Uncontainable.
It was uncontainable, the passion that bubbled up within them.
Her hand cupped his face, and she lovingly gazed into his eyes as he guided her, unafraid, to the bed below them.
She was like summertime; her skin the fair white of clouds, her hair the golden tangle of the sun, and her eyes the sweet blue-green of the water. She was just as refreshing as that water. She was a release. Her personality warmed him to the core, made him laugh, and made him more buoyant than he could ever be otherwise. He was not as solemn with her.
He was winter. His skin was as fair as the overcast sky, his tresses as silver and as bright as snow, and his eyes the crisp ever-green contrast to a world of whites and blues. He was her anchor, the reason that kept her from floating away when things became overwhelming. Even the thought of him increased her inner strength to levels that most women could not dream of. She was not as flighty with him.
His lips grazed her jaw line, his hands tracing her supple curves as she removed his shirt, revealing the plain of his chest, riddled with scars that served as a reminder of what he had been.
Deftly, though with a nervous innocence that most could never guess at, he removed her belts, and she slipped free of what had been restricting her. Freed, she cleaved to him, kissing his neck as he moved to rid himself of his own burden.
He was so gentle, even though most feared him because of the past. No one could see who he really was, beneath all those complex layers; beneath courtly arraignments, and preconceived notions of what it meant to be a Dark Knight. Even now, as a Paladin, he faced prejudices, notions of what a king must be, and even though he was noble he was far from perfect. She alone saw through to the man beneath both of his armors, both past and present. She alone saw and loved him, completely, for what he was.
And he saw her. He saw her for the wild tomboy she could be. He didn't expect her to be a lady all the time, and though it was perfectly okay for her to traipse around in her archery garb, or to laugh too loudly at someone's jest. He saw that she could be a polite, gentle, and radiant queen, as well, and no matter what she chose to be he loved her all the same.
He moved against her, rotating his hips as, at last, they were free. He looked down at her then, and she nodded her assent.
As carefully as one so filled with passion could, he moved into her, feeling her around him.
He moved.
It was slow at first, but then mounted to a tangle of limbs, and calls of passion, and gasps as places that had so seldom been touched were explored anew. She called his name, her back arching, and he responded with hers, bearing down on her again and again.
At last he collapsed on her, breathing heavy, the sweat of their passion mingling on the sheets. She kissed his neck gently, tiredly, and stroked his long locks of hair from his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.
This was freedom, decided. She was freedom from everything he hated, everything that burdened him, and he loved her all the more for it.
At last they fell asleep, each taking comfort in the other's embrace.
