Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.
Author's Note: Sorry about the wait for this one. I'm a bit focused on two other projects at the moment. But I will always give these two some lovin'! Please enjoy.
Interlocking
Chapter Twenty Nine: Dressing
"She doesn't utter a sound. Her tunic lay forgotten beside them." - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart.
Krem helps to change Harding's bandages.
She is hesitant at first, the soft brush of pink playing across her cheeks as she eyes him.
"You what?" she asks incredulously, her spoon halfway to her mouth, the broth dripping down to her bowl as she cradles it in her lap.
Krem levels a crooked grin her way and she cannot recall any thought to deny him. "I want to help the healers change your bandages."
It doesn't take long to convince her.
Her loose cotton tunic is lifted from her shoulders and her eyes flick to his as the healer sets it aside. There is no hint of pink to her cheeks this time, no questioning or hesitant look to her eye. She watches him, almost expectantly, her back straight as she sits atop the changing table. Her hands are steady on the edge of the table. Her breathes smooth and unlabored in her chest.
Her chest.
Krem finds his gaze flicking to her chest momentarily, the heavy, supple weight of her breasts bundled in a leather wrap, her cleavage distinct and un-obscured from his view. He swallows tightly and clears his throat, glancing back to her face to find a devilish smirk lighting its way across her lips. He narrows his eyes playfully.
The healer's instructions take his attention then. He looks to the quiet, sallow mage and takes the balm she offers him. Then he reaches up to pull the tucked end of Harding's bandages from under the wrap.
Her skin is hotter than he's ever remembered.
Their gazes lock.
He starts to pull the wrap, his eyes not leaving hers.
There is something heavy and unknowable offered between them.
Harding licks her lips and moves her gaze to look out the tower window. She can see the entrance to the main hall from where she sits. Skyhold is bustling in the early afternoon.
Krem's touch is everything familiar and welcome and reassuring. She lets him re-bandage her without comment. She barely looks at him. She feels him, instead. Feels the tender pulse of his fingertips along her wounded side as he painstakingly and lovingly wraps fresh bandages around her bruised ribs. Hears the steady and enthralling pattern of his breath. The intake. The outtake. The even heaviness of it. She can smell the slight scent of cardamom and oil that wafts from him. Light. Barely-there. Lingering in his touch and his closeness.
She can feel the heat from him even now.
She closes her eyes and sighs. Something soft and weightless lights along her heart, and she pulls a breath of sweet air through her nostrils.
He smells like freedom and anchorage and stillness all at once. He smells like home, deep-seated and right in her bones.
He smells like a song she used to know in her dreams.
When she looks back to him, his eyes are focused on her bandaged side, his gaze tracing the movements of his steady wrapping, his careful dressing of her wound.
She smiles softly. The ever-present soreness of her ribs is lightened somehow.
She looks at him and nothing hurts quite so much.
Krem feels the ease of the session, unspoken and comfortable. The way Harding lifts her arm at his soft request. The way she stays, still and vulnerable, in his hands. The way she does not shy from his touch, does not hide behind pride or unease when there is the sharp sting of pain to her wound. She does not hide her hurt, does not falter when her hand grasps for his unknowingly as the healer spreads the smarting balm along the gash spreading across her ribs. She does not try to appear strong, does not feel discomfort at her obvious vulnerability.
Krem stops at the thought, his eyes flicking to Harding as she holds tight to his shoulder, the healer casting one last embalming spell over the wound. Her fingers dig sharply into his skin at the pain of it.
She doesn't utter a sound.
Her tunic lay forgotten beside them. She sits before him, bare from the waist up, save for a thin leather wrap around her breasts. The thick, smooth skin of her waist is soft to the touch. Her shoulders, peppered with freckles. The enchanting brush of the light marks flooding across her stomach. Krem cannot keep his eyes from her.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't want her.
It was hard even being around her these days.
Maker, just the smell of her.
And then to see her like this.
Krem has to steady his breathing and still his hands to his sides. His fingers itch in anticipation. His whole body burns with an ache he can barely recognize.
Harding turns her gaze to his, and then to the bundle of cloth that was her tunic beside him.
He pulls one more steadying breath through his nose and reaches a stiff hand to the piece of clothing.
The healer has long since left.
It is only the two of them. No one else in the lone tower room. All the other patients gone.
Krem holds the tunic before her and watches as she takes it, then spreads her arms, still stiff with the remnants of soreness, and pulls the top over herself. He cannot stop his eyes from grazing over her form.
He doesn't think he could ever stop wanting her.
But more than that, steadying his constant lingering desire, there is the realization that her uninhibited vulnerability brings.
The kind of dependency it hints at.
The kind of trust it whispers softly to him when he thinks she's not looking.
The way she feels no shame in weakness before him.
Krem swallows tight and feels the sudden rush of blood in his veins, the uncontrollable pound of his heart in his chest.
There is the soft flutter of her hand in his as he helps her off the table. The unreserved lean of her weight against him. The unquestioning knowledge that he will be there to steady her.
The way she looks at him when he holds her.
It is more intimate that he has ever felt with his lips pressed to hers. More intimate than when his hands traced familiarly along her skin.
He has never felt this close to Harding.
When her hand slips from his and she makes her way toward the threshold of the tower room, she stops, her hand lighting along the doorway. She turns her gaze over her shoulder. A short, light breath of "Thanks" along her lips.
There is something of knowing to her smile.
He knows she feels it too.
The thought sends his body to heated trembling.
