A draft of air nipped at Haley's unclothed shoulder. Diarmuid's lack of body heat merely confirmed that she definitely needed more blankets, should they elect to keep open the wretched balcony doors. And while the biting draft made its presence known—sleep didn't grant her its much needed presence.
Though her eyelids were sealed shut, more rancid images besieged her psyche. One mind-boggling memory from Diarmuid made its appearance on stage. She assumed it was a hallucination from his entrapment in the Grail… she'd seen it once before, some alteration of a dojo called a council room.
The saber-class servant made an appearance, conveying that he was love-struck over her, until he was berated for his love-spot and his chivalrous choices. He blamed himself for everyone's suffering and actually decided that he belonged in crimson flames; there the memory ended.
Haley could only assume none of that was real—or at least—was part of the reason he found himself so undeserving of forgiveness and peace, even if he had somehow managed to state in that dream that he could return to being a Heroic Spirit again. There were some dark images following afterward… visions of the Grail's corruption torturing him, disturbing enough that she just couldn't stay asleep.
Despite those minor inconveniences, sleeping with a completely nude Diarmuid left her with no complaints as she skimmed the edges of her fingertips down the miniscule rise and fall of his chest. Such an elaborate piece of art, painted with scars of dejection but also great accomplishments. Each mark was a reminder of the very events that had shaped him into the Knight so revered throughout Ireland, and inspired her deep esteem and fervent adoration.
His story was second only to the mighty Cu-Chulainn, and honestly she wasn't that much a fan of the other mythic Hero. Her encounters with him in the underworld had simply furthered that perspective—but at least he had helped them. Twice, now; proving he wasn't entirely the beast in Legend she'd thought him to be.
Haley sighed deeply into her Irishman's ribs, halting her stroking of his pectorals and sliding the lilac blankets over his chest. She planted an ethereal kiss to his cheek and scooched down the bed's length to slide off it. Spying Diarmuid's shirt in a random pile of their clothes, she tightened his shirt; it hung down her slender form like drapes as she tip-toed to the balcony next to the bed.
The chilly breeze lightly caressed her skin, a beam of light from the setting moon gradually being swallowed by the shimmering luminescence of the Dome. The indigo streaks in the sky were dimly lit by twinkling speckles.
It was difficult to sleep, when so many thoughts infiltrated one's mind. Those nightmares were one thing but then there was a more pressing matter she wished she could understand. Diarmuid had said he loved her—in the most beautiful of ways, and yet…
Haley couldn't exactly recite the same words. Merlin's declaration and her Knight's speech molded into one. Each caused her heart to shuttle faster than a freight train, but silent as a mute. She did love him, too—she was certain of it. There was no other explanation for everything she was willing to sacrifice for one person, all promises aside.
He had become the strength of her ambition, turning her simple quest into a journey of gentleness, trust, respect, and unwavering loyalty.
So—why couldn't she convey the words she held deeply within her heart?
Haley knew that when it came to matters of romance, she'd fallen woefully behind the rest of the field. Years of forced solitude stunted developing genuine adult relationships and any potential exploration of intimacy with another; she'd waited so long to find that one special person who could see beyond her abilities and recognize who she really was—someone who would see her as a unique individual. They'd given each other the essence of their love tonight, and it was the most incredible thing she could have asked for.
Their unexpected joining had unquestionably become the epitome of her existence—it was impossible for her to imagine that experience could have been any more meaningful or joyous. Diarmuid had been deliberately tentative and solicitous, maintaining an iron control to ensure that she had set the tempo and the limits for their blissful dalliance. He'd generously allowed her to command the majority of their interaction, eventually ensuring that her first time had been as extraordinary as she had always dreamed it might be.
What had started off as a quest to save the man she'd revered since childhood had somehow evolved to that heroic Spirit becoming her strength, transforming her ambition into profound love and devotion. She felt…complete, with her Knight; the sensation was something she'd keep tucked away in the safest, innermost parts of her memory and heart.
As the wind whistled, strands of hair clamped onto her cheek. Haley thought how every day—in spite of the dangers they'd encountered—this quest had given her hope and reason… it had imbued her life with true meaning, a purpose separate to being the girl with a permanent bounty on her head. Diarmuid's presence was the first taste of pure, undiluted joy she'd experienced in years.
