#junisol

It was raining, because of course it was. Juno frowned, tugging his hood further down on his head so he could more easily maintain his vigil against the back door of the Cobbled Swan. It was fucking Minrathous; it was always raining.

Rumors abounded as to the cause: some thought it was due to all the magic experimentation and shit in the area; some thought it was all the magic required to keep the Archon's bloody palace afloat. Juno figured it was a bit of both, really.

Of course, there were the more oddball theories: a demon of Despair had set up shop somewhere in the depths on the city and made it rain like this to keep the locals miserable and itself fat; a magister had finally figured out weather magic, and ensured the low cities suffer the consequence of balance; enough blood magic was being practiced in the city, and the rain was actually the Maker weeping over the future victims. Some of the religious zealots thought it was the Maker punishing them all for some sin or the other, even if Juno thought it a ridiculous notion, personally.

He couldn't blame anyone for believing in or spreading the rumors, though. But, Juno knew, in Minrathous, your safer bet was with humans and magic. The magisters thought anyone who wasn't an Altus was a tool at best, a toy at worst.

The thought soured his already stormy expression, and almost as if the Maker were reading his mind, a clap of thunder sounded overhead and the rain began pouring down harder. Cursing under his breath, he glared up at the sky, and when he looked back down, the sight of a blonde haired elf with scarlet eyes standing in front of him made him jump out of his skin.

She grinned, slow and all teeth, and Juno finally felt his mood shift towards something close to positive.

"Jumpy," Marisol de Riva purred, her accented voice like velvet, and Juno felt his lips quirk up into a smirk of his own. "How unlike you."

"Scary," He responded, forcing his tone into something light, jovial. "Very much like you."

If she laughed, he couldn't hear it over the sound of the rain. But that didn't matter; he didn't need to hear to see the glimmering joy in her eyes.

Marisol—a Crow, one of the few Juno knew at all, let alone by name—hailed from Salle, in Antiva. A long way from home she may be, but he knew there was a reason. There always was; usually some contract called her to the magical, piss and shit lined streets of the low city. Often, her work aligned with his own; sometimes with the Shadows, but more often with the Threads, these days.

He knew only the necessary information about her, and she him. They kept each other at arm's length, even after the job was done and he'd drag her off to an alley or a tavern for a tumble—or three. It worked for them; neither of their jobs allowed for attachments.

Marisol leaned into his space, and Juno found himself losing his train of thought as he caught a whiff of her scent: perfumed, but not cloyingly so; floral, but not the kind grandmothers wore. "You've been waiting for me." It wasn't an accusation, just a simple statement of fact, and Juno shot her an easy smirk, sending a silent prayer up to the Maker that she couldn't see the way his throat bobbed around a gulp.

"Heard from a little birdy that you were in town. Figured I'd wait at our usual spot." Not entirely a lie, but not entirely true either. His voice didn't betray him and his smirk didn't falter as her deep red eyes skimmed over his face.

Finally, after what felt an eternity, her lips pulled into a full smile, baring teeth, as she purred, "Presumptuous." The word was barely audible over the rain, but he felt it settle into the very marrow of his bones all the same. Juno swallowed thickly, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. "I like it." She pressed her gloved hand to his chest, palm laying flat over his heart, and Juno felt himself stir in his trousers.

Shifting a bit, he forced himself to focus. There was work, there always was when she came, and his dick could wait.

"What's the job?" Marisol's grin widened further at his question, if that was possible, but it was no longer sultry. Wide and gleeful in its malice, Juno had rarely ever seen it—while their work aligned, they barely saw their jobs completed together. That didn't mean he wasn't fully aware of just how effective she was at executing her contracts. Which is why he knew one thing with absolute certainty: his erection was not going away any time soon.

The hand on his chest slid up, up, up, until he felt leather brush against his throat. Were he wise, he would recognize the danger he was in: a wall at his back; a Crow with her palm settled onto his throat, looking at him much the way a cat did a caught mouse. Rat twitched in his pocket, as if feeling the thought, and Juno swallowed as her hand slid up further still after another long heartbeat.

"Do you want to see me gone so soon?" She crooned, her voice lilting and saccharine; Juno's mouth felt suddenly dry.

