#just words

The bed creaked softly beneath them as Gale leaned in, his warm breath grazing her cheek. Time seemed to have bent around the moment, the seconds stretched thin and trembling as his mouth met hers in a kiss that carried restrained hunger and devotion held too long under the skin. There was a gentleness in it, but carried heat beneath — the slow burn of longing finally let loose.

One hand settled at her waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric as though he needed the anchor; the other planted beside her, steady, but only just.

Tav rose to meet him, her fingers seeking the hem of his shirt in a fumbling ache for closeness. Her hands trembled from the staggering rush of need, a quiet, desperate motion like clutching for breath in the dark.

But then he drew back only a fraction, only enough to look at her.

There was no uncertainty or skimming glance. He studied her face, held it in his gaze like he could memorize every freckle, every breathless shift of her lips, and still hunger for more. Wonder shaped his features, warm and unguarded, as if he’d caught sight of something he’d once believed he was never meant to hold.

A smile curved at the corner of his mouth, and it sent her stomach swooping — the helpless kind of fall she only felt around him.

He made her feel…visible. Not merely seen, but understood, down to the heartbeat. Down to the quiet. 

She blinked up at him, breath uneven, the linen beneath her cradling the ink-dark strands of her hair like spilled shadow. A laugh caught in her throat, rising soft and disbelieving. “What is it?” she asked, heat blooming high in her cheeks. “Checking that I’m swooning properly?”

His thumb traced the curve of her lip, a slow orbit of heat raced across her skin where he’d touched. “Naturally,” he murmured, the smile deepening with something sly. “I take great pride in my technique.”

”And your findings?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Inconclusive. A follow-up assessment may be in order. Purely for academic rigor, of course.”

He dipped toward her again, but the next kiss hovered just shy — no more than a breath against her lips. A tease of a promise, though he didn’t chase it. Simply lingered there, suspended in that sliver of space, as if the pause itself held its own gravity. His gaze moved across her face, drinking her in. Her parted lips, the rush of pink across her cheeks, the soft rise and fall of breath that hadn’t yet steadied. 

When he spoke, his voice carried tremulously. “Truth is…I wanted to take you in. I’ve imagined you like this more times than I should admit, but always at a distance.” His breath caught. “And now…you’re here. Real. And I want to remember you exactly like this.”

His hand slipped down, thumb brushing the line of her ribs. It wasn’t just a caress, but a study. A memory being etched.

“I’ve studied you in my mind more times than some spells,” he said, voice barely louder than the hush between them. “The cadence of your voice. The way you move when you’re certain no one’s watching. The silences — especially those. You speak in quiet as much as you do words.” He drew in a breath, eyes roving over her face. “But this…this is something else entirely. It’s like I’ve only just begun to see you. And gods above, you’re—“

He stopped himself, but the word lingered in the silence, unspoken yet whole.

Beautiful.

She felt her heart surge toward him, fluttering wild and unmoored. Something far too full to contain itself and it burned and bloomed all at once. Like being split open and remade simultaneously.

She turned her face into his hand, pressing her lips to his palm. “I know,” she whispered. “I’ve often wondered how your voice would sound, this close…how your hands would feel on my skin. What it would be like —  to be wanted by you.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. “Not just idle thoughts,” she continued, slower. “But in the quiet. At night, when everything else faded and I let myself feel the things I couldn’t name. But I never quite got it right. Not like this. Not…you looking at me like that.”

Her eyes searched him raw and unguarded. “You’ve lived inside me longer than I knew,”. She murmured. “And now that you’re here it’s…terrifying.”

She swallowed, voice barely a breath. “…and perfect.”

The sound that left him was low, wrecked, and nothing short of a surrender. He kissed her again, this time deeper, like it was no longer a question but a need.

His fingers slipped into her hair, pulling her closer, and she arched into him, answering the call with her entire body. Her nails scraped gently at his scalp, creating a broken, helpless growl that echoed straight through her chest, down to the marrow.

When he finally tore himself away, his breath was ragged, his lips reddened with restraint. “I want to see you,” he said. “All of you. If you’re willing.”

A soft laugh escaped her, almost fond. She reached up to cup his cheek, brushing her thumb along its curve. “You’re trying so hard to be a gentleman,” she said, gaze flickering over him like a torch. “And I adore you for it. But, Gale…we’re already in a bed and I’m very much beneath you.”

