Pairing: Onmund x Brelyna Maryon
In love, there is loyalty. And in the world of academic ambition, there is precious little to be had of either. But not all magic can be learnt from a book – some of it comes from the heart.
Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Friends-to-Lovers, Fluff, Explicit content. NSFW.
TW: Misogyny, talk of sexual harassment – no actual harassment takes place, though.
In Amore Est Fides
'...Masser and Secunda therefore...personifications of the dichotomy...the 'Cloven Duality'...anima, animus, poetry of the body...mmh..'
The familiar sound of Brelyna's fervent muttering caught Onmund's ear nearly as soon as he entered the dorms. When he cleared the hallway and saw her, he couldn't help a shake of the head and a fond little sigh.
She was grinding away, as always – never mind that it was Loredas evening. From where he stood he could see the willowy Dunmer pouring over a thick and yellowed book; one leg was tucked up neatly beneath her where she sat, and one elbow propped against the table held her head up while she read.
'...degradations of the true origins...hollow crescent theory?'
He smiled as he made his way toward her, shrugging off his cloak as he went. As he came closer, he saw that she was multi-tasking again – something he'd always admired her ability to do.
The desk she was using was cluttered with several books, layered one over the other, all open to different pages. Among them were sheaves of parchment that he knew would be Brelyna's own notes, scattered in an organized chaos. And to the right of the book she was currently reading, perched on an open journal, was an apple. It looked crisp even from here, with bright green skin, and it had a single bite taken from the side – typical Brelyna, too caught-up to eat.
Even as she read, the hand that wasn't propping her up was hovering over that apple. As he watched her unawares, she muttered a word under her breath too faint for him to catch; in the blink of an eye, the apple had turned to stone.
It never ceased to amaze him, the way she could do such things. But she didn't so much as look away from the page, to see how she'd done. Long, graceful fingers came to rest on the stone apple for a second – then with the briefest of nods to herself, she muttered a different word, and the apple was fresh and green again.
She remained oblivious as he came closer. That didn't surprise him. No one focused like Brelyna – except maybe J'zargo, when he had a reason.
She'd pushed her hood back from her head – something she did often, out of lessons. Her chin-length black hair was hanging forward from the way she sat, and it parted around the tips of her long, pointed ears and the back of her slender neck. Her dark grey skin was dappled in the light of the room – orange from the flickering sconces, blue from the fonts – and the effect mesmerized him a little, as it always did. From this close he couldn't help but notice how tense her narrow shoulders looked, and Onmund had to bite back a sigh. She was always working too hard.
It wasn't until he put a hand down on the corner of the desk that she started with a little gasp, and looked up.
'Onmund!' On recognizing him, her angular face broke into a white-toothed smile, and her tired ruby-red eyes shot through with warmth. She'd jerked up straight in surprise, and now she swatted lightly at him with the hand that had cradled her head as she chuckled.
'You scared me! You shouldn't sneak up like that.'
He grinned.
'Woolly mammoths could sneak up on you, when you've got your head in a book.'
Her frame relaxed as she settled back in her seat, and nodded on a rueful smile.
'Fair enough. Back from your lesson?'
He nodded, and pulled his own hood off, raking both hands through his sandy brown hair with a sigh.
'Faralda tells me I'm coming along faster than any student she's had in years. Apparently I have an affinity.'
'I agree with her. You're a natural.' The smile on her face grew impish, and she looked up at him with sparkling eyes.
'And it doesn't hurt that she'd like to get you alone and make some different sparks fly.'
'Lyna, stop.' Immediately he felt himself flush, and he bowed his head in a half-baked grimace as he leaned toward her.
'She does not,' he mumbled – but there was too much evidence to the contrary, and both of them knew it. He shivered at the thought of the much older Mer and the looks she threw him, and shook his head, chagrined.
'Alright, maybe she does. But I try not to think about it. And keep your voice down, for gods' sake. I don't need the others hearing.'
She looked amused at his expression, and shook her head.
'No risk of that, tonight.'
'Huh?' Confused, his brow crumpled. Then his ears cocked, and he noticed something he hadn't before – the silence. Even for the college dorms, it was way too quiet in here. Looking down at her, he frowned.