Without thinking, he blurted, "Of course not," so suddenly it took them both by surprise. Not only did the suddenness stun Juno, it was the urgency in his words—as if the thought of her leaving now, after he'd only just laid eyes on her, was the most distressing thing he could think of experiencing.

Swallowing thickly, he cleared his throat, but it was too late. Marisol's eyes were glinting with amusement, her lips curled into a self-satisfied and amused—if amazed—smirk. "Juno, are you getting attached?" The question was a light accusation, but it made his ears burn with embarrassment. Before he could figure out a way to run, her smirk softened—marginally, but still—and she stroked his cheekbone with her thumb.

"The job's done." She murmured, deftly changing the subject.

Juno held back his relieved sigh. Barely.

"Then…?" He trailed off, but the word still lilted up, as if in question. Marisol's scarlet eyes glittered as she laughed at him.

She leaned up, barely, so she could whisper huskily to him, "I was hoping to see your flat this time, il mio ometto." The endearment was new; she'd never called him that before. But with the way she laughed quietly to herself at his questioning look, Juno thought it may be better if he didn't ask. "Will you take me?" The question curled in his ear like incense smoke and she pulled back to bat her lashes at him. As if that were necessary.

Forcing himself to breathe four deep breaths, Juno calmed himself. He couldn't afford to put all of his cards into Marisol's hand. He liked her, yes. He trusted her to have his back on the job, yes. But did he trust her with his emotions? He didn't want to answer that.

When he was certain he wouldn't nod his head off his neck like an over-enthusiastic teenager, he allowed his lips to curl into a lopsided smirk, then took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. Marisol giggled, a flush finally colored her cheeks, and Juno felt the tension bleed out of him with the sound. "Of course," He kept his tone light, jovial, as he continued, "I would hate to keep a lady waiting in the rain."

And there it was, his favorite sight and sound in all of Thedas: Marisol threw her head back, laughter booming and echoing even over the downpour. A passing dock hand, tottering on uneasy feet away from the Swan, looked over at them questioningly at the sudden sound, before evidently coming to the conclusion that two drunken lovers didn't matter much, and shambling off to the north. Juno paid him no mind; he only cared about the sound of her laughter. It was light, free, and chiming; a light drizzle of rain, tinkling off tile roofs in early spring.

It really was his favorite sound.

Juno felt his grin widen as she allowed herself another long moment to laugh, open and unabashed; when she finished, he tugged her gently along behind him. Surprisingly—and perhaps it shouldn't have been, with how many times they've met up after jobs now—she followed easily, allowing him to shift his grip on her until he was nearly holding her hand. Nearly.

Like teenagers, the two darted along the streets of the low city, Juno's neighborhood passing them by in a watery haze. He felt giddy, far more than he had in years, as he threw glances back over his shoulder and found Marisol grinning, mischievous and delighted, up at him.

His flat wasn't far; a sweet spot near the docks he'd found recently. His work with the Threads, and now the Dragons, required it—close to the docks meant better smuggling operations, and the Dragons needed his gossip as much as they needed Neve Gallus'. Even if they didn't much approve of his methods. Juno still didn't understand how that lot thought they'd ever get real information without dirtying their hands, especially given where the cult enjoyed dragging their bellies.

Shoving the thought aside, Juno tugged Marisol left, down an alley, before darting right and taking a narrow path that was filled more with refuse and rats than people. Rat twitched again in his pocket, before poking his head out, squeaking momentarily as he sniffed the air. Marisol barely paused in her stride, but Juno heard her gasp, and smiled to himself when he glanced down at her. Eyes wide, her lips curled into a delighted smile as she watched Rat assess the air around them. A moment later, the small creature seemed to almost nod to himself, before tucking back into the safety of his pocket. They shared a grin, laughing together as Juno led them further along the twisting alley.

Before the narrow path ended, Juno stopped. Quickly enough Marisol nearly bumped into his back, but the Crow was practiced in her art—even if she made a quiet, disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. Flashing her a quick grin, Juno finally released his grip on her wrist, and jerked his head to the door in front of them.

The white paint was chipped and thinning, flaking in most places to reveal the rotted oak beneath. It sat wrong on its hinges, but it worked well enough for Juno; Marisol raised an eyebrow at him, her lips twitching up in a smirk. Before she could ask, he opened the door—the lock was barely a lock at all—and bowed with a flourish, extending his arm and gesturing Marisol inside with a warm, "My lady."