He dropped his forehead to hers, smile lopsided, worn thin with yearning. “I know,” he breathed. “But I want this to be more than just want. I want to get it right, make it matter. I will most assuredly devour you, make no mistake. But first…I want to savor every part of you.”

Her throat tightened around a breath, pulse thrumming high. “Then savor,” she said. “I’m yours.”

What followed was a study in patience…and exquisite torment. 

Gale moved with an aching forbearance, every buckle unfastened, every clasp undone with excruciating care, baring her inch by inch. Every layer, every draw of linen away from skin, was met with his mouth. The hollow of her collarbone. The dip of her shoulder. The gentle rise of her hip. He kissed her as if each inch of skin were a verse he’d longed to read aloud, one syllable at a time.

And when the last barrier fell and she sat before him, breath shallow and bare to his gaze — he stilled. His breath caught like he’d seen something holy. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just looked. As though the act of beholding her might undo him.

She raised a brow, though her chest trembled. “What’s wrong, wizard? Losing your edge?”

He exhaled a breath that stuttered out like wind through broken glass, though he didn’t look away. “Not even close,” he said. “Just recalculating the odds of surviving this.”

”And?”

His eyes swept once more, trailing down to where her breath had begun to rise again. When he met her gaze, his voice was a hush against the storm rising in both their chests.

”Grim,” he said. “Gloriously so.”

His hand rose to her face again, fingers brushing the curve of her cheek as if testing the boundary between dream and waking. “You are…” The words came thin, frayed at the edges, crumbling before they could take shape.

He tried again, voice raw and wonderstruck. “I’ve studied the intricacies of the Weave. Poured over spellwork, lore, the very essence of magic itself—“

He let his hand travel along her cheek, down the line of her jaw, until his finger gently tipped her chin upward. Her eyes rose to meet his, and in his gaze she saw it all: the quiet awe, the ache of devotion, the kind of love that asks for nothing but offered everything in return.

“And none of it compares to you.”

She felt her throat tighten. The heat of his gaze made her shift slightly, self-consciousness tugging at the corners of her composure. Her smile was almost bashful. “Flatterer,” she murmured, though her voice lacked the conviction to deny him.

”It’s true.” His hand slid into her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear with delicate care. “Every inch of you is magic.”

She leaned into him then, her lips pressing to the small crease between his brow. Another kiss followed, trailing down the bridge of his nose, the slope of his cheek, the shadowed edge of his jaw. Each one slower than the last, unrushed, an echo of his own affections moments before.

A sound escaped him, small and caught halfway between breath and longing. Needy, despite himself.

She smiled against his skin, the shape of it lingering as her lips ghosted over his throat, tracing the hollow there, the faint rise of his chest where his breath caught again. Her fingers moved with slow precision, seeking the fastenings of his clothing. She undid them one by one with the same aching patience he had shown her. 

Her mouth followed the trail of her hands — warm, sure, and deliberate —  as though each kiss were a seal, a quiet signature across the places she claimed. His head tipped back as her lips found his neck again, the sound slipping from him that didn’t know what to be — groan or plea.

”You make the neediest sounds,” she said as she continued to trace lines along him with lips and fingers.

His hand clenched briefly at the sheets. “And you—“ he managed, the words rough, “you weaponize tenderness. It’s deeply unfair.”

A soft hum of amusement vibrated against his collarbone. “I’m being very fair,” she said with a smile in her voice, low and velvet-smooth.

Her hands spread across his chest, mapping him like uncharted territory, carefully taking note of every rise and hollow with aching care. She lifted his shirt free, leaning in to kiss the center of him just where the orb lay dormant beneath skin and bone. 

Her palm settled there. “This part of you,” she whispered, gaze steady, “is mine now.”

Their eyes met, and it wasn’t just desire that looked back at him. It was claim, care, and something almost defiant in its tenderness. A fierce protection. In her gaze was a quiet fury, as if she dared fate or the gods themselves to try and take him from her.

She saw him. Not just the scholar or the mage. Not just the vessel of a god’s whim. She saw all of him — the fractured parts, the burden he bore, the damning shards of his hubris carved into his chest like a brand — and still, she looked at him like he was worth holding onto.

