Author's Note: Disclaimers first – This story is just for amusement, I do not own any characters, Square Enix does own all things Final Fantasy; there is no intent of financial gain or profit whatsoever.

This story is a short alternate universe look about Lightning and Noel partnered together in a one-time classic heterosexual explicit erotica. No insult/upset intended for the fans of Noel/Serah romance, this is just a pairing that the requestor found highly interesting and the author found somewhat probable, as the question of 'Why did Lightning get the vision and sending of Noel to her vs. Serah?' was thrown down like the proverbial glove. (Although we'd all cheer if Serah came back and a big wedding scene took place, replete with hovering moogles, kupo.)

Please be kind enough to remember this is fairly explicit in nature, and does have some aspects of dominance/control issues present.

Who saves the Hero

Noel did as she asked, he protected her sister, but it was her, Lightning, that he was drawn to; he was born a hunter in tribe of nomads at the end of time, not a city man or an academian. Serah was pretty, so delicately lovely, so…protected; it made him want to protect her, but like a tiger carrying its cub around in its mouth, grooming and nudging her into kitten play to learn the hunt for food or to teach defense, but attraction? Never. Too pallid, too insipid in nature. She and other women in this time seemed oddly demure, childish and well…submissive. Besides, she was promised to a young rebel by the name of Snow, whom was her hero in all things, so there was no room for a young nomad, except as a friend and teacher.

He knew some men are caught up in and perhaps even devoted to the myth of the submissive woman. There were submissive women and men too, in the tribes, but he, Noel, never seemed quite comfortable with having to look out for every aspect of every need for someone, or taking the lead in all things all the time. Yuel had been a good balance; he guarded, he hunted, but he never had to teacher how to think for herself, and she had plenty of personal strength as a seeress. He remembered a conversation with Caius when he voiced his curiosity about Cauis and Yuel's relationship and Caius' answer: Why would a man desire a submissive woman? It is because a man who loves the weak is weak himself. A man who is secure in his masculinity would not feel threatened by a strong woman. A man who is uncertain about his worth belittles others so that he may feel as if he were strong. Only a man who is anxious to prove himself would treat women as if they were lesser beings. A strong woman in your life will dominate, lead and survive without your help; therefore, sharing the burden of leadership will be a shared joy, not a lonely road…and the passionate devotion between you will most assuredly NOT be one sided…

Lightning was a warrior with skills equal to his own; on his world, in his time, she was a far higher prize than any pretty girl. Unlike the others, he enjoyed her unconscious swagger, her abrupt demands, and felt perfectly comfortable with her commander's role. She never knew the beauty she possessed, which was not only equal to Serah's crystal tints, but cleaner, sleeker; he would mentally trace the soft bow of her lips, lushly sensual, when she forgot to hold them in the straight firm line of a commander. The silky roseate hair was like Serah's also, but she was careless of it, letting it knot and tangle freely in the wind, grow stiff with the blood and sweat of battle, or dull to apricot in the dusty landscapes of their hunts. Her body, oh Etro, that body drove him insane at first. He'd lost his heart and head the first day they met and was too direct; when he had the moment to express his feelings to her and declare his admiration in no uncertain terms, what had it gotten him? A soldier's refusal, prideful and full of prickly defenses.

He was somewhat puzzled by the outright rejection at first. He'd seen many puzzling behaviors in the people surrounding him now; however, he did not jump to any conclusions, knowing his lessons from nature: people can say anything they want, but behavior is everything.

Lightning was lithe and smoothly muscled, a killing machine wrapped up in a veil of sweet smooth ivory silk; he wanted to pit his strength against the hidden steel and challenge the warrior of the goddess; he thirsted to feel the fight in her, he wanted her to come at him with everything she had, meet her head on, no holds barred, and fight, scuffling, clawing, scratching, growling and screeching until one of them went down in the dust…and he wanted it to be her in the dust, with his knife against her pearly throat, hearing her gasp in defeat. He was determined to win.

He knew that was the only way to get through to her. She was mentally armored like a fortress, so strong, but with a fatal flaw that everyone else didn't see: She ignored her own feelings, she had locked them deep inside and thrown away the key. Why? How? He shrugged, now indifferent to the two verbs. He never asked himself that after that insightful glimpse into her so long ago; he had his answers, plainly written out by her actions and body language. It mattered not. All that mattered was freeing her soul, that inner landscape of the heart, even if it was just once. She was worth it. Who knew how deep her passion ran, or how tender her heart was underneath all that rock and steel; he grew heated at the thought of her gaze growing limpid and her soul flowering with sweet tenderness; he wanted so badly just to see her allow herself to feel something other than obedience and sacred duty.