'Where is everyone?'
'The teachers are all in Countenance. I'm sure Faralda's on her way there, now.'
'And Sifni?'
'Still gone.' Her blunt and silky hair swayed as she shook her head, and she turned back toward her open book.
'She told us they might be gone for a few days, remember?'
His lips pursed. 'And J'zargo?'
'In Saarthal with Arniel. He figured it would score him points. He figures right,' she sighed.
Huh. So no-one around. That was a rare occurrence, and the sudden knowledge that he and Brelyna were alone had a shiver tripping down his spine – one of an entirely different sort. He realized she was waiting for an answer, and checked himself.
'So then, what are you up to?' Gracefully, he plucked up the apple from her desk and took a bite – crisp and juicy. You'd never know it had been stone, a minute ago.
'Clearly not eating a proper meal,' he said around the mouthful, mock-sanctimonius.
She huffed, and reached up to snatch the apple out of his hand. But when he looked, he saw she was smiling.
'I'm cramming for Tolfdir's exam,' she rebutted. 'It's an important one, you know this. Eating can wait.'
'That's what you always say.' He kept his tone light, but a sliver of that same protective concern that he felt so often for her had come to lodge in his chest. He looked down at the mayhem on her desk, and picked out several different titles: not just The Lunar Lorkhan she'd been reading from, but also Sithis. Daughter of the Niben. The Dragon Break. Breathing Water.
Dense stuff. This workload was no joke. Raising a brow, he turned to look at her, and noticed she looked a touch sheepish.
'Tell me, Lyna, when's the last time you had a drink of water? Stretched your legs?'
It was hard to tell, but he thought she might've flushed.
'...A while ago.' Then she threw a slender hand into the air, and fixed him with a raised-brow look.
'I'm fine! Honestly, Onmund, you worry too much.' As if to prove her point, she took a bite from the apple in her hand.
'See?'
He sighed. 'I wish you'd humor me.'
She grinned at him. 'You're humorous enough.'
'Har, har.' A sudden idea came to him, and he straightened up, trying not to look too hopeful.
'I was thinking of heading to the Frozen Hearth, grabbing a late dinner. You could join me if you like?'
Her expression fell, and she looked at him thoughtfully.
'Oh, Onmund. I appreciate you trying to look out for me. But you know that place isn't for me. It's...'
'For Nords.' He sighed, and shook his head. He knew it was true; being a Nord gave him some leeway in Winterhold, despite his being a mage. For Brelyna and the other elves, there was no such tolerance. She went every once in a while to Birna for some alchemy reagents – rarely alone, and always during the day. But other than that, she stayed on college grounds. His countrymen never ceased to amaze him, in the depths of their small-minded hatefulness.
He knew it was true, and why; that didn't mean he hated it any less. His hands balled briefly into fists as he gritted his teeth, but he forced himself to relax before she noticed. Reluctantly, he nodded.
'I guess you're right. I'm sorry.'
Her lovely face filled with a quiet understanding, and Brelyna shook her head.
'It's alright, Onmund. No harm done. And besides, I'm not really hungry. The exam is on Morndas, and I have to be ready. I'm...expected to do well.' An unspoken sadness shimmered in her eyes, and he frowned.
He knew she was referring to her folks, back home in Gnisis. She was part of the Maryon family, of House Telvanni, and it was only after a lot of begging that she'd been allowed to escape the constant pressure of the Telvanni guild to study in Skyrim instead. Her funding was contingent on doing well in her classes – better than well, in his opinion, and it never seemed to be far from her mind. He was sure the frequent letters from home didn't help.
He'd known Brelyna for over a year now – since he came to the college. And her story had surprised him, when he heard it. She was twice his age, at four and forty, and still she cared so much about what they thought of her.
His family had told him not to bother coming back, and he was all on his own. Even so, he often couldn't help but think he had the better deal.
His expression softened as he looked at her, and he put a hand on her narrow shoulder.
'You always do well, Lyna. Much better than. This time will be no different, I know it.'
