Warning: Scenes of violence and intense sexuality.
9. Tisa'a
Changes overtook The Pit. Perhaps a change in ownership—it was well known that someone controlled what went on, someone who sought leadership without responsibility. Whoever the new man was, he saw fit to be a bit more proactive. Bane even saw him come down into The Pit when a new prisoner was lowered. He dressed in all black, in higher-class clothing, modernized to the point where Bane had a hard time recognizing its origins. The man spoke with the new prisoner privately, although the rest of The Pit had gone so painfully silent that they could almost hear the conversation.
The man was placing his enemies in the prison. In a way, it was fairer than it had been before, and in another way, it was impossibly unjust. It once was so that people were imprisoned for something the state—or whoever wielded power over them—deemed criminal. Now it seemed that criminal acts were of no importance; instead, people entered hell simply because they were on the wrong side of the equation with a man who looked like he might have eaten them all alive. Bane observed the owner's thick brow and swollen chest. He took note of the stern expression and the air of murder that he carried with him. As he did so, Bane could not help wondering if he could take the man in a fight—if he had any hopes of standing a chance.
There came a time when he even thought he would have the opportunity. Word spread quickly through The Pit that a new tradition was going to be enforced, one that would affect the current prisoners and be imposed on all those who would come later. On the day that it took place, the prison was filled with modern men who carried ropes and long, thin whips. Equipment was lowered—unrecognizable metal objects—and fires were started in the middle of the afternoon. The Pit heated quickly, both in temperature and nerves. The majority of the usual caretakers could be found peering from their headquarters, watching the scenario much the way that the prisoners did.
"Taabuur!" shouted one of the men who had been lowered. The Arabic had not been used in some time; Bane, who had never had a great grasp of the language, had largely forgotten all traces of it, and only discovered that they were being ordered to form a line when the outer prisoners were seen quickly shuffling into a definitive formation. The unfamiliar men began traipsing through the corridors, jamming keys into their locks and extracting prisoners rudely. Bane stood by the gate curiously, still perplexed by the setup that took place at the front of the queue. When his gate was opened and a man grabbed him roughly by the arm, Bane instinctively jerked away, which yielded a sharp slap in the face and a prod into the line. He did not argue further; the men were unfamiliar territory, and he was not willing to risk angering them.
Ari was in line ahead of him by a few others. She looked back at him, her scarf wrapped around her mouth, her eyes wielding fear. He wanted to beckon her back to him, have her stand at his side, but before he could manage, she had been coaxed forward and was looking back ahead.
The situation came further into the light as throaty yell burst into the hot air. Bane froze along with the others, and suddenly he was aware of something painful and dangerous and unwanted. He stood on his toes, tried to see over the heads of those who were taller than him, but he could not see the front of the line. Something was happening there, but he could not see whatever it was. Other people in the line were moving, startling into commotion at the sight of whatever fate awaited them. Bane briefly considered that the foreign men were simply going to put them all to death, but the concern did not seem so desperate.
As the line moved up, Bane finally caught a glimpse of what was happening. He could hear fabric tearing as the next in line had the back of his robes ripped down the middle and pulled to the side. The man's spine and shoulder blades were exposed, and the foreigners wasted no time in pressing a long metal object into the man's skin. He, like the others, expressed the pain of the hot object, but he wriggled and fought them and almost as a reflex, a guard reared back and drew the whip against the prisoners back twice in succession until the man was slumped over, supported by gruff arms.
Bane went cold. He immediately checked Ari's position in line, knowing that by now, she must have known the fate that was awaiting her at the front. He was not afraid for himself, but for her above all else. Time seemed to speed up as soon as the realization hit him, and before he knew it, she was in the front of the line, her head scarf yanked away from her face, her robes torn out of the way, and the heated metal making contact with her back. He could hear the sizzling of her skin as it scraped into her flesh, burning and cutting all at once. He watched in horror as they carved a shape—one that resembled a tiny hill—right beside her spine. She didn't scream—not all of them did. But he knew she must have used every ounce of resistance she possessed in order to avoid it. He held his breath until he was lightheaded, wobbling to the side, just in time for her to be dragged to her feet and shoved back in the direction of her cell.
Her eyes were drooped and her mouth was agape as she walked past him. He reached out to her but she merely clenched her jaw and closed her eyes in evident pain. Her teeth dug into her lower lip and the tendons in her neck protruded as they tensed. He watched her clamber all the way back to her cell, and before he knew it, it was his turn.