He remembered her direct gaze, pure crystal blue ice, her beautiful face delicately flushing with repressed anger at the thought he'd even think about laying a hand on the servant of the goddess, a Valkyrie; she'd controlled her voice, low and sweetly ringing like the bells on Odin's bridle, but he could tell had she raised her shield with her reply:

I wouldn't spread my legs for you, even if you were the last man alive, Noel Kreiss.

I am the last man alive….was his direct, clever answer; he lazily held his eyes to hers a few seconds longer than necessary, his deep blue irids alight with an impudent admiration of her; then he turned away and did not look back. He didn't need to see her puzzled gaze follow him out the door, the pointed little cat chin quivering in curiosity; he knew exactly what she was thinking: Why would any man ask me that? They all want my sister, no one asks for…me. No one wants Lightning the Valkyrie of Etro, Lightning the warrior. No one wants a killing machine for a lover. Who would want me? And somewhere inside, some part of her answers: He does.

So, his hunt began. Like any good hunter, he pretended to ignore his prey as he observed its' habits: he took care to show no further sign of interest or desire, behaving like any warrior in training; he was up at dawn, tending to the mounts, practicing with his weapons, hunting for food and the hundred everyday tasks of working as a team. He simply would step out of the line of her sight and soon she forgot about him while engaged with her role as a leader going about her daily tasks while he watched her, mentally cataloging times, places, actions, the way she placed her knife in her left boot top, the twitch in her eyebrow before she lashed out with a lethal scissors kick, or the secret seconds of pleasure taken at water pouring into her hair after a grueling practice session.

He always ran hard and close to her when paired off to hunt for meat with her; he made every effort to blend with her movements seamlessly, taking his kills with such a savage efficiency she soon lost her unease with him, and began to trust him, even asked for him as partner in the hunt. She had obviously put aside his declaration as a rash inexperienced newcomer's gaffe and actually treated him as if he were another fellow warrior, skilled and clever enough to join her hunting without having to worry if he could handle himself or not . Of course he was the better hunter, she was a warrior first, but he kept his dominance at bay, letting her lead at all times. Her assumption of command never bothered him, he had no sense of manly pride as the current society knew it. He had been hard trained in survival first, so he had learned the lessons of being interdependent, cooperative and tolerant of others.

Finally, his opportunity to begin the chase appeared; the others were taking time to enjoy a festival, and she wanted no part of it; she planned a three day hunt at an oasis in the east, and he volunteered at the last moment, after pretending he had committed to a girl for company, but she had let the plans fall through. Everyone was relieved he had volunteered, as no one hunted alone, ever. The rule was always hunt in pairs or more, no matter what. So the rest of team ran laughing into the sunset towards the festival lights, leaving Lightning and Noel to pack.

It was a quiet evening, and he simply sat in the great room, sharpening his blades with precision, smiling at the keen edges on his great double sword and knife; for once, she directly addressed him, asking why he spent so much time on the task; he shrugged, then leaned over and drew her red shoulder drape off, throwing it up in the air; as it floated down, the silk billowing like a drift of blood, his sword flashed and ever so gently drew against the fabric like a caress. Stunned, she watched two pieces drop to the ground.

"I prefer a clean cut. Pulling a dull blade out costs me precious time. I nearly got my head taken off by a beast when my blade got stuck in a bone."

He arched an eyebrow and held out his hand; Lightning nodded trustingly, drew her own sword and handed it over to be sharpened. She silently nursed a single glass of intoxicant, poking at the fire while he carefully oiled and ground the steel against the whetstone; then he opened his hunt season on her.

Instead of handing the sword back, he approached her, her sword presented edge up over his arm, as if he were her honor page, a skosvienn to a Valkyrie of the goddess Etro and shamelessly knelt to her, carefully placing her sword back into its scabbard, his elegant hands caressing the blade like a woman as he slid it home. Nothing in his body language betrayed anything past total respect, but yet, it was clearly an intimate gesture. Lightning found herself somehow touched by his gesture; it was in a way gratifying, he had treated her sword like he was handling the weapon of Etro herself and she caught herself wondering what Etro would do, if presented with respectful admiration like this. She couldn't help herself, plus the liquor had loosened her reticence; she cautiously reached out, a hand shyly floating down on the glossy chestnut hair and hovering, light as a butterfly. It too, was a gesture of respect, but somehow an intimate gesture. Why did I do that? She wondered; I never touch men, especially after that time when…She hastily shut down the unpleasant memory, opening her eyes again at the man kneeling before her.

He stood and left her leaning in, breathing in his scent, an indefinable clean drift of masculinity underlaid with a hint of a warm woody amber. He used a resin from a desert bush, as all nomads did, adding it to the simple ketches of soap distributed to the household; he also prepared his body with oil, rubbing in a few handfuls after every shower and getting a healer's rubdown every week until his skin gleamed like bronze. It was a common practice with desert nomads, as water could be scarce and cleanliness was the mark of a civilized man; he remembered how handsome his father had looked on festival days, his wrapped pants in Bedouin white gauze, the golden bronze of his body competing with the golden brocades trimming his formal clothes as he walked next to the chieftain, his nobility a sudden surprise to his silently adoring son.

