Golden eyes blink up at him, so close he can see the darker lines of colour, light blooming through and making them seem rich. A sight that always stops his breath, makes him want to memorize every line, every shade, every flickering shadow cast by those thickly rooted lashes.
Lumine laughs, wrinkling her nose. The breeze of it bursting soft against his mouth.
He frowns. Draws back. "What?"
"There's mud in your hair." Her thumb lands at the high ridge of his cheek, swiping. "And right here." The bridge of his nose. "Here." The corner of his mouth. "Here."
He lifts his hand from her face, about to reach up to check for himself and. An imprint is left beneath, dirt spread along her glowing skin. Oh. He mirrors her motion, fingers brushing gently along the curve. It . . . doesn't help.
"Sorry," he murmurs, diving back in to kiss her. Persisting even as she giggles, gasping, against his open mouth.
"Dainsleif! Dainsleif, stop, you taste like dirt!"
He doesn't. "Do you dislike it?"
"Yes!" But she threads her hands into his hair, fastening when she can't comb through his tangled strands. Pulls him so far down he risks losing his balance, collapsing, crushing her.
He circles an arm warm against her waist, spinning so that when he finally succumbs she lands against his chest. An opportunity she uses to separate, hands pressing on his shoulders.
"You need to clean up," she announces. Amused.
He reaches up and smears his hand along her other cheek. "So do you."
"And whose fault is that?" Mirth threading through in every word. She darts in, quick, steals a kiss that he doesn't have the opportunity to meet and. Sits upright, legs straddling his waist in a way that doesn't make any of his thoughts feel clean.
It must show on his face. In the way his hands have landed at her thighs. Dirt pressed below her hem so she'll probably have to clean her (white) dress, too. She raises a brow, unimpressed. Swings fully off and instantly he misses the pressure of her welcome weight.
Then reaches back down and takes his hand like all that filth means nothing. Nose wrinkling as the mud squishes between their palms, as she pulls him to his feet. Laughing at his reluctance as he stands. "Come on. There's a pool over by the base of the northwest cliff. We can wash off there."
It's automatic, sometimes. "If that's what my princess wants."
He leans down to look at her and she turns away, speeding up. Tugging him along behind her as though that will keep him from seeing the way her ears turn rosy, the bright edge of her cheek as her hair flies back from her face. Cute.
It's barely a journey of five minutes. The open air, the sun, the breeze. A symphony of sensations even if she's determined to keep her silence. He yanks her back just once, circles her in his embrace and nuzzles against her neck. The yelp of surprise is gratifying. Sweet. Melting into his affection, letting him litter kisses against her face before dirt brushes her mouth and she remembers.
"You're trying to distract me." Accusing.
He answers honestly. "I'm not."
It's the opposite, in fact. He's just easily distracted. How could he not be? When she's just there, well within his grasp. Beautiful and good and here. With him.
He's watching her so closely he doesn't even notice when they've stopped. Not until she turns, catches him staring. And smiles.
It's a pretty place. Water sparkles; a surface like faceted glass. A waterfall rushing at the cliff's edge, comforting camouflage, drowning out any ambient sound. A few birds stir along the edges, wings ruffling, soundless, ready to take flight.
It's peaceful. Calm. Even the usually abrupt click of his cloak unfastening smothered beneath the noise. Lumine meets his even gaze, slipping the fabric off his shoulders.
He wants to kiss her again.
So he does.
"Dainsleif!" She bats at his chest and he steps back. Reprimanded but not sorry. "If you keep doing that it'll be night before we manage to wash up."
He moves further out of her space; putting the temptation out of reach. Glances down to see a frog hopping across his foot, spring boarding off the toe of his shoe to shatter the sheet of a lapping tide. Small distraction that he follows before he realizes she's moved off to the fringes. Her dress already folded on the ground behind her.
She's always been so fast.
He follows suit as she sits and works off her boots. Vest, pulled off and placed on his cloak. Shirt unfastened, ends freed from his pants. Undressing in a sedate silence, catching glimpses of her skin from the corner of his eye.
Until she stands and hooks her hands beneath the waistband of her shorts. And starts to work them off.