He was pushed onto his knees, onto the hard stone ground, and he was being touched by too many hands all at once. It was chaotic and terrifying and he stared ahead of him to see the metal that would brand his skin heating again in the fiery coals they had set up to burn on until each prisoner was marked. The back of his robes were open now, and he was forced down further, face-to-face with earth, on his hands and knees, far too familiar, far too dreaded to be relived.
The rod came into contact and his jaw dropped. His throat worked to produce a sound but his vocal chords were stunned by the searing heat and the slow, angry slicing of breaking skin. He closed his eyes and endured it, and his mind raced with the notion that they had done that to Ari, who was small and malnourished. He had not even tried to stop them. Why?
Soon enough it was over. He was jerked up to his feet again, which wobbled from shock under his weight. As they pushed him away, he spun back around, the anger welling further as the aftermath burned against him. "What is this for?" he blurted, livid that he had been forced to watch Ari go through what he now knew to be a tremendous amount of pain.
To his surprise, no one struck him. One of the guards snickered, but miraculously, Bane received an answer from him: "You are Nadir's property now."
Back in his cell, Bane dug his nails into his forehead and the back of his neck as he heard Talia's infantile cries. The owner—Nadir, whoever he was—had no qualms about ethics, it seemed. His men were willing to burn a branding into a child who was not yet a year old. He was sick to his stomach over it, and although the rest of the daylight hours were filled with pain, Talia's sobs carried on longer into the evening, until finally, she had worn herself out enough to fall asleep.
Bane, Ari, and Melisande did not seem able to look at one another, each harboring their own personal thoughts about the ordeal. The day seemed a nightmare, and the pain seemed only to worsen as night fell. There were no fires that evening. The caretaker's distributed food solemnly, and not a single conversation was heard. No one wanted to bring the experience up, and they all knew that they could not speak without thinking about it.
So it was surprising to Bane when Ari suggested nonverbally that he open her cell that night. He had been facing her cell, trying to see her in the shadows wearily, trying to feel some comfort that could be enough to relax him. She stretched her arm through the bars and waved her hand around, gesturing to her lock and nodding to him. She was easy to see when she was moving. Perhaps easy to sense. He hurriedly heeded her request and let her out with him. They paralleled one another and after a moment's eye contact, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a welcome embrace. He buried his face in her collar and squeezed her tightly, careful to avoid her shoulder blades and the recent wounds they shared.
They held each other for a long while, in the middle of the corridor, until she whispered, "Let us talk downstairs." And they made their way all the way to the bottom where they had periodically sparred. When they were level on the ground, she asked him to sit, and he did, at which point, she lowered herself next to him and laid her head in his lap, looking up at him. She groaned slightly as she situated herself, clearly mindful of her back. For a minute, he was afraid she wanted to talk about the branding that day—afraid that she would want to relive it and have him do the same. He was afraid he would get angry with her for mentioning it at all, and he didn't want to, because he felt awful that she had experienced it and should have cared enough to let her vent. But his over-consideration of the possibility yielded nothing; instead, she delved into an unexpected subject.
"Do you love me?" she asked with no inhibitions.
Although he was surprised, Bane did not feel uncomfortable beneath the question. They had all endured such powerful emotion that day that it was no wonder something serious had come to her mind. He could not manage to look away from her. He wanted to give her the best answer he could, but he wasn't sure where to start. He could have easily given some simple, one-word answer, but he felt she deserved more than that. He wished he could have prepared for it somehow—foreseen the question and found a way to tell her that sounded right. So he put off answering. "I had a dream that you asked me that once," he muttered, placing his hand on the top of her head and allowing his fingers to meld into her short hair. He fidgeted with his robes, the fraying edges soft against the pads of his fingertips. He rolled the fabric in his hands, twisted it into a feeble rope.
"What did you say in the dream?" she asked him, her voice like a river. Somehow it was easier now, easier to tell the truth and have it be understand and taken properly and—
"I said that I did," he blurted, afraid to prolong his response any more than he already had.
Ari's face spread into a small, easy smile. Her eyes wrinkled at the corners as they usually did, and she breathed a small laugh. "I hope it was true," she said quietly, and the happiness in her face and the fact that it was obvious that she wanted to hear a yes from him made his insides swell. "I think I would like it if it were true."
