A Quick Note On Chapter Numbering:
On 24 Sept 2022, I added the Foreword. This means that all the chapters were pushed up a number. So now Chapter 6 is labeled Chapter 7 in navigation. Please note that reviews made by that date refer to the actual chapter number. So reviews for this chapter made by 24 Sept would be labeled Chapter 6, but after 25 Sept they'll be Chapter 7. I'm sorry for the confusion.
A/N Enjoy this one. I've revised it a bit. It's about perfect. If you've read it before, give it another go and tell me if you think it's better. Please. :)
Standard disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne. This story was inspired by Suilsafir's Black and Gold one-shot, Home is Where the Heart Is.
Song inspirations for this chapter include My Heart's Always Yours (on repeat, like literally, 20x… I haven't done that in years) by Arkells and Old Money by Lana Del Rey.
Honestly, the first seven or so songs on that playlist are almost all I've listened to with this rewrite. Check it out on Spotify. Look up CovertEyes and/or One Night for the Heart if you're interested.
Chapter 6 - Prime and Ignite
Hitomi's hands shook as she ran a brush through her hair. Her stomach fluttered and her breaths were nothing but little, anxious sighs.
No, this wouldn't do. She didn't want to stay in the washroom any longer. She felt as ready as she ever would be to return to Van.
She had needed to refresh herself after their taxing conversations. Looking back, she could shake her head at his stubborn reticence concerning anything that had to do with his own emotions, but it had taken a lot out of her to get any answer from him. It was a good thing her father wasn't much different, and she thanked the stars that her mother had set a good example for dealing with it. That didn't make the effort easier, though.
While usually embarrassed by it, tonight she was grateful for her panicking tongue. Otherwise she might not have said much of what she had. Earlier, she had determined never to bring up the question of other women—because kings had a reputation and she wasn't sure she really wanted to know the truth about Van's—but in her bewildered state, her supposition had slipped off her tongue. His graceless reaction had been both telling and reassuring and was enough to put her mind at peace about the subject without any further need of discussion.
Hitomi knew her orphaned warrior king husband needed a guide to help him express himself. That he had tried to evade her by turning a question back on herself had been enough to sober her. It was better that he learn now that she had her own mind, and if, at the same time, she could also teach him to answer a direct question with a direct answer, all the better.
Ultimately, she'd been happy with his encouraging answer. She could tell he had more he wanted to say, but most of it wasn't important as she could put the past in the past. All that mattered now was the determined look in his eyes and the way he said he wanted things to be different. She knew he meant it, and that was enough to tie her insides into fiery knots.
Add to this, they had really held hands for the first time. Well, aside from the day they married. Part of that ceremony involved tying an ancient, braided, dragon-skin cord around their clasped hands, but that hardly counted. They'd both been gloved, he had hardly looked at her, and she had felt quite sick herself as she'd never been the focus of that many people at once before.
While holding hands through a thunderstorm might be something out of a girlhood romantic fantasy, Hitomi was not so naïve as to think that Van agreed. As an impressive show of lightning played outside, the thunder amplified by the stone buildings, he had kept his eyes glued to her with only a few breaks from the steady eye-contact.
She knew why, and that's what made her endure it even as her body shook.
Shortly after their awkward wedding, Minister Arlott had done his job and briefly educated her on the story of Van's dragon slaying a few years ago, how nobody spoke openly about it—especially with him—and that when episodes of terror set in, everyone was to leave him to himself. That was really all she knew of it.
Still, she had been grateful for the minister's discretion in telling her even that much, because such a thing didn't have to be made known to a queen—especially a queen whose husband, the king, was content to leave to herself. Another reason she was grateful was that it shone light on part of her purpose for being called to Fanelia. Hitomi perceived that her upbringing had prepared her for a husband with such an affliction.
One of the servants had discreetly told her about a panic that happened shortly after their marriage. It had been frustrating at the time that she had no connection wherewith to exert any sort of influence over him. But Hitomi knew she'd been called to Fanelia for a reason, and so clung to the hope that an opportunity would present itself eventually.
Tonight had been that opportunity, and she had been prepared. She wanted Van to know he didn't have to be alone. And happily, he already seemed to accept this.
When she'd placed her hand on his, he'd turned to her and intertwined their fingers. It had been a tender and intimate moment, even sitting uncomfortably on a table. His thumb rubbed over hers, and his expressive eyes took turns examining their clasped hands and her face. He didn't speak, and she was so overcome by the feel of his warm, strong fingers that she didn't even run her mouth nervously.
