The change of intensity, followed by that pause, made her focus. Called her away from the weightlessness and into the awareness of him. Of them. Her eyes were probably clearer than they'd been in days, nothing of the world outside them two remembered or planned for. Simply his, as her answering kiss would try to tell him. Soft and tender it started, and then the taste of him, the feel of him, the smell of him buzzed her senses until her returning kiss became a little more hungry, a little more inviting.
Her arms drew her closer to him, letting their bodies feel what his eyes, what his mind had acknowledged. Fitting together. She was as close that a simple motion of the hips, of either of them, would move things to another level. But for now, she stayed with the kissing, letting her fingers see him, her palms see him.
Letting her heart thank him.
She trailed her hand along the side of his body, down his waist, hip, along his thigh as far as she could reach, then back up again, without breaking the kiss.
I don't want this to end.
And also,
I don't want to make you wait.
And also,
You are my world. I love you.
Stephen had learned a long time ago how to make her body feel alive. Right now, he was, with what they were doing, reconnecting her self to feeling alive, too.
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the way her hands moved on him. The way they moved together, the message her touches and her look sent. It might have undone him if he weren't so... something. Relaxed, solid. Intent, that was it. Intent on her. On this.
It almost was magic, the kind of magic the White Court feared. One of the oldest kinds of magic in recorded history, the simplest.
I love you. I would do anything for you.
It caught his heart and squeezed to think that and it was entirely true. To realize the truth of that was overwhelming all over again. So he kissed her again. To lessen some of the tension and to pull it in another direction as well. And to tell her, as well as show her.
"--love you." Out of breath, her whisper against his lips. She wanted to make the room ring with the words, the way this was singing in her ears, but she also wanted this stretch of sensations to break her to pieces, to dissolve him to pieces and then they could put themselves back together again and that is exactly what this was feeling like.
He was kissing her again and she was kissing him back and this time it was more open, pulling at him, at all he was giving to her right now and at the same time surrendering to him.
It felt a little bit as if something broke inside her, a dam holding back something, some idea that she had to deal with some things exclusively alone, some arrogant independence. She shuddered with the release of that, the letting go of the anxiety to let him help her through anything; after all this time, she was surrendering that to him alone too, now that she'd drunk that cup to the bottom (not because it was too bitter. But because he deserved more of her, all of her, her heart was crying out to her). And it was her turn to clutch at him, suck at his lips and then pull back to look at him in turn, eyes drinking him in, all of him.
If he could be strong for her, he could be as strong as he needed to deal with anything. And if she was by his side he could achieve any goal set for himself. He had never realized how much he truly did want a partner, someone by his side as well as in his arms, until he realized what she could be, on so many levels. Until he realized how much he adored everything that she was.
That adoration shone now in the way he looked back at her, kissed her, the way he moved to make love to her. Not their usual rough and wild pace but something soft and romantic, something they so rarely indulged in. Devotion, it was, gentle devotion.
And love, of course, always.
So fierce. So fierce and so beautiful, his treasure, his beloved, he wanted to be all things she ever needed and he had never wanted that with anyone before. It wasn't sadness that touched his eyes but something from the purer end of the spectrum, pleasure and joy so tight and sharp, as he kisses her, in between words. One word, over and over, expressed.
Soft and romantic - it was a way that usually wouldn't be satisfactory enough, not when answering the hungers that run through both of them. The hunger for completion, the hunger for each other, the hunger for the moment when the world spun and mind and spirit was released by the bonds of the bodies...
Tonight, the hungers were gone, quelled in the face of a darkness that arched over, threatened their world.
Tonight, games were done with.
Tonight it wasn't about satisfaction. It was about being together.
It was refuge and reassurance and each other they sought. And offered. It was giving rather than taking; merging rather than rushing to the completion. It was lovemaking; and it was love. And she opened up and welcomed him, with all that he was, all that he brought to her, all that he needed from her - the most that she gave him willingly, and the tiny last bit that she was surrendering now. The admission that she did truly need him. In particulars and in generals, and in body and in soul. So now that he was with her, every possible way?