A quiet ache bloomed beneath her kiss, and he was unsure he remembered how to breathe through it. His hand found her hair, fingers threading in, desperate for anchor.

”I can’t—“

“Yes,” he whispered as began to move, her voice barely more than a breath. “You can.”

When her mouth dipped lower, the whole of his body reacted — a shudder that started deep and rippled outwards. Breath tore from his lungs; his hips jerked beneath her, uncertain whether to pull away or offer more. A guttural sound rose from his chest, half-formed and trembling, and the hand in her hair tightened.

”Are you—“ she began, lifting her head slightly.

He nodded, struggling for air. “I believe the proper term is ruined.

She laughed then, soft and real, and began the slow ascent back up his body, letting the length of her brush against him. By the time her lips hovered near his gain, his breath was in desperate, ragged pants, drawn in shallow pulls that failed to steady him.

“All that power,” she drawled quietly, letting her mouth just graze his. Her breath caught his lips, warm and maddening — then veered away to his ear, voice dropping low. “And you still blush?”

”This is absolute agony,” he muttered, hands finding her waist, gripping tight as if holding himself together by touch alone.

”What can I say?” She bit back a smile, brushing her nose against his. “I like watching you fall apart.”

His breath hitched. “I am dangerously close,” he warned, voice hoarse, breaking beautifully at the edges. “Truly.”

With a low sound unfurled from deep in his chest — primal, threaded with want — he moved. One smooth motion and she was beneath him again, the sheets rustling around them. His arms bracketed her, heat radiating off his skin as he leaned down, breath skimming her cheek.

”I thought,” he said, voice roughened and dark, “that I’d be the one to leave you trembling.”

His mouth hovered just shy of hers, close enough that she could feel the pull of it — the breath, the promise. The space between them stretched taut, trembling like a bowstring.

”But clearly,” he went on, his fingers trailing down the curve of her ribs with a delicate slowness, “I didn’t take my time nearly enough.”

A gasp caught in her throat, then a slow, wicked smile formed at the corners of her mouth. “Is this revenge?”

”Retribution,” he said, already pressing his mouth to her in. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”

But even as he spoke, the sharpness began to melt from him. The heat remained raw and coiled, but now there was a focused, purposeful softness beneath it. He lowered his head again, the teasing turning tender as he kissed down her throat with slow intent, his voice threading between each press of his mouth.

”Here,” he whispered low, pressing a kiss to the space beneath her ear, “you smell like the wild.”

Another kiss followed, lower, just beneath her jaw. “And wind,” he added as if cataloging her like a scholar taking notes. 

He moved lower still, revisiting places she’d only imagined he’d might touch. The slope of her shoulder. The curve of her breast. His hands followed her mouth, framing her as if trying to hold a moment still. Her spine arched under him, breaths and sounds slipping out in trembles, her fingers tangling in his hair as though letting go would unmake her.

”And something sweet,” he breathed, lips ghosting down the line of her ribs. “Something I haven’t a name for yet.”

A laugh tumbled from her, soft and breathless, head tipped back against the pillow. “Careful,” she managed, “keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you’re composing a sonnet down there.”

He glanced up at her, eyes dark with fondness and something heavier still beneath it. “I’d need more than a sonnet to do you justice.” Then his mouth found her ribs again — slower this time, as if meaning every word.

He paused, mouth against her skin, breath warm. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

She looked down at him, eyes half-lidded, her voice a whisper edged in want. “Stop, and I might never forgive you.”

The sound that left him was rough and wrecked. A laugh, perhaps. Or a groan he didn’t bother to hide. His lips found her again, lower this time — just above the edge of her hip.

”Here,” he mumbled, his voice a thread of heat. “Where you twitch beneath my hands like you’re made of spellfire.” Another kiss, lower. “And here, where you arch like your body knows me better than your mind ever dared.”

He moved lower still, pressing his mouth to the inside of her thigh. The scrape of his beard against her skin sent a jolt of sensation sparking through her. She gasped sharp, fingers curling hard into the sheets.

”Here,” he whispered with a faint smile, words nearly a vow. “You undo me.”

”Gale…” she rasped out, and the sound of his name held weight like a plea.