Dainsleif freezes; a statue, an ice sculpture, the lonely victim of a mist flower. Can't stop himself from staring at the sweet pink of her, exposed. The elegant line of her legs, unbroken to her hips. The soft curve at her waist, her spine. Her slender fingers, reaching up to the knot that keeps her halter in place.
He turns, closes his eyes. Works his pants off with muscle memory and spends too long folding them, deliberate.
When he's finally ready, when his heart has settled in his chest he wades into the pool. A shock of cold lapping against his shins, his thighs, his hips, as he submerges.
She's already in the water. He never heard the splash.
He keeps himself at a careful distance, cupping his hands beneath the surface and bringing them up to his face. Black and blue and pale, water clearly divided. He scrubs until he thinks he's clean; judged by the snatches of his reflection, distorted. It's hard to see the dirt on the shadowed edges of his face.
A slightly heavy wave splashes against his shoulder as he considers his hair.
"You took so long I thought you weren't coming."
He needs a moment to steady himself before he finds her voice.
Lumine is beside him, leaning close enough to be heard. One arm draped over a rock, anchoring herself. The blonde of her hair has gone dark with moisture, strands curling against her neck. Droplets running down the swell of her chest before they meet back with the water.
"Are you finished already?"
She shrugs. A graceful motion that bobs her dangerously above the surface, one pink nipple breaching. "I wasn't as filthy as you were. And besides, I got in first."
That's true enough. Dainsleif sighs, closes his eyes and drops, lets the water replace him. When he pops back up his hands are already working to push his dripping hair out of his face. Enough to meet her expectant gaze, blinking against the moisture.
"What is it?"
"Turn around," she says. Her cheek is pressed against her forearm. She looks like she wants to laugh. "I'm going to wash your hair."
"You don't have to do that." But he's already acquiescing.
Silence, for a moment, besides the crash of falling water. And then there's a loud splattering, moisture sluicing off her body as she lifts herself behind him. Shifts, legs extended either side his torso. She must have settled on that rock. Bare skin warmed by the naked rays of the sun. Kicking idly, toes forming little waves.
Her palms land on his shoulders; cool and wet. He doesn't start but he knows she can feel the shock of it push through him by the way she shakes. Giggling, too soft for him to hear. She takes him, firm. Drags him back into her embrace until he feels the uneven press of stone at his spine.
And then she cards her fingers against his crown.
His eyes flutter closed and he tips his head up to the sky. Every long pass of her fingers sets a tingling in his scalp that shudders through him. Over his shoulders, down his chest. Soothing motion that makes him feel like he could fall asleep.
It wouldn't be a terrible way to drown.
He's unfamiliar with the melody. Lumine works easy through his tangles, humming as she goes. A song she must have picked up from her travels, somewhere long and far away. For some reason, the thought always makes him feel strangely . . . lonely.
Her fingers are lubricated, coaxing dirt and knots and other debris out of his strands with a faintly floral persuasion. Cecilias, maybe. Something else.
"What is that?"
For a moment he thinks the words were too quiet, whispered between barely parted lips. Is about to crack an eye open when—
"Shampoo. I got it from that travelling merchant along the shore. I didn't ask him what it's made of."
"That's too bad." The pale ball of her ankle is bobbing just in front of him. Close enough to catch. He lifts his palm up beneath the bone, holds it, just below the water. Leans into her just slightly, trailing up the back of her calf. Passing underneath her knee to land at her patella.
She shivers, and whether it's from the cold or something else it strikes him with heat.
"Rinse." The words are a surprise. Spoken too close to his ear, nails still scratching lightly. Her elbows stab sharp into his shoulders; the lever propping herself up.
He drops. Disappears beneath the surface and she goes with him, unbalanced, tumbling back into the water as he turns. Pulls her close in his embrace.
This time, his eyes are open.
She's like a figure cut from crystal. Sunlight fracturing through the awkward waves, haloing her in scattered, shimmering light. Too bright to be washed blue by the liquid swimming between them. Everything just extra space that flees as he locks her closer, closer. Warm as scarlet quartz against him when he takes her in a kiss.
Her fingers draw along his face, strange sensation. A barrier; one layer removed. He breaks back up for air.
"That was mean," she says immediately, water dripping off her lips. One arm locked around his neck as her other hand pushes heavy bangs off his forehead. She's still crushed against his chest.
