show me your love, your love, give me more but it's not enough
show me your love, your love, before the world catches up
'cause there's always time for second guesses i don't wanna know
if you're gonna be the death of me, that's how i wanna go
(collar full)

Zaveid's already said a few too many farewells for his tastes… so when Lailah vanishes the night they leave Lastonbell for Elysia, it's all he can do to let her have her space.

It's probably nothing big, if he's being honest. Most likely, she's just gone off to be alone with her thoughts again, since Sorey's given them all something to think about. Still, Zaveid gets uneasy in her absence. Paranoid, even. She's the only one who's ever said outright that she doesn't hate him, after all—and he still can't figure out why. She's got much more of a right to hate him than, say, Edna.

But thinking about his potential unpopularity right now isn't going to make him feel any better, so Zaveid resigns himself to biding his time inside Sorey. This seventeen-year-old Shepherd is the only human vessel he's ever had… and the only one he ever intends to have. Maybe it's just a wind seraph thing, but it feels too claustrophobic for his tastes. Better Siegfried, like the old days, and like the days to come.

…By now, it's been at least an hour, and he's waited for her long enough. Silently, so as not to disturb anyone, Zaveid emerges from the Shepherd and sets out through Volgran Forest in search of his Prime Lord. In his head, he knows better than to think she's run out on them, but he can still feel the familiar sliver of anxiety lodged in his heart. Everyone else leaves him in the end; call it an inevitability. That's how he learned to leave first.

Zaveid stops short as he finds Lailah staring up at the night sky, standing in a clearing mostly taken up by an enormous tree stump. She's lost in thought, from the looks of things… but not so lost that she doesn't notice him. As soon as he comes to a halt, she looks up and pins him to the nearest tree with those piercing sea-green eyes.

But there's more alarm and sadness than anger or fear. There's only one thing she could be thinking about, with an expression like that; Zaveid would be lying if he said the idea of Sorey's sacrifice didn't weigh pretty heavily on him, too. It may be for the best, but that doesn't make it right.

"So, what's the verdict?" he asks hoarsely, clearing his throat.

There's a brief pause before Lailah responds, softly enough that he has to pace forward to catch it. "There's no verdict, as such," she tells him, and though she's plainly unhappy, her voice sounds certain enough. "This is Sorey's decision, so I'll let him do it." She lets out a long and lingering sigh, shaking her head, and her voice lowers still further. "I'll see him again. We all will."

Zaveid winces sympathetically at her obvious self-doubt. He can see she's trying to convince herself; he knows that tone all too well. "But you still can't sleep?" he asks tentatively. He's pretty sure if she could, she'd be back in her vessel and lecturing him on the certain evils of staying up too late… but one can never be too sure with creatures of the female persuasion. Better just to ask.

"No," admits Lailah, sounding as though she wants to ask him something. Zaveid can practically hear her question: why are you here? And, truth be told, he's not sure he has a ready answer. He's sure that if he told her he's worried about her, to the point of being scared to lose her, she wouldn't believe him. Not after everything he's put her through.

That said, there's something he'd still like to suggest, and it might even answer her unspoken question. Zaveid grins at Lailah, somewhat more hesitantly than usual: "You know there's a cure for that," he says, testing the waters with a little flirtation. Her reaction, he thinks, will decide whether he's allowed to press his luck further or not.

"Zaveid!" exclaims Lailah, turning red—but she does not make any effort to get him to leave, so he allows himself a more genuine smile. That's something of an improvement from the last time he stumbled into her solitude. "I-is now the time?"

If that's her most prominent complaint, or at least the first one that comes to mind, maybe this idea isn't so hopeless after all. "Hey, you're the Prime Lord," shrugs Zaveid, making an effort to sound as uninvested as usual. "You call the shots. I'm just here to do as you command and offer my services." He ventures a suggestive wink in Lailah's direction, and is rewarded with a furious blush.

