#koarr

“If you were the hero of Mel Senshir, I would follow you.”

The words don't sound mocking when you say them. In fact, if Hugo was a madman, he might think they were even…affectionate. If he weren't so distracted by the way your mouth forms words that a clumsy, cowardly sheep farmer far too out of his depth could never deserve.

He doesn't know how the next bit happens; who makes the first move; but his mouth is against yours in a moment. You turn from the edge of the pool, letting your braid land against it as you open yourself to him. He takes the opportunity, moving between your powerful thighs and pressing you against the cool tiles with a whimper as his skin meets yours. He has no skill or experience, but you thread your fingers through his hair and guide his mouth with yours so tenderly that for once he can't be ashamed of himself for it. Confidence rising, he grabs two handfuls of your perfect ass and seats your hips right against his, swallowing your gasp as even more of your skin comes into contact.

If one of you was to be labeled a hero, surely it would be you. You rescued him from a life of torment and treated him as an equal. You took him under your wing when you knew he could only be a burden, have shown him the patience of a saint as you've taught him things he would never have learned on his own; how to defend himself, how to hunt, how to survive. “Hero of Mel Senshir” be damned. They were only ever an idea, an infatuation.

You're his hero.

… You're his hero.

You're the hero of Mel Senshir.