He leans in, rubs, cheek to cheek. It's too deep here for her to touch the bottom and he can feel her legs tangling between his, all that skin connecting. Her thigh brushing the sensitive organs at his groin. The muscle of his own leg rubbing between hers. Every nerve waking to alertness as he gasps into her ear. "Will you forgive me?"
Lumine sighs. Air freezing the water at his nape. "You'll have to make it up to me."
And then he shelfs her ass in his hands. Delights, privately, in the little way she shrieks. Trying to fasten her legs at his hips as he lifts her back to her abandoned perch. The rock is already warm, drying in the sun.
She catches herself just at the edge. Legs open, parted around him as she wiggles to find her balance. His dark, faintly glowing hand pulls her up beneath her thigh. A mesmerizing display; shifting patterns on pale skin that he turns into and traces with his tongue. As he works inwards with a kiss.
He can't hear the way that her breath catches. But he can sense it, in the lifting of her chest. The way her gaze is fixed on him firmly, blazing, mouth sweetly parted. He guides her foot over his shoulder as he leans in.
She tastes mainly like fresh water, like expectation. Muscle quivering beneath his lips as he ghosts his mouth across her skin. Drifting farther from that bended knee, up and up and up. Until he reaches the apex of her thigh. A simple shift, a turn of his head and he could graze her shining, sensitive folds, pink and still dripping.
Instead he moves. Lets her leg drop back to the water and straightens, slightly, so he can fasten at her hip. Smiles, discreet, at the frustration rippling through her. A slight hitch that he swallows, ravenous, as he works himself up along her ribs.
"Yes, princess?" Murmured at her sternum, pulse pounding beneath his lips.
"You can't call me that and then tease me!" But the sting of her ire is blunt. Lost in her next gasp when he ducks down to her chest and fastens, finally, at the pink bud of one breast.
The tug in his hair is rough. It only makes him curl his tongue with more attention, so eager to please. Circling light around the skin; teasing touches, not enough. A palm skating up along her other side, over her hips, her waist, up. Curving around that swell of flesh, thumb brushing her unattended nipple. Eating up as much of her as he can reach.
She arches into him, legs trembling, thighs locking against his ribs.
He continues grazing with his fingers as he puts his mouth around her and sucks.
She's so sweet. More than sugar or berries or any other fruit; he never tires of her flavour. The way she responds so readily to every touch, the way she always moves to meet him. A gift that he takes, greedy, both hands open.
He pops off, backs away just to see her face. The way she's just watching him, red crawling across her cheeks. The starting spark of expectation, and . . . something else. Something deep. Emotion in her eyes too tenuous for identity. He dips back down, blows against that hardened peak while he finally takes the other between his fingers. And starts to pinch.
"Dainsleif . . ."
He loves the way she says his name. Soft, almost lyrical. Pleading, like he is everything she needs. It's a heady sort of power that threads through him. Heavy as responsibility, every nerve in him desperate to prove her faith well founded.
There's a tug, fingers in his hair, strands already tangling. Trying to force him back, force him down. Push him to her waiting heat.
He laughs and it tumbles over her skin. Presses a kiss in the valley between her breasts. At her collarbone. Under the edge of her jaw as her grip relaxes. Crawling over her to reach her lips.
She kisses like a contradiction. Like he's the centre of her universe; the only way to breathe. Licks her tongue at his seam and he parts for her. Takes her in, always, everything that she'll give him. A blessing undeserved but happily received.
And then she shifts. Bridges her hips up and locks her legs around him, catching him right against her slick. A sensation that already has her moaning, that makes him bite his lip. He's half hard and growing. Too enticed by that velvet promise of connection.
"Lumine." His palm lands at her cheek, caressing. Her breaths ghosting across his skin. "You're too impatient."
"You can't blame me for that." Her hands trails up his paler arm, posted beside her to keep himself from dropping. Fingers following the corded muscle, the protrusion of a vein. Dipping into his elbow, tickling. And then she flattens her hand over his bicep, his shoulders, drawing in towards his neck. Her thumb landing, light, just at the hollow of his throat. "Look at you."