She sighed, and a grateful smile bloomed on her lips as she stared up at him.
'Thanks, Onmund. That means a lot.' For the briefest of moments, she placed a hand over his on her shoulder, and squeezed – then she reached into the pile on her desk and pulled out a battered copy of Reality & Other Falsehoods.
'Enjoy your dinner. I'll probably be here when you get back.'
'I'll do my best.' She was already getting lost in a page, when he straightened up and walked to the table pushed up against the wall. When he came back a second later with a fresh cup of water and put it on her desk, she was surprised.
'Take care of yourself, alright?' He said softly. 'Try not to work too hard.'
They were pretty much wasted words, and the both of them knew it. But her eyes glowed softly in the flickering light, and she gave him a smile that tugged at his heart as she lifted the cup.
'I will, Onmund. Thank you.'
He resisted the urge to tuck her loose hair behind her ears, and nodded before he turned around, his stomach in knots. He remembered his cloak at the last second, and snagged it off the chair he'd dropped it on as he strode for the doors.
The Frozen Hearth was full, when he came through the creaking front door – or as full as anything ever got, in Winterhold.
He took a seat not far from the fire, tucked against the wall, and watched with keen grey eyes as the inn bustled around him. Haran and Dagur had their hands full, tonight. Besides Ranmir in his usual corner, they had the Jarl's wife and son, Thaena and Assur, accompanied by the Jarl's bored-looking housecarl. Assur was running amok in some sort of game with the innkeep's daughter, Eirid, and Thaena was clearly fed up with trying to rein him. Kraldar and Thonjolf were sitting at a table across the room, playing what looked to be poker with a couple of guards, and Birna was getting some hours in on her second job, plucking a lute by the fire. Even Nelacar had surfaced from his room, to sit at the counter with a book and a drink.
Haran came bustling over to his table looking harried, and he sat back to give her his order.
All in all it was an unremarkable night, and he was listening to Birna, halfway through his chicken and potatoes, when a raucous comment broke through the chatter and caught his ear.
'What would you want with the bitch anyway, Ranmir?'
Ugly laughter followed the question, and Onmund turned to see who'd made it. Unnoticed before, he spotted another man sitting next to Ranmir, in the corner – a man he didn't recognize. From the dirty blonde hair and long blue eyes, he was willing to guess it was some visiting relative, but he couldn't be sure. The man was clearly drunk, with blood-shot eyes and flopping arms, and he slapped a hand against his thigh as he watched Ranmir drink. The town drunk surfaced from his flagon, and shot his companion a wicked smile.
'I'm lonely, Hjorg. It's been long enough since Isabella ran off, I know she ain't comin' back. And let's face it – even the dark elves are useful for some things.'
There was more nasty laughter, and this Hjorg shook his head, grinning.
'You're foul! Man's gotta be desperate, to roll with a grey-skin.'
Ranmir shrugged, and took another swig.
'Cunt is cunt. Plus, I hear the grey-skins are hot on the inside. And this one doesn't look half-bad! I see'er in the shop when Birna sells her shit for her spells. Legs for days, and an ass like you wouldn't believe!'
They were talking about Brelyna. Instantly, he stilled, dropping his fork on the table and turning all the way around in his seat. Oblivious, the two of them continued.
'Y'know Ran, maybe you got a point. I hear they take our seed jus' fine – maybe we ought'a breed em' out!'
Ranmir nodded and laughed. 'Aye, I keep tellin' Birna to do me a favor an' slip her some canis root when she comes, but she won't. Not too much! Just enough to make it so's she ain't going anywhere fast. Then we could get to know each other better, if you—'
'You need to shut your fucking mouth.'
Onmund had no idea when he'd gotten up and moved. All he knew was that now he was standing two feet away from the men in the corner, fists clenched so hard it hurt, with his pulse thundering in his temples. Fury like he hadn't felt in years was coursing through him, and his teeth were gritted so tight he thought they'd snap.
The man who didn't live here took a look at his face, and blanched, starting to mutter something. But Ranmir narrowed his mean, glossy eyes to slits, and shot him a grin.
