Part: XXXVIS: The Gift… (cont.)

The gentle, seeking fingertips feathering over his hipbones were foreign enough to rouse him from his slumber and yet, familiar enough that he didn't bother opening his eyes.

"Slayte."

Her name, voiced in a husky murmur, immediately found its way to his tongue, manifesting itself with subconscious urgency through the layers of sleep weighing his groggy mind down. Perhaps it ought to have alarmed him, that her name was the first thing to spill from his lips in a state where he scarcely knew his own name, but the thought never even crossed his mind.

He reached out for her, and when his hands only brushed past empty sheets, he cracked a bleary eye open, wondering where she had disappeared to. The mystery unraveled, along with his senses, when he felt her soft lips and hot mouth between his legs - warm, wet, and positively sinful. A low groan escaped his throat as he pressed his eyes shut again.

Vulnerable in his sleep-addled state, he gave himself up to her without conscious thought. His hands moved by reflex, long fingers burying themselves in her silky, black hair - whether to guide her or pull her away or to regain some form of control over a situation where he could feel himself falling further apart by the second, he did not know.

Before he had sufficiently cleared the sleep from his mind, before he was even well and truly awake, she had tipped him over the edge of ecstasy, prompting her name from his lips in a low moan that was both complaint and praise.

She wasted not a drop of his release, leaving him feeling as clean as the day he was born, and both guilt and admiration flooded his still racing heart.

At length, she drew back, grinning up at him cheekily as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her long, raven locks were bound in a loose ponytail; it was clear she had put some planning to this.

"I've always wanted to do that," she beamed, looking quite proud of herself. "Do you know how hard it is to wake up before you?"

He stared back at her, more awestruck than he could ever remember being, and without wasting time on words, grabbed hold of her shoulders and pulled her in towards himself, capturing her lips with his own.

He could feel her grin - almost smirking, even - against his mouth, but he allowed her her sense of victory as he pulled her back down to the cushions, wrapping a leg around both of hers and curling his arm around her waist until she was pressed flush against him.

"It's still early," he muttered, holding her head against his chest as he rested his chin on the crown of her head. "You should get some sleep."

Blocks of muted winter sunlight spilled in through the space between the curtains and Slayte blinked at the wall clock that was approaching seven in the morning. Her almost religiously early-riser wanted to sleep in for once? She congratulated herself on a job well done as she lifted her head to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"Happy birthday," she murmured sincerely, nuzzling into his chest.

Levi's smoky grey eyes slid open as he blinked at the opposite wall.

Of course. His birthday. Hadn't he just had a birthday recently? It couldn't be that time of year again already? Ah, that was right. Elissa had gone home for the holidays, and Christmas meant it was, indeed, his birthday. Again.

He didn't care for the occasion, and he didn't like all the fuss but, as he glanced at the top of his girlfriend's head before closing his eyes once more, he reminded himself that he did like being the center of her attention for this one day in the year. And if his birthday made her that happy, it couldn't be all that bad, right?

Slayte hesitated in front of her wardrobe, her fingertips lingering on the dress she had chosen. Although she didn't think highly of dresses in general, today was a special occasion and special occasions warranted special attire.

What could be more special than this? She thought to herself, withdrawing the little black dress from the closet. It had been a gift from Levi, one she had been flattered to receive. That had to mean he liked it, right? She still recalled the first time she had tried it on, upon receiving it, the way she had turned for him once and asked for his approval with a hesitant glance in his direction. The way he had gone very still, his silence unnerving her even as his eyes drank her in, before acknowledging that it looked "fine". The hungry look in his eyes utterly belied the casual dismissal and she had harbored a suspicion, a hope, that it was far more than "fine".

And yet, the day they had followed Elissa to the Paradis nightclub, hadn't he advised against her wearing that dress? Did he no longer like it? She bit her lip in contemplation before deciding that all the same, it had been a gift from him, and it seemed appropriate to wear something of his choosing on his birthday. She pulled the dress over her head and tugged the hem down over her hips, blinking in surprise when she found that the dress barely grazed the middle of her thighs. Had it always been that short?

Deciding it didn't matter, she wasn't going out anyways, she fashioned her hair into an elegant twist, keeping it off her shoulders and out of the way. She finished off the ensemble with a pair of crystal drop earrings – last year's Christmas gift from Elissa. Hoping she wasn't overdressed, she finished fastening the second earring as she made her way out of the room and down the stairs.

She was dismayed to find Levi in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. He stood at the counter in the apron Elissa had given him, a large bowl gripped in his hand and a package of eggs on the counter as he pulled spices from the cabinet overhead.

"No!" she protested, in place of a more appropriate greeting, as she hastened to take the whisk from his hands. "It's your birthday, you shouldn't be working!" She pushed him gently away from the counter as she pried the whisk from his fingers.

Levi relinquished the whisk absentmindedly, momentarily dazed by her appearance. It was that dress. That dress. The one she rarely wore, if at all. Too short, too revealing, too feminine. She had listed its flaws with her eyes the minute she had looked it over. Even as she had turned to him with a smile and thanked him for it, he had read the truth behind her words. The confusion in her eyes, wondering why he would get her such a thing. She'd hated it. And that was alright. It wasn't like he needed or even wanted her to wear it. She could wear whatever she wanted. She looked good in everything. She looked good in nothing.

It was just that habit of his. When he was out on errands and saw something that reminded him of her, he felt a need to bring it home and show it to her. Usually, that meant he had to buy it first. And so, he had done precisely that, more often than not. A new coat, new winter boots, a bone-china teacup, notebooks, pens, hair clips, tea, bracelets, knick-knacks, books… over the course of six years, it was almost appalling how many things he had bought her without a second thought.

The dress had been one such item. He had seen it on display in a corner store on a mannequin set with a blond wig. Everything about that display had seemed off, as if the dress didn't belong there. Even the photo of the model wearing the dress set beside the mannequin seemed like a caricature. It was like finding someone else riding your stolen bike, a week after you reported it missing. He knew who belonged in that dress. He knew who it would look just right on. Who could wrap anyone she desired around her finger in that dress. It was a waste for that dress to be on anyone at all besides her. He was a neat-freak, as they said. He just wanted to put things where they belonged. That was all there was to it. And that dress belonged on Slayte.

As he watched her move around the kitchen in the slip of a thing, the black lace a sharp contrast to her pale, creamy thighs, the roll of her shoulders, visible through the off-shoulder sleeves as she whisked the batter she was throwing together. The modest sweetheart neckline that offered the faintest glimpse of cleavage. Likely too much for Slayte's comfort, not quite enough for Levi's.

And yet, she moved around the kitchen with an easy grace, comfortable in this outfit that she would have never chosen for herself, so long as he was the only one watching.

Levi was suddenly taken by an impulse to skip breakfast entirely, to haul her up the stairs and finish what she had started that morning - but that wasn't fair. Not after she had just spent the better half of the morning getting dressed up for him.

He swallowed. For him. The sheer reality of that fact still left him winded every time it hit him. All the little things she did, specifically for him. Hoping for – what, precisely? A reaction? A thank you? A smile? He rarely ever gave her any of those things, so it was a wonder she never stopped trying to please him. Just the way she did right now, casting him a shy glance, trying to read what he thought of her appearance, trying to ascertain his approval.

"How long was I supposed to wait for you to crawl out of bed?" he drawled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter.

That did the trick. It usually did. The shy blush was replaced with indignance, and she focused her attention back on the task at hand. "I didn't know you would be up so early!" she argued, ladling the batter into a crépe pan.

He watched with subdued disappointment. Sweets? For breakfast?

"You should have," he countered easily, unfolding his arms as he crossed over to her. He reached over her shoulder for the kettle. Filling it with water, he returned to the stove and allowed his free hand to graze over her hip, before settling briefly, lightly, on the small of her back as he set the kettle on the flame. His eyes met hers in passing, "You were the one who woke me." And then, the touch disappeared.

Slayte found herself breathing again.

"We having cavities for breakfast?" he questioned with a raised brow.

She turned to look at him, to judge how sincere the sarcasm was. "I thought we could have savory crépes." When he didn't immediately answer, she continued, "Mushrooms, spinach, cheese…?"

"You don't like mushrooms."

"They're alright, once in a while." She answered, turning away as she lifted the crépe out of the pan.

"You can make mine," Levi relented. "I'll make yours."