It had lasted maybe five minutes. The moment broke when the logs on the fire collapsed and drew their attention. Van slid his hand out of hers and went to fix it, mumbling, "I don't want you to get chilled."
His barely heard words of consideration had shot right to her heart, and she bit her finger to subdue the rush of pure giddiness that overtook her. She had stood behind him at first, her bare feet dancing skittishly across the cold floor as she watched him, before deciding it was safer to skip off to the washroom where she could get herself under control.
Heat rose to her cheeks now. What if he'd seen her little dance? She sighed and tapped the brush against her head in consternation. There was nothing for it but to face him again.
Since she wasn't quite ready to just go out there and snuggle up to him—and she sensed he wasn't ready for that, either, the poor man could barely speak when she touched him—the brush would come in convenient for keeping her hands occupied.
Before she opened the door to step out, she checked herself over. Her blue robe was knotted securely at her waist, effectively concealing the lacy sheath of a nightgown underneath.
She smiled at her reflection, then untied the knot with trembling fingers, slipping her robe off to hang it on a hook. Chills rushed over her as she thought of Van's reaction when he saw her like this.
It served him right. He'd played this game by leaving off his top, so she may as well play along.
Shaking her head, Hitomi rubbed her arms to soothe the anticipation prickling across her skin. It didn't help that the nightgown's thin straps and silk-backed lace was no barrier against the cool air.
Closing her eyes, she put out the lamp, took a breath, and opened the door as quietly as possible.
Van had practically rearranged the room. Her preoccupied thoughts must have kept her from hearing the sounds of him returning the table to its former spot and moving the couch closer to the fire. He sat now on said couch—one ankle over his knee, his foot vibrating in the air—and stared into the fireplace with one arm stretching across the back. She watched his profile as his fingers tapped the cushions relentlessly.
He was nervous.
Seeing him like that gave her a little boost, and she squared her shoulders. Quickly in passing, she snatched one of the blankets off the bed. It was then Van looked over, his fingers and feet coming to a halt.
Her footsteps faltered, her stomach fluttered, but she pushed forward and into the firelight.
As she neared, Van's face slackened and his eyes grew large. Her skin burned as his dark eyes skimmed almost manically across her bare shoulders, over her thinly veiled décolletage, up and down her silk-sheathed legs, and down to her bare ankles and feet. This was her first time being so exposed before a man, and an electric excitement filled her. With a shiver, she pulled her eyes from him to her spot on the couch, but not before she caught his lips forming a whispered curse.
She had determined upon entering the room and gauging the situation that she would sit neither too close nor too far from him. That way, he had the prerogative to decide what exactly he was comfortable doing tonight. Secretly, though, she hoped he would catch the meaning of her coming out with nothing on but a nightgown. Now, certain she was blushing bright red, she perched herself midway between him and the other end with as much stiff dignity as she could muster. Van—rather regrettably, she thought—pulled his arm out from behind her and sat up to adjust his robe, covering himself better. Hitomi guessed why and kept her eyes averted.
"It is chilly in here," she said to break the fragile silence, her voice too light, too high pitched. She draped the blanket over her legs and tucked it around her bare feet. With a glance and a quick, quivering smile over at him– his eyes were still wide with panic and his face dark with a blush–she added, "Thanks for building up the fire."
The warmth from the flames kissed her exposed chest pleasantly, while the cool of the room behind her caressed her bare shoulders. She rubbed her neck, both to mollify the chills that erupted there and to give her hands something to do, before she remembered the brush that had gotten covered by the blanket. Pulling it out, she began running it through her hair, trying to focus more on the dancing flames or the sound of the rain outside than the tension rolling off the man beside her.
To distract herself from this influx of new emotions, she turned her mind to figuring out how late it was. Just as she calculated that it was likely still before midnight, Van finally spoke, replying to her previous thanks with a brusque, "You're welcome."
It came so out of nowhere that she jumped and let out a surprised little yip. Realizing what she'd done—again—she curled into herself with silent, mortified laughter.
She was still bent over laughing when he asked, "Do you always startle this easily?"
She sat up, peering at him through her fingers. Judging by the ghost of a smile on his lips and how his eyes crinkled, he was enjoying this. "I don't know," she said, her voice strained. "Do you always take minutes to reply?"
Lips twitching, he responded, "I can if it gets this reaction."
She dropped her hands and gasped at him. "Oh, don't you dare!"