He gave her a smile in return—something he could not recall ever having done for her before. It was short and very small, but it was a smile nonetheless. The sight of it seemed to please her. She looked even happier when he said the words, "It was true. It's true." And although they had never endured a day so horrible in The Pit—not even during fights with Ish, not even when Ish had died—Bane could say for himself at least, that it had ended in uncommon happiness.
Things fell into place. Over seven years, things were stationary, at rest. The brandings healed into white, risen scars, Ish's existence ceased to matter, and all that remained was the largely waned memory of the pain they had suffered. The other prisoners never warmed up to him again—aside from Ari, of course, and Melisande had never cared—but there was no hostility. The new owner, Nadir, did not enforce any new, horrific rituals on them, and he was nearly forgotten about.
There were other physical fights in The Pit as there had been before, but Bane was not a part of them. He had not fought anyone since Ish, but he did keep up the training; he sparred with Ari more oftenthan he was comfortable with. It had gotten to the point where she was hardly any use for endurance or agility. He was fast now, quick to detect her motions, and the only thing she had over him was her size. She was now significantly smaller than him, although they ate nearly the same amount, just as often. She was more nimble than himself, and could squeeze out of things he couldn't dream of escaping.
There was an added ease: somewhere over the years, Hassan must have begun to pity Ari, and he had taken to knowingly leaving her cell unlocked after the fires. Bane still had the lock picks hidden away, but Hassan's apparent knowledge of their being out at night facilitated the sparring. They did not have to be quite as quiet as they once had been. They did not fear harsh consequences. Bane felt a sense of arrogance in it, as though he had some control over his situation at last. He felt surrounded by alliances, able to instill fear into the other prisoners, able to keep their eyes away from Melisande although he could nearly taste their desire for her in the air. But they were safe.
Talia had been speaking for years now. It had not been long before it was clear that the child took after her mother. Talia and Melisande shared the same intensity and determination—at seven years old, Talia knew the meaning of survival. She would have to, Bane thought, being raised in The Pit. But there was something remarkable about the trait's potency. Her strength was evident. Bane spent a good deal of time with her, although it had required prodding from Ari in the beginning. Talia was fond of them both, chatting innocently about things that she liked and stories that her mother told her about the upper world. She was apt to playing rough, throwing her full body weight into whatever blow she could manage against Bane or Ari. She was spirited and strong, and had all the makings of a leader, even though she lived in what must have been constant fear.
Bane had often heard Melisande whispering to her daughter in the later hours. "There is no one you can trust, my dove," she cooed one evening. He had heard her say it before. "You have only yourself when it comes down to it. And if it does, you must protect yourself at all costs. You must survive, for it is the most important thing. Have your guard up, my son…"
Talia was raised as a boy should have been raised. Anyone who interacted with her did so under the impression that she was a boy, which was ideal, of course, and especially important in Melisande's eyes. Ari, who was now in her early twenties, went to great lengths to keep her identity a mystery now. She constantly smudged dirt on her face to hide the feminine jaw and delicate bone structure that gave way to a less-than-masculine appearance.
On a night alone with her, Bane had watched Ari smoothing back her short hair with both hands, pressing her palms into her forehead periodically. She emitted long sighs, slouched against the stone wall at the bottom of The Pit. "It must confuse her all the time," she mused absent-mindedly. "If she even knows that she is a girl. A robbery, it seems. I have my identity, I know who I am, but Talia…"
Bane reached out and touched the front of her neck lightly with his fingertips. She closed her eyes and relaxed somewhat. "You shouldn't worry," he said to her. "It is easier this way. It must be done."
"But when she gets older." Ari raised her eyebrows, then scoffed. "I shouldn't say that. We can only hope that she will be able to leave this place soon. Another year perhaps."
"Ari, she could not make the climb at eight years old," he answered. "She is small, we cannot hope that she would grow to twice the size in a year's time."
Ari leaned forward, an air of desperation about her. "Yes, but if one of us were to go with her, Bane," she suggested. "We could follow behind her, catch her if she were to fall and help her with the jump. It is possible. If we worked together, she could get out of here. It is only a matter of what age she much reach to survive in the upper world on her own. I could not think of something bad happening to her. Nothing like what we know could happen."