She laughed again, melodious, and Juno found himself smiling again as he glanced up to find her shaking her head at him, muttering about how ridiculous he was. But she went inside. She barely even paused to test for traps.

Juno felt his heart flutter at the thought.

When he hesitated, she popped her head back out with a grin. "Are you going to stand out there like a soaking dog forever?" He barked a laugh, following her inside and letting the door shut—mostly—behind him. "There," She said contentedly when he leaned back against it, arms crossed over his chest. "I was worried you were going to leave me all alone in here."

Here was a small, one room flat. Juno knew it wasn't much; he didn't need it—or want it—to be. There was a small counter to the left of the door; a pair of beat-up rugs that he couldn't even remember getting; a battered screen divider blocked off the back right corner, with a wash basin and chamberpot behind; lastly, there was a bed in the back left corner, as far from the door as possible. And the word bed was generous, he knew. Really, it was a thin, feather-down mattress that left him more-often than not wincing each morning as he forced himself up from the floor. Blankets covered the top of it, various colors and fabrics, that were the only true source of life in the small space. A lone window on the right wall, next to the door, was covered—mostly for the rain—by a painting Juno took from the Mercars. He didn't pay it much mind; the faces on that canvas were as faded as the ones in his own memory.

Besides, he thought to himself, there was someone far more interesting than his adoptive family to consider. And he actually liked her.

"Not much—" He started, but Marisol cut him off with a shake of her head and an oddly soft smile.

"I never needed it to be." She muttered. Juno felt his heart skip another beat. "This is a first," She said casually after a heavy moment, taking in the sparse space. Juno didn't know if she meant her being here or his inviting her here, but when she didn't continue, he figured it may just very well be both—or it didn't matter.

He shrugged in response and Marisol nodded.

Suddenly, Juno didn't know what to do with his damn hands. She was right: this was a first. And he meant to fuck her, like he knew she meant to fuck him; they always did, when they met up like this. But… He'd never brought her here, never thought to bridge the gap between work acquaintance and one night stand. Horribly, his mind whispered she was more than just that, more than a tumble; he wouldn't keep seeking her out otherwise.

How many people had he tumbled with? How many sheets had he been lost in? And not a one ever saw him after the fact. That was mostly survival now; he barely stopped himself from touching the scar at his neck. That night had been a shitshow. He still thought Audra Fidelis was spreading rumors about that night, even if it had been nearly two years ago now.

But Marisol was different. She'd dug her way in, carved a path into his heart, and made herself a home there. And, worse, he'd allowed her to. He even knew what caused it all: those damn eyes; that beautiful laugh; the ease with which she did her job. And the more he got to know her, the more he met with her, the more they spoke—the deeper Juno felt himself falling.

And so, for maybe the first time in his adult life, Juno didn't know what to do with his damn hands.

Marisol smiled at him, a flash of white teeth, and scarlet eyes crinkled with mirth. Juno sniffed, squinting at her, but she just stalked closer to him to slide into his space like she belonged there. Placing her hands lightly on his shoulders, palms flat, Juno felt himself immediately relax; he couldn't pull himself out of those scarlet depths, and found he didn't want to even if he could. Her palms skimmed down along his arms, until she took his hands. "Come on," She crooned, "Don't get shy on me now."

Whatever stupor Juno was in broke with those words.

He shook his head slightly, blinking a few times, before snorting and tossing her his cockiest grin. "Me? Shy? Why, I'd never." He snorted again, but allowed her to pull him further into his own space. As if it was hers, and he the guest.

"Good!" She chirped, pleased, and they came to a stop in the center of the room. "Then you should be able to fuck me without issue, yes?"

Maker, I think I love her. The thought was terrifying and he shoved it aside and down—deep down.

Instead of answering her, he crowded into her space, lifting his hands to cup her cheeks and tilt her face up as he bent slightly over her. The kiss was slow, even if Marisol opened up to him readily; Juno didn't want to rush this, especially with how out of control he felt. Maker, but she could turn the very world itself upon its head; Juno was sure Marisol could turn the very Maker Himself on His head, if she put her mind to it.

