Author's Note/DisBLAMER: Cover your eyes or heed the "T" rating. There is no explicit language, but the implication is completely there and very heavy. I'm hoping it's no worse then Mary and Dickon's "wedding night" chapter, and let's face it, most 19-year-olds are pretty eager.

And I figured most of my audience would throw rotten eggs at me if I didn't write it.

~BD


Aftermath ~ cara mia

He has been shattered. The pieces lie scattered, mixed up and jumbled – for she has been shattered too. They shattered each other, he supposes, and he cannot create any sort of scientific explanation for it. Nor is there any possible way to put themselves back together the way they were an hour ago, for nothing is the same now. And yet, everything is infinitely better, because they have been broken.

The muscles in his forearms and his biceps protest against his position and weight, but he cannot shift just yet – he can't collapse on top of her. She's much more delicate then he is. All soft and cream and warmth, slender and supple. They fit together like interlocking pieces.

In the semi-darkness, she traces her fingertip across his slick collarbone and down his sternum: a silent thank you for not falling on her, before she cups the back of his damp neck and kisses him sweetly several times and makes him forget the fatigue altogether. He inhales as she kisses him, desperate for oxygen or maybe for none at all, and as soon as her lips move on to his neck, he buries his face against the crook of her shoulder, and sinks against her slowly so as not to crush her.

Surprisingly, she doesn't physically break beneath him – it is souls that have shattered, not bodies, he thinks distantly. And then the thought is immediately dispelled; apparently happy, she cradles him, twining herself around him similarly to how she had done earlier.

Not for the first time this hour, he feels a momentary panic. In a hoarse, panting whisper, he asks if he hurt her. He couldn't bear the thought that he hurt her – physically or mentally or anything else – but he isn't stupid, because he's read the dull and boring facts about it when he took Biology and God, this was nothing like the texts.

She continues to kiss him – slow, lazy kisses that brush everywhere – as though she's too sleepy to reawaken the lustful intensity that started everything an hour ago, when they woke up together from their much-needed nap and realized they were fully dressed, tousled, and lying in the same bed together, and that they were both quite refreshed.

She murmurs that she's perfectly fine. Perfectly happy. His.

"Are you sure I didn't hurt you?" His brow furrows slightly.

"Positive." She rubs her arms and hands over him again, as though memorizing the planes of his chest and arms. As though she hasn't already.

He shudders at the contact and tries to refocus. "But are you sure? I mean, I'd read once that it... that it might hurt for a girl. And I've never..." He trails off, unsure how to admit that. As if she didn't already know. He anxiously worries that maybe he did it all wrong.

She giggles. "Neither have I, you know! But..." She grows serious and meets his eyes. "I wanted it that way. With you." She places another warm, full kiss on his upper lip and he bites back a moan. "Besides, I think we have plenty of time to practice. It's me that probably wasn't all that great." Her voice trails off nervously and she diverts her gaze.

He quickly squeezes her to him, shifting so that he's lying on his side and she can curl up into his body, his arms protectively around her. "Don't ever think that! You're bloody amazing. It's me that..." His face flushes suddenly and he stammers, "Well, I'm not sure I really..."

She cuts him off and nuzzles his chest with her nose. "You aren't going to hate me from now on, are you?"

"God, no! I could never hate you. I'm mad about you. I can't get enough of you. As you say, practice makes perfect." He grins a little.

"And I'm just as mad about you." She presses a little closer, all soft and luxurious, and he can't help groaning a little. She breathes suddenly, "I don't think it gets better than this, do you?"

"Definitely not," he finally manages, his voice slightly choked.

A long silent pause follows this awkward conversation, before she whispers softly, "How long until we reach wherever it is we're going?"

He tries to think about something other then the way her body is all perfect against his. "About four days."

"Good. I think I like this state room. And if it's cool out, there's no sense going on deck."

"None at all." His hands are roaming slowly down her back. "That's why I love you – you've got the best sense in the world. Intelligent... Witty... And you're a stunner... I mean, could I have lucked up even more?"

"Well, if you keep that up..." She arches into his hands, bracing her palms against his shoulders.

"Yeah?"

Laughing, she adds, "Sound a bit more hopeful, why don't you?"

"I can." He smirks. "If that wasn't hopeful enough."

She props up and kisses him again, her hair tickling his chest, shoulder, and arm. Not that he minds; he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of kissing her, actually. And he doesn't even care that her hair tickles. It's soft and silky like the rest of her.

When they finally break apart, she asks seriously, "Should we go up for dinner, or order to the room?"

"That's a hard decision. I suppose it depends on if you want to get dressed up or not."

"I'm not sure. I love you dressed up. But I love you this way, too." Her hand splays across his smooth chest .

"We have a couple of hours before we absolutely have to decide, you know..."

"I think that's enough time to make up my mind. Maybe."

"Unless I shatter your concentration again?"

"I wouldn't complain about that, either," she whispers.

"Good," he breathes back.

Because he can't say he really gives a damn about dinner at the moment.