Van chuckled– a low sound that made Hitomi's heart race noticeably– his smile widening into a mischievous grin that went all the way to his eyes.
It was a look she'd never seen on him before.
Hitomi had always thought him pleasant looking, but this rather dangerous grin, combined by the flattering firelight, only enhanced the handsome angles of his face.
She gawked.
A pleasurable heat spread in a tremor through her body. Instinctively, unintentionally, traitorously, her left fingers lifted towards her neck. Van's eyes danced down to her neck.
Barely recalling her decision to let him lead the way, she yanked her treacherous hand down and forced herself to look away and suck in some fresh air.
Blindly blinking at the fire, not knowing what else to do, she attempted to again brush her hair, but she fumbled and the brush dropped into her lap. Hitomi snatched it up and tried again. By closing her eyes and focusing on the rain pattering against the windows—the lightning and thunder had thankfully paused—she could just barely keep her attention away from her husband. Gradually, she stopped shaking. Gradually, her heart slowed.
Then Van scooted a little closer.
Hitomi tensed, pausing mid-stroke, chin forward, eyes glued to the glinting curves of a vase on the mantle.
Was he going to touch her?
No. Instead he said, his voice close and quiet, "I'd like to brush your hair."
Her mouth fell open. "What? Why?" she gasped, turning to him. This wasn't what she'd planned on by bringing her brush.
He shrugged. "May I, please?" he asked with a little smile as his eyes scanned her face.
Was he amused by her reaction?
She licked her lips, fully aware that she couldn't refuse him. Cursing her weakness, she set the brush into his waiting hand, letting her fingers linger just long enough to feel the heat of his skin before she pulled them away. With a shiver—and maybe a breath of relief—she turned away from him and adjusted her position so she sat with one knee folded on the couch.
The cushions shifted as he moved closer.
The muscles in her back ached from trembling. When he pressed his bent leg against her, low on her back, Hitomi sucked in a breath and shut her eyes.
But the contact was something. The warmth from it soothed her tension somewhat.
Still, she flinched when his fingertips made first contact with her sensitized skin, tickling her neck as he slowly, deliberately gathered her hair with skin rough from war. Goosebumps erupted all up her arms. Again, she waited for more than just that tentative touch from him—her body ached for it—but he seemed intent on merely examining her hair. She sensed him playing with it, lifting it and letting it fall, only to pull it up again to rub between his fingers.
He kept this up long enough that she almost grew accustomed to his touch and almost wanted to laugh at his childlike curiosity. At one point, she was certain he even pressed her hair to his nose, because she heard him breathe in just before a gentle, warm exhale swept over her neck. By this time, she had regained enough of her senses to hide her involuntary shiver by adjusting the blanket around herself.
At least she could breathe again, though her chest rose and fell with shallow movements. Still, he continued combing through her hair with his fingers—he hadn't even used the brush, yet—and though the sensation was very pleasant, she desperately needed something more.
Ought she to start a conversation?
No, they'd had conversation enough. That's all they've ever had between them. This was not the time for simple chit chat. Hitomi fidgeted with her signet ring, admiring the tiny blue gem in the eye of the minute carved dragon. This ring represented her authority as queen, and that reminder gave her an idea.
He'd teased her tonight. Now it was her turn to tease him.
Van was mid-braid– at least, she suspected he was attempting one– when she spoke up.
"Does my hair pass preliminary inspections, your majesty?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice grave.
His movement ceased, and Hitomi twisted around to see his reaction. It did not disappoint.
Van was glaring at her, his eyes and mouth serious and unamused.
Raising her eyebrows, she sucked in her lips to stop from laughing. "My apologies," she managed to say as she turned back around.
That reaction was too good, and she could not resist prodding him further. A blush crept over her cheeks as she asked, "Does my hair pass preliminary inspections, my lord?" She held her breath to keep herself from laughing.
He let out a tiny grunt just before she felt a shift that meant he was leaning closer, hovering over her shoulder. Hitomi thought she could feel his electric warmth, he was so close.
She giggled until she felt his breath across her skin. Without thinking, she dropped her shoulder and tilted her head away, instinctively giving him better access to the sensitive skin there.
Was that his nose tickling her ear?
Hitomi froze, mouth agape, as chills rushed down her neck.
"It's lovely, my queen," he murmured, his voice barely audible over her drumming heart, his lips barely brushing her neck as he spoke.
As both the meaning and the timbre of his voice vibrated through her, her eyes flew wide open and she sucked in a miniscule gasp.