Juno savored her. He licked along the seam of her lips, tasted the faint berry of wine on her bottom lip, and wondered where exactly her job had taken her. When she opened to him, he chased that sweet berry taste until he had charted every inch of her mouth with his tongue. She yielded to him, fisting the sopping cloak still clinging to his bulky frame, moaning into his mouth as he bent her backwards. He wanted more—more of that sweet berry, more of Marisol, underneath it all.

Before he was aware of it, his hands had dropped to her waist, and he was tugging her tight against him, pressing their bodies together so she could feel him. Hard, again. Painfully so. It wasn't a surprise with her anymore; Marisol always seemed to stir his body in ways no other person in all of Thedas could manage. If he trusted her less, he'd think it blood magic.

But he knew blood magic. And this most certainly was not that.

It was just desire, pure and simple. Two people that understood who they were and what they each needed. That was it.

Rat made himself known again, squeaking angrily where he was tucked away, and Juno made a surprised sound as he broke away from Marisol, cursing under his breath. "Maker's balls, Rat, I'm so sorry," He murmured, opening to pocket and scooping the large rat out. Rat, black and sleek, sniffed up at Juno, black eyes glinting before he twitched his nose and squeaked again. "Here, buddy. We're gonna be over here, you're alright." Juno shot Marisol an apologetic grin as he settled the rat into his home on the counter top.

Rat let out a pleased noise, snuggling into the rat nest he'd made, and Juno sighed in relief. He didn't usually forget about Rat, no matter who he'd taken to bed, and a part of him felt bad over it.

But then Marisol was at his back, and his dick twitched, and any guilt he may have felt faded quickly. Rat was fine—safe and warm in his nest, with no threat of being squished—there was no use in beating himself up over it now. "Is he alright?" She asked, tone gently worried; Juno felt his heart skip a beat for the third time that night, and turned himself around to smile down at her.

"He's fine," And that was true; if Rat had been truly upset, Juno would have lost another tip to one of his fingers. Her nose crinkled a bit and before she could argue, or insist on checking Rat over herself, he cupped her cheeks and pressed a soft peck of a kiss to the tip of her nose. "I promise." He murmured, watching her eyes closely.

He grinned, watching her pupils dilate—black eating scarlet—and knew he'd won her over. "If you promise." She mumbled around a grin, leaning up to close the very small distance between them to capture his lips in a searing kiss of her own.

Juno sent a small prayer of gratitude to the Maker when he managed to maintain enough self-control to guide her away from Rat's counter and towards the left of the flat. His bed was too low to shove her onto—that would be closer to assault than romance, and Juno really didn't feel like having a poison blade shoved in between his second and third rib tonight—so he paused when he knew her heel had to be pressing into the thin mattress.

Marisol made a disgruntled sound as Juno broke the kiss and pulled back, her scarlet eyes indignant until he grinned and turned them around. Slowly, and while keeping hold of her hands, he plopped himself down on his bed, then gave a gentle tug to bring her into his lap. Her displeasure melted away as soon as she realized what he was doing, and she settled into his lap without argument, slinging her arms around his neck to kiss him again.

When they broke apart again, she laughed under her breath, leaning her forehead against his. "Do you bring many people here?" The question seemed to surprise Marisol as much as it surprised Juno, and he knew the only reason he could make out the flush darkening her cheeks was the lack of distance between them.

He smiled, feeling his eyes crinkle, and slowly shook his head against hers. "Nope," He said casually, popping the end of the word. Marisol grinned.

"Good." She hummed, and that was the end of that. Juno felt he didn't much mind—that question had come dangerously close to forcing him to admit, or deny, something he was too afraid to even think to himself—and when her fingers darted to the clasp of his cloak, Juno simply leaned back to give her room to work.

She was as diligent in undressing him as Juno assumed she was in completing a contract. And that thought probably should have sent a bolt of ice cold fear through the marrow of his bones, but it didn't. Instead, it left heat pooling low in his gut, his erection straining against its confines. Maker, but he wondered if undressing now was really necessary. Especially when he cast a glance to her armor: too many ties and belts to count; knives in plain sight, and more Juno assumed were hidden; and besides, it was all leather. Wet leather. That never came off easy.

But Marisol was unbothered.