And yet—he was to be… lost to the realms of the darkest pits of the Underworld. It was nothing but unfair and cruel, she bitterly decided, as her Knight made his way beside her at the terrace, his steps feather-light. A thin sheet from the bed was tied around his waist, leaving him bare from his midsection up. It was an effort not to turn her head.
Diarmuid crossed his arms over the railing, the metal biting at his arms. He could sense his Lady was a little, off. They had found sleep together soon after their wondrous endeavor, but now he was uncertain if perhaps this sudden onslaught of glumness resulted from their coupling. He prayed that was not the case, as it would be unbearable to think he had pressured or hurt her in any way.
Taking a side-step closer, he slung his arm over her shoulder to bring her into his side. "Do… you regret tonight, my Lady? If I… I hope I did not—"
Mercifully, she giggled— a sweet, calming sound—and shook her head side-to-side. "No, never. I promise. It was perfect… you were perfect."
Relief simmered in the cast of Diarmuid's shoulders, but the concern still lingering in his stare made Haley further explain, "I've just had some… interestingly awful dreams."
"Oh?" Even if he had been spared from the horrors of his imagination—with her night terrors increasing—he was inclined to worry. "Do you care to share them? I am concerned, as they seem to have elevated as of late."
She looked up to him then, her dazzlingly bright eyes searching his own for something before she settled on her answer, softly replying, "They… were your memories. I've dipped into them a couple times, now."
Diarmuid raised a single brow, gathering his wits. In truth, he had experienced the same phenomenon once—had witnessed (in excruciating detail) her father's gruesome method of training. He had not incurred such a thing again, but it seemed she had been graced with such privilege. But for her to state they were awful—
"What have you seen?"
The telekinetic spoke the details, and Diarmuid thought hard on the matter. His confinement in the Grail felt so immemorial. He could not entirely remember what had developed while he was there. It was a distant, faded memory, since she had healed the curses from it. If he dared to conduct a deeper look into that period of insanity: that ember of venality hidden in his heart flickered to a full-on flame, a dangerous fire that he quickly doused.
Most likely sensing his disarray, Haley laid a tentative hand to his own, giving a gentle squeeze. "You don't still feel that way, do you?"
Feel like a useless, heedless fool? "I do not," Diarmuid stated, returning her squeeze before planting a kiss to her temple. "And I have you to thank for helping me get past it. In fact, there are many things I am grateful to you for."
Delicate hands wrapped around Diarmuid's torso as Haley leaned her forehead to his sternum, keeping away from the chain and dog tag resting there. There were plenty of things she could thank him for, too. Although she had voiced them often, just thinking about the code he followed, and the honorable person he had shaped out to truly be—had her shaking with grief.
"Oh Diarmuid… you… you didn't deserve what happened to you… you didn't deserve any of this. You don't deserve to be here, and you deserve better than being sent to—" She choked on the nasty sentence, deciding against even finishing it.
Diarmuid raked his fingers through her hair, offering his comfort. Indeed, he was unworthy of the fate that the Counter Force had bestowed upon him as of now, but that may not always have been true. He (of course) would not say such things out loud.
Instead, he brushed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "Fate has treated me unkindly, though if it had not, we most likely would not have met. The path that led us here may have been difficult, but I am certainly glad it has brought us together."
Watery eyes peered up at him under lashes. "Oh Diar," Haley's voice was hushed, softer than silk as she said, "I adore you."
Haley's mouth promptly locked on to his, enjoying how pleasingly plump and light it was against her own. Diarmuid was caught under the spell of her amorous kiss, swiftly returning it. Adventurous hands slid down her curves, and suddenly the crisp air turned heated when she threaded her fingers around the lazily bundled linens wrapping his lower build.
Doubtful eyes scanned her beloved's features to find his smile bright and accepting. "More?"
Swallowing her apprehension, the Psychic nodded, nibbling her lip before fumbling against the knot at the back of the only 'garment' keeping her Knight from being fully exposed to the Netherworld. The tip of his tongue trailed her lower lip; though she had yet to master the intensity of a tongue kiss, she tangled with him.
