A/N: Break over! Thank you to fanfiction. addicted01 for comments!
Timeline-wise in some later-ish point; this covers quite a long period after all.
L is for Likeness
Their lovemaking styles are polar opposites.
She attacks him like she is wrestling a wolf. The adrenaline from near-death experiences is a particularly strong aphrodisiac for her and she is on his mouth faster than her arrows fly to targets.
And she is intense – filled with hunger and impatience of the youth.
She never forgets what she starts even if she would smile predatorily and leave him to suffer after teasing.
She has always worn her heart on her sleeve when it comes to him. She was never the type to play the "Do you like me? Do I like you?" -game. Instead, she is obsessed to play out the desire that she learned to pass when there was no time and her heart was too raw, and she takes the loss back with vengeance.
Moreover, it's an escapade in its own right. And Jacob can always see how primal it is to her when she is in charge. She devours the passion. She is all-powerful and so incredibly present.
He is the immortal one, but Lara is the one who has the power to destroy armies. The enigma that he has always been defenseless against, seeking out the lure and wonder.
He has rarely seen anyone so instinctual, someone who could read him so well.
The part where he really counts his blessings and momentarily even forgets to question the morality of it all, is the way she has a fire to perfect her skills. And he is so humbled – not to mention a little flattered – that she has put him on that list. There, next to climbing a mountain, shooting a boar, and the other things invaluable for survival, is giving him pleasure and taking it back.
And she is there until the end, cuddling him when he is coming back from the high – safe and loved, the permission to be just himself, imperfect and devout.
In contrast to her explosive energy, he is slow, achingly, and torturously slow. Compared to her adrenaline-fueled devours, he typically starts late at night when they have laid down to go to sleep. And on those nights, when it's almost pitch black outside save for the stars and the light reflected from the snowy mountain peaks, he spoons her and slides his hand to her thigh. They keep as silent as possible, and the world feels very distant – disconnected – from the two of them.
And he revels in the small whimper that escapes from the back of Lara's throat when he touches her closer to where she wants him and reciprocates with an involuntary raspy breath into her neck where her hairline tickles his nose.
He spends ages playing with her, marveling at the wonder that he has so few times had the chance to part of in his lifetime. With Sofia – if he dares to remember in the hazy state between dreams and reality – he was still mostly learning about the female body, and everything had been so hectic with the Source and the exodus. With Alya, he had been so taken by the doubt and the shouldn't-haves. Only that after her death, he had been infinitely crippled by the should-haves.
So, he plays it slow, putting hundreds of years of guilt and yearning into making Lara feel good. He knows time, both the lack and abundance of it. Making love is not a moment, it's an ever-constant aspect of life, from every look to every touch. And he is beyond glad that he knows to show her how much he loves her.
What makes it even more gratifying, is how Lara is the last person to seek any comfort for herself – maybe on par with him. Having her respond to him by pressing herself closer, closing her eyes, and exposing her neck to his kisses gives him hope over his own duty on Earth.
Her breath hitches when she finally comes against his fingers. There are tears sometimes, too, and he only nuzzles closer when her relief comes in the shaking vulnerability that someone can still love her and that she has the ability to receive that love.