She turns quickly away as if unable to look at him any longer, though Zaveid can see her glance at him out the corner of her eye. So far, so good. "And if I told you to leave…?" she asks, but he can tell she's not actually asking him to go. She just wants an assurance that he's not forcing himself on her.

That, at least, he can give. "Then I'd go," responds Zaveid simply. "No question." He stretches and swaggers forward, pausing briefly as Lailah takes an automatic step back, but she stands her ground as he dares to approach once more. "But see," he adds in a whisper as he arrives next to her, raising a conspiratorial hand to the side of his mouth, "I don't think you're gonna send me away."

"Wh-what makes you say that?" asks Lailah, her voice taut not in anxiety but rather in excitement; she's trying to mask it under suspicion, realizes Zaveid, but her usual serene veil is slipping.

He smiles in an odd mixture of triumph and relief. "Well, it's been a few centuries, hasn't it?" asks Zaveid, crossing his arms and staring her down. Not that he ever anticipated seeing her again after last time, but now that they were in the same place at the same time, he wasn't complaining; she was as lovely as ever, after all. "Figured you might appreciate the chance to… catch up a little." His smile widens. "I know I would."

He almost flinches as Lailah raises her voice; even though she's probably not speaking any more loudly than usual, it's a bit of a shift from the tone of the rest of their conversation. (Not to mention, his hearing has always been exceptional to begin with, thanks to his natural element.) "Excuse me, I don't much approve of your way of catching up!" exclaims Lailah.

Zaveid quirks an eyebrow at the unmistakable defensiveness in her tone. This is not born of anger, he thinks—or at least, not anger directed at him. "Really?" he asks, a smile playing about his lips as he regains his confidence. "Coulda fooled me, the way I had you mewling last time. Unless you've forgotten already," he adds even as Lailah shivers, "in which case, that's even more of a reason to give you a refresher."

"I…" begins Lailah, then swallows, moistening her lips as she attempts to regain her composure. "I…" she tries again, more vehemently at first… but falters, her brow twitching into a frown. Zaveid studies her face carefully, his smile vanishing gradually as he recognizes her inner struggle—how unbearably deep this conflict goes.

"Are you… afraid of me, Lailah?" asks Zaveid eventually, coming as close to the heart of the matter as he can. As persistent as he knows he can be, he really doesn't like pressuring people. If she's not interested…

Lailah jerks her head up to face him, evidently startled, and searches his eyes—all embarrassment apparently forgotten in her astonishment. "No," she tells him, and though she seems surprised, she's also sincere. "Why do you ask?" she adds more curiously, tilting her head.

Zaveid sighs. He guesses it's a little ironic that he should ask a question like that when he's about as nervous as she is, albeit for different reasons. "Look, Lailah, I don't really do guessing games," he tells her. "If you don't want me, just say the word, and I'll leave."

As he shifts in place as if to make good on his word, Lailah rests her hand suddenly on his forearm, and he resists the urge to yank his arm away. He can count the times she's initiated physical contact on one hand; what is she doing? "I—I never said that," she tells him, a peculiar undercurrent like desperation in her voice, and she does not meet his eyes.

"Oh?" asks Zaveid, as she withdraws her hand slowly.

Closing her eyes, Lailah takes a deep breath. "I-it's just that…" she begins, then lets out a long exhalation, shaking her head. "You have a habit of propositioning me at the worst times," she adds almost accusatorily, looking up at him again, and Zaveid almost grimaces as he remembers her outburst of several weeks ago. If you're suggesting that I make love to you over Dezel's grave…

"Well, when should I proposition you?" asks Zaveid, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows; Lailah purses her rose-petal lips, but does not answer immediately. "We might die any day now, and I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have any regrets when I go." Just like he said earlier tonight.

"Zaveid," responds Lailah reproachfully, stamping her foot, and her voice is edged with a frustrated sigh. "Don't say things like that. I know it's true," adds Lailah almost impatiently, as Zaveid opens his mouth. "But even if I did decide to take you up on your… offer, there's our group dynamic to consider," she continues. "I'd rather not make any drastic changes until after everything else is resolved."

