Notes: takes place a few years post-series; characters are adults
Warnings: … flow…ers? and oral.
Ahiru welcomes Fakir home.
This must've taken her some time to prepare. Fakir's heart races.
She's waiting for him already, and does her best to be sensual—and it's working, because the sight of her makes his breath quicken. But he can see the anticipatory curl of her toes, and the heavy heaves of her chest beneath scattered, violet petals.
They attempt to conceal her most secret places—places that are no longer secret to him.
They're everywhere, he notices with a smirk. She shifts a bit under his greedy gaze, some of the blooms falling from the edge of their shared bed.
When he doesn't move, she grins, sweetening the image of her sexuality with her usual lightness. "Ah—I'll clean it up later! For now, though, I thought—"
She falls silent when he reaches out, brushing his fingers through the petals that grace her abdomen, fingertips teasing her skin. He hears her breath hitch.
"You must've missed me," he muses aloud, leaning over to kiss the valley between her breasts. The scent of violets is both soothing and arousing.
He feels her pick at the buttons of his vest. "M-Mhm … You were gone too long! Longer than before …"
Neither Fakir nor Ahiru enjoyed his time away in a neighboring city—she was lonesome, and he was busy, his book signing more of a chore than a vacation without her. But her students need her here, so every night was empty and full of want.
Now, the object of his devotion and affections lies in a bed of flower petals, arched back with the press of his lips and the exploration of his tongue. And he has her all for himself tonight.
"Th-They're supposed to be roses, but Hermia's shop ran out 'cause Femio bought them all, and I hope these are okayyy~!" She cuts off on a squeak when his lips close languidly over her bosom, suckling gently as her fingers tug impatiently at the buttons of his vest and shirt again.
Amused, he pulls back to gaze fondly at her, brushing her loose, red tresses behind her ear as he lets her pull his clothes off.
She has her arm thrown over her head, her other hand gripping violets and sheets in a quivering fist as he buries his head between her legs. He kneads and caresses, massaging petals into her bosom as he toys with her flesh to his liking. His tongue is deft and practiced, and the scent and taste of her sets his senses on fire.
He smirks against her sex when he tastes her release, her trembling body and her keen squeals filling him with so much heat that he has to grind his hips down into the bed to sate himself.
He pushes into her—his absence was long, and she's so, so tight. Her warm, wet embrace has him groaning helplessly into her hair.
He hikes her leg up over his shoulder, her balletic flexibility doing wonders for this overdue encounter, and thrusts forward with her delighted sighs.
She hums against his lips as he arches forward and back, their bodies moving and aching and giving and taking. It's slow and sweet for the moment, and he misses her soft kisses, the taste of her still on his tongue as he drags his lips along her own.
But it has been so long.
Impatience licks at their nerves, and she squeezes around him, pulling away from his kiss to beg for his love and his desire and his force.
The petals are jostled off of her slender frame as he braces his hands on either side of her and bucks forward.
Their headboard collides repeatedly with the wall in time with her squeals. He has her sliding up and down against sheets, flowers drifting from the sides of their bed and clinging to their sweat-dotted flesh. His fingers dig into her hips and he throws his head back. She arches, toes curling and nails biting.
The scent of sweat, sex, and violets fill the stillness.
They don't wake until the barest hint of sunlight graces the skin of her back, and Fakir lazily traces the dip between her shoulder blades with a single petal.
Her blue eyes peek open with a languid giggle. "Mmm … Welcome home, Fakir …"
He smirks in reply, and tugs her back into his full embrace.