He doesn't see himself often. But he's aware of his ragged edges, the cobbled fit of all his parts. Split nearly in the middle, power eating him up until one day, he's sure, he'll be nothing but alchemy and curses, in the loose shape of a man. It's not a thought that gives him comfort.
Except. When seen through the shiny wonder of her eyes (not the curse, not the power, not his strangely factious skin, just. Whatever he is, beneath) . . . he almost doesn't mind.
She guides him down and he goes. Drawn into her gravity, inevitable, helpless. Meets her at her eager pace, sharing breaths between them. Surrounded on all sides by a warmth that's starting to ignite. The sun cascading down over his shoulders, his back. Her, here, pressing up against him.
She cants her hips up and he has to break for air.
"Dainsleif, please. I want you."
And how could he ever deny his princess anything that she desires?
He untangles from her embrace and at first she resists. Instinct, automatic reaction that makes regret flare in every muscle, makes him have to fight not to drop back against her, press apologies into her skin.
The second she lets him go she finds her tether elsewhere. Takes his shadowed hand and he could swear those blue lines flicker, affected. Softly threading their fingers together, dark and light, bringing his palm over her heart. A bass beat that thunders up his arm, across his shoulders.
Starting prelude, soft music. The opening accompaniment to the main event.
He wants to make her sing.
"Are you sure?" He's the one to reach for her other hand. Bring it to his lips so he can press his affection into skin. But he knows he doesn't really need to ask.
She always, always, always, knows exactly what she wants.
Just one more kiss before he drops her palm at his shoulder. Takes hold of himself and just that single touch is already damning, after so long ignored. Slots his head against her entrance and breathes.
And then he slips in to the hilt.
She's so wet and he hadn't even touched her. Slick and eager, sucking him greedy into her welcome heat. She gasps at that first thrust, fingers digging. The sharp crescent of her nails making impressions that he knows won't smooth out for days.
A welcome souvenir.
He pulls back out and she keens. Stills, just there, barely his head inside her. Admiring this strange stroke of good fortune, to have her laid out underneath him. A portrait, an icon, a saint.
When he doesn't move again she curls up.
"You like to torture me too much," she says, eyes shiny and accusing.
Maybe he does. He's never considered it before.
"I just like to make it last," he says instead. Presses one hand down, careful against her pelvis. Right above their incomplete connection. She gasps, squirming, as he slides, slow, back in. Watching the pleasure play over her face, direct contrast to her frustration. The little furrow between her brows, the shaking line of her mouth. Her chest, heaving, pink and arching.
How can anyone be so beautiful?
He sets an agonizing pace. In and out, in and out, always with the pressure of that hand. Keeping her from squirming, from letting him do anything but take him at her leisure. Painting a careful picture of her face. The shape, the structure, the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, normally too light to see. The way she feels around him; plush and tight. A picture that he can take out in the future, when his nights turn lonely.
He doesn't know how many trysts with her that he has left.
"If you keep going like that you're going to last until the morning!"
"I wouldn't mind," he says easily. Folding down over her, hand cradling her face. Her hair is starting to dry now; soft curls setting, catching the light. "Being inside you forever."
It's on the tip of his tongue. A revelation, a confession. Words he knows he'll never be able to take back. A significance that must be tangible because she stops. Puts her hand back on his shoulder. Along his neck. Holds him, carefully, his face caught between her palms. Looking.
When the pause stretches on too long she yanks him down and kisses him.
He always ends up doing what she wants, in the end.
His thrusts start to speed up. He can't help it, can't stop himself from chasing that mounting pleasure, the spiraling tightness of her around him. The mewling sounds starting to bubble from her throat, a lovely symphony. Every snap of his hips sends a wave of water cascading over stone, the surface made slippery, unsafe. He keeps his hands at her waist, secure, slamming her back onto his cock. The lack of friction making it easy.
She's squeezing him, snug. Taking him in, every last millimetre, welcoming him into her warm embrace. Sensation that could almost make him close his eyes, surrender to nothing but that carnal desire if he weren't so focused on carving this dream into his memory. Still. The heat of her, her panting breaths, the way she clutches at every spare piece of him she can—
"Dainsleif, I, I'm going—"
He pulls out fully and she cries. Noise that makes him want to push his hands between his ribs, to stop the painful stutter in his chest. Lumine stares up at him, betrayed, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. He fights the urge to prostrate himself before her, sinner begging for absolution.
