Rating: M
Author's Note: A little first-person scene I wrote on a burst of inspiration while reading Naomi Novik's amazing novel Uprooted. (I highly recommend it to any one who likes fairy tales, magic/dark magic, romance, and isn't bothered by lots and lots of bloodshed.)
The Way Forward
He was beneath me, passive as was his way. With me, but at that omnipresent distance he carried with him. His face, as I moved over him joining our bodies, was one of dawning wonder and astonished interest. His hand held my hips as lightly as a draught of Dragon's Breath, fragile and prohibitively costly to break. I clenched those hands, rooted myself to him even as he remained far removed.
The pain bloomed, sharp and flickering around the edges, withering away with blessed quickness. I gave one short cry that made him blink in a startled kind of way, but that brief expression of honest panic smoothed away by the roll of my hips and the throaty moan that push out of my lips.
I moved.
He did not move with me, but let me pick the path for us together. I led him like a blind man through the forest. I knew the way as instinctively as any magic that ever flowed through my veins. It was a dance like leaves in the wind, a song murmured by the running brook, a knowledge that flowered in me, effortless. I didn't blame him with all his books and rules and wanting to know the way before he began. I couldn't blame him, for it was one of the reasons I loved him. But it left me unprepared when he snatched me up, making me momentarily afraid that he meant to push me from him, but instead twisted and turned and I found myself pinned beneath him.
He was as warm all over as his fingertips suggested. The length of his skin burned against mine. Those fingers with their fine boned hands cupped my face, tilted it towards him so he could capture my mouth with his. Twining my arms about his neck, his hips began to move and I realized my foolishness; there was never just one way of anything.
Author's Note: More bits to follow soon.