His hands slid up along her sides as he pressed a kiss just below her navel, then rested his forehead there. “Gods, I want you,” he whispered into her skin. “I want us.” When he looked up again, she caught the flicker of fear behind his eyes. The trace of hesitation behind the softness.

“I know what Mystra asked of me. I know what’s expected. But I can’t help wanting this. Wanting you. Not just here. Not just tonight. I want every tomorrow you’re willing to give.”

The breath Tav released shook free from somewhere deep. Something uncoiled inside her – relief, or perhaps recognition. She reached for him, pulling him back up into her arms, into a kiss that felt inevitable. Like it had been written into her the moment they met.

She broke the kiss just enough to speak, her words a hush against his lips. “Then start here,” she whispered, “and don’t stop until tomorrow has time to catch up.”

Their mouths met again, less patient and hungrier than before. No longer restrained. No longer careful. The dam had cracked, and what rushed forward was a raw, consuming need. His hand skimmed down her side, fingers curling against her hip as he pulled her flush to him, leaving no space left between them. Only heat.

Tav sighed into the kiss, her shuddering between them. “Gods,” she purred, voice slipping into his mouth. “You’re warm.”

A soft, stunned laugh escaped him. “You’ve ignited something in me,” he said, voice unsteady with awe. “I feel like I could invoke flame with mere thought.”

“You’d better not,” she warned, teeth catching lightly on his lower lip. “Conjured or not, this bed is the first comfortable thing I’ve laid on in weeks.”

He grinned – that crooked, lovestruck smile she’d come to crave – and kissed her again, deeper now. She felt him everywhere, in the tremor of his fingers, the way his body pressed into hers like gravity, the delicious sounds she coaxed from him with each tug of her hand in his hair.

Just as the kiss threatened to spill into something wild and untethered, he slowed again. His lips parted from hers and hovered above her, braced on shaky arms, his breath shallow. “I thought I needed power,” he said, raw as a wound. “Magic. Favor. Something greater than myself…but I was wrong.” A tremor threaded through his words, brittle with truth. “What I needed…was you.”

She couldn’t move from the sheer intensity of his words. The way he looked at her as though she were something that could not possibly belong to him and yet here she was, beneath his hands and his heart, and his voice full of her. Her breath stilled, lodged somewhere between ribs and throat, her heart drumming against it as if trying to reach his.

He was breaking her open with nothing but words.

Warmth swelled in her chest, something so fierce it ached, this impossible grace of being wanted like that. Her fingers drifted down the length of his spine, trailing the dip of muscle and heat. She meant to anchor herself. Instead, he shuddered under her touch and the sound he made only undid her further.

“If you’re trying to seduce me,” she teased, though barely holding together at the edges, “you’re doing alarmingly well.” The words had a lilt of mischief, but it was merely a thin armor against the truth swelling behind her ribs. Her heart was no longer just fluttering; it was unfolding. All of her was. She reached up and cupped his face in both hands, her thumbs tracing the corners of her mouth where a smile had almost begun to form. Her touch gentled, brow furrowed with the fullness of what blossomed in her chest. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve needed you, too.”

His expression cracked wide open – like sunlight through stormclouds, boyish in the way it lit across his features. His hand lifted, fingers closing over hers where they cradled his face, and he turned to kiss into her palm before bending to her again, the space between them vanishing.

Their bodies eased into one another, and he sank into her fully. Hands gripped her waist, firm and searching, as her name left his lips like a plea dragged from the root of him. 

She gasped – fingers fisting into the muscle of his back, drawing him in closer, holding him as if afraid the world might reclaim him. But the world fell away instead. All that remained was him: Gale, breathless and trembling, skin flushed and eyes shut tight like he was overwhelmed by the very act of feeling.

His lids fluttered shut, eyes rolling back for the briefest second. A tremor passed through him – a shudder of sensation so fierce it carved across his features. Brows drawn tight, jaw clenched, and when he breathed, it was ragged, broken by something too large for words. A whimper caught in his throat and slipped out before he could cage it. He drew in a sharp breath, then another, as if he were trying to catch up to his own heartbeat.

“Gods,” he breathed, the word cracking open in his chest.

He dropped his head, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as he tried to breathe her in, trying to still the flood now coursing through him. His chest rose with another inhale, slower this time, but no calmer. “You feel…” His voice fractured, lost to the rhythm of their bodies, to the dizzying swell of her around him.