Slayte frowned as she ladled more batter into the pan. "But, Levi, it's your birthday -"

"So, stop arguing with me," he threw back, pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. She bit her lip but fell silent.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Slayte stared in awe at the meal before her. Beautiful crepes filled with hazelnut-chocolate spread, strawberries, and whipped cream - it looked like a meal fresh out of a magazine. In contrast, Levi's plate appeared a little deflated. She had put forth her best effort, had spent days picking out a good recipe, and practiced making it on the rare occasions he wasn't home, forcing down the mushrooms to make sure it was nothing short of delicious and yet… she just wasn't the talented cook that he was.

"Is it alright?" she asked hesitantly, watching the quiet way he chewed. Were the mushrooms as inedible as she found them to be? Or, did he like them, by some miracle?

"It's good," he monotoned unconvincingly. "Eat."

"It looks too good to eat," she whispered honestly, turning back to her own plate and admiring the artistic peaks of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.

He cast her a look - an are-you-out-of-your-mind look - that prompted a laugh from her and had Slayte lifting fork and knife to partake of the delicious meal.

"Thank you," she murmured with a smile, before taking her first bite. Slayte couldn't help but hum in happiness as the sweetness of the hazelnut-chocolate spread, the tanginess of the strawberries, and the creaminess of the whipped cream melted on her tongue. "It's so delicious," she gushed. "How are you so good at this?"

Levi watched her devour her breakfast happily. She was easy to read, always like an open book to him. He doubted the same held true in reverse. She second-guessed herself more often than not and relied on him to steer her in the right direction. Slayte depended on the truth of his words, often spoken without emphasis, without the expression or body language that would convince her of their sincerity. But she trusted him. Trusted that he meant what he said, even if the nonverbal signals did not always match. And that was enough, between the two of them.

They ate in companionable, peaceful silence enjoying the quiet day off and the snow falling in a gentle flurry outside the window.

"Have you ever built a snowman?" Slayte queried, watching the snow pile up.

"Waste of time," Levi dismissed casually, bringing another forkful to his mouth.

"So, that's a no?"

"Did you want to go build one? In that dress?" He deadpanned, gesturing with his fork.

"Maybe." She hesitated, dragging bright cinnamon-brown eyes back to the little miracle of crystalline snowflakes falling from the sky.

"It seems a waste to be inside when it looks so magical out there. This is the first time it's snowed on your birthday, isn't it?"

Levi watched the wonder in her eyes as she settled her chin on the palm of her hand, admiring the winter scene beyond the windowpane.

"We could go for a walk, if that's what you want," Levi suggested, stacking their plates.

"Would you?" Slayte's eyes lit up at the idea, and Levi turned away to wash their dishes.

"Sure."

That was how the two of them found themselves wrapped up in coat and shawl a quarter of an hour later, making their way through the snowfall. Her fingers intertwined through his. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his grey wool coat, keeping her warm. Invisible to the eyes of onlookers, his thumb stroked absentmindedly over the back of her hand and she was glad that the redness of her cheeks could be attributed to the sting of the frigid winter air. She concentrated on the steady movement, the tender touch, wondering if it was a subconscious action or if he was aware of the effect the gentle brush of his thumb was having on her.

The two of them walked along the Canterbury roads, Slayte admiring the Christmas decorations, and Levi humming noncommittally in response, or making sarcastic quips about the likely inordinate electric bills of the residents. On the way back, Slayte counted snowmen, commenting on differing shapes and sizes as she passed. By the time the two of them arrived back at the tea shop, snowflakes trapped in their raven locks and a healthy red glow in their cheeks, she frowned in disappointment at the pristine, untouched snow in front of the tea shop.

"We need a snowman," she complained.

"Look at you," Levi eyed her once over. "That coat and those boots are barely keeping you warm. You want to catch your death of pneumonia? Be my guest."

Slayte glanced down at her outfit. She hadn't bothered to change, but her navy-blue gold-buttoned coat was longer than her dress, nearly grazing her knees and the black, leather knee-high boots she wore did a decent enough job keeping out the cold. A white shawl was wrapped around her throat and she thought she would be fine. Besides, when had she ever gotten sick? She gave him a look, and he recalled the error of his words.

"Just because you're not going to die, doesn't mean you should be reckless, brat," he opened the door to the tea shop and held it open, waiting for her to follow him inside. Slayte hesitated, her gaze lingering wistfully on the snow. Snow was so rare. Even more so, the more the years passed by and mortals went on ruining their own environment. She wanted passersby to see a snowman in front of their house, too. To show that this was a house full of life and love.

"I…" she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. "I'll be right in?"

Levi gave her a bland look before giving up. "Suit yourself," he muttered, allowing the door to fall shut behind him.

Slayte felt a twinge of guilt. It was Levi's birthday. Shouldn't she be doing things to accommodate him? And yet, it wasn't every year that they got this much snow. It shouldn't take her too long, right? Just to build one snowman? She'd follow him shortly. Surely, a cheerful snowman would be good for business, too? Make the tea shop more inviting?

Slayte rolled up her sleeves and set to work, but when Levi went to check on her ten minutes later, he found her shaking out her red and frostbitten hands, despairing over a rather large lump of snow that in no way represented a ball.

"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe, unimpressed. Slayte turned frustrated dark eyes towards him, now unburdened by his coat and wearing a high-collared dark-green sweater and black jeans, and frowned, ignorant of the way Levi's grey eyes caught on the pout of her lower lip.

"Why isn't this working? We don't have snow in the underworld. This looks so easy on TV," she lamented, and got back to her feet to gather more snow.

"It would look so inviting! A cheerful snowman in front of the tea shop, bigger than all the ones we saw. But we don't have any kids to make us one and I'm too dumb to figure it out." She went on complaining as she brushed the snow together with her bare hands. Levi froze, watching her traipse through the snow, prattling and half-heartedly attempting to make something useful out of the snow.

Her words echoed through his mind. We don't have kids. It was a complaint, wasn't it? If they had children, she wouldn't have to be the one making a stupid snowman. Was that what she meant? Did she want children, regardless of the consequences? With him? Did she want his children? Or was she simply speaking without thinking as she often did? That was the most likely scenario, he decided, and narrowed his eyes as he saw that the palms of her hands had turned a blistering red from exposure to the cold.

"Are you stupid?" Levi asked, stepping forward and taking hold of her bare wrists. "Stop that."

He lifted her hands to his face and blew on them, his warm breath bringing the circulation back through her fingers and easing away the stinging cold. "Where are your gloves?" he asked at length.

"Um, it wasn't working too well with them."

With a roll of his eyes, Levi squatted by Slayte's unfortunate pile of snow and, lifting a handful of snow in his hands, formed a small snowball resting in the palm of his hand - a perfect sphere. Slayte's eyes lit up in appreciation as he demonstrated how to roll the ball of snow, forming a larger ball, the base for her snowman.

"That should be big enough," he announced, dusting off his hands. "Make two more of those and you're done."

Gleefully, she set to work and it quickly became apparent to Levi that she had taken to be the head what he had intended to be the base of the snowman. His explanations landed on deaf ears as she demanded to know what the point of making a snowman was, if it wasn't going to be the biggest snowman in the neighborhood. He'd be damned if he knew what the point was of making a snowman at all – regardless of its size. One way or another, with Levi's begrudging assistance, a snowman reaching up to Slayte's shoulder stood on the porch of their tea shop. Two hazelnuts served as eyes and a series of pebbles indicated a crooked-toothed smile. Slayte insisted that nothing less than a carrot nose would do, and although Levi considered that a waste of resources, he relented.

Slayte dashed into the shop to retrieve the most colorful shawl she could find in their bedroom and returned to wrap it around the snowman. She grinned to find that Levi had located branches to serve as arms and was carefully placing a series of chestnuts down the midsection, standing in for buttons. They were evenly spaced and perfectly aligned, and Slayte could not help but smile at the sight. When they stood back to admire the finished product, she stood up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek in gratitude.

"Thanks for the help," she smiled at him, reaching for his hand. He watched her quietly, her myriad emotions, thoughts, and actions – often only loosely related to one another, were always endearing to him. She gasped as she realized how cold his hands were and – being unable to warm them with her own freezing hands – pressed the palms of his hands to her face, hoping the warmth there would settle into his skin.

"What are you doing?" He chided, attempting to pull his hands away. "My hands are cold, stupid."

"I know," she said, drawing them back. "This should warm you up."

She pressed her palms to the back of his hands, holding them to her face to keep them warm. Levi watched her quietly. He could think of few things more unpleasant than having someone's freezing hands pressed to your face. Slayte likely didn't care though. Likely, the only thought she had in her head was to somehow ease his discomfort.

He leaned in close, taking advantage of the way his proximity stole the breath from her lungs – still, even after all these years - and touched his forehead to hers.