Then he pressed a searing kiss to her skin before quickly moving away.
Her hand shot to that scorched spot on her neck, the source now of a new wave of electrifying, throbbing heat.
Without another word, he took advantage of her frozen position and began brushing her hair.
When had she ever felt this hot? Not even during the most sweltering Freidian summers had she ever been this warm. Hitomi didn't dare look back at him. Her skin prickled, every inch of it, as she basked in the new trembling ache his kiss had created. It was overwhelming, unlike anything she'd ever experienced, and it made her want to turn around and press herself closer to him.
Had he felt this way after she'd kissed his forehead? He must have, especially since he certainly had gotten a view of her body down her nightgown. No wonder he had stared at her so lustfully across the table. No wonder he couldn't eat the cake.
Stars danced across her sight. How long had she been holding her breath?
While his inexperienced roughness was surprisingly pleasant for her hypersensitive nerves, the occasional caress of his fingers on her skin was almost too much. She forced herself to stay still, to lean into it, to keep her breaths silent, though her chest heaved with the desire to thrust herself onto his lap.
Then, without any warning, he stopped, and the brush tumbled to the floor with a clatter. Unable to breathe any longer, Hitomi froze. The seconds dragged by before she felt the warm, heavy pressure of Van's hand on the top of her head. Slowly, deliberately, he slid it down her hair, pressing into the curve of her neck, smoothing her hair down her back, and stopping just at her waist.
Shuddering at the prolonged caress, shifting slightly into his touch, Hitomi squeezed her eyes shut and waited.
What was next? Was this it? Was Van finally comfortable enough to hold her now?
Her stomach twisted into anxious knots.
She felt him move, felt his bent leg move away to leave her cold and exposed. The palm on her back drifted to her side closest to the couch. It slid to brand the curve above her hip with its inhuman warmth. Did she feel it trembling, or was that her own body? Before she could decide, his fingers dug into her skin, hooking her waist, as he pulled her towards himself.
With an inexplicably relieved breath, Hitomi turned towards him willingly, swiftly, without hesitation.
Finally, after a moment of awkward adjustment of limbs and bodies, she settled into the crook of his shoulder, resting her head on his quivering muscles. He pulled her legs close to his and then adjusted the blanket to cover them both. She adjusted her nightgown as it had twisted in the movement, then he wrapped his arm around her, tucking his hand back into the nip of her waist, while his opposite arm rested on the couch. His feet were crossed at the ankles and jiggling beneath the blanket. Her hands, meanwhile, were left with nothing to do except fiddle with her ring or the blanket over her lap.
Finally, she could take a deep breath. Finally, the ache to touch him could be quelled somewhat. During their re-positioning, they'd avoided looking at one another, as if it would be too much sensation on top of everything else, and now Hitomi closed her eyes and took in another breath, letting his clean, masculine scent fill her nostrils.
In some ways, this new contact with him relieved much of the tension she'd noticed before. Her fingers still yearned for a way to touch him, but the touch of their legs and shoulders, the way his arm rather possessively gripped around her waist, all of this combined to be very warm and very pleasant.
Nevertheless, the partial contact with him made her wonder what full-body contact would be like. The idea of it stirred the ache in her core like a breath over hot coals. His woodsy scent wasn't helping, and she had to resist the urge to press her face into him.
Her toes and fingers were starting to get restless and refused to be stilled. The need to say something grew in her throat. She had to break the tension. He was still trembling, and his feet had vibrated until the blanket slipped, and now she watched his toes wiggle out in the open before the fire. After racking her mind for something to say, she decided to keep it simple.
"This is nice," she said, her voice sounding strange after the long silence.
He made a little grunting noise of agreement, the sound vibrating in her ear. Giddiness flooded through her, and, rather than feeling irritation at his reticence, Hitomi couldn't help but be amused.
A giggle bubbled up her throat and set her tongue loose.
"Hmm, yeah, it's okay, I guess, Hitomi," she said, affecting a fake, mocking baritone. Though her cheeks burned with embarrassment for mimicking Van, she went on in the same voice, motioning with her hands and trying to pick something innocuous to fill the silence. "But, I think I'd rather be reading about the Asturian spice trade or exotic Freidian desserts."
She returned to a slight exaggeration of her normal voice. "Is that so? Of course, Freidian desserts are something I'm familiar with. Do you by chance have a favorite?" Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment for the rather inane topic, but she couldn't help herself.
