And there it is.
The feeling she has worked so hard to avoid. It comes rushing at her, seemingly filling every crevice from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, a sudden burst of pleasure that warms her guarded heart and causes her stomach to dance just the tiniest bit. Every time, despite all of her effort to shut herself away, there are moments in which it somehow manages to catch her, open and vulnerable, and she is helpless to do anything but succumb. It's altogether wonderful, fantastical, and sometimes, almost magical.
It scares the hell out of her.
She has no right to be on the receiving end of something such as this. As a child, she sat at her mother's knee, fascinated as tales were woven, seemingly from thin air, of far away lands and legendary romances. After her mother's death, in her dreams, she would place herself as the protagonist of these stories, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the promised prince who would take her far away from the home that had become nothing more than a gilded prison. With age came reason, and like her mother, those dreams soon died away and were replaced with dreams of a legendary life instead of love.
And yet, there it is.
Asleep next to her, is the manifestation of her childhood dreams that were diminished by one word by her father. No. he is not what she dreamed of. He is ten, a hundred times better than anything she could have ever wanted, than anything she ever deserves. The sandy color of his hair is highlighted by a stray beam of borrowed moonlight and a soft snore escapes from his lips, causing her to chuckle lightly and she suddenly has a strange urge to brush her fingers over his brow. Giving in to temptation, she follows through with the impulse, her heart racing at the feel of his skin under her fingertips. She had been scared, so scared, that she would never see him like this again, so very much himself, alive, and human, that she had very nearly collapsed from relief when her efforts had brought success.
How much trust he had placed in her. She had almost cost him his life once, taking his humanity for the sake of saving him, fearing that this might only end in reverse : returning his human form, only to steal his life in the process. If it had been up to her, she would have left well enough alone. He may not have been what she had once known him as, but he was there, alive in at least some form and that had been enough for her. It was only after extensive probing on his part and hours of delay on hers that she had swallowed her fears and, for once, put his wishes above her own.
Unbidden tears had nearly fallen when he stood before her again, fully whole once more. Elated, he had opened his arms to her and she had stepped into them without a moment's hesitation, overjoyed to finally touch his human skin, her ear pressed to his chest to hear the beat of his human heart where once only silence was. Never one to waste time, she immediately surrendered to the sweet seduction of his hands on her waist and his lips claiming hers with a ferocity she had never seen in him before. Time seemed to suddenly cease, moments blending into one another until it was nearly impossible to tell whether or not this was even real. His hands, warm like a summer day, drifted over her skin, caressing her cheek, her shoulder, her hip, lower. They memorized her body teasing, tempting, and awakening incredible sensations, new and familiar, but all very welcome. His lips, sweet like the fruit of late spring, soon followed the same path, returning every now and again to taste her again, as though it would never be enough.
Perhaps it never would. Their lovemaking that night was almost desperate. She had kissed him too fiercely, had held him too tight, terrified that she might awaken from this wonderful dream, only to find herself alone. He had sensed her need and given himself over to her, a source of assurance that, yes, this was real. He was real and he would die before he would let the cruel hand of fate separate them again. That night, he put aside his own needs, giving pleasure instead of taking it, and he tried to show her with his words, his lips, his body, that she was his world because he loved her that much and because he knew she needed to hear it. She had sensed this and only loved him more for it. In the throes of passion, she buried her head in the crook of his neck and shed tears of unbelief that someone like him could love someone such as her. If he had noticed, he never said. She hopes he didn't, for then she would longer be the mysterious enigma in his eyes, but simply a woman.
And there it is.
That same fear that creeps into her heart every time she allows herself the smallest bit of happiness. From the moment it began, she has known that their love affair was something that was far to good to be true. It was too perfect. He was too perfect. Here was someone she could talk with for hours upon end and never tire. When the words ceased, his love for her did not. Even when he wasn't able to love her physically, he was always there to make her laugh or hold her at night as she slept, while he lie awake. As she gazes upon him now, lost in the land of dreams for the first time in months, she realizes how badly she wants to let go. She envies him, the way he approaches love with the same vitality as life: uninhibited and unafraid. She wishes she were not afraid to show affection, rather that she could trust enough to let herself show him that he cared because she does and she knows she does not tell him near enough and she knows he needs to hear it as much as she does.
And there it is.
Desire courses through her veins, not for the man sleeping beside her, rather the soul-bending need to love him as he deserves instead of a love tainted from fear. She knows it will not be easy. There has always been a fear that held her back from loving him completely. She knows he deserves better, but is perhaps too selfish to let him go. He is so full of life, a rose in ful bloom and she often feels like nothing more than a thorn in his side, stubbornly hanging on when she would be better cast aside. She knows she is too cautious, too sharp, too wild for him and yet he loves her fully, never once asking her to change a hair on her head. She looks down at him and wonders if it is time to take a chance. To put aside all of her anxieties, fear, and worries and begin a new life him. If she dared her heart and let him in, to lay herself bare before him, would he still accept her, still want her as he had before?
"Fae?" his voice, thick from sleep, calls her out her thoughts. "What are you doing?"
'Just thinking," she replies.
He chuckles. "Go to sleep, sweetheart." Pulling her down beside him, he places a kiss to her forehead and wraps her into a tight embrace. "There'll be plenty of time for thought in the morning."
His eyes drift close again, but his embrace never loosens. She lies awake beside him, staring into his handsome face, still in wonder, and yet the feel of his arms around her tell her all she needs to know.
Well, there it is then.
She finally closes her own eyes, a final thought escaping her mind before surrendering completely to the call of sleep.
Fiyero,…I love you.