Rating: R
Characters: Freya/Brendan
Summary: There is a glimmer of uncertainty in Brendan's eyes below his desire but it fades when she leans towards him, mouth warm and clumsy against the curve of his jaw.
Authors Note: This unbeta'ed so, er, I'm sorry for my mistakes!

It's not as awkward as it should be.

Freya likes to think it's because she's ready. Because she loves him.

Brendan is silent and calm, all dark intensity as he watches her. His lips don't move but she can hear his voice, strong and commanding sliding through her. Are you sure?

"Yes," she tells him and keeps her voice even.

"Ok," he breathes and for a moment he just watches her. Freya tries to see what he's thinking but when there is only silence she draws away. Her smile falters and Brendan leans down to kiss her, lips soft and wet. He taste like the orange soda they had with the pizza for dinner and Freya wants to laugh, to pull away and tell him but his hands, oh his hands, are moving down her side and his tongue is in her mouth.

Freya doesn't realize she's arching upwards; reaching for him, for something when she feels his hand curl around her hip, press her down into the mattress. She burns with embarrassment and she can hear him, voice feather soft across her face. Relax. His hands toy with the hem of her skirt, palm rough and warm against her leg. They've been here before but this is different. She can read the intent in the grip of his hand.

Freya feels lightheaded when his fingers brush up her thigh, making a lazily trail towards the low ache in her belly. She gasps, thinks it's nothing like she read or expected when he pushes two fingers inside her. She grips his shoulder, cants her hips upward and follows him along. It doesn't take her long before she's shuddering, slick with sweat and want against him.

She drops her head back to the pillow, thinks about the clumsy hands of her prom date and the promise of his sloppy kisses. It's been ten years and her body's matured, grown without her realization and the sudden desire, the maturity it brings is terrifying. Freya wants to run, to push Brendan off her and oh god she wants June, wants to talk to her sister and be held again.

She doesn't realize she's crying until she can hear Brendan's voice, his real one, raw with concern grating against her ear. "I'm ok, I'm ok," she tells him and buries her face in his bare chest. It takes her a minute to find her breath again and she'd be embarrassed if she wasn't fighting down the absolute terror she feels inside. She's 28, but she feels like she's 18 again with the weight of the world pressing in on her. "I'm ok," Freya says and remembers the past two years with Brendan, his comfort and his presence.

She is safe with him.

"I'm sorry," she says and Brendan doesn't say anything. Freya knows without prying that his mind is blank with uncertainty. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing so he says nothing, and that's more comforting then she thought possible. It makes her smile and she is aware of the small black hairs on his chest tickling her nose. She purses her lips, presses a gentle, unintended kiss against his warm skin before she pulls away.

"I love you," Freya says and doesn't wait for him to return the affection before she pushes her skirt over the swell of her hips and down her narrow thighs. There is a glimmer of uncertainty in Brendan's eyes below his desire but it fades when she leans towards him, mouth warm and clumsy against the curve of his jaw. He is experienced and quick, careful with his hands and mouth as he removes her clothes.

Her skin pinkens with embarrassment when she is naked, arms moving to shield her breasts from him. He catches her wrists, eases her arms to her side silently as he holds her gaze. She shivers as he draws his hand down the flat plane of her stomach, uncertain of her own beauty. "Are you ready?" he asks and it's strange to Freya to hear his voice, so low and coarse, reverberate in the room.

"Yes," she tells him, palm splayed flat against his arm for balance. She can feel his muscles shift as he eases into her and it hurts so much and she doesn't realize she's blocked him until his voice fills her head, comforting and soft as he draws her away from the pain. She can feel something slick and hot on her thighs and when his voice fades she is aware of a building pressure, something almost painful inside as he moves faster against her.

"Freya, Freya," he whispers against her mouth and twists his hip against hers. The muscles of his arm shake with effort as he rolls off her, careful of his weight. When she looks at him his face is lax, open to her and she touches his sweat soaked skin. She closes her eyes and curls towards him, listening to his breathing as it evens out.

There is a dull ache between her legs; a creeping coolness as the air moves past them but his hand is hot on her skin, breath warm across her face. When she opens her eyes Brendan is watching her, eyes bright and alive. She can read his hesitation, his failing courage as he opens his mouth to speak. He kisses her temple instead, smoothes the hair from her face.

Freya is nearly asleep, tired and full when she hears his voice rustle faintly through her thoughts.

I love you.