She reached for him, fingertips grazing the line of his jaw, brushing the scruff there, and he leaned into it instinctively. When his eyes opened, they were dark but steady, awe shimmering across his face. A faint smile curved his lips, a quiet reassurance. Then he moved again – slower now, deeper – as he came back to himself.

He kissed her through each rise and fall, through every breathless crest, through every place where language failed. His fingers threaded through hers, holding on like he feared the world might end without her in it. Her heels pressed into the small of his back, urging him closer, deeper, reminding him that she wouldn’t let him go.

Her hands roamed the planes of his body, mapping every breath and tremor, every inch of heat and tension. His skin burned beneath her palms, sweat-slick and alive, and she swore she could feel the unraveling of him – thread by thread, breaking open in her arms.

“You feel like…” he gasped, voice thinned and wrecked, “like everything I’ve ever lost, and everything I’ve ever wanted. All at once.”

Her heart nearly split.

“Then have me,” she whispered. “I’m yours.”

The rhythm between them rose like a tide, moving as if pulled by the same current, rising and falling in perfect, aching time. He whispered things into her body between groaned breaths – half-formed poetry, praise, affection so raw she could feel it being pressing into her bones. “So good to me…like starlight…so soft…every sound, every shiver, every look – mine.” Each confession landed like a promise etched in heat, his voice unraveling into sighed syllables. 

His movements slowed to a trembling roll of his hips as he lifted his gaze to hers — eyes glassy, lips parted, wonder painted across his features. “You’re really here,” he breathed, disbelieving. “In my arms. Beneath me. Around me…” His voice cracked. “I’ve imagined this – gods I’ve ached for this – a thousand times. None of it came close.” His thumb traced the edge of her cheek like trying to memorize the softness of her. “You could’ve had anyone. And you chose me.”

The last word nearly broke him.

And then he kissed her — slow but hungry, nearly undone. His body pressed closer, tighter, his movements deepening with intensity. He moved as though each inch was something he hadn’t earned but had been gifted.

“I love you,” he breathed against her throat, the words hot against her skin. “I love you so much I don’t know where to put it all.” His rhythm faltered under the weight of what he felt, each movement laced with reverence and disbelief. The words kept coming – fractured now, caught in breath, threaded into the cadence of his body.

“...Wanted…”  His lips grazed the hollow beneath her ear. “...so long…” Another breath, another aching thrust. “...now…” Forehead pressed to her shoulder, his hands gripped her waist as if to hold time still. “...it’s real…” Buried into her skin, spoken like a vow.

Her breath caught, chest tightening under the sheer force of him – of this. One hand threaded through his hair, the other curled around his back, holding him like an anchor, like she could keep him from drifting too far into the storm he carried inside.

“Gale…” His name trembled in her mouth.

The heat between them had burgeoned into something palpable, a heady closeness clinging to every breath. Sweat glistened along his temple, strands of dark hair curling damp against his skin. A broken sound cracked from his throat, half-moan and gasp, as his breath stuttered against her collarbone.

“Breathe,” she whispered, steady even through her own trembling. Her palm found his cheek, gently coaxing his gaze back to hers. “Stay with me.”

His eyes lifted – wide, dazed, pupils blown – like he was trying to find his way through the haze of everything. He exhaled shakily, voice catching. “I am,” he rasped, breath snagging again. “I just–” He swallowed, eyes brimming. “Gods, you feel–”

“I know,” she nodded, brushing the damp hair from his brow, cradling his face as though it would calm the quake in him. “I’ve got you.”

A soft, self-deprecating laugh escaped him, quiet and frayed at the edges, almost dazed. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes still eyes, breath still shaky, like he couldn’t believe how undone he’d become. “Listen to me,” he murmured, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I sound like I’ve been struck by a spell I can’t counter.” Another breath, steadier. “You undo me.” His voice carried no shame, only awe, marveling at the way her presence steadied the chaos she’d also created. 

“Good,” she breathed, tilting her hips to meet him again. “then I’m doing something right.”

His gaze drank her in – every flicker of expression, every shudder and curve. The wonder in his eyes glowed and a faint, helpless smile pulled at his mouth. “So beautiful…” he whispered, like it physically pained him. “I could spend eternity learning how to worship you properly.”