Bane had never told her about his reason for imprisonment, but somehow, she had come to know. She had not brought it up, or asked him, or suggested that she knew, but she spoke to him about her own experiences as though he understood on a more personal level than he had let on. At first, he was stunned by it, stricken with concern and worry. He wondered how she had figured it out and what she now thought of him. But she always spoke of the subject gently and with great understanding, and he now knew that their same crime brought them together even more so in her mind, and he did not blame her for it. It was solidarity at its finest.
"How long have you been thinking about making the climb with her?" he asked her. She had never brought the idea up before. "In all these years—almost a decade—you have never tried it yourself. You never liked the idea."
"If I climbed with Talia, I would not be doing it for myself." Ari shifted, moving over to Bane's side. Her head dropped onto his shoulder, her bristly hair tickling the crook of his neck. "I don't expect to make it, but it would be worth the fall if she could make it out. She is young. She deserves some sort of future. If there is any way possible, it must be done."
Her words were warming and genuine. They instilled some small hope in him that even if they spent the rest of their lives in The Pit, he could spend his with her, and they could save an innocent child from a life of darkness. "I would climb with her, too," he offered, "if you wanted me to."
Ari changed positions again, turning to face him, her right knee prodding into his thigh. She cupped his face in her hands as she had done so frequently and said, "Would you do anything that I asked you to do?" Her nose brushed his and he closed his eyes slowly, inhaling in her proximity.
"Of course," he breathed. "Anything you wanted."
"Because you are in love with me?"
"Yes, because I'm in love with you."
"And you have loved me, and I have loved you, for over seven years, and in all of this time, you have never asked me to do anything for you."
He was perplexed by the words. Quite quickly, his mind was occupied with sex, wondering if that was what she meant. And of course he had never asked her for it. It would have been wrong to do so. He always allowed her to lead any interaction, allowed her to dictate at which point things were too far or uncomfortable for her. It didn't matter that he wanted her as badly as he did, because he never could have done it if there had been any trace of hesitation in her, and until she said that she wanted to, he would not do it.
"You have given me all the best," Bane told her. She was hovering closer now, her lower lip brushing his upper. He felt a chill. "I have no need to ask for anything more." Each word he said caused a touch of mouth, a receiving breath, and the further angling of her body. It was taunting, but there was nothing he liked more than her habit of carrying on a conversation with her face right up to his that way.
"But I want for you to know," she whispered; he opened his eyes to find her watching him intently—seriously, "that if there was anything that you wanted, I would do it for you just as you would do anything for me."
She held his gaze for a time after that, and everything was wiped from his mind when he became absolutely certain that she was talking about sex. It was an invitation—it had to be—but even when she closed the distance between him and pressed hard into his mouth, clutching his neck and curving her chest against his, he knew he could not ask. It did not feel right still, even if she were asking him to ask. He wanted her to do it. He wanted to know that she was doing it because she wanted to. He couldn't do it, he thought, if she did not want to.
As always, it was hard to resist. She was now quite accustomed with his obvious arousal, but he felt awkward nonetheless when she did something she had never done before and pulled herself onto his lap. He almost uttered the word, "no," but the pressure against him as she straddled him was too much to give up. When he felt her hips start making slow motions, he couldn't imagine he had even thought of telling her not to.
Ari kissed the side of his face, making her way across his jaw to his neck. Her lips were warm and soft against the cold skin of his neck and he melted into the embrace. She was still moving, pushing up against him. He felt a sharp and somehow welcome pain when she tugged at his skin with her teeth lightly, sucking hard in between. He enjoyed it only a few seconds longer before he took the hint and placed his hand on the back of her head to pull her down closer to him. He reciprocated the neck play, repeating the actions she had made carefully. He found it less-than-ritual; his body ran away with the task, engrossed itself in the tactics until he was pulling her flesh harder than she had done to him, brought his hands to her neck and kept her in place, and listened to the encouraging sounds of her heavy, raspy breathing.
Bane forced her even closer in, hyperconscious of her breasts against his torso. He kissed back up to her face and took the teasing from the tip of her tongue, responded to it, positively reveled in it. The very muscles of his fingers were working to hold her—perhaps to keep from lifting her away, laying her harshly on the ground, and finally, finally discovering what she could be like.
She let it go on for longer than he would have expected, but when she was done, things came to an abrupt stop. She clutched the front of his clothing in her fists and went utterly rigid. The warmth disappeared from her comfort and she became a stabilized object, placed coldly atop his legs. She rolled her shoulders slightly and tilted her head back momentarily until she presumably collected herself, at which point, she dipped back down to him again. He thought for sure that she would start kissing him again, but she did not.