"Oi. If you want us to get warm, how about going inside, hm?"

With a nervous laugh, she released his hands. "Oh, yeah. That makes sense."

They headed inside and Levi pulled her coat from her shoulders, hanging it up for her. She thanked him gratefully and retreated to the bathroom to freshen up. When she returned, she found two steaming cups of tea set on the low table and Levi leaning back on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other and a book in his hand. Smiling to herself, Slayte crawled up beside him, curling her legs up beneath her and leaning into him as she cupped her tea in both hands, savoring the warmth that seeped into her skin.

She read over Levi's shoulder – a tale about a fearless adventurer who discovered halfway through his journey that the oracle had made a mistake, and he was not the chosen one after all – and sipped slowly at her tea. Levi shifted and Slayte lifted her head briefly from his shoulder as he moved his book to his left hand and slung his right arm around her, his hand resting lazily on her bare shoulder, allowing her to lean against his chest, his chin inches from the crown of her head. They read quietly together, and the afternoon passed by in peaceful silence.

"It stopped snowing," Slayte frowned at the window as she peeled potatoes for Levi.

She had been adamant that she be the one to prepare dinner today, but Levi had argued he would rather be done with it himself in little over an hour than sit around four hours waiting for her to be finished so they could spend some time together. Both flattered and recognizing the wisdom (and accuracy) in the suggestion, she had acquiesced begrudgingly, provided he allow her to help him and promised to steer clear of the kitchen when she was working on her "surprise".

Why she bothered to call it a surprise was a mystery to him, it was obviously going to be a cake. She might as well just say it.

"Most snow we've had in Canterbury in ten years," he commented absently.

"Other places have more, then?" she questioned, reaching for another potato.

Levi glanced at her, recalling the world she had come from, and the fact that she had seen nothing but Canterbury since coming to the surface. "You've seen it on television. There are all sorts of places."

Dicing an onion with practiced ease, he added, "We could go and see some. You've just been here this whole time, right?"

"Could we?" Slayte questioned in surprise. "I would love that. Go see the tea plantations in china. Sit on Persian carpets and have some of theirs. Drink out of those cute little glasses in Turkey. Have some chai in India. Go somewhere every year, like other people do." She peeled the potato more quickly, growing increasingly excited as she spoke. She laughed and added, "And at the end of it all, sitting side by side in a nursing home, complaining that they don't know how to make a decent cup."

He shifted his gaze towards her, observing her quietly through those sleet grey eyes, waiting for her own words to dawn on her. When he saw her movements slow suddenly, the potato peelings dropping in lazy, slow strips to the bowl in front of her, he murmured quietly. "Sounds like you put a lot of thought to this."

She smiled sadly to herself, "Well, I mean… I know that can't happen."

"Of course not," he agreed, pulling spices from the kitchen cabinet. "Like hell am I going to a nursing home. I'm staying here. Not going to some shitty place where they can't even make a damn cup of tea."

Measuring out the spices, he added, "You can stay here and take care of me, if that's what you want."

Slayte lifted her gaze towards his turned back, her tea-brown eyes brimming with emotion. For self-reliant, strong, dependable Levi to tell her he would be willing to put aside his pride and let her tend to him, care for him, in his old age? It made her heart swell with love. Made her very being itch with the desire to do just that. Hold his hand, feed him, be there for him in every way possible.

"Oi. What the hell kind of weird thoughts are you thinking right now?" He cast her a disdainful glance.

"Nothing," she denied, schooling her features into a more neutral expression. "Would you be okay with that?" she asked carefully. "People would think I'm your granddaughter."

"Who gives a shit what people think?" He countered, approaching her table to collect the peeled potatoes. "Sucks for you, though." He angled his head towards her meaningfully. "Stuck with a grumpy old man all day."

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem." She responded with a grin, leaning forward and crossing her arms over the table. "You could say I have some experience."

Levi paused, giving her a blank look as he held the bowl of potatoes. "Cheeky."

He returned to the kitchen stove as Slayte laughed quietly to herself. He indulged her, and by the time he had a chicken roasting in the oven with potatoes and vegetables beside it, he retreated to the living room to allow Slayte her privacy.

Slayte had insisted he not read further into his book without her, but he could only reread the newspaper so many times. After an hour had ticked by, he turned to his phone in sheer boredom. He was surprised to find a heartfelt message from Elissa, wishing him a happy birthday and a merry Christmas, and he took the time to weigh his words carefully before answering with two simple lines, wishing her the same and good health for her family.

After one and a half hours had ticked by, he found himself making his way back to the kitchen. He didn't even care about the stupid cake. If she wanted to make his birthday special, then she shouldn't be leaving his side for the duration of it. He frowned to himself. Pushing open the door, Slayte squawked in alarm and turned towards him, hiding something behind her back as she lifted both hands to rest on the counter behind her, leaning back and using her whole body to shield it from view.

Levi gave her an irritable look as he checked on the roast in the oven. "It's been one and a half hours. How much more time do you need?"

"One and a half hours is not really that long, Levi," she defended, inching towards him to hide her project more securely from view.

Deciding their dinner needed ten more minutes, he angled his head to fix her with an undecided stare. To voice his frustrations and drag her out of the kitchen, or to show patience and let her finish working on a surprise he didn't care in the slightest for?

"Six birthdays and you've never once given me what I wanted," he found himself complaining. It was surprisingly petulant behavior, for him. But, judging by the guilt that sparked in her eyes, it was effective, and he would make full use of it.

"What do you want? I always try, but I - " she bit her lip, disappointed that she had given him cause for complaint. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do everything I can to make it yours."

"Will you?" he asked, steel-grey eyes flashing with something of a challenge in them as he approached her.

"Of course!" she insisted, lifting determined, dark eyes to his annoyed, silvery grey irises. "You know I always try to make this day special. What is it?"

He lifted a hand towards her waist, tugging at the apron strings until they came loose.

"You," he announced evenly.

"Twenty-four hours." He reached behind her and up her back to undo the strings tied behind her neck.

"No Elissa. No grim reaper. No snowmen. No surprises. Just you. On my lap. For twenty-four hours."

She swallowed thickly, her heart rioting in her chest at his words. She felt that familiar heat on her skin that meant there was likely a blush that consumed her face to the tips of her ears. She was at a loss for words as she stared at him wide-eyed. She wished she was as smooth with her tongue as he always was, that she could say something clever or charming in return, but her tongue knotted up and even her mind shut down, only repeating one very unhelpful mantra endlessly. You. He wants you.

She licked her lips nervously. "I – I can do that," she assured him lamely.

"Too late for this year," he dismissed, drawing back and taking her apron with him. "Better luck next time."

Slayte glanced over her shoulder at the half-finished cake and then at Levi's expectant gaze, weighing her options.

"Dinner still needs a little bit, right? I'll finish this in that time, and I won't set foot in the kitchen until you're tired of me," she promised.

Until he was tired of her. When would that be? Levi doubted she knew what she was saying.

"You have ten minutes," he nodded, and Slayte ushered him out of the kitchen to finish decorating her cake in record time. When the timer rang, Levi pulled their dinner from the oven and Slayte rushed about the kitchen to set the table for them, setting a vase of flowers in the middle of the cherry-wood table and lighting two long, tapered candles. Levi blinked at the extravagance but shook his head in resignation. Whatever made her happy.

They enjoyed a sumptuous meal and tidied up the kitchen together before retreating to the living area. They exchanged gifts, Slayte overjoyed to receive a thick, leather-bound journal with gold-embossed detailing - a notebook for her "depressing poetry" - as well as a large, beige, cashmere shawl as soft as plush to the touch. "So that you can stop whining about how cold you always are," Levi informed her as he wrapped it around her shoulders.

Slayte, in turn, had gotten her hands on some rare Ancient Lotus Green Tea from Vietnam, a gift Levi had turned over in his hands carefully and immediately wanted a cup of.

When Levi unpacked his second gift, he frowned at the sight before him, not, at first, understanding its significance.

"The Lord of the Rings?" he asked, turning the book over in his hands. The other three books of the boxed set stood at attention on the table.

"Yes!" Slayte enthused, scooting closer to him on the sofa. "I've never read it, but Elissa said it's a must-read, she highly recommended it."

Levi cast her a glance, somewhat irked that she had allowed Elissa to influence her decision instead of letting him receive something of her own choosing.

"So, who should I thank for this? You, or Elissa?" Maybe it was petty of him. Maybe it was uncalled for, but was it really too much to ask, to have just one day where he didn't need to share her with anyone?

