#rabble rabble

He winced as she slid the wet rag across his chest. A superficial wound, long but not deep enough to be life threatening.

"Is this alright?"

"It's fine." He’d been through worst. The raised flesh and jagged lines across the rest of his body was proof enough. This was nothing.

But the burning sensation from his injury was a mere flicker compared to the fire spreading across his core under her touch.

He found himself against the back board of the bed as her administrations continued into the night. His head was lolled back and he followed her concentrated gaze as she hovered over him. She was steadied against his bare shoulder and silently scrubbed the rest of the blood and grime off his body. His breathes were deliberate and deep, and the small weight of her hand as it trekked across his torso felt pleasant.

She slowed at his neck. The rag began to lose its warmth, becoming cool to the touch. It did nothing to quell the thickness in the air nor the fire in her eyes as she met his gaze, something she had avoided throughout his treatment. Her breath fanned against his dry lips and his tongue darted out to wet them.

"Is this alright?" he croaks. It was a question that weighed more than the battle they’d just won. They’d won countless fights for the people who followed her. Now, they too must bring their long and drawn-out war between themselves to a close.

Her answer doesn't come immediately.

She trails the cloth up his neck until she stops at his jawline, just underneath his earlobe. He tries to smother his groan at the sensation but it leaks past his lips as a low hum. Her eyes outline his worn features and he feels a twinge of insecurity underneath her scrutiny. He does not think of himself as a handsome man compared to the others.

But she abolishes his doubts beats later with the crash of her lips against his, and leaves no room for anything else but her.