"Still no?" she hissed into his throat. She emitted a low chuckle, one that expressed possible disappointment.
"I don't…" He trailed off, knowing fully well what he wanted to say, but dually understanding that it would not have been right to say it. He could have told her that he didn't know what she wanted, but he was almost positive that he did. He could hardly stand to think about it anymore, because he wished that she would just do what she wanted instead of waiting for him. Couldn't she just understand?
Ari kissed his forehead and hoisted herself up to her feet, resting her hands on his shoulders for support. She took his hands in another moment, walking backwards to encourage him up as well, and he did so, although he felt very down. "You're a hard man to read, Bane," she said. "Indeed you are." It might have sounded bad, but her voice was gentle and kind, and she held his hand as they walked up the stairs, and it was not that she was mad, but perhaps, that she, too, was dealing with the internal struggle of where was too far. He had not considered the possibility for her—he tried not to imagine that she harbored immense desire for him, because he feared even thinking of it could be insulting.
The evening repeated in his mind until all hours of the night. Bane lay on his firm cot and found that whenever he was exhausted enough to drift into slumber, his mind reproduced the feeling of Ari on his lap up against him and his heart would race and his mouth would go dry and he would be wide awake again, half-tempted to let her out again and say, "I'm sorry for not asking you to have sex with me. I'm sorry for not having done it already. If you want me to right now, we can." He didn't, of course, but the urge was potent and enduring.
He woke to the sound of Talia's voice outside of his cell. Her tinny, high-pitched voice frequently echoed through the prison, and was most usually audible in the early mornings. She was privileged to three meals per day, unlike any other prisoner, even the elders, who were lucky if they had two meals. But it made perfect sense. Talia was no criminal. She was imprisoned by unfortunate chance, and therefore deserved the best treatment she could be afforded. The caretakers seemed to heed that, which Bane respected.
At the fires, when they were all let out again, Talia ran to Bane and attached herself to his right leg. She jumped up and down and looked up at him with a toothy smile, one that he returned gently. He was fond of the child, found her immense quantities of energy to be refreshing. He allowed her to pull him to a nearby fire where Melisande was seating herself wearily. Over the past years, she had aged significantly. Bane imagined that the stress of trying to raise a child in a prison where her gender had to remain unknown was no small task.
Melisande and Talia were let out of their cells now that Talia was old enough. Bane supposed the caretakers figured that they were safe together, mother and daughter, and that no one would dare disturb the child while she was with her mother. Since being let out, Talia had taken to Bane as though he was her father; he always wondered what Melisande had told her daughter about him. Perhaps the mother had remembered Bane's desire to protect them all while Melisande was pregnant. He often heard her telling stories to Talia—things about the upper world, occurrences that she held dear to her heart, and so on. He had never heard Melisande discuss Bane's offer to protect them, but judging by the way Talia had adapted so well to him, he felt it safe to assume that she had heard the story.
Ari was asleep in her cell, and she stayed in slumber all throughout the fires. Still, she was confined, even at night, and Bane suspected that the caretakers—other than Hassan, who had always known—had since inferred that she was a woman. It was so difficult for her to hide it after all. And although they knew, they all still pretended along with her, acting as though she were confined for no reason at all rather than as protection against the other prisoners.
Bane bade goodnight to Talia and her mother when they were all led back to their respective cells. As usual, he went immediately to his cot and, after a few moments, he drifted off to sleep.
It was not long at all, however, before his light sleep was interrupted by tiny background noises. He mumbled and turned onto his side, fatigued, but the sounds continued—now recognizable as a pair of voices. It was not unusual to hear whispered conversations at night, but the one he currently heard was close in proximity and was filled with emotional tones that encouraged Bane to sit up. Of course he could see nothing in the pitch black of night in The Pit, but he could detect motion rather close to his own cell. It was too close to have been inside of another enclosure; it seemed that someone was walking around freely, and, as he had no clue who it might have been, he saw fit to investigate. He had the nagging feeling that something was not right.
He sat on the edge of his bed and squinted, waking himself up. A man was speaking quickly, hostility laced within his vocals, and a strange voice responded with equal amounts of anger. It was odd to hear it together, whispers that should have been yells. Bane reached under his bed instinctively for a means to unlock his gate if the need arose. Slowly, he made it to his gate.