He disappeared on silent cat's feet into the darkness after firing that first disarming salvo. She stood in the firelight motionless, as the recent actions impressed themselves to memory. She felt herself unbend a fraction to Noel, and told herself to get him to talk about himself on the ride out.

She fell into sleep easily, as it had been a long day filled with minor squabbles and a stack of bills that took far too long to balance to the general coffer. The images of the day swirled and mixed in odd combinations as she moved to a deeper stage of sleep; Noel's deep blue eyes looking up at her dug into her unconscious and somehow, her mind added its own reaction, her hand reaching down, but placing two fingers under his chin, raising him to his feet, feeling herself smile at him, just like Serah would do with one of her swains. She fell into darkness saying to herself: How odd, I never noticed how tall he was, Serah, what do you do with men?...I don't know...I don't know…

Morning found them riding out at the crack of dawn, eager to get away from city life; she had forgotten her idle dreams last night; she was pleased to see Noel open up and talk about his nomadic tribal lifestyle and felt pleasantly friendly towards him.

They reached the oasis by midday and rested their mounts, cooling their fetlocks in the water of the wadi. After a short security check around the perimeter of the oasis, Noel immediately tracked several types of prey off the signs around the oasis and asked what she'd like to try for first. She wisely suggested the smaller beasts, as a large kill might attract unwelcome attention and the smell of the kill over a day would be too strong. Grinning he swung up and pointed northeast, then with a yip, broke into a gallop across the empty trek; she followed and within an hour, a straggling herd of small beasts wheeled as one under the hard blue of the desert sky; Noel and Lightning circled twice until a limping female fell behind; Lightning jumped from her saddle, sword in hand, ready to deal the killing stroke as Noel rode the struggling female down, herding her into a panicking run straight at her; she leaped up out of the way of the delicate spiraled horns and delivered a clean slice to the throat; the creature somersaulted to a stop, flopping in the dust as its blood pumped out staining the pallid tan of the desert sand a deep rusty red. She ran forward and sliced once more to ensure the creature died quickly. Noel came thundering up and they knelt in silence for a moment to honor Etro for the gift of life and the beast's bravery.

She went to work immediately, gutting the beast and soon was up to her elbows in raw meat, blood splashed on her face as she hacked through a joint big enough for a table of eight. Noel was almost dainty in comparison; his hunting knife flicked out, swiftly peeling hide back to expose the heavy extensor muscles of the lower back by the spinal column, cut two tendons and used the edge of his blade to loosen a tenderloin , wrapping it in a piece of the hide he had scraped free of fat. Only his hands became bloodstained and he scrubbed them off in the sand before clucking at his mount to kneel and remount with the package. Lightning scrubbed her hands free of blood also , cut a bunch of leaves off a bush and rode back with Noel, at ease and exhilarated at the hunt. He was less than exhilarated, it was a bit wasteful to leave so much behind, but he knew it'd attract a bigger predator tomorrow, which was what she really wanted to hunt. She built the fire up and set her joint to roast with the herb leaves she gathered and asked Noel if he could keep an eye on things while she cleaned the blood off herself. He would have loved to have joined her, but he decided to bide his time. She kindly brought him water to drink and wash his hands in later as she relaxed in her own version of desert clothes, minus armor. He had removed his armguard, and carefully paid attention to his cut of tenderloin, grilling it carefully at the edge of the coals. Soon he was slicing off bits of meat as it cooked on the hot stone with the tip of his hunting knife, his favorite method of eating, washing it down with his own steeped blend of tea leaves, which he carried with him everywhere in his saddle bag. Desert hospitality was a huge thing to him, so he always had tea and two cups. He was curiously mannerly compared to many men Lightning knew, which was something she grew slightly ashamed over; she had thought him more barbaric because he was from a nomad tribe. Now here, in the desert, he was mature, well spoken, and quite intelligent with an easy manner of a young man. He seemed almost feminine in handling his knife, twirling it in his long fingers, carefully drawing the blade through sizzling meat like it was cake, never dropping a piece as it travelled from the edge of the fire to his mouth as he almost daintily nipped bites off with a flash of white teeth between the full smooth lips.