She gave him back herself.
The gentleness of her touches, of her return motions, of her breaths got tinged by her energy, by that very fire that burned underneath the apparent ice. Giving him back all, and more. She gave him back - affirmations to what he expressed. In words, in the caress of his name, in the way that what he was filled her in and overflowed. And even if motions intensified, and sped up as they loved each other, they didn't get harder. Because when one stripped away the games, the facades, the barriers, the old wounds and the habits...
Loving him was easy. And the best feeling in the world. No, there was no sadness in her eyes either.
It was no small miracle, although he hadn't consciously come to this conclusion, that they were exactly what each other needed. This, this softer intimacy than their usual habit here and now, was exactly what they needed, and yet not surprising for they had always been good at anticipating each other's needs. Matching each other needing to giving.
And yet there was something about the way they fit together. The way their bodies fit together, the way every breath and sound she made eased his soul and melted the tightness and stress away. The way it reminded him briefly, a thought flitting over the surface of his mind and gone again, that she could do this just as easily even when they weren't in bed. The way it was so easy for her to simply be there, and things were... better.
He thought, too, after, that there was no better feeling in the world. And wondered how anyone could live if not like this.
He touched her, looked down over her, full of wonder and gratitude and quiet happiness. His beautiful dark lady, so perfect, full and formed of the stuff as dreams are made of. It was hard to tell if he whispered such words or only thought them.
He would love her till the sun died, till the moon cracked and fell into the ocean, till the last breath left his body. It wasn't a surge of emotion or a wild flight of fancy, it was simple fact.
Solace's hand reached out to touch him too as her body shuddered quietly in an ending that came almost as a surprise when it did, close to his, letting them both still and just listen to each other. She was whispering back, she wanted to at least. Her strength, her love, her husband, the hub of her world... and then her breaths grew more ragged, for some reason tears gathering in the edges of her eyes, and her fingers, caressing his cheek, moved further up and clutched slightly against his hair.
He was bringing her happiness, so why the seven circles of hell was she crying now? She fought to keep it down, sharp gasps stifling the sobs, and accentuating the slower words she did get out, and did still mean.
Furies, when she could feel his love, and her love back, and everything was righted for the first time in days, in years, in most of her life, why was she crying, of all things? She could probably count the number of times she'd done that since her teens on the fingers of one hand...
He felt her body shift against his before he felt the wetness on her cheeks, shifting himself to sit up a little further and hold her tighter. His fingertips drifted through her tears but didn't quite brush them away.
"Solace..." he murmured, concerned. Just that, though. No need for the tears to go away, no need for anything really. He just wanted to know. To understand what was happening. Sometimes tears were needed, and he would never deny her that.
But still. Tears, from his beautiful strong lady. It was a little worrying.
Solace shuddered against him, grateful for - for just what he did, but fighting to keep it, the crying, down. Her voice down, so as not to frighten him or wake Aidan. It was... something was shredding at her body, at her heart, unleashed by the realization and surrender, and then pleasure. And something. The tension, the guilt. All of it.
"So sorry," she gasped out, quiet, rasping. "I was so arrogant." Broken speech, between hard breaths with tears heard in them, despite her efforts. Not just tears, this. Full crying fit that she'd have tried not to subject anyone, especially those who cared most, to. Except that in the sweet release of control that went with the release they'd given each other, she could not stop. And she was beyond hiding from him. "I thought I didn't need anyone's help. I thought... I thought it was right." A pause, struggling for control, for she did not want him to mistake the next part as grieving her. "But I need you. And you're here. Not just... not just any one way. Every way."
She so wanted to be strong right now. To move past this - execution, and all it meant.
But she wasn't. Simple as that. Too much from the past was meeting too many possibilities of a future. And she had done it. Pol and her had done it, but still. Stephen was her lifeline, and she'd have been drowning if not for him. Or maybe if she stopped crying she'd stop feeling like she was drowning. If only she could figure out how.