A great mixture of feelings fled through his veins immediately when he realized where the conversation was taking place. The voices were coming from Ari's cell—Ari, who have been asleep not long ago and who should have had no means of exiting her cell without Bane's assistance. But the voices were right there, right by her cell, and the strange, non-masculine voice was hers. Bane listened hard, his heart racing, the negative inkling overcoming him.
"I looked after you all these years," said the man. "I gave you special treatment when you didn't deserve it, I allowed you unmerited freedom, and you think you don't owe me your gratitude?" There was a pause then, evident of some struggle, before Ari responded.
"Gratitude?" she repeated. The word was followed by a grunt on her part and footsteps. "You have had my gratitude! You had my respect and my thanks! What definition do you follow when you suggest I have not already given you what you believe I owe you?"
There was a gasp and the man spoke, too quietly for Bane to hear, but as the footsteps countered one another, Bane could not wait any longer. He fumbled to open the lock of his cell and when he was free, he stepped out into the corridor, darted across to Ari's cell and found that the gate was ajar. Without hesitation, he barged right in, now able to distinguish two figures in the dark. One was domineering, hovering threateningly over the other and holding them steady. The person had sensed Bane's entrance, could see him, perhaps, and stopped in motion, where his hands had been working near the front of something.
Bane's mind had gone soft, and he immediately charged the man in the cell, pulled him away from Ari, and put his hand around the man's throat. Bane stared into the face of the stranger until the details were startlingly evident and it all came together. The conversation, the idea of some favor done and gone without repayment—Hassan's neck was in Bane's hand, and when the recognition became clear, Bane allowed sheer instinct to take over.
He threw the caretaker out of the cell and followed him with a snarl, accepting that the man had been forcing his way onto Ari, trying to guilt her into giving him pleasure just because he had shown her kindnesses over the years. Bane let the idea sink in and he waded in it, and the fury consumed him to the point where he no longer felt in control of his actions. He was running his knuckles right into Hassan's face squarely, time after time, until the caretaker fell to the ground without a sound. Still Bane pounded into his nose, mouth, eyes, neck, and when his fists were covered in blood that was only partially his own, he took the caretaker's head in his hands and pulled upwards, at which point Hassan uttered weakly, "W-wait, please, I…can…" But Bane did not stop, instead ramming the man's skull against the rock once, twice, nine times and his throat was full of hatred and bloodlust and he was going to kill Hassan, on purpose, and he would not regret it. The man's nature had been a lie, the goodness and concern and care had all been a waste because the man was a heathen and he had tried to have sex with Ari, his Ari, and Bane would not have it. He would not let it go unpunished.
At the end of it, Hassan was mangled. His face was covered in blood in entirety, and red puddles were wading from the back of his head. His eyes were now glossed over, wide and empty, staring at nothing, and that was it. He was dead in a few raging minutes, and Bane hovered over him like a hungry creature, wishing the man had been able to endure more, had fought back—wishing Bane could have hurt him more, made the pain last.
He wiped his hands on his Hassan's robes and stood up, taking ragged, exerted breaths. His hands were pulsating from the consistent contact, but he did not care, and he was not sorry. Not even when he turned to look at Ari. Not even when he considered that this time, she had watched him fully mean to kill the caretaker. He had done it for her, and even if she did not know it, he had made good on the promise to keep her safe. Punishment went along with protection, he determined. Hassan had gotten what he deserved.
Bane sidled back into Ari's cell, succumbed with a new level of emotion. He found no difficulty in making eye contact with her, but managed to feel a slightly twinge of surprise when she did not appear entirely fazed by what she had just experienced and witnessed as an aftermath. Bane had shut down in every way he could think of, and it appeared that Ari had done the same. He tried to be concerned about it, but he found that he did not care. The idea of Hassan having sex with Ari fueled fire within Bane, and the idea that she would have gone through the same horror again, alone in the darkness as he had been.
Her eyes were weary in more ways than one. She appeared drained, yet intent at the same time. She did not allow herself to look away from him even for a split second. Instead, she stared him down, just as he did to her, and she was speaking to him with her eyes, although he could not interpret what she meant. He could think of nothing. He was nothing.
And Ari was his. Not Hassan's.
He advanced on her on a whim and grabbed her face and brought her to him like he had never done before. She took the force, molded into his kiss far more easily than he would have expected, and he had to do it that night—he had to have sex with her, finally, because she wanted to and he could not bear the idea that another man thought that she belonged to him. It was not right.