She idly let her thoughts roam while watching his face while just as daintily slicing bits from her spit-roasted leg. Noel had grown on her and she was starting to feel curious about the young self-possessed hunter. In a rare move, she pulled a flask out from her saddlebag and held it out to him; he did not drink from the flask, as all others did, but poured a small draught of the liquor into his tea cup and slowly sipped it as she asked him about his nomad tribal customs; she caught herself fascinated by his speech, slightly accented and with a curious, almost formal turn of words at times; she wondered if he'd ever had a chance to play as a child, or have a girlfriend or boyfriend; he was certainly so handsome he was almost pretty; a straight brow, a delicate clean profile, a slim yet muscular body with an almost sweetly innocent face; his mouth was clean cut, the lips always seemed cool, always moist with fresh breath, well-shaped with scintillating curves that somehow seemed to say come taste me. She flushed at the sight of his tongue slipping out to lick a drop of the honey based liquor off the corner of the upper lip and frowned at herself for letting her mind wander down useless paths.

She took a rather large gulp and as soon as a break in the conversation came up, she stated that she was hitting the saddleroll and told him to help himself to the flask if he wished more.

He kicked out his own saddle roll laid back against it and smiled up at the stars, then slid into sleep himself. Tomorrow would be a long day and he needed all his strength for the task ahead.

Dawn broke sweet and clear, leaving Lightning well rested; she rolled and listened to the kynara greet the day, then turned on her side to look at the pretty wadi. Dragonflies flitted in the early light and her heart stopped: the wadi was occupied; a deep bronzed back sparkled with water drops as Noel's head shook out his wet hair. She hastily pressed her eyelids closed until she heard the splashing cease. A crystal blue aqua eye cautiously peeped open and relieved, she saw him partially dressed in his Bedouin wrapped pants, oiling his arms before donning the tight black shirt. Curious, she propped herself on one elbow and wondered what it felt like to be oiled; Serah had tried to get her to use her scented creams and lotions, but she usually smiled indulgently and promptly forgot about the jars and bottles.

The hunt was on early; they knew larger prey was in the area, the circling buzzards and hawks over the carcass they had left kept wheeling and scattering with regularity as they rode closer.

A honking squawk greeted them as they cautiously approached and birds scattered again as a smaller creature ran back into the north, smarting from a set of gashes in his side. The bigger one had asserted itself and was contentedly tearing and licking at the remains of the small kill yesterday; it snorted and snuffled warily as chewed, looking for anything that would encroach on its happenstance meal. Noel went into the undergrowth to the right and distracted the creature while Lightning positioned herself to attack. He whistled to keep the creatures' focus on him, but it took it as a signal for a trap, and had turned halfway by the time Lightning got to it; her stroke fell into a shoulder vs. the neck and the thick skin made the blade slow to pull out, so it was no surprise to see her yanked from her saddle. Now things had turned in favor of the creature.

Noel saw her hanging on her blade as the creature thrashed and bucked, bellowing in anger at being unable to reach the pain giver with its teeth or claws; he kicked his mount into a dead run and yipped at it in a command when he was close enough to strike; the mount veered hard left and he used the momentum to launch himself off the saddle; the double blade sang out and muffled when it hit the foreleg; he flipped on the way down and as he landed the tendon was cut; it stumbled feeling the first twinge of fear in its existence and roared in defiance. It shook Lightning off like a flea; she landed well, the blade also pushed out of the thick muscle with the creature's wild spasms. She was in a position for a perfect killing stroke to the neck artery and swung her blade back and up; it was torn out of her hands and out of nowhere, Noel's leg kicked her hard and she fell tumbling to the sand. A second later she felt the ground shake as the creature toppled over and smaller thud behind her. Totally enraged at having lost the kill she scrambled to her feet and screamed at Noel; kicking aside a massive claw buried mere feet from her she strode forward angrily to him, sliding off his lathered mount; they were both shaking and shuddering, the sword, her sword, clenched in his right hand, almost white against the leather cords. He reached up to clumsily pat it, murmuring loving praises of its bravery , then resting his head on its wither, he rolled his head to her, his face flooding with light as he was tenderly relieved she was alive; the eye blues widened in shock when a gloved hand backhanded him and delivering ringing slap on the return stroke. Lightning hissed: "What the hell do you think you were doing back there, Noel! Dammit, did you want the kill that badly you had to put my life in danger? You stupid son of a bitching backwater goatherder, did you see how close that claw came when it came down? I ought to beat the sense into your hide and hang you off that stinking carcass and let the buzzards pick at you, you little shit!"

She raised her fist to punch his lights out, slamming it home with all her strength, but was stopped like she had hit a brick wall; Noel's brows were snapped together as he growled back at her, pushed to his own limits: "Enough! You've already taken both cheeks before I had a chance to turn one!"