"Don't worry, princess. I wouldn't leave you unsatisfied."
He levers his hands beneath her. Encourages her, gently, to flip onto her stomach and she does. Goes willingly where he leads her, trusting even now and some emotion floods through him, enough to drown his heart.
He drops a kiss against the small of her back. The middle of her spine. That space between her shoulder blades where she must once have had her wings. A finger comes up now, almost unconscious, traces the sharp line of the bone. When he closes his eyes he can imagine what she must have looked like.
An angel, in her flight.
He brushes the hair back from her nape, ends dripping. Sets his mouth just there. Soft. Seamed nearly complete over her, his erection resting in the valley of her ass.
Lumine turns blind into that kiss. Trying to push herself against him, hips posting backwards. An excruciating slide along the whole length of his shaft, overly conscious of the empty air against his skin.
So focused that he's briefly surprised by a movement at his head. She's flapping her wrist, wriggling her fingers. An invitation that he's never once ignored.
He takes her hand.
She relaxes, immediate, the second she feels his touch.
It punches through him, his affection. An emotion so deep he doesn't see how he could hold it within himself, how it doesn't leak through every word or breath or action. He would give her everything. The whole world served up on a platter, carved up at her whim.
Himself, too. In whichever parts she wanted.
He spreads her legs gently apart. Reaches between their bodies and lines himself up at her entrance.
When he pushes back inside he thinks he can see lights.
She shifts, automatic. Hips arching upwards, back to meet him, every thrust pushing her further, further, until he fastens at her hip. Keeps her in place as her free hand goes to the edge, finds a hold and grips, bone showing through white.
"Dainsleif!" She keeps saying his name. Syllables that break from meaning, falling reverent from her lips. A mantra that she repeats over and over, voice growing thin, something coiling tight within her. Like she's about to fall apart.
He chases her pleasure with determination. Releases her hand so he can reach between her legs, fastens his mouth at her shoulder in apology. Finds the small bundle of nerves that make her scream and focuses with something almost like aggression.
In his arms, like this. She's his. An animal belonging that strikes him, deep. He would never let her have a single minute, second, moment, where she might regret it.
He can feel it approaching. The edges of her ecstasy already starting to shake through her. A clenching, muscles working, her mouth open as she forgets every sound. Just his name, garbled, broken. No longer recognizable.
When she pants, twitching, he finally removes his fingers. Continues thrusting into her, steady, easing her through that last relief. But he's close. The beautiful composition of her dissolving all around him, the way she'd sung his name. He picks up in speed, pace unmatched and messy. She's amazing. Lovely. Every threat of his undoing.
She pushes back against the stone and they go sliding into the water. Minor inconvenience when his feet land flat against the bottom, when she's still holding tight. Heat spiraling through him, all his tinder catching light and—
"Wait, Dainsleif. Please, please! Stop, please."
He pulls out of her, immediate, concerned. Air and water rushing in between them as he gives her space, as he tries to bring his muddled thoughts down to coherency. "Are you hurt? Did something—"
"No! No." She struggles against the stone, slipping, trying to push herself up and he goes to help her. Gets his arm beneath her waist and lifts her, draws her back into his chest (she weighs nothing), presses kisses into her hair while she comes back into herself.
"Yes. Yes, I just. I wanted to see your face."
She clears her throat, shifts. Suddenly bashful, somehow, despite everything they've shared. He spins her, instant, pulls her into his loose embrace. "Is that better?"
The way that flush burns across her skin is strangely satisfying.
"I didn't mean—! I." She pouts, (cute), and slings her arms around his neck. "Yes."
He laughs. Leans down to kiss her and she's already craning up to reach him. Gods, what is he going to do?
"Wait, I. Dainsleif, stop, I'm trying to say—"
He backs off as she blusters. Lifts a strand of her newly soaking hair up to his lips. "What is it, Lumine?"
Oh. He didn't think it was possible to turn that red.
She gapes at him and right before the moment he moves back in, makes to bring his lips back down to hers she finally manages to finish her request. "I want to see your face when you come."
"So desperately?" He huffs and it's laughter, kisses fluttering at her temple. "You've seen it before."
