( that gets a reaction: a slight furrowing of dark brows. as if, even asleep, he can't quite parse the gentleness of the gesture. the casualness of it.
there are some signs of his condition improving, sparse as they are. his color is no longer quite so pale, nor is it tinged too pink or too yellow. bruises still shadow his eyes, though. and there's a sharpness to his features that hint at the cost of his illness ㅡ the thing they don't tell you about kossians, about their remarkable resilience, is how heavy a toll it takes on the body.
he will not recognize himself upon waking at this rate. there's a feral quality to him, now. a raggedness he looks ...human. )
[ she studies the softness of his face, the slope of his cheekbones. it would be easy to spend hours like this, but her gaze lingers on the color of his mouth. she can remember the blood there, the baring of his teeth as he held her.
he'd looked fierce then. like someone she could stand to lose to. she had imagined in that moment a closeness of their bodies, not unlike this, an interlocking of two people that she had only ever witnessed when challenges had deteriorated quickly into passions. brutal and pushy acts of violence and grief and frustration vented.
and little moments of softness, too.
she draws her mouth close to his. presses their lips together. soft at first, then pressing, hard. she sinks her teeth into his lip, like she might tear away a piece of him and keep it to herself. ]
( for a few seconds, the kiss doesn't appear to have done much of anything. then, there is the press of teeth against his lower lip ㅡ and perhaps it makes sense that this, this of all things, would be what prompts him to stir. an awkward jerk of reflex as he becomes aware, rather suddenly, of the body hovering over him.
a threat.
so the long fingers threading through her hair aren't doing it with gentle intent. they coil, tight, as his head lifts from the pillow. )
[ the by-now-familiar sting in her scalp draws a reedy little whine out of her throat as her lips separate from his. it fills the narrow space between them, humid compared to the stark cold of the rest of this basement.
rather than retreat, she curls her fingers, gripping the ratty bedding. she hovers there, over him, eyes opening to fix on his. ]
[ she wets her lips. hovers there over him, trying to figure out that very answer for herself. she's doing things she's only ever seen, heard about, dreamed about. nothing she's ever done herself, before. ]
Getting warm. [ she retreats some, then, loosens her grip on the sheets. his grip, however, hasn't loosened. to some degree it means he's now holding her there, even as she leans back slightly into his hand as if she means to settle back down onto the mattress. ]
( a divot forms between between his brows. he's missed a step somewhere, clearly. )
With your mouth?
( he hasn't let go of her hair, yet. on some level he knows that id he does, she'll retreat and he won't get answers. not unless he digs in and rips them out. )
[ this, more than anything else, finally forces her to consider that she'd misread. that he hadn't been the one who'd wanted her, not like this. that it had been her all along, shameful as it was. that maybe it was her desire that had leaked across the bond and spilled flower petals and thorns into his chest as well as hers.
the possibility does more to warm her cheeks than kissing him had. ]
( it's an adorable site, really, seeing her grapple with this. aristaeus lets the moment stretch, lets her uncertainty drag out a little more, fester, before he dips his head in a nod. )
Yes.
( unlike mavis, there's no reluctance in the admission. it's a pointless thing to fight against, now. )
[ a warmth spreads through her chest. a tingling, prickling feeling that is almost like the cold, except that it's molten and overwhelming.
for a moment, the only sound is the hitch of her breath and the shift of the blankets and the wind outside. the world feels still. then, she leans in again to close her mouth over his once more, hungrier this time, less cautious, less hesitant. devouring. ]
( there are worse ways to stave off the cold ㅡ not that he has much experience in this, in the greedy intimacy of it.
because mavis isn't just kissing him, she's laying claim to him. deepening the niche she'd carved for herself all those months ago. and he welcomes it.