With his cloak undone and pooling on the bed beneath him, her fingers moved onto the buttons of his cotton shirt, undoing the top few to widen the neck so she could work the rest of it off over his head. With a glance down, her lips curled up into a smirk, and she met his eye with a waggle of her brows. "I do love how excited you get for me." If anyone else had said that to him, Juno would assume they were ridiculing him. From Marisol, it felt like such a sincere truth, his cheeks felt suddenly warm under the intensity of her scarlet gaze.

Juno swallowed thickly. He felt pinned, Marisol astride his hips, her hands frozen above his waist, hovering over the drawstrings of his breeches. He felt pinned and he didn't want to do a damn thing except bare his throat to her and let her have him, however that may look. Watching her eyes, he saw them darken further; something deep swirled in the scarlet depths, and Juno felt himself drawn in.

"Only for you." He knew the words were pried out from deep inside of him, but he spoke them as a relieved whisper and didn't panic as he did. It felt as if he had been carrying a burden, hiding that truth from her. With it revealed now, the relief was all consuming—and mirrored in her own eyes.

Marisol beamed—her hands came up, cupping his scruffy cheeks, and finally Juno came back to himself enough to remember what his hands were good for.

Intimidating as Crow armor may be, it truly wasn't difficult once he set to working on it. A belt here, a clasp there, and suddenly the ties holding all the pieces up together made sense. Passingly, he considered if her armor was custom, with the way it revealed so much of her breast; alluring, but still not giving an enemy access to the truly vulnerable parts of her. That, of course, led him to considering what sort of contracts she must take to need armor as sensual and appealing as this, and promptly shoved that neatly aside. No need to wonder at something that didn't matter; her work was her own, and none of his concern.

Quickly, Juno had Marisol stripped of armor and underthings, and she him. They'd collected everything into two piles—Juno knew she'd be leaving, as much as that thought left him feeling hollow—for ease of dressing later, and Marisol was focused on kissing and nipping her way down his throat as he rutted his aching cock against her dripping center.

It was always a rush of feeling with Marisol; normally he would draw experiences out with his partners. Savor them; enjoy them; show them pleasure they'd never before known. Some left his flat certain he was a Desire demon in disguise—that left him with mixed feelings of pride and outrage.

But Marisol de Riva left him feeling mad, barely in control of himself—and it was exquisite. He wouldn't ever give up this feeling, not if it was the cost of having her.

A sharp nip to his collar bone brought him from his thoughts, and he turned his gaze down to her with a questioning sound. She smirked, arching her brows and asked coyly, "Are you with me again?"

"'Course I am," He said, offended, and she snorted as delicately as he'd ever heard. "What? You don't believe me?" He grinned suddenly, flipping their positions so she was laid out flat beneath him, his hands pressed into the mattress beside her head. His knees pressed down beside her hips, caging her body beneath his—Marisol's lips curled up slowly, satisfied, and Juno figured he was still somehow dancing to her tune. He also found he didn't much mind.

The woman could dance him to his death, and he'd go gladly.

"I do now." She purred, stretching luxuriously along Juno's bed. He was amazed that she could look so stunningly beautiful on something so… Cheap. A small part of him worried if she'd be too uncomfortable, but then her arms hooked around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, and suddenly Juno didn't really care anymore.

Kissing her felt right, so he did. She still tasted of wine, but less so now; he chased the berry all the same, licking against her tongue and gently biting at her bottom lip as he pulled back long enough to let them breathe.

Distantly, he knew this was breaking his routine with bed partners. Normally, he would ramp them up; have them coming on his fingers and tongue long before he ever got his dick out. If things went as he planned, he could sometimes even manage going multiple rounds in one night.

Marisol left him feeling like a teenage boy again. He could barely force himself to kiss her properly, let alone keep himself from rutting against her cunt until he came all over her. The thought made him whine into her mouth, and she laughed gently as she pulled back to grin up at him. "There isn't a rush, Juno," She said, simple and sure, and Juno blinked before laughing softly at himself and the reminder. "We have all night."