"I know. I just." She shrugs, a little helplessly. "It's my favourite part."
He can't even begin to fathom what that means. But. He's more than happy to accommodate.
Dainsleif always likes to see her face.
Her hand brushes more stray strands from his forehead. Some dry, some not, stray droplets dripping down. She follows the line of one with her finger. Traces it down his brow, beside his nose. Over his cheek.
It's not until her finger ticks out — a slice, a triangle, cutting across his face — that he realizes what map she's really following.
"Lumine . . ."
"Can we get out of the water?" She draws towards him, magnetic, lips brushing that strange boundary. "I'm tired of slipping."
It would be nice to get dry.
He follows as she swims to the edge. Hauls herself up onto the bank and drops backwards, arms and legs splayed. Enjoying the full shine of sunlight, that budding warmth, moisture sparkling like crystals on her limbs. He settles at her side. Close enough to touch, hold her, if she chooses. His fingertips brushing against hers, grass reaching up into his palm. Tickling. And starts to close his eyes.
His rest is short-lived. It's warm air to warm skin, the lithe form of her caging him in. Leg swung carefully over thighs, low, too low and. A wet heat fastens around his dick.
He curls up and she pops backwards, not far. Parts her lips so her tongue can dart out and . . . lick.
"You aren't done, are you?" She tilts her head, like she's really asking even though he knows she can feel his response jumping in her palm. "It wouldn't be fair. You haven't come yet."
"I don't mind." And he means it, even if he can feel himself twitching back to life. She's found her release, she's trusted him to help her reach it. That's enough.
"What if I do?" Pausing, giving him ample time to tell her what he really wants but. He just pops up on his elbows. Looks down at her, meeting her gaze, her thumb rubbing over his glans. Her voice is softer, gentler, when she speaks. "It's okay to tell me what you want, you know."
"I." He knows that isn't true. Not for everything. But. She's looking up at him, big eyes, soft smile. A wickedness in her gaze that's startling on the sweetness of her face.
Dainsleif does want. "Please. Your mouth . . ."
He can't quite form the words. But that's fine.
It's a moist warmth, a vacuum. She circles her mouth around his head, sinks down. Graceful motion, somehow, for the lewdness of those sounds. A burning suction that drags along his length, lights him up with every element. A spark flickers at his base but. His curse hasn't claimed him here, not yet.
One of her hands comes to his wrist, tugging and. He takes her carefully, pushes her hair back from her face. No more than holding her as she sets her rhythm. He doesn't force, doesn't take. And that makes it all the more lethal when she resolves to swallow him, flush against his pelvis. Gagging, tears starting, dedicated. Like she wants nothing more than to make him come apart.
Her fingers are gripping at his hips. Hard enough to bruise, indents laid against the bone. Keeping him still, flush against the ground as she dives down. Voracious, eager, saliva slick and pooling.
If he doesn't let her go he won't be able to keep himself from trying to suffocate.
The second his hands release her face she pops off. Mouth and chin messy, shining with moisture, tears spilling down her cheeks. Savage and satisfied as he moans, long and aching.
"Lumine . . ."
"Say it again." She wipes her face carelessly, crawls over him, still half-upright. His cock bobbing, angry, red. Bumping against her mons as she climbs. "Say my name again."
"Lumine." His vision is sharp and nonsensical. Everything too clear for understanding as he reaches up, clumsy, swipes his thumb beneath her lashes. "Lumine, Princess, Lumine."
Her expression flickers. A desire that he can't define, a yearning unidentified. Gold bridging blue as she keeps his gaze, as she settles just above him. As she takes him, still sloppy, in one hand, and directs him back inside. And drops.
Gravity takes her to the base and she gasps. Leans towards him and it's like something in her face is breaking, edges softening, something spilling from the cracks. Pulls him to her tender, so, so tender and.
Like it's the first time. Like she is looking up at him beneath a ceiling of stars and he is somehow the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. Like they'd just saved themselves from a handful of Abyss creatures, had run giddy on adrenaline through the ruins, had found a safe cavern in which to collapse and. She had turned to him, laughing, sunlight shining from her eyes. Grabbed the edges of his cloak and rolled herself over and.