She arched into him in reply, hands clutching at his shoulders, fingernails sinking into his skin just to feel the solidity of him. “You’re not doing so bad,” she managed between gasps, laughter woven faintly into her breath. 

Her eyes never left him – the way he moved above her, the way he looked at her like she was the axis around which his world now turned. She watched him as if memorizing every flicker of his soul as it poured from his body into hers. How his touch softened with each gasp and sigh she made. How his brow furrowed every time her mouth parted in pleasure. How he held onto her like she was the only thing in the world that made sense. 

It swelled in her, sharp and full, that uncontainable feeling – the love, the ache, the joy of it – until it spilled over.

“I love you,” she tried to say, but the words collapsed under the weight of her breath.

Instead, her hands cradled his face again, fingers threading gently through his hair, his damp skin warm beneath her palm. “You hear me, Gale?” she panted, her voice splintering as her lips brushed his temple. “I mean it. You make me feel…”

The rest of the words shattered on her tongue as a moan broke free – too full to contain.

His brow rested against hers, breath warm and uneven, the heat of it ghosting over her lips. “You’re so good,” he rasped, the words barely holding together. “You’re…gods, you’re everything.” Each syllable torn from somewhere deeper than thought, no longer crafted or polished, only unfiltered truth from the most hidden parts of him. “You feel like…” his voice faltered, chest heaving above her, “like him. Like firelight, and–” A pause, his throat working around the next breath. “--and starlight, all at once.”

She shivered beneath him. “Gale,” she whispered, voice caught between laughter and something far more fragile. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

His laugh broke before it formed – a huff of air that collapsed into a groan, low and wrecked, swallowed by the curve of her throat. He was trembling now, rhythm faltering and surging, like his body couldn’t decide if it belonged to him anymore or her. 

“But,” she gasped, the words slipping out on a breath that shook her, “you’re mine. And I’m–” her hips rose to meet him, “--I’m yours.”

His response was wordless, a groan torn from his chest as though her voice alone had unspooled him. He caught her mouth again with a kiss slow, deep, bruised with devotion. It was unhurried, like he needed to memorize her taste with every nerve he had left. Like he was tasting poetry. His hips rocked into hers with aching control, every movement threaded with tension, every breath shuddering loose as if his body couldn’t contain all it held. 

“Every part of you…” The words barely held shape anymore as he gripped at her hips, holding her in place as he moved with growing need. “So beautiful. Mine. Only mine.”

She cried out his name in fractured moans, as if it were the only word left in her, the only sound that fit the shape of the feeling inside her. Her hands slid across his ribs, clutching at him as her thighs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer, into the center of everything she couldn’t put into words. Her breath stuttered in time with every deeper shift of his hips.

Their eyes locked, wild and dazed, blown with wonder, with need, with the gravity of something that had moved beyond physical. And for one suspended instant, the world stilled. Just the taut, coiled brink of release caught in their lungs. 

Then like a rope pulled too tight, the tension snapped.

Their bodies broke together as they shuddered through the crest, mouths seeking each other in gasping, helpless kisses as the wave tore through them. He moaned into her skin – a sound that came from somewhere deeper than language – and she clung to him, fingers fisting in his hair, nails dragging down his back, their names mingling into each other again and again.

For a long, suspended moment, there was only breath.

He didn’t move, only stayed draped over her, chest pressed to hers. His face remained tucked into the crook of her neck, where her pulse still raced against his cheek. Each breath he drew stirred the damp strands of her hair, slow and uneven, like his body hadn’t remembered how to breathe without her there. 

One hand rested at her waist, the other remained buried in her hair, his fingers winding slow circles, as if loosening his grip too soon might dissolve the moment into smoke. 

He felt greedy for it. 

And gods help him, he was. Because if this was borrowed time, if fate still held its cruel weight above him, he didn’t know how many more of these moments he’d be allowed.  

She traced slow, meandering lines down the length of his spine, as if sketching him to memory. Her touch trailed through the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin, the heat of him still clinging to her like that last pulse of magic. Each motion was a tether, like she could keep them both there a little longer. He still trembled faintly beneath her touch, like the echo of her was caught in his bones. Her chest rose beneath him in a steadier rhythm now, the breath returning, but her heartbeat remained wild, thrumming hard against her ribs, loud as thunder in her ears.