"Oh," Slayte blushed, not catching the insinuation, "You don't need to thank me. I just wanted to choose a long anthology, something good that neither of us have read, and I thought… Well…" She trailed off, intertwining her fingers nervously. "Actually, now that I'm about to say it, it sounds stupid."

"What?" Levi watched her nervous rambling, holding out judgment on her gift.

"Well, you know, I thought… this is a long series, and maybe… Well, maybe I could read it to you? A little every night, for a long time?" She snuck furtive glances at him, suddenly self-conscious. He was a grown man, why would he want someone else to read to him? What had she been thinking? It was dumb. It was possibly the dumbest idea she'd ever had. Why hadn't she realized that earlier?

Levi stared at the book in his hands, the first in the boxed set. So, that was it. Not the books themselves were the present, but the promise to read to him, every night, until they were through with the series. The shared experience. Listening to her low voice, a voice that seemed to enchant him whenever he heard it, listening to the intonations, the rise and fall of her voice in the midst of her storytelling. A little every night, for a long time. The "long time" was her gift to him. The only one he really wanted. Her time, all of it.

Slayte blinked when her vision was obstructed by the cover of the first book and looked up to see Levi holding it out towards her. "Go on, then."

His expression was as passive as ever, but the action flooded her heart with warmth as she accepted the book with both hands. She flipped open the cover, a blush blooming to life across her cheekbones, as she turned to the first chapter. She started when Levi stretched across the sofa, resting his head in her lap. Her gaze softened with affection as Levi closed his eyes, his raven locks tickling the bare skin of her thighs. With a small, loving smile, she reached out and stroked his hair away from his face as she turned her eyes back to the book and began reading. She was nervous at first, and stumbled over words that should have been simple, but soon settled into an easy rhythm and lost herself to the story she was telling.

It was as close to heaven as he could probably get on earth. Her hand in his hair, the scent of her surrounding him, and her pleasant voice washing over him in her familiar, low tones that he found so comforting. He would have to ask her to read the first chapter again some other time. He was sure he hadn't heard a word. He could feel himself drifting off to sleep. That wouldn't do at all. He could feel her long, gentle fingers massaging his scalp and was struck, once more, by the possessive desire to cement this moment in time. To keep her by his side by any means necessary.

Every moment with her was fleeting. Like they were living on borrowed time. Was there no way to ensure that he could have this, with her, every day of his life without fearing what the future held? Probably not, given the circumstances. What with her shitty master, and the danger lurking in the shadows, and the assignment she had prioritized over herself, over her wellbeing, over him and their life together. He would never think to blame her. It was the right thing to do. To protect Elissa, who could not possibly protect herself against the forces that worked against her.

And yet, once more, Levi could not help but feel a resentment towards the god of death who had given her this task. Who had appropriated her with a terrible burden, one too heavy for her to carry alone. He was a god, wasn't he? He had to be capable of dealing with this on his own. What could he mean by tormenting Slayte this way? By forcing her to live her life as nothing more than his instrument, to carry out his will? It irked him to no end.

"Have you put any more thought to it?" Levi scarcely realized he had spoken, until he recognized that she had stopped reading. He opened his eyes slowly, to find her looking down at him in confusion.

"Put thought to what?" She questioned, closing the book on her index finger in order to not lose her place.

"To my suggestion."

Slayte looked down into his handsome face, to the beautiful grey-blue eyes that seemed to be a very reflection of a winter's sky and took a moment to remember what they were talking about.

"Suggestion?"

He gave her an even, meaningful look and his intention dawned on her with sudden clarity.

"Oh." She averted her gaze and withdrew her hand from his hair. "I didn't realize that was still on the table."

"Why wouldn't it be?" He asked, reaching up to turn her face back towards him, drawing her eyes to him. He usually wasn't this way. He wasn't this demanding, this insistent, this possessive. He was usually content to watch her do as she pleased. But there was something about this day. The way she tried to make the day about him but usually missed the mark, failing to see what it was he truly wanted. For once, he wanted to make it clear.

"Well, I mean…" she began, finding it more difficult to speak now that she was staring straight into his intense grey eyes. "That was before you knew what I was."

"Did I take my words back? Does what you are change who you are? Don't decide for me." His words were laced with an almost-aggression. A possessiveness. And yet, also a calmness, like an ocean tide that tugged at her insistently, pulling her under slowly, so that she wasn't any the wiser until she was lost to its depths.

"Do you want to marry me, Levi?" She questioned in a hushed, incredulous whisper. Almost ashamed to voice the words they were so impossible.

"Yes."

She bit her lip, and set the book aside, trying to battle the tears filling her eyes. "I don't belong to myself. I can't promise you anything. One day I'm here, the next I might disappear. I might be sent away or torn to shreds by harpies or sent back to the underworld and I… I want to promise you everything, but I'm scared that I won't be able to keep those promises."

Levi noted the anguish in her eyes, understood the rationale behind her words, and yet, he was undeterred. He stroked her cheek gently, searching her eyes and reading the truth there. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Everything else was just excuses.

"I'm not asking for any of your tomorrows, Slayte." He spoke evenly, self-assuredly, his tone so brusque it was almost a reprimand. Slayte held onto his hand and closed her eyes as she pressed her face into his palm, warm, grounding, and all that she wanted in the world. Levi's voice softened as he next spoke, but the words rushed through her like a flood. "Just all of your todays."

She opened her eyes at his words, turning her gaze back towards him as he stared evenly up at her. She saw the determination in his steel-grey eyes. Eyes that told her he had made promises unspoken about her. Eyes that vowed he would never allow anyone to subjugate her so long as he lived. Eyes that promised to wage war on the gods themselves for her.

"I want nothing more than to marry you, Levi. To stay by your side for as long as possible. To live a life with you." She bit her lip, knowing a long list of reasons would follow why that was impossible. She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. Why couldn't she marry him? Why did she have to be reasonable? Why did she have to consider a thousand things that had not even occurred? He knew what the dangers were, perhaps not as well as her, but he at least had an idea of them and he wanted her anyway, didn't he?

"But…" she began, knowing she had to be the one to say it. The one to throw water on this flame he had kindled.

"No buts." Levi cut in, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Yes or no, just like I answered you. Do you want to marry me, Slayte?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks helplessly. There was no point in trying to hold them back. Was there anything she wanted more? She nodded as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish her tears. "I want that more than anything," the confession escaped her lips on a despairing sob as she wiped at her tears with the heel of her palm.

The hand that slipped past her cheek, curving around the back of her head, the pressure applied there, pulling her towards him, had her eyes flying open just as her lips met his. He kissed her slowly, leisurely, tasting her tears, and she brought her hand to his chest, supporting herself, as the other returned to his hair, her eyes fluttering shut once more as she returned his kiss with all the passion that burned within her. She worked her mouth on his, transforming the kiss from something slow and comforting to something desperate and pleading. She felt his left hand reach up to cup her cheek as the fingers of his right hand dug more firmly into her hair.

When at last, they broke apart for breath, Levi pulled away from her lap and rose to his feet, opening a drawer on the sideboard. Slayte watched him with bated breath, confused as to what would follow, when he returned to her side and revealed a black velvet box.

Oh, no. Not a ring. Rings were expensive.

Guilt clawed at her insides as she turned to him, lips parted to protest as Levi calmly flipped open the box and there, nestled on a bed of white silk she found a ring that had any protests she had formed dying on her tongue. It was a band fashioned from some sort of gleaming, black metal, studded with a large black stone, flanked by two smaller ones, with more small black gemstones lining the circumference of it. Black diamonds, she concluded in both awe and dismay. It was nothing like the rings she had seen in advertisements and on television. It was just like her. Different.

"Levi," she breathed, furrowing her brow. "Why did you- you didn't have to - "

He ignored her protests entirely, removing the ring as casually as if he were taking batteries out of a remote control and reached for her hand. "Why not?" he questioned, taking a brief moment to admire her long, pale and elegant fingers. To appreciate the way they were trembling. He slipped the ring onto her finger and angled her hand to take in the image. He paused longer than he thought he would have. It suited her perfectly. The contrast between her pale skin and the dark ring… was pleasing to his eyes. The meaning behind that ring, and the promise it conveyed - he was suddenly struck with an understanding of why people wasted their time on such gestures at all.

"Huh," he breathed, before releasing her. Slayte gaped at her own hand. It was beautiful. It was everything she would have wanted, if she had wanted a ring. But it had to have been horribly expensive and that knowledge made her want to scream and cast the ring far, far away from herself. "Levi, it must have cost a fortune, we – we normally don't do these things. I don't need a ring."