'Oh, hey there, mage. Didn't see ya sitting there! What's the matter? Don't like us talkin' about your whore?'
The blood started roaring in his ears, making it hard for him to hear, and he felt himself snarl.
'You're disgusting. There are women in this bar. Kids.'
Ranmir sneered. 'Yeah? What of it?'
'You need to leave,' he snapped. 'And keep Brelyna out of your fucking mouth. I hear you saying a word about her again, and you're gonna regret it.'
'Oh, ho ho!' The two men looked at each other as Ranmir laughed, and then both looked back to him.
'Somebody jealous? Tell ya what, mage.'
He got unsteadily to his feet, and then so did Hjorg. They stood shoulder to shoulder just out of his reach, and sneered at him. Onmund saw that he was bigger than either of them. But he was still outnumbered. Some of the other people in the bar seemed to finally notice the three, and the noise dimmed down a bit as they watched.
'We both know damn well you ain't gonna do shit – one little flame and your ass is in chains. So here's my deal – you fuck off, right now. And maybe I won't bend your bitch over the counter, next time she comes in.'
That was it. Something unintelligible came tearing free from Onmund's throat, as he lunged at the two of them. Hjorg got in the way of Ranmir as he swung, and made him miss his mark. Off-balance, Hjorg took the fist to the jaw and went clambering into a table behind them, knocking off the contents with a crash. The inn went silent around them, and then Eirid gave a little scream. Birna had stopped playing her lute, and now her shrill voice rang out: 'Ranmir, what are you—?!'
Onmund had been distracted by Hjorg's messy crash. Just for a second – but that was enough. Ranmir had taken the opportunity to grab the chair he'd been sitting in, and as Onmund turned back toward him, he was met with that chair to the face. He cursed as a burst of white filled his vision, and pain exploded in his skull. Blood ran into his eyes, and then coated his hands when he staggered back and swiped them to try and see better. Ranmir lunged in his direction, and everything broke into chaos.
As his back met the flagstone floor, he had to use every ounce of control not to let loose a fireball, an arc of lightning - something. He could solve the problem that was Ranmir once and for all – except that he couldn't. Instead he swung out with both fists, blinded by his own blood, and let loose a roar of pure rage. Eirid and Assur were screaming, as the two men entered into a grapple. He felt his robes tear at the collar, and used that to find Ranmir's arm and then face, digging his thumb into the other man's eye as he yelled. The guards who'd been sitting and playing cards were descending on them now, and Dagur was bellowing something.
The last thing he heard above all the rest was Birna, shrieking at the top of her lungs. 'Ranmir, stop! Stop it—'
Then a hard, heavy fist connected full-force with the side of his head where it was trapped against the floor, and everything went white.
When the third massive yawn in a row ripped through her, Brelyna sighed in defeat, slipping a hand into her pocket and pulling out her timepiece. A glance at the hour had her wincing, and dropping it back into her robes.
It really was starting to get late. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was getting tired. Her eyes had started their familiar dull aching, and she'd started having to re-read lines that her brain just glossed over. She looked at the apple core browning beside her, and made a frustrated sound.
She'd planned so much more revision, for tonight. And she was running out of time. Her exam score had to be perfect this time! Frowning, she shook her head.
No, no. She had to keep going, for now. Sleep could wait.
She scrubbed hard at her tired eyes and downed the last of her water, before leaning back over the copy of Reality & Other Falsehoods. She forced the words to make sense on the page, and was grabbing her quill to make a note when the dormitory's door came banging open. She jumped at the sudden sound, and looked at the hallway.
'Onmund?' It had to be. The teachers wouldn't be done their party for the night, and surely none of the others were back from their trips yet...
She was answered by a groan and a curse, and the sounds had her stiffening and dropping the quill.
It was Onmund – she recognized his voice. But what was wrong with him?
'Onmund?' She called a little louder. 'What's wrong?'
'M'here, Lyna. Just – unhh – hang on...'
Something was wrong. Her pulse picked up as she shoved her chair back from the desk, wooden legs screeching on the flagstone. She was half-way across the dormitory's common room, when she caught sight of him in the doorway.