Resistance to discipline was one thing that Lightning never tolerated, so she simply went into an all out attack and before they both knew it, the mother of all fights began. They were well matched and Noel had studied well; Lightning found herself blocked more than a few times and put on the defensive more than she had expected. As the minutes passed, their inhibitions fell away until the fight evolved into a mess of thrashing arms and legs, interspersed with curses and yelps as they sought dominance over the other. Desperate, Noel tried an old nomad's trick and whistled for his mount; he jerked her shirt over her head and he scrambled, caught a stirrup and swung himself up; sharply wheeling his mount, he rode full speed to her as she contended with being blinded; he leaned off the saddle, looping a knee around the saddlehorn and pulled her up, throwing her across his saddle like a lamb. Her breath left her in a jolt and she laid there stunned, her body bouncing off the muscled withers as it turned back to the oasis.

She suddenly grinned as he made no move to hold her and feeling an upset victory near, she simply let herself slip off the saddle to fall to the ground, thinking she'd be free. However, this where the nomad sense of trickery had the upper hand; like any other nomad, Noel knew any prisoner would try to fall off the saddle, and being a well experienced rider like all nomads, he simply kicked his feet loose of stirrups and fell with her, landing on top of her and rolling like a crocodile in water to disorient his prey as to what was side up or down. He landed squarely on top of her and managed to pull her arms out and up, pinning them to the ground as he reared up, joints cracking with the effort. He came back down against her torso with an explosive whoof as she narrowly missed kneeing his groin; growling, he savagely kicked her legs out one at time and held them down with a foot on each ankle.

She lashed out with her tongue in a final defense: "Dammit Noel, I had the kill! Let me up! I'll give it to you if you want it that bad!"

"The hell you did! You forgot about the tail! Look!"

She rolled her head over and the severed tail section with stinger laid by the massive head, just as he said. Pissed he was right, she hotly protested: "I had it!" then seeing the unyielding glint in his eyes she simply gave in: "Ok. I give, The kill is yours. Now let me up. You win."

He did not comply.

They laid there in the dust, his body holding her down with all his strength as she panted in exhaustion; he kept his weight on her and only moved to prevent her escape until she ceased to struggle; he knew she still had fight left in her and captured her gaze with his own steady blue eyes to calm her. He did not become aggressive, but neither did he back down. He simply waited her out, his young virile body flexing and cording with each slight move, keeping her pinned down in the warm sand. All he had to was let his strength hold out until she realized there was no escape from him. He knew he had truly won, when her eyes melted into the limpid oasis of crystal aqua blue he had dreamed of.

The face she had kept hidden finally appeared; the firm line of her mouth softened, bowing onto its naturally lush lines, and no haughty commander looked out from her eyes as she breathed: "What more do you want? You have won."

"I want the greatest prize: You. Warm. Willing. No trick, no blade in my back in the dark. If you cannot yield with love, then simply submit…" He leaned to her ear, the softly accented voice lowered as he continued: "….but wait and see; for whatever I do… If it pleases you, it pleases me."

Outraged, she struggled mightily, testing the limits of his body strength more than once while cursing him, using every choice derogatory word she had known, then frustrated, silently glared at him; she sank her teeth in his arm as he picked her up after had her wrists and ankles bound in a hunter's slipknot; he hissed but did not punish her, though he'd been tempted to swat her after the nasty kick to his chest when the boots came off. He whistled and clicked in a distinctive pattern at his mount; it knelt and he climbed in the saddle, with her held against him until they reached the oasis.

He spoke again after they'd dismounted: "So. What's your answer? I won. Do you yield? Or submit?"

"Neither, Noel."

"Just like you to want the impossible. There is no third alternative and Etro knows it. Think of how you're going to look draped over my saddle tomorrow when we return to the city. And I'm riding straight to temple to claim breach of word." He smugly shot back at her. "I'll respect a change of heart, let me know later." He laid back in the shade and luxuriously stretched for a nap. Lightning laid on the sand and flipped, rolled and struggled against her bound wrists and ankles trying everything she knew to break free. She laid there after a while, disgusted, sandy, mouth dry and hot from lying in the scorching sun. Simply put, she was out of luck. The idea of her word being questioned by the temple didn't appeal at all, it meant everyone would know she'd be bested by a nomad boy and worse, probably meant having to give him what he wanted…with a temple witness.

Sighing, she rolled on her back and said: "Noel?"

A blue eye opened and looked over: "Hmm?"

"Submit."

Noel rolled onto an elbow and looked at her, then commented: "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? I loved the fight in your eyes when I first saw you and I love it now. But you've been so busy saving the world, you forgot to save yourself. Who saves the hero?…Lightning…Claire?"

How'd you know my name? She thought, shocked into silence at his words. She was too bemused to resist as he pulled her to her feet and picked her up to walk to the wadi and start the hunt for her pleasure in earnest.