"Oi," he muttered, annoyed by her protests. "Shut up."

He closed the velvet box before getting to his feet and dumping it in the wastepaper basket. It had outlived its use.

Slayte bit her lip, hesitating. She couldn't possibly accept, could she? Levi turned, seeing her reluctance and sighed. "Why shouldn't you have what everyone else has?"

Slayte met his gaze and nodded quietly. "Thank you, Levi. It's perfect. I love it. It's – it's just like me."

She missed the small smile that graced his features at her compliment, the smile she was always so desperate to see. "How did you even do this? I never told you my ring size?"

"Why would I need that?" He frowned, the faint smile dissipating. "I know your hands."

She dropped her gaze as her heart flooded with love at his simple words, her eyes lingering dreamily on the black ring. "Does this mean…?" she asked softly, openly nervous about the question on the tip of her tongue. "Am I…?" She swallowed, her eyes shifting nervously, settling anywhere but on his face. Summoning all her courage, she lifted hopeful brown eyes to his patient, grey irises. "Does this make me yours? Am I yours now?"

Levi did not answer immediately, his eyes narrowing subtly as his lips pressed into a thin line. He was not fond of the concept of possessing ownership of another person. It was, to his mind, an outdated, inhuman concept that only shitty, insecure bastards celebrated. Why would you want to own someone when you could instead watch them flourish, unfold, and spread their wings?

And yet, he recognized, Slayte had lived her entire life as a servant, under the ownership of shitty assholes she couldn't even choose for herself. The emotion wavering in her hesitant gaze was pleading with him, almost, to confirm that she was his. That he alone held mastery over her. And although it wasn't his style, although he didn't want her lowering her head to anyone, he understood that it was the closest thing to freedom she believed she could have. That it meant a great deal to her, to be his.

"Yeah," he answered finally, relenting when her expression fell at his prolonged silence, and he caught her lowering her gaze. "You're mine." She bit her lip as she lifted her gaze in surprise, her hands trembled where she clung to the hem of her dress, and she struggled to contain the overwhelming joy and acceptance those three words sent flooding through her heart. Who could have known that "belonging" was an intoxicating, dizzying sensation? That it would drive the breath clean from her lungs? He leaned against the sideboard, observing her quietly before he beckoned her closer with a curl of his fingers.

"Come here."

She hastened to her feet and crossed the distance between them in the span of a single breath. Her moist eyes fixed intently on him as she stood before him, drinking in his words as if they were scripture.

He cocked his head to the side, his gaze tracing her features. At length, he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, his eyes following the movement of his hand. Slayte shivered, overwhelmed to be the sole focus of his attention, consumed whole by his gaze.

"I'm going to break off every claim anyone else may have on you," he continued, his fingertips lingering, then tracing the shell of her ear, continuing their slow, sensuous journey across her jawline. Slayte felt all reason flee her mind at his touch and was helpless to draw her eyes from his magnetizing gaze.

"And when no one else dares to say your name anymore. When I have you for me alone," his voice seemed to drop lower with every syllable, and Slayte held her breath so as not to miss a word. "I'm going to take you…" His fingers paused at her chin, lifting her face to his as his journeying gaze came back home to her tea-brown eyes. "And give you back to yourself."

A broken sob died in her throat at the sweetness of his words, stifled by the warm lips that closed on hers, allowing no more grief, no more sobs, promising wordlessly to kiss every one of her tears away.

Slayte closed her eyes, entirely overcome with emotion as she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the gratitude and love that could not be caged in words. Levi returned the kiss with a sigh, bringing his hands to her hips, tracing the protruding bones of her hips with his thumbs as he deepened the kiss.

He groaned against her mouth, despite himself, as he filled his hands with her warmth, trailing his fingers down to the hem of her dress. His fingers itched to peel the thin, clinging fabric from her skin and reveal the expanse of soft, pale flesh underneath, waiting to come alive under his touch. To have her writhing beneath him, coming entirely undone, unravelling her slowly, torturously in the way that only he could, prompting the most delicious sounds from her parted, moist lips. He hungered for her like a man starved.

Slayte, recognizing the change in his demeanor, and realizing that her cake was about to go uneaten, drew back, panting for breath. "I think it's time for cake, don't you?" The words left her in a nervous rush, and he stared at her blankly. She couldn't be serious.

But she was.

As she extricated herself from his hold, she disappeared out of his grasp into the kitchen, only to return momentarily bearing an admittedly beautiful looking cake frosted in white and decorated with shredded coconut and toasted, slivered almonds. The words "Happy Birthday, Levi," decorated the top of the cake in chocolate script where a single candle stood flickering. The sweetness of her intentions and the frustration brought on by her execution was a familiar blend of aggravation that Levi knew all too well.

"Don't sing," he warned her. He hated the singing. Hated birthdays in general.

"I wasn't going to," she relented with a laugh, accustomed to his preferences. "But you can blow out the candle, right? There's only one, so it's not a big deal."

She set the cake on the side table and reached for the knife, ready to hand it to him. With an air of reluctant resignation he came up behind her, settling his hands back on her hips as he leaned over her shoulder to blow out the candle. Slayte fought back the desire still coursing through her body, intensified by feeling his breath on her face as he blew the candle out.

"I hope you made a wish," she muttered, to distract him from her flushed state. "That was too fast."

"If I have a wish, I'll work on it." His hand left her side as he spoke, reaching for the knife. "I'm not holding out hope on a candle."

"Fair enough," Slayte relented with an amused smile. She knew he didn't think highly of birthday traditions, but she wanted to honor him with them anyways. He deserved to be celebrated. Why shouldn't you have what everyone else has?

Instead of taking the knife from her, he closed his fingers around hers, making that first, even incision into the cake before relinquishing his hold.

"Satisfied?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Yes, thank you." She grinned, turning the cake to cut it into even pieces. "I'm sure you'll love it. They're flavors that you like, coconut, almond, white chocolate…" she trailed off with a sharp intake of breath, as his fingers feathered up her sides in a ghost of a touch that had her stomach clenching in anticipation. She could feel his eyes on her, freezing, burning, in their intensity as he trailed a hand over her shoulder, while the other held firmly onto her hip. He stood just behind her, close enough for her to feel his warmth, not close enough to feel him.

If he had his way, all her work would have been for nothing. She rambled on about the ingredients while cutting a single piece of cake, he needed to at least have a bite of it! But in no time at all, his distracted fingers found the zipper between her shoulder blades and he pulled down slowly, revealing an expanse of creamy, pale skin all the way to the small of her back, exposed to the cold air. Her words withered in her throat as she felt his eyes on her, as she felt her dress hanging loosely from her shoulders, as she asked herself if the cake truly mattered that much. Foregoing plates, forks, and decorum in order to ensure he had a taste of his own birthday cake she broke off a piece of the slice she had cut and half-turned, lifting it towards him.

"Just try it," she offered. "Please?"

Unwilling to deny a direct, spoken request, he caught hold of her wrist, and bent his head to accept the offering. It was delicious, light and airy, not too sweet. Just right.

"Is it alright?" she questioned, knowing he wasn't particularly fond of sweets.

He hummed in agreement, leaning over her shoulder to take her index finger into his mouth, sucking gently at the tip of it until it was cleaned of any lingering frosting.

A furious blush burned on her face as he licked at her other fingers until all the frosting was gone and she was certain she would melt into a puddle in no time at all. Still holding onto her wrist, he brought the fingers of his left hand to the back of her neck and watched her expression closely through hooded grey eyes as he traced a feather-light touch down the length of her spine, causing her to tremble and release a soft moan as she slumped forward, clutching helplessly at the table - held upright solely by his solid grip on her wrist.

It had been a tantalizing discovery, the first time he had learned how sensitive her back was. Was it because she was always watching her back, not trusting anyone, that the faintest touch was enough to reduce her to her knees? He didn't know, but he enjoyed making use of that information.

Bringing his mouth to her shoulder, he traced a path up to her neck where he lingered with gentle kisses, before dragging his tongue up the length of her neck and nipping at the soft flesh there. Liquid pleasure melted through her veins at his touches, her skin positively strewn alight wherever his fingers grazed. She struggled to regulate her breathing, her breaths leaving her in audible gasps. He concealed his satisfaction as he finally moved on, his tongue idling along the length of her spine. She mewled helplessly, and he held her hips to keep her from sinking to the floor as he continued tormenting her with open-mouthed kisses, leaving love bites on her shoulder blades, on her lower back, wherever she had rewarded him with a barely contained moan.