'What's the matter—oh, Azura!'
One look at him had her gasping, both hands flying up to cover her mouth. He was hurt – and hurt pretty bad, from the looks of it.
His face was a bruised and bloody mess; both eyes were swelling shut, and a deep busted gash over his brow had fairly well washed him in blood, drying now into dark, sticky patches. His lip was split, and as her eyes scanned in horror, she saw that his robes were ripped at the collar and shoulder, and smeared in blood – especially round the neck, where they were downright soaked.
He was soaked – his hair was sopping wet, and so were his clothes. The blood on his face was lightened in spots, where water had gone running through it. He was hobbling towards her, hissing every step, and shivering like a leaf. Her heart jumped straight to hammering as she took him in, and she rushed to meet him.
'What happened to you?' She cried, face crumpling in dismay. He staggered as he tried to take another step, and she shook her head.
'Oh, never mind! First thing's first. C'mon, let me –' she slipped around him and to his side, and gingerly wrapped an arm around him, pulling his arm around her shoulders. He groaned, and the worry spiked in her chest.
'Give me some of your weight! We need to – get you sitting down, so I can help you!'
'Lyna,' he panted, and she felt him shake his head even as he sagged against her. He was much larger than her, and she had to stifle a grunt of her own.
'It's – alright. I can—'
'Don't you argue with me, Onmund,' she snapped. 'Not now!' Worry always made her sharp, and she could never find it in herself to care.
A thought occurred to her, and she clamped a hand onto his arm around her, muttering a spell. It took a decent chunk of her mana, but it worked; instantly, half of his weight disappeared, and it was much easier for her to shift beneath him and steer them deeper inside.
He didn't protest again – not until she passed the desk she'd been sitting at, and led them toward her room. She popped the heavy door open with a wave of her hand, and he tried to pull against her, shaking his head.
'I'm a mess, Lyna,' he groaned. 'I'll get your room...all messed up.'
She spared him the briefest of glances, and she knew it wasn't a soft one. 'I don't care,' she told him firmly. Then she dragged him over the threshold.
At the foot of her bed was a wooden end-table, about a foot higher than the mattress, and just as long. She slipped from beneath his arm to turn and close the door behind them, and then rounded on him to hustle him backwards.
'C'mon, up. Onto the table. I need to see what we're dealing with.'
He cried out as he hoisted himself, and as soon as he was settled, she wasted no time. Her sconces were lit, but she wanted more light – with a muttered word, she cast a candlelight spell, and nodded to herself as a glowing yellow orb materialized above them. Diving into the armoire beside them, she shrugged out of her own robes, so they weren't in her way. If the undershirt and leggings got stained, she didn't care. She came out with a fistful of rags in one hand, and turned to dip them in her wash basin. He was eyeing her through a pair of purple slits, when she turned back around.
'Hold still.' Gingerly, she started dabbing at the bloody mess that was his face – instantly, he hissed and cringed. Her heart panged in her chest, but she just shook her head and frowned – kept on dabbing.
'You need to tell me what happened, Onmund,' she said slowly. Swiped at his chin, switched to a clean rag.
'But first, you can tell me why you haven't tried to heal yourself. Are you crazy?' She stopped dabbing long enough for their eyes to meet, and he shook his head on a sigh.
'M'not crazy. Just – garbage at healing. Always have been. You know that.' Talking had fresh blood oozing from his split lower lip, and she let out a worried huff as she grabbed his chin to hold it still for cleaning.
'Well, I'm not. I'll get you fixed up, okay? Where else are you hurt?'
Slowly, he held up both hands, showing her torn and bloody knuckles, and then gestured vaguely at his torso.
'None of this...is great. Might have a rib out. Maybe two.'
'Onmund.' Ducking her chin so he couldn't see her face, Brelyna shook her head, and dropped her rags on the table beside them.
'I need to see. These robes are already wrecked, so –'
Not waiting for him to reply, she grabbed the fabric in both hands where it was ripped at the collar, and then yanked them apart. She wasn't the strongest, but she was strong enough for this. The blue and grey fabric gave way with a tearing sound, and she yanked again – a third time. A fourth. Then she parted the rended cloth, and the robe slipped from his broad shoulders to pool in his lap, baring his naked chest to her. He was still cold and wet, and his shivering picked up a bit, at the chill of open air.