He wasn't sure quite what this meant, although he resolved to figure it out later, asking questions of her if he needed to. Right now, though, his concern was more for her and ... he didn't know what to do. He would have been flailing if she weren't already sobbing, clinging. He kept the flailing deep inside, to himself.
Just holding her tight right now. Holding her, one hand rubbing lightly over her back, fingers of the other hand sliding through her hair. "I'm here," he murmured, confirmation, because it seemed that might help. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need."
Anything she needed.
It still amazed him, sometimes, that they fit together as well as they did. That she put up with his chills, his awkwardness; they were compatible sexually, certainly, and in some attitudes but he would have been hard-pressed to explain anything else about the way they connected. But they had. He had discovered quite by accident and on a single glance on their wedding night that he did love her, could not imagine a life without her now. And she, of all times, apparently while he was off in Bristol had discovered that she loved him.
Which seemed an odd thing for a married couple to discover, but they had always been sort of backwards.
But that was how they worked. And they did work. More seamlessly than he had ever worked or lived in cooperation with anyone. She was so strong so much of the time, strong for him, for their son, and so very wise in all the little ways of their late night conversations. It didn't occur to him to do anything other than be there for her, to say anything other than that. Whatever you need. Anything you need.
Her arms drew her closer to him, letting their bodies feel what his eyes, what his mind had acknowledged. Fitting together. She was as close that a simple motion of the hips, of either of them, would move things to another level. But for now, she stayed with the kissing, letting her fingers see him, her palms see him.
Letting her heart thank him.
She trailed her hand along the side of his body, down his waist, hip, along his thigh as far as she could reach, then back up again, without breaking the kiss.
I don't want this to end.
And also,
I don't want to make you wait.
And also,
You are my world. I love you.
Stephen had learned a long time ago how to make her body feel alive. Right now, he was, with what they were doing, reconnecting her self to feeling alive, too.
And nothing else matters.
Reply
It almost was magic, the kind of magic the White Court feared. One of the oldest kinds of magic in recorded history, the simplest.
I love you. I would do anything for you.
It caught his heart and squeezed to think that and it was entirely true. To realize the truth of that was overwhelming all over again. So he kissed her again. To lessen some of the tension and to pull it in another direction as well. And to tell her, as well as show her.
I love you.
Reply
He was kissing her again and she was kissing him back and this time it was more open, pulling at him, at all he was giving to her right now and at the same time surrendering to him.
It felt a little bit as if something broke inside her, a dam holding back something, some idea that she had to deal with some things exclusively alone, some arrogant independence. She shuddered with the release of that, the letting go of the anxiety to let him help her through anything; after all this time, she was surrendering that to him alone too, now that she'd drunk that cup to the bottom (not because it was too bitter. But because he deserved more of her, all of her, her heart was crying out to her). And it was her turn to clutch at him, suck at his lips and then pull back to look at him in turn, eyes drinking him in, all of him.
Her lips formed the words soundlessly now.
Reply
That adoration shone now in the way he looked back at her, kissed her, the way he moved to make love to her. Not their usual rough and wild pace but something soft and romantic, something they so rarely indulged in. Devotion, it was, gentle devotion.
And love, of course, always.
So fierce. So fierce and so beautiful, his treasure, his beloved, he wanted to be all things she ever needed and he had never wanted that with anyone before. It wasn't sadness that touched his eyes but something from the purer end of the spectrum, pleasure and joy so tight and sharp, as he kisses her, in between words. One word, over and over, expressed.
Reply
Tonight, the hungers were gone, quelled in the face of a darkness that arched over, threatened their world.
Tonight, games were done with.
Tonight it wasn't about satisfaction. It was about being together.
It was refuge and reassurance and each other they sought. And offered. It was giving rather than taking; merging rather than rushing to the completion. It was lovemaking; and it was love. And she opened up and welcomed him, with all that he was, all that he brought to her, all that he needed from her - the most that she gave him willingly, and the tiny last bit that she was surrendering now. The admission that she did truly need him. In particulars and in generals, and in body and in soul. So now that he was with her, every possible way?