Kissed him. Like it was the most natural thing to do.
Like it was easy.
Well he's learned the habit of it now. Falls into her, upwards, natural forces reversing like he's falling into sky. Cradles the curve of her face as she finally starts to move.
She bounces over his lap and it could devastate. Palms landing on his shoulders, anchoring herself as she takes him all-encompassing. His entire world filled with the view of her, the feeling, the sight, the sound the taste. He could live like this forever. Bound together with her, lighting, a form of immolation and he would let himself be burned.
"Dainsleif it's so good you're so good—" She's babbling, Almost nonsense that resolves to praise, that makes him feel like he's going to shatter in her arms.
Every time he says her name she shudders. Is wracked by the force of it, all the affection he can't name. Ruts against his lap in her response, circling over him, a friction hitting her clit that makes her clench, makes him feel like she can squeeze him dry. And he wants her to.
"Lumine." Their kisses are turning thoughtless, hasty, more a press of open lips and mingled breaths than any real attention. "Lumine. Lumine, Lumine."
She's built him with consideration. Knows his body better than he knows himself; every tick, every mark, every spreading blemish. Knows exactly the angles to take, the force to use, the awful pace to set. He's nothing but a series of reagents, each knocked together in succession. A physical reaction about to burst. Wound up effortlessly by her skillful talent.
Lumine's forehead drops against his. Threading them together while she rocks over his dick, while she drives him to insanity. Something growing, volatile and fuck she feels so good—
His hands fist in the grass, tearing, green confetti flying as his body jolts. Hips pressing up inside her, driving deep. Trying to fill her, every centimetre as he comes undone. Brought so simply to the brink.
He thinks, maybe, he would go easily in any case. Because it's her, because she's the one he's joined to.
She stutters as he fills her. Reflex contracting her spine, making her curl, shake around him and. She closes her eyes, chases her own high with single-minded focus. Fucking him with a madness that makes him want to cry out, makes him screw his brows together just to ride out the added stimulation. Her lashes flutter and the second she sees the discomfort on his face she makes to leave but. He slams his hands around her hips, (too hard), keeps her on his dick and. She gasps, fingers curling over his. Head tipped back, mouth parting.
"Dainsleif, I l—"
Whatever she was about to say is lost in the torrent of her orgasm. Clenching, pulsing on his oversensitive cock, working through her own release.
There's a static moment, the world brought to its knees. And then she simply . . . slumps against him without bothering to pull out.
He wraps his arms around her as she breathes. Carding his fingers through messy hair; grass and dirt and dust. They'll have to rinse off a second time, he thinks, but he says nothing. Only drops a kiss at her temple as she starts to draw symbols on the bare skin of his chest.
"It's getting dark," she says finally. Sleepy.
"Mm." She makes no move to get up and he crunches upright for them both. Swallows her wriggling protest with another kiss. "We should hurry, then."
"There's a bug in your hair."
"There are a lot of things in my hair."
She frowns at him. Reaches up and plucks a dandelion from between his tangled tresses. "I don't want to get in the water again."
"Do you want me to rinse you off then, princess?"
She shivers pleasantly. Considering it, he can almost see but. Finally, reluctantly, she separates, lets cool air wash over their skin and he remembers what it feels like to breathe. Pulls off slowly, slowly, the cocktail of their mixed arousals dripping heavy, warm, onto the flat planes of his stomach. "I think I should be doing that for you. Besides." And here she smiles, dips just enough to brush lazy kisses against his flushing cheeks. "If I take advantage of you too often, eventually you're going to get sick of me."
"That's impossible," he says, immediate. Too confident, and he can see the question on her face, the casual curiosity. Her hand approaching, resting, light.
I love you.
He's never said it. He doesn't have the right.
Dainsleif gets his legs back under him and she steps off to the side. Stands, tall, stretching. Fingers reaching upwards, a long, sinuous line. A glowing vision at his side, a temporary brightness.
She's looking for someone else. Her brother, other half of her heart, history beyond his understanding. One day she'll find him. One day they'll disappear together, and he'll be left behind.
He smiles. Goes to one knee before her and takes her hand. Holds that warm curve against his cheek and says it anyway, in the closest language he can.
"Don't worry, princess. I'm yours."