At length, he drew back to his full height, pulling her into himself as he draped an arm around her midsection. Reaching up, he tugged her hair free from its confinement, eager to have that dark mass of silky locks tumbling around them. Leaning towards her ear, he murmured, "Still want some cake? Don't let me stop you."

Turning her head towards him, her eyes glazed over with lust, she answered in a needy daze, "Cake?"

As if the word had lost all meaning, as if she had entirely forgotten what she had been working for hours on. Her eyes lit up as she saw the smirk that graced his features – it was almost a smile, wasn't it?

When he had made short work of the pins keeping her hair in place, he ran his fingers through her tresses, before curling his fingers and tugging her hair, pulling her head back in a ruthless hold that she delighted in, before stepping closer, his front pressing firmly into her back as he claimed her mouth possessively, abandoning the restraint he had practiced all day. Slayte gripped the sideboard, pushing against him with a needy desperation. Grinding against him as if she had been craving the very same, the entire day, no less than he had.

He could lose himself in her, he really could. Forgetting time and place, present and future, the laws of the world and the cruelty of it. He could have her all to himself and none of the rest would matter.

She leaned into him, losing her mind and relinquishing it gladly, as her hand lifted to bury itself in his raven hair as the other settled on the arm wrapped around her waist. He tasted of coconut and sugar, of warmth and home, of everything good she had ever known. Would that he were a god, she would have surely been the firmest of believers.

A surprised gasp flew from her lips when Levi suddenly hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her easily into his arms, turning away from the sideboard. He hesitated in the living room, his eyes scanning their surroundings as she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself. Slayte nodded towards the nearby sofa in invitation but he ignored her. There were the usual, familiar places, the sofa, the table - even the floor, but there was nowhere he could love her the way he wanted to.

He shook his head, meeting her eye briefly as he turned towards the hallway leading to their bedroom. "I want to take my time with you."

Her stomach flipped nervously at his words and she buried her scarlet face in the crook of his neck and nodded, her throat constricted beyond speech. He brought her through the doorway and reached blindly for the light switch, turning on the dim night lights on the side tables, before setting her on her feet.

A look of wistful yearning lingered in her eyes as she refused to relinquish her hold around his neck and pulled him in towards herself, bringing her lips back to his, claiming his mouth with reckless, heated abandon. He closed his eyes, allowing her control for a few, fleeting moments, before taking hold of her wrists and pulling her hands away as he drew back slightly, leaving her breathless and panting.

A look of hurt confusion lingered in her eyes as she caught her breath. Out of breath himself, he shook his head, "I told you, I want to take my time with you."

Biting her lip and realizing he would leave her no choice but to follow his pace, she frowned. "That's not fair." She raised her hands to his shoulders and tried to close the distance between them again, but his grip on her hands held firm, keeping her at a careful distance as his grey eyes piercing through hers with a raised brow.

Displeased, she blew a strand of stray hair out of her face with a huff as she turned away. His long fingers caught hold of her chin, bringing her gaze firmly back to him.

"You never change." He spoke in a hushed whisper, his eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully as his lingering gaze trailed over her kiss-bitten bottom lip. "I remember the first time."

His eyes lifted to hers, prompting recollection, and Slayte recalled the first time she had fallen into his arms, and every time after, the sweetness of his embrace, the steady firmness of his hold, the unspoken promise of security - that, too, had proven to be unchanging.

"You always kiss me like this," his gaze softened, and the words were half a complaint to her stunned ears. His thumb brushed over her parted lips as he continued. "Like a fugitive. Like a thief. Like there's no time."

"That's…" she hesitated, and shrugged helplessly, "what I am. Far from where I'm meant to be, stealing what isn't mine… on borrowed time."

"No," he refuted, stepping closer again, "You belong here. This isn't your refuge, Slayte, it's your home. Everything here is yours." He brought the hand caught in his hold to his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage, as affected as she was. She blinked at their joined hands, feeling the tremors of his heartbeat through the thin, cotton shirt under her fingertips.

Everything here is yours.

Hesitantly, confused, she raised her eyes to his. They didn't talk about feelings, about emotions. Their language was touch, their words were kisses, their promises were sighs, their love was tea. That had always been the way between them. So, what did this mean? She scarcely dared to believe her ears.

"You were the one I wanted," he confessed, his low voice washing over her like summer rain, "when I thought I had stopped wanting anything at all." Slayte stared at him, wide-eyed. She had always known she meant something to him, but what, precisely? She had never thought that mystery would ever be uncovered. Had never thought he would answer her unspoken question in such uncharacteristic vulnerability.

"And you were the one I didn't want to lose, when I had already accepted I would lose everyone." His silvery gaze never left her eyes, nothing but clear, unadulterated truth written in his arresting, steel irises, the galloping of the heart beneath her fingertips confirming every word from his lips.

He stepped closer still, murmuring quietly, "You've been driving me to distraction from the day you set foot here." He lifted her chin, their eyes meeting as if never to part again as confusion, desire, and fear warred in her expression.

"So, why," he breathed, "are you always making that face like you still don't know?"

"How could I?" she exhaled in sheer surprise, unable to wrap her mind around the words she was hearing, words she was finding hard to believe. "You never told me."

"Six years, Slayte," he scoffed, releasing her hand and bringing his own to her shoulders. "Do I have to say everything?"

"Some things," she whispered, finally admitting how badly she had craved to hear such words from him. Words that would confirm the depth of his affection mirrored her own. "There are some things I've been dying to hear."

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the top of her shoulder. "What do you want me to say?"

She sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected caress, and turned her head towards him. "Everything," she confessed in a breathless whisper. "Everything you keep hidden inside of you."

He pulled back from her shoulder and turned his head ever so slightly, his icy gaze boring into her as silence shrouded the two of them.

"There's nothing inside of me," he muttered, her heart sinking at his words. His gaze dipped to her lips before settling on her wistful eyes again. "Nothing but you."

Her mouth fell open and she forgot to breathe, stunned, until his lips closed on hers again, slowly, tantalizingly claiming every inch of her mouth. His hands came up to her shoulders, never breaking the kiss as he gently pushed the black fabric from her shoulders, peeling back the tight black dress in a slow, sweeping motion, down her arms, down her waist, past her hips, before allowing the smooth, black fabric to fall to the floor, pooling around her feet.

A shiver swept through her as she gripped his collar, but no sooner did she tilt her head and attempt to deepen the kiss than his hands found purchase in her hair, pulling her back ever so slightly in warning, as he slowed her back down to a torturously slow pace of languid strokes of his tongue and gentle nips of his teeth on her lips. Every touch of his mouth on hers was painfully soft and teasing, blatantly refusing to hasten his actions in the slightest, regardless of how insistently she tugged on his shirt in wordless supplication.

He brought one of his hands to her back, unhooking her black, lacy bra with sightless ease as the other dropped to her waist. He finally broke away from her, allowing her to catch her breath as he pulled the straps from her shoulders and down her arms, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. Slayte shivered beneath his penetrant gaze.

Whatever Levi set his mind to, he gave it his utmost attention. It made it a singular challenge to try and draw his gaze to herself, instead. A challenge she relished and tried her hand at, at every other opportunity. However, when that unwavering, intense gaze was focused entirely on her instead, she felt as if she were surely burning alive.

She knew those hands, the practiced control they exercised when brewing tea, chopping ingredients, or any other number of tasks she had seen them busy themselves in. She knew how the veins ran across the back of his hands, she knew the dip and swell of his knuckles, she could trace them with her eyes closed, she knew where the lines of his palms converged and crossed one another, knew every joint of his long, dextrous fingers, knew those soft, firm fingertips. And whenever those hands moved from the task at hand to settle on her, instead, it was her kingdom come.

But nothing could compare to the dizzying sensation when she, herself, was the task at hand. When he put his diligent mind to her, fixed his intense gaze on her, put his meticulous hands on her, as if she was the only thing that mattered. As if he was going to take her apart, bring her up to temperature, leave her brewing and steeping to perfection, as he leaned back patiently and watched closely.

Just as he was watching now, sliding the straps of her bra past her fingertips before letting it fall to the floor beside her discarded dress. She could only watch him, anticipation building within her as she saw his cold, grey eyes graze over her exposed form, branding a trail onto her skin as surely as his touch did. Her heart was close to bursting and she could scarcely remember to breathe, so overcome was she beneath his lingering gaze, looking at her as if he was seeing her for the very first time. Just as he did every time.

"I like to savor the taste," he had told her once at dinner, while cleaning his plate. The look he had given her, the satisfied hum in his throat, those were all things she had recognized from entirely different circumstances, little things that had caused a sinful heat to pool in her stomach.

I want to take my time with you.