ㅡ well, for a little while anyway. the cot creaks, groans, as it shifts beneath their combined weight. his injuries twinge, warning, alongside this but he is determined to do more than lie back passively and take. )
[ the pain in knee, in his shoulders as he twists to her, ache as if they were her own. but that pain is only as appealing as the tug at her scalp. she presses her body more closely against his as their mouths move together, a sloppy clacking of teeth and parting of lips that spreads warmth throughout her.
but she doesn't want this to stop, so she quickly makes room between their bodies, keeping her mouth on his, and pushes on his ribs to lay him out flat beneath her, between her thighs. her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, just long enough now to hang like curtains around their faces.
she may have lost the challenge, but she can conquer him here, like this. ]
( she's manhandling him — which annoys him a little, honestly, although it's less to do with mavis herself than the reminder of his fresh-minted (and much resented) mortality.
given his lack of experience, it makes sense to allow her to lead.
so his hands slip from her hair, down to her shoulders, and he's holding onto her. an anchor in the storm. the one thing that seems to make sense anymore. )
[ as his palms settle against the bare, warm skin of her shoulders, she becomes aware of something, suddenly clear like it has come into sharp focus. the bond she'd made between them shows her his thoughts, his feelings, like they are her own. this close, they seem to melt together even more. kossos had terrified her — the loss of herself, what she had fought so hard to preserve for so long; yet this? she relaxes into it, lets the boundaries between them bleed. ]
I haven't done this before either. [ her nose brushes his as the words come out in rasps, her breath already heavy as if it had exerted her to do any of this. why was her heart racing like this? why doesn't any of it feel like enough? ] It's not just you.
[ is that a comfort? it feels like one. they are lost, but they are lost together. all she knows is that despite the blanket slipping down her back, pooling to their hips, she doesn't feel cold. not even with her thighs exposed. ]
( there's a prickle of heat. an urge to look away from her dark, shining eyes. he seizes hold of that urge with both hands, throttling it.
he has nothing to fear, here. nothing to feel ashamed of. and he can't even retreat behind the usual wall of anger because she is reaching out to him, so gently and sweetly, and even if he doesn't know what to do, he wants to learn. )
We'll figure it out. Together. ( because that's what partners do. )
[ a prickling sensation rolls down her spine, pooling in her pelvis. together. when did she last have that? she considers darcy in the cave, the cautious trepidation with which they'd held one another. and the way darcy had jumped away, overwhelmed, and they had shivered alone until morning instead of sharing each other's warmth.
together by now sounds like something too good to be true, an impossible promise. yet it thrills her down to her very marrow.
she bites at his lip, harder. then lifts one hand to cover his at her shoulder, guides it down to her chest, as she had seen others do, because her skin aches to be touched, even through the soft fabric of her shirt. ]
( when mavis moves his hand, his fingers spread, trying to maximize the points of contact. feels the thunder of her heart beneath his fingertips, even through the fabric.
can she feel how his races to match? )
You're so warm.
( so very soft despite all her sharp edges. he used to dream about this, about touching her like this, but in the vague ways of dreams. )
[ she squeezes his hand before dropping hers back to his ribcage, exploring the dips of his muscles, the bulge of his shoulders. like claiming territory. he doesn't stop her, doesn't push, just squeezes and what soft parts of herself she gives him. it makes her stop, pressing her forehead to his. ]
( — or to have to stop. still, her question does make him pause, considering.
however, it hasn't escaped him, the position he's in. how it places her in a position of dominance and control. from there, it's not hard to move right along to their duel. the terms.
[ does it matter, what she wants? the question is dizzying.
mavis chews on her lip.
she has never had to answer these concerns before, never had to navigate the realities. she has seen couples continue to fight, glee in their eyes with the promise of a challenge. they had always seemed happiest. as aristaeus had put it: they'd seemed like partners.
it could be that he regrets the terms, that now that she was weak and defeatable, that he hadn't wanted her. maybe he thought her weak for yielding. or it could be that he is too injured, still, and she is some kind of pervert for taking advantage of his weakness.
the bond between them ripples as she probes at it. no. it's neither. it's honest. ]
You're supposed to. [ she swallows. ] You can't just give it to me without a fight. That's ... [ she's blushing. what kind of kinky shit. ]
I don't know; this sounds like an elaborate scheme to murder me while I'm weak and vulnerable.
( as close to teasing as he ever gets.
the question is how. moving too quickly pulls on his injuries. it doesn't take a genius to figure out that there's only so much luck he can count on, there.
he huffs, frustrated. then, inspired, he shifts his hand from her of her neck. ) Is this what you want?