He reached the edge of the wadi, laying her on the damp sand to undress her; she struggled somewhat, blushing as she was divested of armor and fabric, until she was entirely in the nude. He stood up and eyes wide, she watched him pull off the tight black shirt with its nomadic designs , exposing the well-built torso, rippling with far more muscle than she had imagined. Shoes were kicked off, armor, weapons, and the tribal wrapped pants dropped to the sand, exposing a lithe body, well browned to the sun; not being in a crowded society, he had to hunt without clothes many times, thorns came out easier from skin than fabric; so he was a sumptuous sight; the wrapped leather cord on his right forearm remained in place, which somehow looked sexy as hell on him. She swallowed nervously as she glimpsed his sleeping sex nestled between his legs, the skin neatly shaven clean; it surprised her that he wasn't erect and throwing himself on top of her to rape her, which is what she thought he meant when she had heard the word submit. But oh no, she was wrong. It was worse. He clearly was out to take his time, anticipating a leisurely approach to collecting his prize. Puzzled, she simply observed as he started by throwing a wooden ketch of soap in the wadi and laying out a comb, towel and oil by his saddleroll.

He kicked his saddle roll open and a surprising bed bloomed open: a soft pallet of fur, a patchwork of russets, tans, brindles and blacks expanded and waved in the soft desert air.

He picked her up again and waded into the warm water, slowly placing her bound wrists behind his neck, pausing to pour the water over them to cleanse them of the dust and sweat of the battle; he gently lathered a handful of the soap and began to wash her hair with it; the fingers on her scalp undid her and she laid still letting herself drift in the water and let the warm brown hands tend to her as she tried to not squirm or resist. She tried to block out the sensations of being handled intimately by a stranger's hands so she relived the last memory of her father, carefully bathing her just like this, loving, kind, strong. It was sinfully wrong to allow someone else tend to her body at an adult age, but it at the same time it was an intense seduction that cut through years of isolation from human touch; it felt so good to let the hands unknot her shoulders, heal the scrapes and scratches from the hunt, caress her back with fluffy soap suds, and pour water over her like an offering. Noel caught her smiling as the warm water cascaded over her scalp and felt Etro was smiling on him, approving of him. He knew he was right now. She had been shut away too long with the memory of unkind hands.

He sat her on a sunlit boulder to dry a bit as he washed himself, ducking his head under to rinse the glossy chestnut hair of soap suds. She felt unsure, more than a little afraid and curious of what was really going to happen next. She didn't understand why he was being so gentle and why he was prolonging the intimacy. What little experience she had had was quick, violent and harshly degrading. The only gentleness she had was with her dead parents and Serah. She was like a virgin, with no experience to guide her; she'd not had a serious suitor or a lover in her army days and even before, as boys were invariably attracted to her little sister, a real beauty.

But then, so was he a virgin. He'd never consummated a sexual act with anyone before; if you were old enough for that, you were old enough to train and help the tribe survive. Survival was paramount, sexual pleasure was seldom regarded as anything more than luxury; yes, he had kissed, been exposed to glimpses of the clumsily tender yet touching scenes of the sexual act between men and women or same sex couples; however, being in nature every day, there was a world of sexual behavior to teach him. He had spent years studying the behavior of animals, so he knew exactly what to do; all he needed was the desire for someone, which he now had in plenty for her.

She found herself looping her wrists behind his neck, allowing herself to be carried out of the wadi, but carefully kept her eyes focused over his shoulder as he carried her back to the lush saddleroll; she almost gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of soft fur sending thousands of fingers of pleasure to her skin; when she finally got somewhat used to the feel of the bedroll, she looked over and turned deep red in embarrassment and looked away hastily; Noel had been oiling his skin, chestnut hair flopping over one eye as the skin shimmered invitingly , begging to be touched. She flinched as hands touched her damp hair, then poured oil over, and patiently worked tangles free with the comb; the hands didn't stop there, and slowly began to oil her ivory skin, now turning a pale gold from the exposure to the sun this long day. He slowly explored her body, laying her out on the bedroll by inches , creating delicate earthquakes of pleasure that threatened her self-imposed walls; no one had ever sought to touch her so; her flinches and taut stance slowly relaxed as she started to see clearly he wanted intimacy, but not as crudely or roughly as she had known.

But a new set of troubles invaded her; there were places she was far more tender than a man, and a thousand memories of army recruits all describing their exploits rose to mind; one voice in particular rasping with excitement at all the painful things he was going to do to her slid in and she began to sweat at the memory of the promise of pain. The thought of sexual intimacy began to frighten her deeply and she shook, looking away from him as he paused, concerned. Then he went on and never stopped after that point; he knew what was happening – it was like taming a gazelle or a horse to the hand; fear of the predator was built into the reflex system, and somewhere, somehow, she had learned to equate a man's hand to a predator's hand; yes, he was a hunter, and he was hunting her, but it was her pleasure he was chasing, not pain.

