They've been riding all afternoon and these rocky lands are nothing but deadly once sunlight is gone. Their horses are tired anyway. She follows suit when Levi brings his steed to a walk. They've not spoken a word since they left the fort. He didn't even take time to give her the details. All he wanted was to lead her as far away from 'him' as he could. He won't let him take her again. Not on his watch. Even the few Titans they passed and outran don't compete with the threat he represents. And Titans don't seem to like climbing to heights anyway. So this place here seems the safest for now.

He chooses a grassy outlook protected from view by a wild range of trees and bushes. A few steps out would let them see in a far distance but they would be invisible from a stranger's eyes. He reins up and the horses come to an halt. He throws his leg over and hops down, securing the lead rope around a trunk. She follows his lead. Their childhood training, his military background and her knowledge silently combine into a rocky firebed built in a dash. He lights the dry branches and that's the signal to finally settle down.

She lets herself fall to the ground, cross-legged, and brings a hand to her waist. She exhales. In a slow, obviously painful movement, she pulls her shirt out of her trousers and reveals bloody bandages dripping down her leathers. He observes her from across the flames, impassive. She tugs at the soaked linen and unwraps herself. Once she reaches the skin, she plucks out two broken surgical threads.

"Amateurs.", she comments, irritated. It actually makes him grin.

She wriggles her backpack down her shoulders and takes it to the front, shoves her hand in and pulls out a first-aid kit. She opens it, picks the needle and sterilizes it in the fire. Satisfied with the process, she resumes inserting a new thread in the eye, grits her teeth, and without hesitation, sticks the metal in her skin. She goes around the gash three times dexterously, but by the time she knots her work and cuts the long end with her teeth, her hands are covered in slimy blood. She sits there, a confused look on her face, holding her hands out, trying to figure a solution to clean herself before wrapping the wound.

"Let me help you.", he offers from his observation point, before coming around to kneel in front of her. He detaches her flask from her pack and twists it open to pour clear water over her elegant fingers. She whispers timid thanks, puts the tools back in the box and takes a roll of fresh gauze out of it. But her frown as she looks down at her stomach explains him she'd like a better hygiene around her scar before closing it in. That's his area. He unties his ascot, uses the flask again to humidify the cloth and closes on her skin. She jerks, stopping him in his tracks. He looks up. It's like she's seen a ghost: him using a white scarf to wipe out blood?

"C'mon", he grumps. "It's not like I don't have a dozen at home."

Her mouth draws into a smile as he carries on cleaning her blood. He doesn't restrain himself from examining her exposed body: the softness seems sweet enough to eat, yet he feels her muscles through the fabric. It reminds him of how he used to rest his head on her belly and take long naps while she was reading one of her stolen books and running her fingers through his hair, singing him to sleep. He judges he has done his best and steals the roll from her hand. He proceeds to dress her wound, wrapping the fresh linen five times around her torso, skimming over the many tiny scars on her back. There seems to be new ones. But last time he checked was 12 years ago or so. She holds her elbow high to leave him full access. She usually feels very shy about the parts of her body her brother marred. But she knows he's seen the marks before. Even if he hadn't, she trusts him. The manipulation brings his whole body closer to her, his face inches from her shoulder. He knots the bandage tight, making sure it'll be secure, and stays there. A long minute of silence goes by before he rises his gaze to her face, lingering on her lips. He gulps. Her breath picks up pace with her heartbeat, and he feels it. He dives into her eyes and she shivers. She advances ever so slowly, unsure at first, and her mouth softly grazes his. Moving her chin out, she teases him.