( a rhetorical question. he can tell just how much she enjoys it. how her pulse spikes when he adds pressure. )
[ the dishonor wouldn't be in him sleeping; it'd be in her doing it after he'd already won the challenge.
it doesn't matter, in the end. his hand closes around her throat, and she tilts her chin up to give him room there, despite what she'd just finished saying about the lewdness of submission. a breathy noise eeks out of her and her fingers curl on his chest to make fists.
she shifts, and her weight on his pelvis offers a pleasant sort of friction. ] This ... [ she brings a hand to cover his, squeezes it on her throat. ] ... isn't about what I want. [ how embarrassing would it be, if it were? no. the whole point to him fighting is trying to take what he wants instead of letting her have what she does. ] What about you?
( she's honest, at least. if he'd been in her place, he can't be sure he wouldn't have gone through with it.
but then she's tilting her chin: it's an invitation that's at least half deflection. they'll be circling back to that later. )
What do I want? ( his fingers twitch around her throat, like he's testing how much she can take. ) Usually, I'd have you on your stomach by now. ( but fucking in the breeding center is absolutely nothing like fucking in the real world, it turns out. it's not neat and impersonal. there's no suppressants to smooth over all those jagged, unpleasant edges. )
But since we're improvising, I want you to take me out.
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there are some signs of his condition improving, sparse as they are. his color is no longer quite so pale, nor is it tinged too pink or too yellow. bruises still shadow his eyes, though. and there's a sharpness to his features that hint at the cost of his illness ㅡ the thing they don't tell you about kossians, about their remarkable resilience, is how heavy a toll it takes on the body.
he will not recognize himself upon waking at this rate. there's a feral quality to him, now. a raggedness he looks ...human. )
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he'd looked fierce then. like someone she could stand to lose to. she had imagined in that moment a closeness of their bodies, not unlike this, an interlocking of two people that she had only ever witnessed when challenges had deteriorated quickly into passions. brutal and pushy acts of violence and grief and frustration vented.
and little moments of softness, too.
she draws her mouth close to his. presses their lips together. soft at first, then pressing, hard. she sinks her teeth into his lip, like she might tear away a piece of him and keep it to herself. ]
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a threat.
so the long fingers threading through her hair aren't doing it with gentle intent. they coil, tight, as his head lifts from the pillow. )
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rather than retreat, she curls her fingers, gripping the ratty bedding. she hovers there, over him, eyes opening to fix on his. ]
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What ㅡ ( the word comes out bleary and sleep-rough. the thought not fully-formed; he feels like everything is heavy, woolen.
he swallows thickly, tries again: ) ㅡ what are you doing?
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Getting warm. [ she retreats some, then, loosens her grip on the sheets. his grip, however, hasn't loosened. to some degree it means he's now holding her there, even as she leans back slightly into his hand as if she means to settle back down onto the mattress. ]
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With your mouth?
( he hasn't let go of her hair, yet. on some level he knows that id he does, she'll retreat and he won't get answers. not unless he digs in and rips them out. )
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[ this, more than anything else, finally forces her to consider that she'd misread. that he hadn't been the one who'd wanted her, not like this. that it had been her all along, shameful as it was. that maybe it was her desire that had leaked across the bond and spilled flower petals and thorns into his chest as well as hers.
the possibility does more to warm her cheeks than kissing him had. ]
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( he's studying her, now. a clear-eyed predator assessing potential prey. taking note of those flushed cheeks, the stuttering of her heartbeat.
she's not afraid, he doesn't think. no more than she ever is where he's concerned. )
Explain it to me.
( an order rather than a question. )
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[ frustration furrows in her expression, pursing her lips, crinkling her nose. ]
To be close.
[ it sounds like something pried out of her chest, through cracked ribs. ]
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Yes.
( unlike mavis, there's no reluctance in the admission. it's a pointless thing to fight against, now. )
I want that.
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for a moment, the only sound is the hitch of her breath and the shift of the blankets and the wind outside. the world feels still. then, she leans in again to close her mouth over his once more, hungrier this time, less cautious, less hesitant. devouring. ]
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because mavis isn't just kissing him, she's laying claim to him. deepening the niche she'd carved for herself all those months ago. and he welcomes it.