Returning to her mock-baritone, she said as seriously as she could, "Oh yes, I have a special fondness for cake, but I only like to look at it."
Van lifted his hand to his face and his feet paused. Hitomi panicked when she realized he might associate her teasing him about cake as an invitation to feed it to her, so she thought of a quick segue away from that topic. "Shall we talk about hobbies? Let's talk about hobbies. Is there anything you like to do for fun, Van?" she said in her dramatized normal voice.
"Well, my favorite hobby is slashing things apart with my sword," she said with a little slicing motion. "But I'm also very skilled at trade law." Both of those were meant to be compliments to hopefully soothe any irritation he might feel at her stupid mouth. Van had sat frozen through her entire fake conversation, and without looking at him, she could not tell what effect this was having.
Not knowing what else to say, and wanting to curl up in humiliation, she finished her mock conversation by saying, "I don't think I've ever heard you say this much about yourself, Van."
"I can stop talking if you want," the real Van quipped without any warning.
Hitomi laughed openly, partly in relief that he sounded happy and partly glad to be done rambling. When she twisted to look up at him, his eyes glinted happily in the firelight. She poked his side. "Did you just make a joke?"
He grimaced, his muscles clenching as he flinched away, and he swiftly captured her finger with a firm grip that she found incredibly alluring. "No, I don't joke," he said evenly, intertwining her offending hand with his. Then he added, "I just know I was speaking too much."
Giggling again, she said, "Yeah, I was wondering if it was really you."
"I'm beginning to question it myself."
Dissatisfied that she couldn't see his face as she wanted, she pulled her hand free from his, lifted the blanket, and shifted herself so her legs were propped on his knees, her left shoulder was under his right arm, and she was resting her cheek on his muscled shoulder. His eyes widened and his lips pressed together at her brazen move, but he tightened his arm around her nonetheless. Hitomi found his hand with hers, and he intertwined their fingers as if this were the hundredth time instead of only the second.
"This is better, isn't it?" she asked, blinking up at him from his shoulder as she gingerly rested her palm on the silk fabric over his chest.
Van cleared his throat. He glanced down and back up towards the fireplace. "It's okay," he said with a tense half shrug.
She giggled softly. "Good, I'm glad you agree. Now we can converse more easily."
A smile flickered across his face, though his eyes remained up.
But they didn't converse. Her breath blew across the scanty chest hairs visible above his robe. She closed her eyes to better enjoy his warmth as she willed her trembling body to calm. Bit by bit, she felt the strain in his muscles melt away, too. Soon he began rubbing her knees over top of the blanket. When he ran his hand a little higher, up almost to the crease at her hip, that lowering fire in her belly sparked.
Hitomi shivered. Her fingers upon his chest flexed, inching up just a fraction closer to his bare skin.
"Are you cold?" he asked in a soft murmur.
She hadn't noticed because of the novelty of being close to him and the heat fluttering her insides, but now she thought about it, her exposed shoulders and arms were a bit cool.
"A little," she said.
He adjusted the blanket so it covered her back and arm better, enveloping her in a little pocket that only served to amplify his warmth and his scent. Audibly sighing in contentment, she closed her eyes and pressed back into him.
If her nerves weren't so fired up, she might have fallen asleep. Van must've been comfortable, too, because his feet had stilled and he turned to rest his chin upon her head. Blinking her eyes open, she noticed his heartbeat throbbing in his shadowy neck.
It was so close, inches away, and she watched it with dozy fascination for a number of beats. Her fingers twitched until she couldn't resist any longer. She lifted her hand from his torso and, delicately, tenderly traced down his neck with her fingertips.
It was his turn to flinch.
He gasped and pulled back.
"Sorry," she whispered, lifting her head to look up at him with a shy smile.
His startled eyes traveled over her face as he swallowed, his throat bobbing.
The room grew silent as the air thickened. Darkness drew closer as the firelight focused, casting the angles of Van's face in a golden shadows.
Hitomi couldn't look away.
Her eyes watched his lips, how he wet them with his tongue– she unconsciously mirrored the action– and she wondered if maybe he would kiss her this time.
The hand that had traced his neck had been hovering a little, and bit by bit, she lowered it to rest again upon his chest, but higher this time. Her fingertips met with warm skin. She watched his face as she curled them under the edge of his robe, deliberately scraping him with her nails as she did.
His eyes flashed as his body jolted; his muscles quivered afresh.