He took her hands, led them on a trip around his body, rubbing his cheek against her palms and exaggerated his pleasure at the soft feel of her skin on his, then encouraged them to roam freely, until she understood he also enjoyed a gentle touch. After a while, he playfully shook her hands from his hair, and started to run appreciative fingers over her oiled skin, carefully letting her know he enjoyed what he felt…very much. The touches slowly became gently insistent, brushing sensitive areas of soft skin on her inner arm; behind a knee; the spot just below her sacral dimples. He gently drew her down to lay back on the fur, drawing fingertips across her torso downwards to her flat belly and below; she began to softly sob out loud of all things, squeezing her eyes tight against the sight of that steady blue gaze filled with desire. A rape she understood. This slow intrusion into her personal space was undoing her a bit at a time.

She heard his voice quietly tell her: "Yes. Cry. Let it out, beautiful one. No one will hear you. Painful to live in such fear, isn't it? Go ahead. Let it out. Let go. Cry. Yell. Scream. - All you want. There is no one to hear you." I want to hear you scream…but with pleasure, not pain. Tears burst from her eyelids as he dropped the first soft kiss on her shoulder, leaving it burning as she drowned in shame and fear of the unknown.

Her body began to behave quite contrary to her will, goose bumps rippling across the soft ivory expanse as a caressing hand swept her hair off the back of her neck; then her world tilted out of control as he savagely bit deep and began to suck like a wolf he had once seen with a reluctant mate; it had kept its fangs delicately poised to break the skin, but never did during the entire mating play. She gasped and a soft wordless cry escaped her as he marked her as his own, fiercely sucking the sweet skin for long moments until she shuddered; her body had responded with a wave of hot excitement that she tried to quell with ice cool thoughts, but that point of wet skin sent an electric current of desire straight to her core, where a dark flower of sexual tension began to bloom. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed, trying shake off the strong white teeth and warm wet mouth blowing her mind with hot desire for…more. He finally stopped, hands now stroking sweet breasts hanging like ripe fruit, palming a hip, tenderly brushing thighs as he slid a palm in between, then two fingers slowly following, thoroughly pressing and pulling between the softest skin, now wet from the slow pour of sweet honey her excited body gave away, eager to share its secret gifts to the warm pleasure giving hands. Noel curiously extended a deep pink tongue and flicked the tiniest taste off a dripping finger. The pheromones hit him hard, and very satisfied with the way his efforts had succeeded, he went back for more. The two fingers softly began to move in smooth circles, moving around slightly until she bucked against his hand and tried to jerk away. He persistently, deliberately sought that sensitive spot again and again, as she begged him to stop, it was too much. He only said no, and kept going, softly calling her pet names, his beauty, his sweet honey, then ever so gently, slid the two fingers in and began to work them in small circles. The feeling of being filled was somehow exquisite and when joined by a second hand gently working her, she simply lost the fight to control her body and buried her head in the hollow of his shoulder to keen through her tears as the body delighted in a deep apex of pleasure.

He felt his own body responding, but held it down with an iron will; tonight was about her, getting through to her very heart and soul, not just a moment of play. He knew he'd no longer be a virgin after tonight, but he had all night to take his own prize. He rewarded her with pulling her even closer, purring his pleasure with scorching passionate words of praise at her beautiful release as she panted against him, gulping her tears down. He raised her chin and tenderly kissed her; she no longer resisted his lips, and he sweetly kissed her everywhere, even teasing her breasts into pink crests, taking inspiration from a stolen look through a nomad's tent on a moonlit night, until he felt his sex springing against his leg, hard and ready. He split his legs out and kneeled over her legs still tied at the ankles, looking down on her with admiration before carefully introducing himself into her; she thrashed a bit at first, but as he made it past the first couple of inches, she stopped, her face clearly incredulous at her body accepting his; he wasn't hung like a desert stallion, but he sure as hell wasn't a boy, either.