He nodded, leaning into her touch when she dropped one of her hands to cup his cheek. Her expression softened, her scarlet eyes warm with open affection, and Juno felt himself blush even as his hips jerked against her. "I know." He mumbled, biting back the explanation that nearly bubbled up and out of him: But I want it to be special for you. He doubted she would judge him for the sentiment, but it felt far too… Vulnerable for his taste. Forcing his best smirk into place, he dropped his voice into a purr, "I can never help myself with such a beautiful woman." The words tasted like ash, compared to what he really wanted to tell her.

She laughed though; real and free, head thrown back against the blankets and pillows. Juno counted his blessings, especially when she let her arms fall and rocked her hips against his. "Then get to work, soldier." She teased, scarlet eyes alight with mischief—the knowledge that she was the only person who could call him that and keep her tongue made Juno flush again, even as he offered her a mock salute, balancing on one hand. It was worth it when she laughed again.

He took advantage of her momentary distraction to slither down her body, moving until his knees settled on stone flooring that left Juno hissing at the cold; but his face was hovering over her cunt, and that's what mattered. He could deal with the ache in his knees later. Hooking her legs over his shoulders, Juno hummed contentedly and dragged the index finger of his left hand lightly through her folds. Marisol twitched with a gasp, her thighs flexing. "Seems you're just as excited for me, Principissa." Juno murmured quietly, watching her drip for him when he dragged his finger back up her slit to circle the swollen bud of her clit.

"I am," She breathed, unabashed, but Juno glanced up and saw the flush darkening her from cheeks to breast. The honesty was just as shocking for her, it seemed. That made him feel marginally better, at least; he wasn't alone in how he felt. "And it goes to show—ah!—how desperate I am-," She gasped in a deep breath to continue, "-that I just want you to fuck me, Juno." The desperate rumble of her voice, hot with arousal, made Juno's cock jump. His blood sparked hot in his veins, like liquid fire, and Juno groaned where he pressed his face into her tanned inner thigh.

"Maker, woman," He huffed, looking up at her with what he knew was pure hunger. "You are going to kill me."

Marisol laughed, real amusement tinkling in Juno's ears. Quickly, he found himself laughing with her, shaking his head in fond amusement. Laughing during sex was normal, of course, and Juno was no stranger to it; but this felt so much more free, more real. It wasn't borne of embarrassment, just true shared joy—and he never wanted it to stop.

"Alright, alright," He said, after they both caught their breath and the shared laughter settled. His cheeks hurt with how hard he was smiling, but he didn't care. Marisol was beaming at him again, her scarlet eyes shining with mirth and something else he dare not name. "You get your way again, Principissa. You know I can never deny you." That was far too close to admitting what he truly felt, but Marisol had the grace to leave the words where they lie.

Maybe it had something to do with Juno shifting to slip two of his fingers into her. She gasped, biting at her full bottom lip as her brows drew together. Her cheeks maintained their flush, darkening as Juno grinned down at her and fucked her gently with his fingers. "You really are ready for me," He said wonderingly, spreading his fingers and scissoring them before adding a third. "I could just slip into you right now, couldn't I?"

She nodded, desperate, and clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh deliciously. Juno groaned, eyes fluttering as she panted, "You could," He could hear the grin in her voice as she added, "You should."

And as tantalizing a thought that may be, Juno shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you," He murmured, flushing when she looked at him oddly. He'd never seen that particular scrutiny in her gaze before, as if she were trying to peel the layers of him back and weigh the honesty of his words. It made his insides quiver. Clearing his throat, he shrugged, "Your work… I don't want to.. Well, you know…" He trailed off awkwardly, his fingers stilling inside of her.

It felt like an eternity before her features softened and she nodded slowly. "Alright then." She murmured in a strangled voice, as if she were being forced to pry the words out from somewhere deep within herself.

Still, it felt wrong to continue, and maybe something passed over his features and she recognized it, because she was cupping his cheeks and kissing him breathless in the next heartbeat. Juno let out a surprised sound, his fingers twitching inside of her, and Marisol whined into his mouth, rocking her hips against his hand until he began to slowly fuck his fingers back into her. Her fingers stroked along his cheeks, petting against the scruff of his stubble, and Juno felt himself begin to relax as she deepened the kiss.

Marisol broke away when his lund began to burn, blinking her eyes open to peer up at him through wet lashes. A smile curled her kiss swollen lips faintly upward, and she stroked his cheek again before panting, "Please, Juno." Desperation clung heavy to those two words, and they spurred Juno instantly into action.