Eventually, he shifted, just enough to slide onto his side next to her, the movement slow as though the last of him had melted. His breathing was shallow, steady, still finding its way back to him. But his hand never left her. It wandered down, finding her waist, and anchored there – a silent insistence that she stay near. He drew her into him, fitting her into the curve of his body like she belonged there, like space itself had no place between them.

She pressed herself into the hollow he’d made for her, one hand slipping over the scar the orb had left on his chest. Its edges were less volatile, though it still seemed to hum with something raw just beneath. The skin there felt alive, tender with memory and beneath her palm, his heart raced as wild as her own.

He lifted his head just enough to see her, the movement slow, heavy with the remnants of everything they had just poured into each other. Strands of hair tumbled loose across his brow, unruly and damp and endearingly out of place. The sight of him like that – undone and utterly real – made something inside her ache in the gentlest way.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he said, voice low and hoarse. His gaze moved over her like he still didn’t trust his eyes.

She reached up, fingers brushing the hair from his brow, letting her knuckles drag softly over his temple. “You make it sound like I’ve done you a kindness.”

“Haven’t you?” he asked, and his mouth curving into something too tender to be a smirk. He drew her closer, his arm wrapping tighter as his voice dipped into something secret, a breath of warmth pressed against her skin. “If I die tomorrow…know that this – you – were the closest I’ve ever come to touching the divine.”

Something in her still. 

The words, spoken so gently, splintered through her. They echoed – too close to another truth, one wrapped in Mystra’s cold command and the resignation she’d once seen in his eyes. That quiet, terrible acceptance. 

It hurt to remember. It hurt more to know it was still possible.

“You’re not dying,” she whispered, attempting to fold the quake in her voice into something firm. Something believable. She didn’t want him to hear the sob building there like a bruise in her chest. Instead, she shifted, mouth brushing his ear with a softer kind of defiance.

“Not before I get to make you sound like that again.”

He laughed, a low breath-warmed sound that vibrated through her. “A very persuasive reason to live.”

His eyes drifted closed, lashed brushing her skin as he turned into her touch. Her hand had found his face again – cradling it now, fingers resting just below his ear – and he pressed a kiss into the inside of her wrist.

“I think I might fall in love with you all over again tomorrow,” he murmured, the words spilling out half-asleep, though heavy with truth. “And the day after. And the day after that.”

Her lips curved softly against the corner of his cheek, her smile loose and full of warmth, slivered with sleep. “Rest now,” she breathed, tucking herself further into his arms. “Praise me later.”

why have wants for a family when there was duty to be done? why have wants for a love if she’d just condemn them to be shunned? why have wants for a child when she had caused lives to be undone? why have wants at all when there were songs that should be sung?

To have a desire, is to fall under the sin of greed.

And the world deserved better than a distracted thing.

~

and after

But when her world came kneeling at her feet, holding a sword in supplication, Celine realizes that she must have always been a sinner.

Because why else would the light of her life look at her like one who beholds their executioner?

Looking back, when Celine would leave to cook them food, had Rumi only seen final meals and reprimands?

For how long had she seen a blade instead of a guiding hand?

And so Celine supposes that in the wake of the wreckage made by her choices and the absence of everything she has ever known, she has found herself wanting like the coward she has turned out to be.

Wanting to leave to the place where her beloved sunlights have gone. After all, hunters had always meant to exist in threes. And she had never been good alone.

But she knew that any of the desires that she had would be undeserved for what she’d done.

So she cannot.

cannot have  cannot have life cannot have love  cannot have death when she has brought only pain to those alive. to those dea- justice demands that she pay her penance and make efforts to do right by the child for once in her life …so she cannot leave because that would be selfish. a greed.

She sits at the base of the tree like she has every day since then.

And it is the closest she has allowed herself to be towards granting herself a desire of her own, now that she has the time to find out about such things.

She finds that she likes the way the dirt near the tree feels under her hands. 

She imagines that it’d even feel nicely weighted as a blanket. 

She likes the thought that she could be even closer to her loves, cradled in a way that she has never been before.

She does not deserve that peace, but she will allow herself this.