Brelyna's heart skipped a beat, as she stared – and then she grimaced.
Dark, nasty bruises were blooming along the upper left side of his rib cage. He definitely had a couple cracked, if not outright broken. Her pulse was thrumming in her throat like a bird's flapping wings; she hated seeing him like this. She resisted the urge to ghost her fingers along the angry bruises, and looked up to meet his gaze.
'Alright. I'm going to start now, okay? Just let me...' Carefully, she took a step closer, into the vee of his parted legs where he sat on the table. From this close, she could see that the left eye's sclera had filled with blood – the narrow slit of bright, angry red in contrast with his stormy grey iris. She worked to keep herself from wincing, and carefully laid an open hand on that side of his face.
'Ready?' She breathed. Barely perceptibly, he nodded.
'Here we go, then.'
She had no trouble with restoration, and no sooner did she call on her magical channels than a glowing golden light started swirling from her hand, enveloping them both. It left her as a warm, pulsing feeling, and she knew from experience that it felt much the same, as it entered him. The point of contact was the first to be effected, and the swollen bruising beneath her hand started ebbing away as she watched. His mouth fell open as his jaw gave a click, and he moaned as his eyes slid shut. The deep purple bruising around his eyes started lightening, then yellowing, and she took a breath of relief as she watched the swelling start to come down.
She paid extra attention to that left side, slipping her fingers into his cold, wet hair and sending her magicka deep enough to be sure and right any wrongs. For a second, she hesitated on her next idea – but then another shiver made up her mind. With her other hand, she opened up the channel inherent to every Dunmer – nothing too scorching, just enough so that her hand was warm like a fresh-made bath. Carefully, she set that hand on his right shoulder, and then swept it up, to cup the back of his neck.
His whole frame relaxed as he groaned at that, and his head went lolling back against her hands in relief. It was only now that she realized she'd stopped breathing, nervous for his reaction, and she let out a gusting sigh as she kneaded the flesh there, a bit.
The difference in their height made it hard to keep her feet, leaning so far in; when he leaned back even further, she nearly toppled face-first into his chest, and she hissed.
'Hold still, Onmund!' She rocked on tip-toe to steady herself, pulling him forward by the back of his neck till her heels touched the ground, and held him more firmly in place as she switched what spell came out of which hand. Gingerly, he tested his jaw, and when he found it mended he muttered a reply.
'Sorry, Lyna.' He looked and sounded sheepish, even with his eyes closed, and she tsked.
'It's fine. I'm just short. Are your teeth alright? They're trickier to mend...' Gently, she moved her right hand to cup his square chin, and brushed her thumb against his lower lip.
His eyes shot open, then, and this close she couldn't help but startle. They were back to their strong, clear grey as they locked onto hers, and he pulled back fast enough that it jostled her, and she let go. His lips were parted as they stared in sudden silence, and the magic stuttered and faded from her palms as she lost her concentration. His breathing was a little unsteady, the loudest sound in the room, and it was only now that she noticed how close they'd been. Nothing but the space of a breath, between their faces. Close enough to meet in a blink. Close enough –
No. None of your silliness. Not right now.
Her pulse had quickened in her chest, to the point where it thrummed in the tips of her ears, and Brelyna started as she caught herself. She flushed as she took a tiny step back, widening the gap between them, and ducked her head as she looked at the ground.
Her brain had terrible timing.
For several long, agonizing seconds, there was silence in the room. Then Onmund broke it, in a quiet voice that was lower than normal.
'Uh...yeah. My teeth are all fine. No worries, there.' She looked back up at him just in time to see his lip finish mending, where she'd touched it. The blood made it hard to tell, but he might've been flushing, too. She nodded, a little too fast.
'Er – good. That's good. Now...' Vaguely, she gestured at his ribs.
'Oh, right.' Quickly, he straightened up on the table – then hissed as he jostled his injuries, and she frowned.