How could they not?

Easing his fingers out of her, Juno leaned down to kiss her again. His cock replaced his fingers, sinking easily into her clutching heat, and Juno tasted the way she gasped his name. Fingers settled onto his shoulders, nails biting delicious, brilliant pin-pricks of pain once more. Juno groaned when he bottomed out, breaking the kiss to instead pant heavily into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

He knew, deep down, that this was most certainly not like any of his other tumbles. Marisol clung to him, breath warm on the shell of his ear as she whispered heated encouragements to him. She urged him along, desperate, and Juno snapped his hips against hers, eyes squeezed tight while he whined against her. He felt as desperate as she sounded; liquid fire burned through his veins and raced up his spine.

It was divinity.

Or at least, the closest to divinity Juno thought he'd ever reach.

Too soon, he felt tension coiling tight in his gut; he could feel his balls drawing up as he thrust away, losing himself to the shared pleasure. Too soon, his mind raced with the thought, and he picked his head up to force his eyes open to peer down at her.

Marisol was always a beautiful woman; Juno had thought as much the first time he ever laid eyes on her. But nothing held a candle to this: scarlet eyes hazy with pleasure; golden blonde hair a messy halo beneath her; mouth hanging open to sing out every strangled call of his name. Her nails were still dug into his shoulders, grounding herself into his flesh, and Juno felt his cock twitch inside of her at the thought.

He knew he wouldn't last much longer. He knew it. With a growl, he forced his body to obey long enough to move his right hand from where it was latched onto her hip, dipping down between their bodies to rub at her clit. It was sloppy, but if the way she screamed for him was anything to go by, she didn't seem to mind. Juno felt himself smirk at the sound, and with tremendous effort, he forced himself to still, fully sheathed inside of her. Marisol reacted almost immediately: she choked on a moan; her watery, ruby eyes locked on him; her mouth worked around silent pleas. "Just a little more." He told her, his voice completely wrecked, even to his own ears, and Marisol nodded slowly, blinking back tears and biting at her kiss swollen lips.

Dropping his gaze to their joined bodies, Juno bit back another tight groan, feeling himself twitch again. Shoving aside his own pleasure—and that took more effort than it ever had before—Juno focused his attention to her clit, rubbing slowly until she began whining and bucking on his cock again, fucking herself while she chased the pleasure he dangled before her. It was a strain not to come then and there, seeing the pleasure effect her so strongly. Knowing he wasn't alone was a comfort, and despite his desire to draw this out, Juno found himself starting his rhythm up again. His thrusts were slow and deep, more a grinding against her, and Marisol's eyes rolled back as she released a low, hungry sound. Her nails finally scratched down towards his chest, and Juno hissed, pain mingling with pleasure exquisitely. It always did, with Marisol.

He wasn't going to last. Maker, but she always made him feel like an inexperienced boy again. He could feel the coiled heat, pulled taught in his gut, about to snap and with a panicked rush, Juno moved to pull out.

He meant it, when he said he didn't want to risk her job. In any respect. But Marisol's legs tightened around his waist, and she grabbed onto him, eyes wide, but not with anger. Juno stared at her, confused, as she worked her jaw, seeming to fight with herself before finally she whimpered, "Don't-I-," She paused, worked her jaw again before groaning out, "Please, Juno, I-I want it, please." She said as though she were surrendering; Juno hissed a sharp breath in through his teeth, his mind screaming at him to listen to her, to give her what she was begging for. The other, far more rational side of him pushed through—thankfully—to shake his head and ask if she was sure. Marisol whined, bucking against him again, and nodded empathically. "Yes, Juno! Don't make me say it again, cazzone!"

This woman was going to be the death of him. He should make his peace with that now. Unfortunately, any of the blood still left in his brain fled to his dick at her insistence, and he nodded like an overly excited puppy. He'd be embarrassed if she didn't throw her head back and laugh; tinkling and melodious and perfect. Somehow, he knew she wasn't laughing at him, and the rush of warm affection he felt acted like a chaser to the hot, burning arousal snapping in his belly.