Zaveid's eyes widen. She'd better not get it into her head that this suggestion is born of romantic feelings, or he'll turn into the bad guy again. "What's this about 'drastic'?" he returns. "I'm still not looking for anything serious, you know," he tells her, gazing into her eyes; it's important, now more than ever, that she understands. "I can fan the flames for a little while, but you'd burn yourself out trying to keep up with me."

"Or I'd consume you," responds Lailah swiftly, narrowing her eyes.

"I could live with that," shoots back Zaveid. "It's you I'm worried about." There, he said it: he worries about her. Far more than he should, since—what is he to her, in human terms? Less than an ex. The one that got away. Even an adversary. He doesn't know what started this, but damn it, he cares. Not to the point of love, since he doesn't think he can love anybody anymore; but he definitely cares on an emotional level.

"You're… worried about me?" asks Lailah, blinking a few times rapidly. Maybe she thinks nobody worries about her, realizes Zaveid, just like he thinks everybody hates him. Maybe no one else thinks it needs to be said, so they just don't reassure them.

"Of course I am," he says, drawing himself out of his thoughts with an effort. "Always trying to hold everyone else together all the time, at any cost to yourself?" He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know how you do it; that'd drive me to malevolence. So yeah, I worry."

"Zaveid," says Lailah simply, smiling coyly—tracing circles in the grass with a dainty foot.

Oh no. "Hey now, don't get the wrong idea here," Zaveid tells her, holding up his hands. "I'm just saying I… care about you, all right?" he continues cautiously. If she assumes this is the L word, he'll have to leave before the attached strings choke him. "Not just about the Shepherd and his mission, or my Prime Lord and the elemental powers. You."

Lailah finally looks up at him again, eyes shining and cheeks flushed. This is the same Lailah that looked at him like that hundreds of years ago, he thinks fleetingly. "Thank you, truly," she murmurs, and her eyes acquire a more determined sheen as she continues: "I—I care about you too, Zaveid."

He actually stares at her for a second as he takes in the meaning of her words. Not only does she not hate him, but she actually cares? It's enough that Zaveid almost wants to jump the gun and kiss her, but he clears his throat instead. "Good to know," he responds, his voice almost cracking out of sheer relief. "Sometimes I wonder."

"To answer your earlier question more completely—no, I'm not afraid of you," confesses Lailah quietly, directing her gaze intently at the ground. "But I'm afraid of us. I get… attached," she continues, more and more visibly reluctant. "You know that. And if this arrangement is only for a single night, like last time…" She trails off, worry glimmering in her eyes.

Zaveid presses his lips together briefly. What can he say to ease her mind…? "Things have changed since last time," he replies eventually. "We're traveling together, for one, which means I couldn't just up and off in the morning, even if I wanted to. The point is," he adds hastily as Lailah glares at him sharply, "I only said I didn't want a relationship. Meaning, I'm not cut out to be exclusive, no matter how many times I come back."

"O-oh," is Lailah's only, crestfallen response.

Zaveid sighs in the awkward pause that follows. "That… really didn't help my case, did it," he mumbles, adjusting Dezel's hat on his head for lack of anything else to do with himself. He should have chosen his words just a little more carefully, first of all; he'd meant it as a reassurance, but he made it sound like he was trapped. Damn it…

Lailah only takes another deep breath. "I'm just afraid that if I accept you, especially if you're going to repeat it, I'll end up trying to make you stay," she explains, and though her voice is flat, her eyes are almost desperate as they meet his. "Again. And if we share a vessel, as you observed, we won't have an escape if things don't work out, and…"

"Hey, hey," remarks Zaveid, cutting her off before she can catastrophize any further. "Relax," he adds, daring to reach out and rest his hand on her shoulder. "It's not that complicated." Lailah fixes him with a disbelieving stare, but does not shy away from his hand. "Really, it's not," he continues. "Just try not to let the what-ifs ruin what you know you want, or you'll never let yourself find happiness."