"I want you.", he begs. She searches his irises in awe but he's locked their tongues together, ensnaring her jaw with his hand. He pushes a knee to the ground to find balance and throws his other arm to her back, crashing his chest against her, his tongue going deeper. She moans. He half-opens his eyelids to make sure it's a pleasure sound and goes back at it. By the time his fingers run through her hair, hers are finding ways through the buttons of his shirt to go explore his body. He's never been touched like that before. She used to be tender with him when they were kids, she knew the caresses that made him feel secure, but the warmth she emits now is pure desire. Sexual. It's his green light. He gently but firmly pulls a handful of hair down and her neck offers itself to his kiss. She sighs like hell, her whole body violently trembling. So she likes it here, he takes note. His hand resting on the small of her back descends assuredly to her belt and presses her slacks rim down before piercing through and reaching her butt. She's torn between keeping on exploring the contours of his abs or moving on to his crotch, not that there's a bad choice here, but she finally goes for the latter, unbuttoning three times before gaining entry to his underwear. The moment she seizes him, he twitches and comes back to her mouth, toppling her down to the ground rather urgently, guiding his hands to her hips and eagerly yanking down her trousers, which yield with no unfastening whatsoever. He wants to taste her all over, he's dying to know the feeling of penetrating her at last, yet he doesn't forget she's badly wounded, so for a minute that feels like an eternity, he detaches his tongue from her touch and takes care of undressing her legs. Her boots first, her breeches, all the way down, revealing another of her brother's cruel canvas, and her panties at last. He tosses it all aside, ensuring they don't end up dirty nor burnt, and returns to her, between her now exposed thighs. He takes a moment to inspect the regular narrow cicatrices: she explained to him once how the psycho used to stab specific parts of her body with a dull blade, sinking the metal as far as he could before reaching a disabling organ, over and over, creating these painful ranks of sticks. She had shown him the small of her back, her nape, and the inside of her elbows, but he had yet to discover the frame of her groin. He knows how self-conscious she is about them, so he does not loiter, goes straight for her core and gives it a lengthy lick. She shrieks, gripping his hair with both hands. But he does not stick around: she's already so wet, the gripping was only a dismissing. He lays a few compelling kisses over her abdomen but soon meets the bandages. He progresses, crawling over her, fondling her modest breasts for a moment with his fingers and teeth and finally arrives at his favoured position. He exhales when finding her lips again and pauses there, his cock venturing at her entrance, his arms outstretched on both sides of her face. The fire throws gleams around her features and he can do nothing but taking in their absolute perfection. He reads anticipation as he crosses her cruelly inviting glare but he resists for another moment. Her dark hair falling on her forehead, her kind yet decisive eyebrows, her cute turned-up nose, yes cute, her silky cheeks turned cherry-pink by the heat of both the fire and their embrace, her full-on rose lips, ever so prompt at spilling smiles and encouragements… Every inch perfect. And her eyes. He's known those eyes for so long. It's like it's all he has ever known. It's like before them, there was nothingness. Their almond shape, these long and thick eyelashes, and the green of her irises. A green that turns blue when she remembers, and brown when she's sad or upset. He has drunk those colors, came to despise them out of frustration, thought he was purged of them, but they crashed back into his life and there was no rehab from them.

She's laying so still, hardly blinking. She doesn't want to lose one second of him. Her hands rest on his chest, taking in the landscape of his lean and muscular body through the silk of his shirt. She reads his face like an open book. Where anyone else sees apathy, she recognizes a range from annoyance to control, anger to interest, violence to amusement. Only fear. She's not seen fear a lot on that man's face, that wonderful face. Family, security, home, yes. Gradually love and attraction. Then she had had to forget. What a waste. She will make her brother pay for that. But when it came back to her, when he called her name on that roof, shielding her from death once more, there was that unknown spark that added to the lot. Craving. She has fought valiantly these past months, but there is no more enemy now. She digs her nails into his skin, ever so slightly. He interprets that as a demand - which it sort of was, guides himself and enters her. She arches, giving him the opportunity to slide one arm under her. He intends to support her upper body to protect her from any pain the movement might cause her. He flexes his gluteus to keep the back and forth rhythm. She loses her shit.

"Ah, aah Levi!", she doesn't even try to keep it down.

He regularly pecks her jaw, neck or mouth but mostly, he examines the every emotion shaping her features. He has no name for them. But they resonate with his own.

"Are you okay? Is it okay?", he pants out when she frowns a little bit too much.

"More than okay, doofus! Ah! Don't stop!", she urges.

He obeys.

"Levi, oh Levi!"

Her walls close in on him as she orgasms. He lets himself go as well. The dance stops. He pants out, bent on her neck. He sees her goosebumps under his breath. For some reason, that makes him smile. His kisses on her flesh make her quiver.

"Did you learn that in the army?", she asks between two gulps, her tone playful.

"No.", he replies, offended. "Did you learn to be a prick-tease in your cell?"

"Might have. But that's certainly new."

"What is?"

"The orgasm." He widens his eyes. "Last time I heard of it was in med school and there was no practice session.", she giggles. His expression turns to pity. She punches him in the shoulder. "Don't you fucking dare." She wriggles under him and gives her flanks a twist, locking his penis in an uncomfortable position. He groans. "I've learnt this as well.", she threatens with pride and a teasing smile.

"I'll shut you up." He stuffs his tongue in her mouth for one last long and sensual kiss that leaves her speechless indeed. He satisfyingly smiles before getting out of her now relaxed core.

After reordering themselves and their camp, he sits down, his back against a boulder, and enters an intense reflective mood, the flames swaying in his pupils. She joins him, carrying her blanket, throws it over them, snuggles against his chest and places his arm around her shoulder. She closes her eyes. It takes him several minutes to notice she's falling asleep like that. He leans into her hair and inhales her perfume. From her doze, she hears him say:

"The days I did not love you were not worth living."

She gives in to fatigue.