He came with her, their screaming moans mingling together until Juno couldn't tell them apart. Distantly, he knew bloody Audra Fidelis would no-doubt be spreading new rumors come morning, but Juno couldn't be bothered to care. When he came fully back to himself, heart rate easing and the rush of blood leaving his ears, he realized he'd collapsed on top of Marisol. He tried to move, murmuring apology, but she pulled him back down, nearly purring in contentment.

Scarlet eyes peered up at him, and her lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Just a little longer," She sighed the words, smiling when Juno blinked and nodded in a way that felt far too bashful, even to himself. "I like feeling you." He felt his cheeks warm, and not from the fact he knew he was still buried in her cunt.

"Alright." He murmured, knowing he still could never deny her. If she demanded the Archon's palace tonight, he knew he would die in the attempt to deliver it to her. If she wanted Satina, he would pull it out of the sky to lay it at her feet. So, he would never deny her the simple crush of his body against hers. Fingers pet through his sweat damp hair, and Juno sighed softly, exhaustion seeping into his bones and pulling at him. "I'm gonna have to roll off of you eventually, Principissa."

"Mm, I'll push you off if you start snoring." She giggled before sighing, petting his hair again. "Go to sleep, Juno."

He grunted, nuzzling his cheek against her shoulder. She didn't have to tell him twice.

X

Marisol frowned up at the ceiling when she felt Juno's breath deepen and even out. Sleep found him quickly, thankfully; this would be much more difficult if she had to face those eyes of his. He must know what he did to her, she was certain of it. The only other man who had ever…

Shoving that thought aside with a disgruntled huff, she shifted them until Juno rolled on his back, his now-softened cock slipping easily out of her. She winced at the feel of it and hissed in a sharp breath when the feeling of his spend leaking out of her followed shortly after. Only one man had ever been allowed to do that, and she was quietly grateful that nothing would come of this mistake. Not that Juno even knew.

Sighing, she nestled into his side—he'd only just fallen asleep. Any absence now may alert him, and she didn't need him chasing after her. If he did…

She frowned again, shaking her head. There was no sense in even thinking it; he wouldn't follow. She would make certain of that. All she needed was a bit more time; the moment he was so deeply asleep he wouldn't notice her absence, she'd be gone. Gone from his apartment, from the low city, and from Minrathous itself.

She knew that under normal circumstances she wouldn't be worrying so much about a bed partner's feelings. But nothing about Juno was normal. Nobody left her feeling so disjointed, so untethered—nobody, except Viago. The difference with Juno, though, was how free she felt, alongside the rest. And so she sought it out, sought him out. Every time she traveled to Tevinter, her heart raced and ached in equal measure, anticipating catching even a glimpse of him.

Marisol sighed, shaking herself out of that line of thinking. She needed to return to Salle; that was all that mattered now.

Juno let out a soft snore, brows furrowing slightly as he shifted, and Marisol watched him intently, breath catching in her throat. When he settled, she steeled herself and eased out of his hold. His face scrunched, rather adorably, but when she tucked a blanket around him and he settled with a sigh, she found herself smiling at the way his face relaxed. It was an effort not to smooth his hair back, but she managed.

Forcing herself to her feet took more effort than she cared to admit; dressing, even more still. The worst was trying to get to the door. Something urged her to undress and crawl back onto the mattress with Juno, curl up in his arms, and stay. She shoved the impulse aside, like she did with so many other, more selfish desires, and steeled herself once more to leave.

Rat squeaked suddenly, perfect black eyes peering up at her in the darkness. She paused, frowning again, and shook her head sadly. Rat simply watched, silent, and Marisol found herself mildly surprised when the creature seemed to sigh at her, before tucking back into its nest.

Blinking, she shook herself, and finally made it the short distance to the door. She paused again, hand frozen on the wooden handle, and something deep inside of herself begged her to look over her shoulder, at the sleeping man she was abandoning.

He looked so peaceful, sleeping there. The rain had eased during their time in his flat, and it felt tranquil. Serene, even. Like a slice of utopia, carved out for just the two of them.

You could stay, that small voice in the back of her mind whispered. It sounded desperate. You should stay.

She shook her head at it. No. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Duty and obligation—and, yes, something deeper—would always pull her back to Antiva, back to Salle. Back to her home.

With one last, lingering look at Juno, Marisol ducked out of the flat and into the pre dawn rain.