She gave him back herself.
The gentleness of her touches, of her return motions, of her breaths got tinged by her energy, by that very fire that burned underneath the apparent ice. Giving him back all, and more. She gave him back - affirmations to what he expressed. In words, in the caress of his name, in the way that what he was filled her in and overflowed. And even if motions intensified, and sped up as they loved each other, they didn't get harder. Because when one stripped away the games, the facades, the barriers, the old wounds and the habits...
Loving him was easy. And the best feeling in the world. No, there was no sadness in her eyes either.
Just joy. And surrender.
Reply
And yet there was something about the way they fit together. The way their bodies fit together, the way every breath and sound she made eased his soul and melted the tightness and stress away. The way it reminded him briefly, a thought flitting over the surface of his mind and gone again, that she could do this just as easily even when they weren't in bed. The way it was so easy for her to simply be there, and things were... better.
He thought, too, after, that there was no better feeling in the world. And wondered how anyone could live if not like this.
He touched her, looked down over her, full of wonder and gratitude and quiet happiness. His beautiful dark lady, so perfect, full and formed of the stuff as dreams are made of. It was hard to tell if he whispered such words or only thought them.
He would love her till the sun died, till the moon cracked and fell into the ocean, till the last breath left his body. It wasn't a surge of emotion or a wild flight of fancy, it was simple fact.
Reply
He was bringing her happiness, so why the seven circles of hell was she crying now? She fought to keep it down, sharp gasps stifling the sobs, and accentuating the slower words she did get out, and did still mean.
Furies, when she could feel his love, and her love back, and everything was righted for the first time in days, in years, in most of her life, why was she crying, of all things? She could probably count the number of times she'd done that since her teens on the fingers of one hand...
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"Solace..." he murmured, concerned. Just that, though. No need for the tears to go away, no need for anything really. He just wanted to know. To understand what was happening. Sometimes tears were needed, and he would never deny her that.
But still. Tears, from his beautiful strong lady. It was a little worrying.
Reply
"So sorry," she gasped out, quiet, rasping. "I was so arrogant." Broken speech, between hard breaths with tears heard in them, despite her efforts. Not just tears, this. Full crying fit that she'd have tried not to subject anyone, especially those who cared most, to. Except that in the sweet release of control that went with the release they'd given each other, she could not stop. And she was beyond hiding from him. "I thought I didn't need anyone's help. I thought... I thought it was right." A pause, struggling for control, for she did not want him to mistake the next part as grieving her. "But I need you. And you're here. Not just... not just any one way. Every way."
She so wanted to be strong right now. To move past this - execution, and all it meant.
But she wasn't. Simple as that. Too much from the past was meeting too many possibilities of a future. And she had done it. Pol and her had done it, but still. Stephen was her lifeline, and she'd have been drowning if not for him.
Or maybe if she stopped crying she'd stop feeling like she was drowning. If only she could figure out how.
Reply
Just holding her tight right now. Holding her, one hand rubbing lightly over her back, fingers of the other hand sliding through her hair. "I'm here," he murmured, confirmation, because it seemed that might help. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need."
Anything she needed.
It still amazed him, sometimes, that they fit together as well as they did. That she put up with his chills, his awkwardness; they were compatible sexually, certainly, and in some attitudes but he would have been hard-pressed to explain anything else about the way they connected. But they had. He had discovered quite by accident and on a single glance on their wedding night that he did love her, could not imagine a life without her now. And she, of all times, apparently while he was off in Bristol had discovered that she loved him.
Which seemed an odd thing for a married couple to discover, but they had always been sort of backwards.
But that was how they worked. And they did work. More seamlessly than he had ever worked or lived in cooperation with anyone. She was so strong so much of the time, strong for him, for their son, and so very wise in all the little ways of their late night conversations. It didn't occur to him to do anything other than be there for her, to say anything other than that. Whatever you need. Anything you need.
Reply
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