The shivers passing through her refused to stop, as much as she wanted to hide from his blistering gaze, she didn't want to stop him or draw away from him in the slightest. She only wished he would take her at her pace. A pace that prevented her from thinking, a pace that spared her from feeling so intensely, what every single one of his fleeting touches did to her.

His hands cupped her face as he met her gaze, "You okay?"

Slayte sighed and nuzzled the palm of his hand. "With you, always."

A small smile graced his lips at her response, stealing the breath from her lungs as he lifted her easily and carried her over to the bed before lowering her gently onto the cushions.

As he withdrew, he trailed his fingers over her hips and pulled back the silky waistband of her underwear, drawing it along the length of her thighs, her calves, her ankles, before dispensing it on the floor, along with the rest of her discarded clothes.

Slayte felt heat rush to her face to be so fully exposed to his gaze as he stood over her, fully clothed. Despite herself, she lifted a hand to her face, resting her wrist over her eyes, doing nothing to conceal her scarlet blush from his eyes as her other hand clutched at the sheets, refraining with difficulty from the urge to cover herself. She didn't want to cover herself - not from his gaze. Not from him. Not ever. It was only her mind that needed a little more convincing, she told herself, even as nervous trembles consumed her form.

"Six years," he reminded her, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. "Shouldn't you be used to this?"

"Do you get used to looking at the sun, Levi?" She shot back, her eyes still covered by her wrist as she compensated for her nerves with her petulant retort.

He took a moment to take in the image, her impossibly long black hair spread out over the sheets, the veins visible in the pale, slender wrist resting over her eyes as her cheeks flushed an endearing scarlet, the smooth flow of her delicate collarbones, the sweeping curves of her familiar body, the dip of her navel, the entire delicious, trembling length of her.

"No," he admitted, as his eyes drew back to where hers were hidden beneath her wrist. "I don't ever get used to it."

He kneeled between her legs and crawled over her, cocking his head to the side with an amused smirk as she still refused to remove her hand from her eyes.

"It's four years," she corrected, opting for snark instead of giving in to the agitated way her pulse was scrambling. "You always get it wrong."

"Six years," he shot back, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. "You're the one getting it wrong. Every year with you counts."

She finally withdrew her hand and met his steel-grey eyes, taking comfort from them.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked again, concerned.

She nodded immediately in reassurance, bringing her hands to the buttons of his shirt, "Yes, of course. Please don't stop." Undoing his buttons was giving her hands something to do and putting her mind at ease, so Levi allowed it as he watched her expression quietly. Flushed, eager, nervous. Cute.

"Just don't go fainting on me," he remarked, causing her to gasp, offended.

"That was one time!"

"Mm-hm," he dismissed, pulling away from her as he drew back, his fingers tracing down the length of her body as he did so, prompting a sigh from her lips as her eyes fluttered closed.

He repeated the action, his fingers feathering over her collarbones, her breasts, down her navel, along the length of her legs, reveling in the way she shivered beneath his fingers.

"Levi," his name left her mouth in a plea as her hands flew to his shoulders.

"Shh…" He brushed her lips with the thumb of his left hand as his right curved under her knee, sliding down towards her ankle and lifting it to his lips as he pressed a kiss to the inside of it, causing her to suck in a sharp breath.

He kissed his way up the inside of her calf, featherlight touches and transient kisses causing her to clutch at the sheets as little, sweet gasps tumbled from her lips. She felt him smirk against her skin as his mouth journeyed on, his butterfly kisses and feathery touches driving her out of her mind.

She wished he would bite her, wished he would bruise her, wished he would hold her down and have his way with her - wished he would do anything but torment her in this lazy, lingering way that was driving her slowly but surely into utter madness. Pain, she realized - she needed pain, so that she could stop feeling everything with such a blinding, torturous intensity. His hands were everywhere, but nowhere. His mouth had touched every inch of her that was exposed to him with ghostly caresses, leaving a dream of a sensation behind, an illusion of relief, and a deluge of longing, a storm of desire.

Every time she tried to take hold of him, to flip him over, to switch their positions, he punished her by holding down her hands, by slowing down his movements even further, brushing past her most sensitive areas so lightly she wasn't sure if he had touched her at all or if she had merely imagined it. Refusing to go back to the only slightly less tortuous touches until she apologized. She was burning alive and trembling from head to toe and he seemed to be immensely enjoying every second of her agony.

It was only when she was near tears, pushing his shirt from his shoulders with something near desperation, that he had mercy on her, his gaze softening.

"Shh, I'll take you there. I promise." He stroked her cheek as he lowered his head to kiss her throat.

"I told you, I want to take my time with you," he pressed another kiss to the underside of her jaw before moving to the side of her neck. "Always in a rush," he sucked gently on the sensitive skin, then trailed his lips down her neck towards her shoulder. "Always in a rush." Another gentle nip. His mouth moved towards her breasts where he lazily swirled his tongue around a pert nipple, causing her back to arch with a muffled cry, before meeting her gaze. "You're not going anywhere."

"Please," she begged, trembling fingers finally undoing the last button and pulling his shirt from his body as if it had personally offended her. "I can't -" she tried to pull him in closer, but he was resolute - and amused.

"Can't what?" he asked, bringing her hand to his lips and lazily licking up the length of her index finger before sucking on the slight fingertip, his eyes never leaving hers.

She shuddered, his icy gaze burning on her, his gentle fingers ghosting over her, it felt like hours that he had tormented her to no end, telling her to be patient, telling her to wait, telling her he wanted to take his time.

I like to savor the taste.

She was starting to fear he could go on this way until dawn. His hand traced slowly up the inside of her thigh, before brushing in the faintest of touches between her legs. Not parting her folds, not reaching for her weak spots, not doing anything that would provide something in the way of friction or satisfaction, simply ghosting up her slit in a touch so slow she wanted to scream.

She whimpered in response, nonsensical pleas falling from her lips until he parted her folds, and finally explored her overly sensitive, throbbing womanhood with touches that were equally slow, equally faint, equally tortuous.

"Oh, Levi. Please, I can't- It's too much," she gasped, clinging to him, digging her nails into his back.

"What is?" he hummed, feigning ignorance.

She breathed a tormented sound - a miserable mewl of defeat. "You don't know what your touch does to me."

Levi paused at that, and a low chuckle left his lips, surprising her. Where did she think he'd been the past hour as she shivered and twitched and writhed, as she gasped and mewled and moaned in response to his ministrations? Who did she think had been feeding into the patient, measured way he was devouring her - piece for piece? Did she honestly think he had missed any of the many small rewards she offered him for each and every touch?

"You'd be surprised," he murmured, rewarding her by pushing two fingers into her throbbing, aching core. Sweet relief rushed through her veins, almost too much to bear, as she pushed against his fingers, her hips lifting impatiently to meet his touch. He delighted in the soft moan that met his ears.

Her hands flew to his belt, unbuckling it clumsily and prying the button of his jeans open. She tugged it off his hips hungrily, her movements jerky with haste, as her hands refused to comply smoothly with what she wanted them to do.

Levi tutted at her rushed actions, lowering his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly again, driving every thought from her head and bringing her back to the pace he had set for them. His fingers pushed in and out of her with terrible deliberateness, maddening laziness, and she was sure she was going out of her mind. She could do nothing but return his kiss, moaning against his mouth each time she felt his fingers push against her walls and sighing miserably each time they withdrew.

His hands pulled away entirely, finishing what she had started as he let his jeans fall to the floor. He positioned himself at her entrance as he watched her flushed face turn to him with an imploring expression, something akin to a prayer falling from her lips. His restraint crumbling, he pressed his mouth to hers at the same time he pushed himself inside of her in one smooth motion.

She sobbed against his mouth, shivers coursing through her as the overwhelming, mind-addling relief of fullness finally consumed her. But still, he refused to relinquish control, continuing the same agonizing pace he had begun with his hands.

Slayte wanted to cry. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream.

"Levi, please," she whined instead, perfectly miserable even as tingles of pleasure coursed through her entire body, alight and waiting. She felt as if she had held her mouth open for hours as Levi held a spoon of dessert just out of her reach, while she waited patiently for him to indulge her.

"What do you want?" His voice was low and husky, and if Slayte had not been so near the edge of despair herself, she would have recognized that his brutal restraint was frayed and cracked at the edges.

"You know what I want," she complained.

He propped himself up on his hands, meeting her eyes as he continued pressing slowly, cruelly, tantalizingly into her before withdrawing in equally leisurely movements. "I do," he admitted, his voice even and remorseless, shaky but controlled. "And you know what I want."