Lailah scowls and inhales as if to protest, to say something about how she can't just stop thinking about the future—but Zaveid doesn't want to hear it, and presses a finger lightly to her lips before she can part them to speak. "You know I care about you, so I'm never gonna hurt you on purpose," he points out, as her eyes widen. "And you might not be able to make me stay, but that's no more your fault now than it was then. Meaning, it's not," he clarifies. "Now, ask yourself: is that really worth denying yourself this moment?"

Zaveid withdraws his finger to let her speak, though keeps his heavy hand on her shoulder. "I…" says Lailah uncertainly, the syllable trailing off into a sibilant sigh, and she stares fixedly at the ground. The silence stretches on for what might be minutes, and Zaveid's hand slips from her shoulder within the first few seconds.

After a long while, he comes to wonder with some apprehension whether Lailah is waiting for him to leave. Well, it was worth a shot, he thinks ruefully; if she's not in the mood, then she's not in the mood. At least he learned that she actively cares; that's much better than nothing…

"It's fine if you need some time to think," sighs Zaveid finally, running his fingers through his hair. Lailah glances up at him again in his peripheral vision, but he doesn't dare look at her to discern her expression. "I just thought I'd put it out there—!"

He registers Lailah's fingers curl around his wrist with surprising strength, and he expects to be pulled off balance, so he catches himself when he staggers… but her passionate kiss surprises him, at least in the few moments before his eyes close and his thoughts shut down. All that matters anymore is Lailah and her perfect lips, her perfect body, her perfect oathbound soul, much too perfect for a sinner like Zaveid—

By the time they break away, Lailah's flung her arms about his neck, and his are around her waist… but more importantly, she's pressed up against him with eyes begging for more. "That's more like it," Zaveid tells her, catching his breath as he leans his forehead against hers. (Dezel's hat has fallen to the ground and blown some distance away, as though he wants nothing to do with this. Ah well; his loss.)

"Oh, Zaveid," sighs Lailah, her tone sultry, as she slides her hands down to rest on his chest—trembling in amorous anticipation. Oh yes; he's got her right where he wants her. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," growls Zaveid playfully, pinching her ass on an impulse; Lailah squeals, pressing still closer against him, and he grins. "Now let's get you out of that dress, hmm?" he adds, stepping back slightly to strategize. This is why he doesn't wear too much, he thinks, looking her up and down. The fewer clothes, the less he has to figure out how to remove.

"O-oh, but someone might hear us," she babbles, flushed and excited as she lets him guide her back against the tree trunk. Though her words sound like she's expressing some sort of worry, Zaveid doesn't hear any real concern behind them, and smirks. If the ordinarily practical Lailah has thrown caution to his winds, then…

"If they do, they'll know I'm doing it right," he whispers in her ear, busying his fingers with her attire at last.

"Oh, you think I'm going to be the one they overhear?" teases Lailah, pushing him lightly away with a sparkle in her eyes. Ah, how he's missed that sparkle—but he can always contemplate that later; for now, he ignores her sportive shove and returns diligently to his work. "Don't you think you should worry about yourself, too?"

"Longer practice, m'dear," grunts Zaveid, still fumbling with the clasp on Lailah's bolero. "Unless you're not telling me something, I'm pretty sure I have the advantage tonight." He pauses to sigh in frustration and look back into her eyes. "Hey, Lailah, a little help here?" he asks pointedly. "Your outfit is a hell of a lot more complicated than that seraph-robe you were wearing last time."

Lailah giggles, raising a delicate hand to her mouth. "Or maybe you're just losing your touch," she suggests, making not the slightest effort to help out.

Zaveid could point out that he's sure it's been much longer for her, given that his last dalliance was only a few short months ago… but instead, he narrows his eyes in exaggerated indignation. "Oh, that's a low blow," he mutters. "I'll show you exactly how out-of-touch I am. Mind if I do something unforgivable?" he adds casually.

"What kind of unforgivable?" asks Lailah apprehensively, her eyes widening more in curiosity than alarm.