When the fabric coiled onto the floor, Diarmuid lowered his grip to her firm backside and hoisted her up against him. He smiled into her mouth as her luscious legs kicked once before finding their rightful place around his narrow waist. He never unlocked their exploring mouths, staggering to the bedside while she hooked her arms around his neck.
He would think not to ever tire of the benignity behind her touch. He delighted in the way she smoothed her fingers through the hairs at his nape, ferrying her hands across his broad shoulders like he was something precious… someone worthy of being beloved.
Planting the woman he loved gently on the flat of her back onto the mattress, Diarmuid absorbed how phenomenally charming his Lady looked in his t-shirt, just before he stripped her of the much-too-large garb. The deep cerise blooming in her cheeks was wholly entrancing, as was the subtle but noticeable shy cross of her legs.
In spite of their previous revealing of one to each other—it was in her nature to still maintain that delicate bashfulness that attracted him like a magnet, drawing his mouth to her puckered lips and her welcoming, spreading arms.
He rested beside her on his right side, delicately tucking his left hand behind her head, deft fingers swimming in tousled chestnut-colored locks and traveling down every tempting curve of her body. It wasn't until she let out strained giggles that he halted his caresses and neck kisses, cocking his head and furrowing his brows in silent question.
"It-it tickles," Haley murmured between girlish chuckles, cupping his face and brushing their noses together. "I've been containing my wiggles and giggles for a while now." His low replying chortle made her stomach do somersaults in bliss.
"Is this why you always writhe and squirm beneath me?" Diarmuid's grin was nothing short of mischievous; he thrummed his fingertips lightly over her belly and over her ribs, eliciting perfect little fits of snickers. "And here I presumed it twas you holding back your enjoyment."
Pursing her lips with a grumpy, "Hmph!", his Lady pinched the skin near his navel. The gesture served merely to continue his teasing, as he enjoyed hearing her laughing helplessly more than he had expected. The joyous sound was followed by playful slaps, along with humorous begging to stop… her uninhibited playfulness had his heart leaping in elation.
"Ah.. Diar…Muid ... this isn't… sexy… at all!" Haley hacked out between blanketed bursts and cackling. Here they were, naked as a jaybird and he chose to tickle her! It was so outrageously funny—and she knew, she knew, she would find a way to get even with him.
But the damn man was persistent and definitely not as susceptible to such madness as she. Deciding to play naughty but nice, she froze his movement with her telekinetic energy, leaving him utterly defenseless as he hovered above her.
"Ha, now you can't… drive me crazy!" Haley hooted triumphantly through heavy huffs, jabbing his clavicle with her index finger.
Diarmuid smirked, pressed against the hold of energy (that she clearly shamed him with by going easy), but he didn't care… he couldn't. Not when she batted the eyelashes of her gorgeously crystal clear eyes, beckoning him with the most seductive love bite of her lower lip that he ever had the pleasure to have seen. "You wound me with enticement," he mused, as her smile grew wider still.
He answered the temptation she presented before him, adoring the rounds of her chest with love suckles and smooches, letting his hands wander downward with slightly more pressure to avoid any more giggle fits—though he admitted that any joyous sound from her was attractive and adorable.
The fact that his lady was so unguarded and happy—he couldn't ask for anything more fitting. When his hands found her lower, most intimate parts, the enthusiasm evident there was alluring. Nimble fingers slipped between welcoming folds, her hips answering with desire.
Diarmuid thought to inquire of her acceptance, but upon hearing her subsequent, quiet moan, he led only a single digit into her. Her response was as timid as she'd been the night prior: a genteel hum that—going by her expression—was her contemplating how she felt about the new taction.
Miniscule—he felt miniscule about the need for his own pleasure over hers, when every marvelous stroke he'd made had her singing new songs he'd yet to hear. It was only natural to impose a second finger into her moistening glaze. His upper attention refused to relent his doting on her breast: the edges of his teeth skimming her nips after his love suckles.
Breathless his Lady was—his name all but a whine on the lips she pressed together tightly. He wouldn't question the compression of her legs around the limb indulging her, nor would he refrain from intensifying the lust he felt bearing down on his fingers. No, he could only bring his mouth upward, to take advantage of her gasp and delve them both into a vehement French kiss—all the while inclining his fingers upward to stroke the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her tunnel.
