first meetings once the next semester begins!” Luz declares, and Willow can tell from the far-away look on her face and her subtle blush that Luz’s draw towards Amity isn’t exactly the desire for platonic friendship. But that’s a whole other can of worms to get into that Willow barely understands as is, so she doesn’t make a comment. Yet.

Besides, Willow has one more question to ask. “So, did you say anything to her about treating me better?”

Luz’s eyebrows twitch up a bit in surprise. “No, I haven’t. I should totally do that though! It’s been a conversation I’ve been avoiding since, y’know, awkward horrible history and all that, but I know it’s something we can’t avoid-”

“No, don’t.” Willow cuts in. While there’s not a lot that she knows for sure right now, she does know that she’s not ready for that conversation. “I’ve just been… noticing some things.”

Willow then proceeds to describe to Luz what she’s noticed of Amity’s recent behavior. Luz’s eyes practically glow with something akin to pride when she hears that the insults have stopped and Amity has acknowledged Willow’s presence in a non-antagonistic way, but she ultimately says “I know that, when I first got here, I expected things to be very simple, and for transformations to be very easy. I was wrong on both fronts.” Luz pauses to chuckle and sigh to herself, and then continues “I guess, just take it at your own pace. I’m glad Amity’s improving, but no one’s saying you have to make any sort of decision about this.”

From there, the conversation switches back to more comfortable topics, as Willow talks about school and her improvement with Gus, and Luz talks about some of her (mis)adventures with Eda and King (from which Willow gathers two things: that she should be worried about Boscha potentially targeting Luz, and that Luz knows a lot about the writing process). Luz even shows off her new ice glyph, which Willow finds very cool, pun totally intended. Once it’s time to depart, Willow gives Luz an extra warm hug and assures her that she is indeed a good friend, and then she heads off to train with Gus.

Inevitably, Willow’s mind is drawn back to the subject of Amity. Was she willing to admit that the green-haired-witch wasn’t a nightmare-spawn of evil? Maybe. Was she willing to admit that Amity was improving? Yes. Was she ready to forgive her?

...No. There was too much to sort through right now, too many bad memories and good (lukewarm? Willow was still unsure) revelations, too much confusion and hurt and fury-

So yeah, things were still confusing in the Mysterious Case of Amity Blight, and Willow had a feeling that answers weren’t going to come easily (especially with whatever has been going on with her dreams). But still, if Amity was willing to work on turning herself around, then Willow was willing to keep thinking about this too. 

And the next time she and Amity encountered each other in the hallway, and Amity nodded to her again (the nods were getting less and less subtle, as if Amity was getting more and more comfortable with the idea of giving them), Willow graced her with a subtle nod of her own.

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