"The kind of unforgivable you'll probably forget about over the next five or ten minutes," responds Zaveid, cracking his knuckles; Lailah nods hesitantly, though she still seems suspicious. "Hold still," he orders, taking hold of the front of Lailah's blouse with both hands and expertly tearing it apart.

Lailah gasps sharply in shock, though her inhalation is drowned out by the sound of ripping fabric. "Wh-what are you doing?!" she cries… but does not stop him, and the flush in her cheeks tells him she still likes displays of dominance.

"You're a seraph, Lailah," says Zaveid, letting the fabric fall to the ground, and Lailah shrugs off the rest of her outfit, stooping quickly to remove her shoes. "You can get yourself back together inside the Shep…" He's brought up short as she straightens up again, and he finally gets the chance to appreciate her appearance: red and black, satin and lace. Damn, she's even hotter than he remembers.

"Were you expecting this to happen," manages Zaveid eventually, "or is this what you always wear under all that?"

Lailah smiles slightly at his expression, twirling her hair around a willowy finger. "Both," she replies. "Just in case you ever happened to ask at the right time. Consider it a… a thank-you, I suppose," she adds, fidgeting with her headpiece before removing it altogether and tossing it gently off to the side. "For reminding me not to overthink things. That's what I like about you in the first place."

As she speaks, Lailah reaches for the front of his pants almost shyly—but Zaveid catches her wrist. Time enough for that later. "No no no no, you just relax," he tells her. "I can get myself off just fine, if need be. Think you need some help, though," he laughs, and her eyes widen, but he doesn't give her the chance to respond. "Now—tell me where you want me," he continues, undoing his belt and kicking off his boots in a by now familiar set of motions. "I'm all yours, at least for the night."

"Um," manages Lailah, squirming slightly. "I… don't know? Whatever you think is best." As Zaveid rids himself of the last of his clothes, however, she averts her eyes with all the diffident discomfort of a virgin, staring determinedly into the dusky distance.

Zaveid smiles faintly. "Men, we're visual creatures," he explains. "But I notice you've never looked at me like that, not once. I'm not shy, you know," he adds, gesturing towards himself. "You don't have to be shy about it, either." A part of him wants her to see him, to acknowledge him, but he's not about to insist. With any luck, she'll do that herself if he's good enough, and that's how he'll know. He'll have to earn it.

"I-it's not that," Lailah tells him, and he cocks his head. "I just… don't need to see," she explains, all in a rush, and their eyes lock. "Feeling you inside me is enough." Even as she speaks, Lailah's eyes widen, and she raises her fingers to her mouth as Zaveid stares at her incredulously. What did she just say…?

He can tell she has no intention of repeating it, but really, there's no need. She spoke from the part of the soul that awakens only when the rational mind is asleep, where every intention is true and every impulse is possible. There are no lies there, no concern for the future, no fear of loneliness, no vices or virtues—only a primal instinct, a pure quest for release. (If humans did one thing right, thinks Zaveid, just one… this was it.)

One shivering moment of sensual silence later, he finally succumbs to the wordless invitation in Lailah's deep expressive eyes, or maybe she leans up the last inch: it doesn't matter. Her bra is less complex than her bolero, he discovers—and once that's been thrown aside, he has the privilege of sliding his hands down the contours of her beautiful bare back.

Down, down, past her perfect waist and perfect hips and perfect ass: Zaveid curves his fingers around her perfect thighs, lifting her carefully. She settles back against the trunk, relaxing into his touch at last, panting as they pull away from one another again, parting like the priceless threads of Lailah's dress as he nestles his face in her neck. Caressing her, massaging her, he hooks his fingers in her remaining undergarment and tugs down—

As the last layer falls between them, wet already, it's all he can do even to untie his tongue long enough to form the right words. "Then feel me," growls Zaveid, mumbling into her skin, and finally finds sanctuary in her.

A bit of a parallel to "Windrider" in several respects. Oh, those gorgeous wind seraphim and their fiery one-night stands.