He knew at that moment he was all man now, and had the power to please, to love a woman, and this woman, especially. He paused so she could accept he was buried in her before moving; a flash of memory of watching that desert stallion lose a prize mare, going down on her knees and shaking the mating attempt off during his mindless nonstop onslaught warned him, so he let himself throb against the sweet hot trap of silky wetness until he felt her relax against the hard burning flesh. He kept the pace easy, gentle, always looking at her to signal acceptance before changing rhythm or pace. She forgot her bound ankles, her fear lessened and she slowly grew to enjoy the primal pleasure of the deep warmth and soon was thrusting her hips in time with his, her face softening, unconsciously begging more; eyes reached out to touch him now, slowly tracing veins in the corded biceps and forearms, along a rippling lean flank , up to his face, wickedly innocent, now filling with the confidence of a man; why hadn't she noticed how handsome his face was before? How tender the expression in his eyes was? Or how perfectly built his body was, wide flat shoulders tapering to an absurdly slim waist, core muscles clearly sculpted , long limbs, not heavily built, but slim, built for speed as well as strength. Was this really a boy a full three years younger than herself? What the hell was happening here in this deserted landscape, it was too much to bear, this heat, this incredible soaring feeling coming from the body of a young hunter not even old enough to grow a beard; he dropped closer on his elbows, his leather wrapped hand pressing against her cheek as he intently took in her excitement; she was vaguely aware of his own excitement, feeling a deep throb pulsing in her and the limpid tenderness in the ocean of his eyes. The singing pressure in her mounted, then started to crack as lips laid on hers; a tongue deliberately traced her upper lip and teeth gently nipped at her full lower lip to open up; it was no sloppy boy's kiss and he led the way he wanted it to go with another purr in the back of his throat, imitating nature, spurred on by time he'd seen a pair of jaguars mate, the male constantly purring as they swatted and played in the undergrowth. He'd been so aroused, he'd spontaneously climaxed watching. The easy rock of his hips now segued into a heavy roll and grind into her as a blind white heat crept up from his groin to his brain; searing pain jolted him from peaking as she tore her mouth away from his and buried her teeth into his shoulder, attempting to muffle her cries as she rose to a lightning flash of climax.

Knew you could scream he smiled to himself; now, my little honey bee, let's give you some more nectar until you are drunk and that desert of your heart blooms.

He pulled back upright and slowly pulled out of her as she laid there, breathing deeply, trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart. It was after dark, and he knew a fire needed to be started. He lit the kindling in the circle and flopped back on the fur pallet by her, propped up on one elbow as he drank off a cup of water, then held the cup to her mouth to also drink. Her strawberry ice hair was mussed, her face tear streaked, but he didn't care; she was glorious and she was his, tonight...until dawn.

He tenderly kissed her eyelids, wiped her face clear of tears and lay back, watching the stars slowly move across the night sky. He idly stroked her hair as her ragged breath evened out and the trembling stopped; he knew he had not hurt her, but asked if she was hurt anyway and she shook her head; a few minutes later she shyly asked if his shoulder hurt and brought her bound hands up to touch it, as if to soothe its hurt. He briefly smiled and told her not so much now, but he had a deeper ache elsewhere. She looked at him puzzled, and it dawned on her what he'd meant. She faintly said: "You mean, I…this didn't please you?" and looked away to hide a prickle of tears. He rolled on her and took her face in his hands before telling her: "By Etro, you please. You are like nothing I've ever seen, it is …heavenly. It is…I…who am your servant. No one has worshipped at your altar, little goddess, so tonight my needs are put aside for yours….remember? If it pleases you, it pleases me. "

Aroused again, he kissed her deeply, not holding back anything and gave her pleasure twice more that night, first throwing her legs over a shoulder as he pressed into her deeply. She had tried to hide her face behind her hands, thinking her aroused expression would disgust him, but he tore them away and held them over her head, begging her to keep looking at him and together they somehow ended up falling into the stars of each other's eyes; she finally had the courage to gasp the word more and he spun her onto her knees the second time, pulling her hips to his and he rode her at a fierce gallop then slowed to a insanely provocative grind as she finally was thrown off into the stars; he reached his own version of physical nirvana with a sweet ache of tenderness as she fell back to him and together they collapsed on the fur pallet fiercely nestling into each other as they drifted to sleep, softly laughing. As he hazed into a soft blackness he sleepily whispered love you, little goddess and felt a shy wild kiss given in return.

In the dawn rosy rays illuminating her tangled hair with tourmaline highlights, she awoke in the shade of the trees by the wadi. Her mount was idly munching grass, the campfire was smoking ash and a lone kynara whistled its sweet morning hymn of Ka-reeet! Ka-reet! in the desert dawn. Puzzled she looked around for her masterful opponent, but there was no Noel; no mount, no double sword stuck in the sand there, by the saddle roll; even the luxurious fur pallet was gone, replaced by her own thick pad. A bundle hung from the tree, her kill neatly blooded and wrapped in hide. It was if Noel Kreiss had never been.

Etro, what did I dream? Was I mad? Was it a vision?

She looked down, her limbs were free, she was nude, but her clothes and armor were neatly piled by her side, her sword in her usual place above the head of her saddle roll. She lifted an arm, no bruises, no scratch from his nails on the forearm that had dug in during a throw yesterday; she sniffed, no scent of the myrrh in the soap drifted up, just …her…and desert dust.

As she rode at a gallop on the long dusty sandy trek back to the city, and it was nearly sunset when she realized that Noel Kriess had been clever as Odysseus, she hadn't opened her legs at all to the last man alive…yet...something happened. She began to softly smile, then as a sense of joy at being loved for herself invaded her interior desert, bubbling with a clear rush like flowing water, she laughed again, a clear ring of crystal bells resounding straight to Valhalla and Etro's ears.

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