She did. Of course she knew what he wanted. It was the same thing he always wanted from her. He wanted her to say it. To speak the words. To tell him clearly what she wanted from him.

"I want you to take me the way that you do," she blurted, getting as close to the actual words as she could. "Please."

"And how's that?" he threw back, entering her anew and watching her squeeze her eyes shut as a low moan escaped her throat.

"Like I matter," she blurted. "Like you'll never let me go. Like you can't ever get enough of me."

He seemed pleased, she thought, when his infuriating rhythm paused, for once. "Well," he conceded, tracing the side of her face with the tip of his nose before nipping at her earlobe. "All of that is true."

And at long last, he held her.

His fingers bruised her flesh, his teeth nipped her skin, his hands tugged cruelly at her hair, just the way she wanted him to. His lips claimed hers in a kiss so possessive and passionate there was no room for breath or thought between them and when he finally entered her once more, she cried out in sheer relief.

It was still slow and thorough, but increasing in intensity and rhythm until she could do nothing but cling to him mindlessly as he tipped her over the edge, having been working her up for what felt like hours. He kissed her through her orgasm, peppering kisses down the side of her neck, over her breasts, down her navel.

His hands gripped hers and brought her knuckles to his lips in a reverent caress of a kiss as she trembled violently, overcome by the sheer magnitude and overwhelming relief of her release. His eyes never left her face, watching her come apart, watching her pick up the pieces, and watching her come back to him.

He drove her through a second orgasm before finally chasing his own. And when she thought he was done with her, he started over from the beginning. This time with the seeking, bruising touches she had craved to begin with. With mindless, passionate kisses that were more possessive than her own - something she had never thought possible. He guided her into the positions he wished, using her as he pleased, and nothing could have brought her more joy.

She held onto him like someone dying, her fingers as bruising as his own, she returned his kisses with equal fervor and gave herself up to the blazing fire he had stoked within her. Even before he was ready for a second round, his fingers had teased her into another orgasm and his eyes greedily drank in her expression as she fell apart once more. Once more. How many more orgasms could he tease from her, he wondered? He was in a unique mood to drive her to the absolute brink.

When she later felt his length hardening under her seeking palms, responding eagerly to her touch, she pressed a hand to his shoulder and reversed their positions. She couldn't stop herself from breathing a sigh of relief when he allowed it. He stared breathlessly up at her as his chest heaved from his exertions. Levi had always been one to express himself through touch, more than words, and it was clear to see he had a lot to say.

Slayte straddled his hips as she brushed his hair from his face and pressed a kiss to his sweat-soaked forehead as she lowered herself onto his length. A low moan escaped her, relishing the new angle, at the same time that a groan stuttered from his chest as his eyes fell closed.

It was her turn, she told herself. For a little revenge. To drive him out of his mind. What he had done to her had bordered on cruel, and although she could never be cruel to him in return, she would love to hear the word "please" from his lips.

Her fingers roamed over his chest and her narrowed eyes flashed dangerously as she rose and fell on his length with a rhythm like the rise and fall of his chest when he was fast asleep, like the tides rolling in beneath the moonlight, like everything natural and beautiful and right, all the while carefully avoiding actually bringing him to climax.

He was vocal, more so than usual, exhaustion probably lowering his defenses and when he realized what she was doing, leaving him suspended on the edge of a precipice, staring into the tempting abyss but refusing to let him fall, his eyes met hers, the plea written in the grey of his irises and in the hungry way he said her name when he whispered, "Slayte".

Her resolve crumbled and she returned pleasure for pleasure, finding nothing sweeter than the sound of his voice moaning out her name as he held tightly to her and clenched his eyes shut. Similar feelings of delirious ecstasy crashed through her being as her walls clenched around him and she allowed herself to collapse onto his chest, shaking and spent.

At length, his hand lifted lazily to her back, absentmindedly stroking up and down her spine, before his fingers were distracted by her hair and curled into the raven strands, toying with them. It took a moment for her mind to clear, and for her to realize what he was doing. When had Levi ever been so relaxed? When had he ever engaged in such thoughtless, mindless actions? Everything he did was purposeful, deliberate, intent.

Slayte feared to move and break the spell so she stayed where she was, catching her breath, curled against his chest, her eyes closed as she relished in his absentminded caresses.

When she finally drew back, expecting to see him dazed and half-asleep, she was surprised to find that he was perfectly alert, his sharp gaze immediately settling on her wide, brown eyes.

She reached for him without conscious thought and cupped his cheek in her right hand. Slayte stroked his face absentmindedly and smiled sadly. What could she do, she wondered, to put him at ease? To let him lower his defenses? To put his worries far from his mind?

"Look at me," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

He frowned, and she knew how little weight he gave her promises - how many she had already broken. Still, he listened quietly, drinking in her words, giving her courage to continue. "I'll stay with you as long as you live - No," she shook her head, "I'll stay as long as I live. You won't ever lose me. My heart will always be yours."

He watched her wordlessly for a long moment, before taking hold of her hand and closing his eyes, basking in the warmth of her skin against his face before pressing a kiss to the center of her smooth palm.

"Fight for me," he countered. "That's all I ask. Don't just give in, no matter what anyone says. Promise to fight - you don't need to promise me the results."

"I promise," she whispered, her eyes brimming with determination. "Just the way I fight for Elissa. I'll fight for you. I'll fight to stay with you with everything I have."

She kissed his forehead, his eyes, his nose, each kiss a form of worship, a tribute to her savior, to the man who, in her heart, outshone the gods themselves. "I'll fight to the death. I love you, Levi. With everything I have, with everything I am. I can't live without you, I'm terrified," her voice broke and she closed her eyes to compose herself. "I don't ever want to live without you. Please, don't think that I would. That I could."

"You, too," he answered thickly, still holding her hand in one of his as he tucked her hair behind her ear with the other. "You matter."

His hand moved to the back of her head and pulled her in, bringing her lips to his, as he murmured, "More than anything. More than anyone."

Love had so many names, and only one of them was love. It had so many manifestations, many of them seldom recognized for what they were. But Slayte knew the many ways that Levi loved her, the many ways he had told her as much, the many ways he had showed it to her. He had given her words today, perhaps not the words she had been waiting for, but all the words in his possession, all the words that he had to offer, and they had been the greatest gift to her. She would cherish them forever.

When she settled beside him, she curled into his side and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Levi glanced at her when she shivered - this time, from the cold. He pulled away from her and, rising steadily to his feet, abandoned their bed. When he turned back, he hesitated, his eyes lingering on the dark gemstones glittering on the elegant fingers of the pale hand draped loosely over her chest.

"What is it?" she asked, unnerved by his unyielding gaze.

He shook his head before giving her another fleeting look. "Didn't think the sight of you in nothing but that ring would be so profound."

A blush alighted in her cheeks as she lifted her hand to her gaze, admiring the beautiful ring she had, admittedly, completely forgotten about in the midst of their lovemaking.

He bent over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he covered her with the blanket. "Wait," her hand shot out to catch hold of his wrist as he pulled away. "Where are you going?"

"Thought we could have some of your cake," he met her eye and nodded towards the hallway. "We barely had any."

"Oh," she released his wrist, almost giddy with excitement that he actually wanted to eat the sweet confection she had honed to his tastes.

He paused in the doorway as Slayte made to get up as well. "Don't bother changing the sheets," he called over his shoulder as he left.

Slayte blinked at where his silhouette had been only a moment ago. Changing the sheets and showering were an immediate affair in their home. Levi said he could feel his skin crawl if they didn't. Telling her not to change the sheets could only mean… that he wasn't quite done with her. She buried her face in her hands as she felt her cheeks burn, blood rushing to her face.

After all that, he still wanted more? Heat pooled in her stomach at the mere thought - there was no denying she was similarly insatiable. But she had always considered herself to be hungrier for him than he was for her.

She allowed herself to fall back onto the pillows and curled in on herself, pulling the covers up to her chin as she grinned into her pillow.

Well. All of that is true.

As much as she loved him, he loved her as well. She wore his ring on her finger. She belonged to him. They were going to get married and then, one way or another, they would find a way to stay together.

When Levi returned with the cake and nudged her over, she sat up with a laugh and they fell into easy conversation as they consumed the delicious confection. They ate - laughing, teasing, and planning their future - until their appetites turned to one another. Wrapped up in his arms, tasting the combined sweetness of his birthday cake and his words on his tongue, she could almost believe it was true.

AN: So, yeah. Chapter 36.5. Had to do some research to find out how to represent that in roman numerals. Hope you enjoyed! 3