He buried himself in her face, pressed his fingers into her neck, brought a hand down to her chest and pulled her collar down. She did not protest, she wouldn't have, she had wanted to do it for some time. He wriggled his hand under her robes, under the cloth that she wrapped around her chest to keep it looking flat under her clothes. He felt the warm, soft tissue in his palm, squeezed it hard and explored its every detail. He was more than aroused, he thought, and he pushed it up against her willingly, and she made a pleasing sound that had him wanting even more.
He started walking forward, forcing her backwards, holding her waist now and keeping her steady. He led her to her cot, laid her down on it and followed with her, crawling over her body hungrily. He was moving in fast motion, trying to touch her everywhere all at once, and he did so, sliding his hands under her, following the curve of her body and wondering why, why had he taken so long to do this when it was better than anything they had ever done.
She had her hand between his legs, feeling around him, feeling the shape and the format and it was good because she liked it. She kept separating her legs wider, forcing him to rub up against her and it drove him crazy, but he had to explore, he had to make up for everything he had missed.
He slid his hand beneath her robes again, from underneath this time. He trailed his way up her thighs and observed the way she shivered and the way that her back arched. When he touched her, she let out a sharp gasp and closed her eyes. He trailed his fingers around her, inside her when he could, and she was warm and inviting and ready, but he didn't initiate it until she said, "Go on, go on."
It was a struggle, with all the material of their robes in the way. Ari pulled her clothes up over her hips and he took a moment to stare at her, half-naked, the way he had dreamed about her. It was just the way he had imagined, and he thought of nothing else. When his clothes were out of the way they both slowed down immensely, reveling in their shaky breaths and leaning closer to each other. They were both momentarily frozen, and she reached up to touch his face caringly, the way she always had done, and he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. They were so close to it, hovering right by each other, but suddenly, the idea that they were going to have sex became larger than life.
He leaned near her ear and kissed it. Then he said, "Are you scared?"
Ari moved slightly beneath him and he felt her nod. "Yes."
"Me too."
"Be gentle"
"Certainly."
And he was. Her anatomy was ready for it, but Bane did not want it to be harsh like the first time had been for her. He pushed in very, very slowly, drew out without making it even halfway in, and let her body language and breathing dictate the strength of his own motions. He thought it was unfortunate that it had to hurt for her when he had never felt anything so wonderful in his life. Her body connected with his, locked around him in the most perfect way possible. "Is it okay?" he kept asking, but she always nodded before he had even finished the question, her eyes closed and her hands smoothing over his face and neck.
There was a moment when he was deep inside, engrossed in the sensation, when he heard her breathe easy for the first time, and the look on her face was telling of delight. So he sped things slightly, went in all the way and then it seemed to come naturally. He didn't have to think about where he had to stop or when to let her rest—he was moving rhythmically with her and she liked it and he loved it and no one would ever touch her again.
"I love you," she whispered, her nails digging in his shoulders. "Always. Always."
The words and the speed they had escalated to were enough of a combination, and it was the most satisfying sensation—better than he could ever have imagined. He kissed her over and over again and eased away from her, gazing into her face in amazement. He fell to her side and wrapping his arms around her. His chest was heavy with emotion and utmost happiness, and he felt that unusual tightness in his throat that led him to believe he could have cried if he had allowed the tears to fall. He felt that the past had been erased—he did not even think about the body of the old caretaker that was lying outside of the cell where they had just done what he had always wanted to do.
Ari did not fight the urge to cry. Her face was overrun with tears, but she was smiling, just the way he had seen her when they had first become acquainted. He loved the way she looked that way, he loved the amount of emotion she was able to convey and experience and he wished he could have been like her. But he knew that they felt the same about it. They had replaced the bad memories with good, even if the circumstances had not been ideal, even if it could have been more romantic. He had had sex with someone he loved more than anything—someone he would have done anything for—and it did not matter the circumstances.
A/N: Well, it took a while, but it's a long, jam-packed chapter, and there's more to come! Hopefully I still have your interest, I know my updates are taking longer to show up. However, I have finished midterms for the semester and should be able to get back to updates in closer succession. Anyway, let me know how you feel about this chapter; I'm admittedly nervous about it, since I added a pretty giant time transition—although I don't regret that and think it's important. But as always, your feedback is most important to me ^_^ Thanks again to all those who have continued to review! I love you guys.