"Holy—!" Haley muffled the expostulation into her Knight's mouth. She couldn't locate the proper words to express the increasing ebullient reaction in places she was even aware existed. The gratification only burnt hotter when his thumb found her outer knot and simultaneously aroused her.
There was no control left. Her body naturally responded, bucking in rhythm to each stroke. She'd felt this rush of heat once before, and it was silly to deny she wouldn't strive to chase that finish. However—Diarmuid slowed his painfully talented ministrations, drifting the edge of his lips over her neck before provocatively whispering into her skin, "I've found your pleasure spot."
Her shudder was utterly intoxicating; her taste sweet as honey as he trailed his tongue down the side of her neck to her collar bone. The sounds she made from the escalating tactful plunder below fueled his own building desire. "Cum for me…"
The titillation was as turbulent as a rocking plane, the salaciousness in Diarmuid's throaty timbre guiding Haley through the storm. She let go of any last restraint, ruffling her hands to give them something to do through the raging, rapturous build-up between her legs. It was like a damn—building in pressure before it finally burst.
Her moans were just as wild as the release from her culmination, and just when she'd thought it over, just as she began to rectify her labored breathing—Diarmuid's member teased her entrance.
"You can… put it in," she whispered as she sensed his reluctance, her hands instantly shifting from his hair to the top of his back as he entered her posthaste.
His size was still quite the adjustment-—but a welcome one—as her head tilted back into the sheets; the ecstatic high she hadn't yet come down from fusing and ratcheting with the rolling of his hips. Her elation escalated as his plunging thrusts were exceedingly more fierce than their first time together: though they were still calculated and careful, the difference in fervour added a new dimension to the enthralling sensation of his body moving strongly within hers.
An apology promptly exited his lips, but Haley silenced his attenuation by digging her fingernails in the ripple of muscles she'd desperately clung on to. "Show me… show me what it's like to have you unbridled.." she practically begged, folding her legs around his torso in determination to negate any doubts he may have. Despite her previous ignorance, she was quickly adapting and learning her body and the easiness with which he sank into her…
Oh, the Psychic knew her lust was at an all-time high for whatever he had to offer.
Diarmuid would not deny the clear consent of her locking him in place. He tweaked her left nipple, grinding himself against her—fancying every stroke. His mouth savoring every sensitive area of her body it could find.
When his palms planted on the legs coiled around him, he clutched them firmly—dragging her with him as he slunk off the bed. He would give her exactly what she requested, divulging to her what pleasure was like—raising her backside so the depths of his penetration reached the furthest he could go.
It was indeed glorious that his lovely woman could barely even breathe Diarmuid's name through every rutting drive he made to bring himself closer to his final release. He leaned into that growing intense frisson in his groin, but he was not one to lose the intimacy—he did not wish to lose what made their connection so amorous.
He bent over—despite the awkwardness of his spinal position— to kiss the sleek skin of her thighs… trailing those smooches up her leg where he could, smoothing his palms as his callouses caught over her delicate flesh.
If the warrior were honest: the erotism in each new whimper or moan she finally refused to hold back greatly nurtured his pride. Even with his more forceful lovemaking, the Irishman found a way to turn her onto her side, lifting her voluptuous leg over his shoulder to ensure his eyes stayed focused on Haley's gorgeous, blushing face. His knee at the edge of the bed was all that kept him balanced, but to hell with being comfortable when the wild wails he elicited from his woman merely pushed him closer to dropping over the final threshold.
Diarmuid was lost to the yearning in her spellbound, crystal orbs, as his Lady clapped her hands to his cheeks, pulling them together for yet another deepened kiss. Her touch ran over the smooth bits of his back, tracing the tense muscles and scars. He was more than lost—he was all but forgotten in their love and passion—to the point of no return.
He couldn't withstand it any longer; now it was he who sounded savage and unconstrained as he reached the heights of their passionate intercourse. Snapping his hips in a few last, desperate drives, Diarmuid moaned brokenly as his climax roared throughout his adopted form, his clenched limbs quivering from the sheer force of his release.
A final gasp broke Haley from their kiss; she panted anew as she felt his magical energy deposited deep within her. Different that sensation was, and something yet she had not gotten used to. It was an interesting thing, one she couldn't quite describe and didn't think she'd ever be able to.