ㅡ well, for a little while anyway. the cot creaks, groans, as it shifts beneath their combined weight. his injuries twinge, warning, alongside this but he is determined to do more than lie back passively and take. )
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but she doesn't want this to stop, so she quickly makes room between their bodies, keeping her mouth on his, and pushes on his ribs to lay him out flat beneath her, between her thighs. her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, just long enough now to hang like curtains around their faces.
she may have lost the challenge, but she can conquer him here, like this. ]
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given his lack of experience, it makes sense to allow her to lead.
so his hands slip from her hair, down to her shoulders, and he's holding onto her. an anchor in the storm. the one thing that seems to make sense anymore. )
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I haven't done this before either. [ her nose brushes his as the words come out in rasps, her breath already heavy as if it had exerted her to do any of this. why was her heart racing like this? why doesn't any of it feel like enough? ] It's not just you.
[ is that a comfort? it feels like one. they are lost, but they are lost together. all she knows is that despite the blanket slipping down her back, pooling to their hips, she doesn't feel cold. not even with her thighs exposed. ]
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he has nothing to fear, here. nothing to feel ashamed of. and he can't even retreat behind the usual wall of anger because she is reaching out to him, so gently and sweetly, and even if he doesn't know what to do, he wants to learn. )
We'll figure it out. Together. ( because that's what partners do. )
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together by now sounds like something too good to be true, an impossible promise. yet it thrills her down to her very marrow.
she bites at his lip, harder. then lifts one hand to cover his at her shoulder, guides it down to her chest, as she had seen others do, because her skin aches to be touched, even through the soft fabric of her shirt. ]
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can she feel how his races to match? )
You're so warm.
( so very soft despite all her sharp edges. he used to dream about this, about touching her like this, but in the vague ways of dreams. )
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[ she squeezes his hand before dropping hers back to his ribcage, exploring the dips of his muscles, the bulge of his shoulders. like claiming territory. he doesn't stop her, doesn't push, just squeezes and what soft parts of herself she gives him. it makes her stop, pressing her forehead to his. ]
You're not fighting back.
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( — or to have to stop. still, her question does make him pause, considering.
however, it hasn't escaped him, the position he's in. how it places her in a position of dominance and control. from there, it's not hard to move right along to their duel. the terms.
he wets his lip. ) Do you want me to fight you?
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mavis chews on her lip.
she has never had to answer these concerns before, never had to navigate the realities. she has seen couples continue to fight, glee in their eyes with the promise of a challenge. they had always seemed happiest. as aristaeus had put it: they'd seemed like partners.
it could be that he regrets the terms, that now that she was weak and defeatable, that he hadn't wanted her. maybe he thought her weak for yielding. or it could be that he is too injured, still, and she is some kind of pervert for taking advantage of his weakness.
the bond between them ripples as she probes at it. no. it's neither. it's honest. ]
You're supposed to. [ she swallows. ] You can't just give it to me without a fight. That's ... [ she's blushing. what kind of kinky shit. ]
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( as close to teasing as he ever gets.
the question is how. moving too quickly pulls on his injuries. it doesn't take a genius to figure out that there's only so much luck he can count on, there.
he huffs, frustrated. then, inspired, he shifts his hand from her of her neck. ) Is this what you want?
( a rhetorical question. he can tell just how much she enjoys it. how her pulse spikes when he adds pressure. )
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[ the dishonor wouldn't be in him sleeping; it'd be in her doing it after he'd already won the challenge.
it doesn't matter, in the end. his hand closes around her throat, and she tilts her chin up to give him room there, despite what she'd just finished saying about the lewdness of submission. a breathy noise eeks out of her and her fingers curl on his chest to make fists.
she shifts, and her weight on his pelvis offers a pleasant sort of friction. ] This ... [ she brings a hand to cover his, squeezes it on her throat. ] ... isn't about what I want. [ how embarrassing would it be, if it were? no. the whole point to him fighting is trying to take what he wants instead of letting her have what she does. ] What about you?
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but then she's tilting her chin: it's an invitation that's at least half deflection. they'll be circling back to that later. )
What do I want? ( his fingers twitch around her throat, like he's testing how much she can take. ) Usually, I'd have you on your stomach by now. ( but fucking in the breeding center is absolutely nothing like fucking in the real world, it turns out. it's not neat and impersonal. there's no suppressants to smooth over all those jagged, unpleasant edges. )
But since we're improvising, I want you to take me out.
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