Heart pounding in her ears, she almost smiled sadistically at his reaction, but her lips barely managed to twitch. Her skin was alight with heat, and all she could feel was his body close to hers and how his heart pounded beneath her palm. When the cool fingers of his free hand touched her burning temple to stroke her hair, she flinched.
Van smiled with a tiny, bemused breath. "You're jumpy tonight," he murmured. The fingers lingering by her temple tickled her face as he tucked hair behind her ears.
The only response she could think of was to mirror his earlier denial, when she'd unintentionally tickled him in the side. "No I'm not," she said, but she didn't look away or otherwise move.
"I like it," he said as he ran his knuckles slowly down her face.
Body shuddering, eyes fluttering shut, she arched her body towards him. Her skin, consumed by an electric burn, sensed every place he touched: her face, her neck, her waist, his body beneath her legs.
Was she even breathing? She could no longer tell.
His knuckles dragged down her neck and her head fell back with a gasp, her whole body weightless, and he slid his warm hand behind her neck to support her. She grazed her palm across his chest, under his robe, over bare skin and hair, curving it up until she could grip around his shoulder with her nails.
His fingers twined up through her hair and slowly lifted her head. Through lowered eyelashes, she saw his lips part, saw his head tilt to match hers, just before he brushed her mouth with a soft kiss. Sliding her hand up his neck, up through his hair, she encouraged him with her own movement of lips.
His mouth was soft and firm, pleasant and warm as it covered hers. Kiss after restrained kiss he pressed to her, taking his time, questing and letting her get used to him.
She could appreciate his control. She'd been kissed by a suitor or two who had no idea how to tame their tongues.
But she wanted more than chaste pecks with her husband.
Tired of this breathless tension, tired of this ache, she needed to feel him closer, completing her.
When his heated lips returned to hers, she parted her mouth and sucked on his lower lip, grazed it with her teeth and tongue, eliciting a noise of surprise from him. The hint of after-dinner spices on his taste heightened her headiness, and her fingers in his hair tightened their grip as she deepened the kiss. Her other hand, long since let loose from his desperate grip on her waist, traveled up his torso, shifting aside his robe to feel his belly and ribs and muscle. Up she moved it, to cradle his neck and dig into his hair.
Emboldened, he began to reciprocate, testing and tasting her, his tongue tentative as he explored her lips and mouth. With a strangled sound of pleasure, he pressed against her, guiding her, shifting their bodies down against the couch. The feel of his weight on her fed that pull inside for him, that yearning to be ever closer, and she embraced him, dragged her palms down his shoulders and over the skin of his back and sides, encouraging his robe to come off in the process. He responded, then, with one hand, entwined their fingers, tracing his other hand down her neck and side, pressing into her hip and back.
Outside, the storm picked back up again. Still they shared mouths and breaths, the sounds of their kisses intermingling with the lowering fire and the rain and thunder. His body pressed heavy and hard and hotly against hers, separated tantalizingly by the fragile silk of their nightclothes.
The friction of movement from when he pushed her down and back on the couch had strained the straps of her delicate nightgown, but she barely noticed. They dug into her shoulders, but her entire focus was on the wonderful weight of him moving over her, the friction of their feet and legs rubbing together, how his hands burned as they moved over her, gripping her sides or arms maddeningly. She arched up into him, encouraging him, wanting him to touch her, and after what felt like forever, he finally grew brave.
His fingers began to quest around her sides, closer to her neckline, under the strap. Hitomi shuddered, biting his lip with a soft moan.
Rip.
The sound was audible, out of place. Hitomi felt the strap release and broke the kiss with a gasp.
Van pulled back wide-eyed and propped himself on an elbow. For a brief moment of panic, they stared at each other for the first time since shifting positions. Her lips were numb and swollen, and she noticed with a little pride that his looked the same from her kisses. As she gazed up at him and he met her eyes, they both seemed to share a mutual, thrilling realization: her nightgown was torn and she had long since peeled off his robe, so the rest may as well come off, too.
A slow smile grew across her face as her chest began to rise and fall with the burning of anticipation. Van returned her smile before looking down to finger the broken strap. His chuckle vibrated through her. A fresh blush bloomed up her neck and face.
She traced his cheek. His eyes returned to study her.
"Do you want to go to bed?" he asked softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Her fingertips brushed across his lips. "Yes, but not to sleep," she said, meeting his eyes.
He hummed his agreement as he bent to kiss her again, long and slowly. When he pulled back, he gathered her up in his arms, and for the second time that very long day, her husband, the king carried her to his bed.