Thanks for all the comments, suggestions, requests and general sentiments over the past few days. They're always a fun read, and this paralogue certainly has a lot to work with in terms of ideas, I have at least three more prompts lined up following this one, barring any additional ideas I receive from you, the people. I'm feeling generous, so here's another Adrift prompt, which as it turned out, I received a request for when I already had it in mind as one of my initial prompts—deja vu.
Word count: 661 words.
Dreamy Prince
"I'm sorry,"
Corrin sits on the bed—beaten, scarred, his clothing in tatters.
"Don't be," Azura, carrying a few scrapes of her own, answers from across the room. "You were trying to protect her, just as you promised. I understand."
He casts his glance aside.
"I left your side for only a moment to guard her, thinking it would be okay. I.. didn't expect them to divvy up their forces, as though they knew I'd put a child's safety first before anything else. The mere thought that they would exploit that..."
"I'm fine," Azura insists as she gathers the bandages and ointment. "I can fend for myself, love. Little me cannot."
"Even so, one cut on your leg is still one too many," Corrin sighs. "Especially if it's because of me. I know the healers can numb the pain, but they can only do so much. Not to mention how short we are on them to begin with, I'd rather they spare their staves for those who truly need it."
"And what of you?" the songstress asks as she kneels before him, supplies in hand. "You mustn't neglect yourself, either. "
"Sorry," Corrin hangs his head in shame. "I know how much this outfit meant to you, and now... "
"Goodness," Azura breathes as she removes the ointment jar's cap. "Not your attire, you. The seamstresses can fix this anytime. You on the other hand are—ah."
Azura freezes, Corrin blinks.
"Is something the matter?"
A rush of heat rises to the songstress' face. Stirred from her blinding concern, only now does she realize just how close she is to her husband.
And just how exposed he is.
"Zuzu?"
"I.. It's nothing," she suddenly stammers, turning away from him in a vain attempt to conceal her shame. "I was just..."
She trails off, thoughts unfinished, her fingers dabbing the gelatinous oil and beginning the process of applying it to his aching wounds.
She makes contact, and all manner of composure escapes her.
"Hot."
"Huh?"
The word leaves her lips before she can catch herself. Truth be told, neither are unaccustomed to the other's bare form, but something about the manner in which the outfit suits him—sensually with a hint of culture and debauchery—stirs her deepest and most latent desires in ways she's too abashed to admit. To say nothing of how it hugs his curves and how its torn condition serves only to further highlight his muscles. A man so perfect, so dreamlike, that his very essence is all that comes to her mind when asked to craft the ideal prince.
She likes it. She likes him even more—so much so that she can only stand a few more seconds of idle, oily muscle fondling before hungrily pressing her needy lips to his. Corrin's eyes widen in shock before gradually shutting, as if falling under a soothing spell. The songstress gently coaxes his flustered body into returning the kiss and offering her a seat upon his lap.
"Mm.. Hah.. "
"Haah..! Haaah..!"
Azura's tongue brushes against Corrin's mouth and he gladly grants her access. They sink into a rhythm almost instantly, tongues dancing and hips thrusting as her arms lace around his neck, and his around the small of her back.
"Sorry," Azura mewls in-between sloppy kisses.
"Hm?" Corrin hums.
"I'm the one who should be apologizing," she says as she pushes him onto the bed, tresses of hair cascading as she pounces on him. "To be speaking so gravely and to then, suddenly... Just.. please... Allow me to selfishly indulge in my pretty, pretty dream prince, just this once..."
Her hand reaches down to caress his groin, mindlessly pumping through the thin layer of fabric still keeping them apart. Corrin groans, toes curling, his hands moving to cup her taut rear.
"Nngh.. Zuzu..!"
"Sing for me, bard," she breathes. "Sing, let it all out. My sweet, sweet prince.."
She seizes his lips again and they continue late into the night.
For the record, Azura literally met and married the man of her dreams.