What was easily known was that she'd felt like a present unravelled by her Knight. He certainly treated her like she was a long awaited gift of the season—one to cherish and treasure. Diarmuid was definitely her gift, she thought, as she bestowed him a soft kiss.
"That was amazing," Haley tittered, skimming through his rumpled hair. It was a wonder to see him so disheveled… her amazing man, who wielded such talent in the bed as well as in the heart.
Diarmuid simply nodded, climbing down the mountain of his own apex. His body of the Underworld was splendidly capable of replicating human tendencies, even if what he'd emptied was merely mana. It was the one time he was grateful for having realism in his nerves; he was truly appreciative of it, as it made him able to give and receive love from the woman who had bravely ventured to meet and save him.
Even as he mused on his gratitude, the brisk morning light crept through the opened sliding balcony doors, a knocking reality that reminded them both just how ephemeral this moment was, in the grand scheme of things. The couple groaned in unison at exactly what that meant. Just as the body on top hers started to retreat, Haley clung to his back and drew him closer.
"Not yet," she mumbled, attempting to drag his weight fully onto the bed with her. Her wish was granted, her beloved adapting to their shifting as they curled into each other.
Diarmuid shouldered her head to his chest, drawing in a satisfied breath through his nose. He cradled the woman he loved, sheltering her warmth against him. He voiced his happiness, though it was muffled by her thick hair.
Later—the worry of the battle to be had, would come later.
At this very moment of pure, undiluted gratification for what the cosmos—or maybe even what his foster father—the God of Love himself—destined him with—was far more vital. It was not like they hadn't discussed in great detail the arrangement of their plans against Loki, anyhow. During the few hours before their match they would tighten their strategy, and go over any misdirects that might cause any issues.
Due to that very reasoning and the uncertainty of what awaited them in the match ahead, Diarmuid desired to envelop the frail woman in his arms—the woman who was strong in spirit and kind in heart—just a little while longer. He toured the length of her arm with his fingertip until it lay on top of her bare left hand.
It occurred to him then: "I… never had imagined one would use the command seal to aid me."
Haley cocked her head curiously. "I did say when we started this whole craziness that we can use it for power boosts and such." A delicate smile tugged at her lips when her Knight covered and pecked the back of her hand.
"I remember, I had just… not expected it to come to such fruition. Most Masters would not waste such magic, in my recollection."
Her shoulders raised. "I've never been the typical Magus, and plus, there are other reasons—which I'll explain to you later—as to why Masters treasure the stupid things."
Now it twas Diarmuid's turn to angle his head in query. "It serves other purposes aside from controlling one's servant and providing field support, such as you have done earlier?"
Oh, it did. Their very creation depended on the necessity to do the abhorred thing of forcing their servant to commit suicide to fulfill the Grail with seven Heroic Spirit Souls to reach the root. One of the very reasons Haley detested those who sought it. It was a slap in the face to the Heroes who fought to protect their Master among whatever trials they'd faced, to be betrayed and sacrificed for one's selfish goals.
"Yeah, and to spare you the details, just know it's not good. At least, not for the Heroic Spirits, anyway," she clarified, snuggling underneath Diarmuid's chin.
"I see," was all he replied, resting his hands on her flanks.
Telling him aside, Haley couldn't care less how she utilized the command seal. Her Knight had fallen victim to the damned thing one too many times, anyhow. So long as her command was something that benefited them both—which it did, saving their asses—its purpose was fulfilled.
Plus, it wasn't as if she needed to have irrefutable influence over Diarmuid. While yes, they may have had their disagreements in the past: they had found ways to overcome it with compromise—not by bending one's will to the other. Whether it had been her guiding him back from relentless rage to the usual composed man he was, or discussing a middle-ground to balance their conflicting principles, they'd always come back from it. And they would win this tournament with their strengths and ambition.
Yeah, she didn't need that seal, anyway.
oooooooooo
Dreams are fun. Lol poor Haley is still quite haunted by all their traumatic experiences while also seeing.. my take on the einzbern consultation room short. I don't know if that little mini series for fate zero was canon; so I spun my own take on the events and explained then here. Hope this chapter was enjoyed and see you in the next installment!