#strlstd. blade.

[lxstfxte]

Resting their hand over his own, Ophelia leaned into the touch, lips brushing against his palm as their eyes closed - if only for a moment - at the softness of the touch. No one was ever capable of just one thing. That was a truth they firmly believed in. Even if one's name was that of a tool or a weapon, they had pure faith that anyone could change or learn something new. He may view himself as a weapon, if his name was anything to go off of, but that just made the gentleness of his touch all the more comforting, all the more...exciting for them to be on the receiving end of.

Oh, his voice. No matter how little he spoke at times, they loved the sound of it. Smiling softly, Ophelia kept a tight hold on the burst of bravery they had to lean in closer till the distance between them was barely that of a thin sheet of paper.

Lightly trailing their fingers across the back of his hand, up his arm to round the curve of his shoulder to trace thin lines down his back, their hand settled on his hip. Their hand tangled in his hair rested against the back of his neck, gently pulling him closer. Soft of a petal, the first brush of their lips against his was featherlight, yet enough that their eyes closed in bliss. It could hardly satiate the want they felt awakening in their veins.

Gently, they kissed him fully, with the intention of not overwhelming him, but with the desire to do so till the air in their lungs was fully spent. Their hand on his hip twisted the fabric of clothes just a touch, the need to anchor themself lest they be too wanting. "Blade," their voice was a whisper between their lips, echoes of longing sealed into another kiss.

[ @lxstfxte — ★ ]

Relaxed, at ease... A new, but still alleviating state. Just how tense was he at all times that even this small moment of relaxation was relieving? Leaving him vulnerable, sword having been discarded against the nearby wall, fighting the urge to look back to see if it was still there. His eyes were still trained on them in an intense focus, however, every last bit of his focus was on them right now. Trying to read them, to figure out just why they'd want such a vile being as himself so close to them? Yet, all he'd found was... a strange sense of gentleness. A want to care for and about him. It might as well have been poisonous the first time he'd realized, how strongly he'd rejected them. He wasn't worth it, any of it, with how tainted and monstrous he could be. How the Mara could so easily flare up if given enough incentive. Wasn't meant for such softness and sweetness they showed him.

He... didn't want to hurt them. That? That was seriously all it boiled down to? Blade, the infamous, fearsome, dangerous Stellaron Hunter. Scared of hurting someone. It baffled him, disgusted him. But the more he tried to deny it, the more truthful it became. How he denied himself the chance of even standing next to them, always creating distance, how he always kept his voice soft and never raising it. Yet there was still this strong protectiveness and desire to keep coming back to Ophelia. They (as much as it shocked him to realize) were a safe place, somewhere he could at last lay down the sword, and just... exist.

Oh, how he wanted to downright melt and lean into their touches as they twirled his hair. Self-restraint was ironclad, however, so he stood firm. He wasn't made to receive such a tender thing, it being a miracle he even allowed them to get this close.

Until they kissed the corner of his mouth. It burned. Amber eyes widened slightly, swallowing thickly as his mind struggled to comprehend. That was the exact thing he'd feared. That the moment he were to receive any sign of affection, he'd all but latch onto it after being deprived of it for... well, he couldn't exactly remember the last time. If ever there was a time.

Their voice was so soft, sweet. Something he didn't find grating or agonizingly familiar. Just... a sound he found calming, able to quell the thrumming of the dormant Mara within him. How could he not accept their request? He'd probably kick himself for all eternity if he didn't.

Thus, his hand reached up to ever so gently cup their face, eyes a tad warmer than normal. His hand were rough, calloused, littered with scars new and old. Not meant for such a thing as this, all it was meant for was to wield his sword with terrifying precision. But this time, this time, he could make an exception.

"...Yes." Voice was low, gruff. But hidden within, was the smallest hint of affection. Reserved for them and them alone.