'Try not to move. I'm gonna need to...' awkwardly, she mimed getting up close again, and he sucked in a breath as he nodded.
'A-alright.'
Her pulse betrayed her yet again as her hands re-kindled with magic, and she stepped in close to him. Subconsciously, she even held her breath. It wasn't until the last possible second that her eyes flicked back up to meet his, asking permission.
Wordlessly he nodded, and slowly, softly, she put her hands on his chest.
Onmund stilled beneath her hands as they made contact. For a second he was rigid, and this close, she heard his breath catch. Then he let it out in a gusting sigh, and let his head loll all the way back as he propped his weight up on his hands behind him. It exposed the pale column of his throat, and she stared transfixed for an endless beat before she could tear her eyes away.
'How is this feeling?' She asked in a murmur. His response was something on the edge of a moan.
'Good. Really good.'
'...Okay,' she breathed, and did her best to ignore the pang of heat in her belly, at the sound of his voice.
She let her hands start drifting over his torso, tracing the lean muscles her fingers found there as she worked, probing for injury in practiced motions. She'd done this work too many times to remember, but never on him – she'd never had such difficulty concentrating on the injury, and not the body.
A distraction would help. Forcing herself to take an even breath, Brelyna schooled her expression and focused on her own hands, as they moved.
'So. Are you going to tell me what happened?'
'...Do I have to?' Was the sheepish response. She snorted, and resisted the urge to give him a flick.
'What do you think, Onmund?'
He let loose a rumbling sigh, and brought his head back down to stare at her, and not the ceiling. She kept her eyes studiously down, and all he got was the shiny black crown of her head.
'I...got into a fight. At the tavern.'
She'd figured as much, at this point, and just nodded.
'With who?'
'It was Ranmir—gaah!' The ribs went clicking one and then the other into place, and he bit back a curse as his fingers gripped the wooden table beneath him.
'There we go,' she interjected with approval, and he shook his head panting before he continued.
'Ranmir and some asshole that was with him. Never seen him before.'
'Hmm. Birna mentioned a week ago they were expecting a cousin.' Her nose crinkled and she frowned, as she tried to remember.
'What was his name, oh, something like Herg? Horg?'
'Hjorg,' he interjected, and there was no mistaking the bitter anger there. Face still ducked where he couldn't see, Brelyna pursed her lips.
The obvious next question was why? But she held off on asking. Something told her he'd just skirt the answer...so she picked another pressing one.
'Okay...so why are you wet?'
He snorted. 'One of the guards in the Hearth dumped a bucket of water on my head.'
'What? Why?'
'...To wake me back up.'
Her hands stilled on his torso then, and she looked up at him with dawning horror.
'Onmund. You need to explain yourself. Now.'
He grimaced for a moment, eyes hedging hers, but then threw up a hand and relented.
'Alright, alright. Just...keep going. I can feel more bad bruising on that side, and over my back.'
Staring at him sternly, she slowly resumed her work. Onmund nodded and sighed.
'There's honestly not much to it. I was having dinner. Heard the two of them running their mouths.' His expression darkened as he looked at a point over her head, and his eyes went flinty.
'I got up, and told them they should leave. Ranmir didn't take very kindly to that.'
'Who threw the first punch?' She asked lightly. He still wouldn't meet her eye, so she turned her attention to his naked back, instead – winced when she saw the bruises there, too.
'...I did.' He sounded sour and sheepish, and his back muscles tensed beneath her hands when she laid them. She opened her mouth to ask him why, but he kept talking.
'Hjorg got in the way of my swing, went flying into a table. Ranmir took that opportunity to crack me in the face with his chair.'
'That explains the gash,' she murmured from over his shoulder. He nodded.
'We wrestled for a bit. Apparently I almost put his eye out. Then he cold-clocked me in the side of the head, and I went out. Dagur and some guards pulled him off of me, according to Haran. And when I didn't come around on my own, I got a wake-up call.'
She couldn't help it – she pulled back far enough to look at his face, and forced him to meet her eyes. When he did, she frowned.
'I don't get you, Onmund. Why? You could've easily been arrested!'
'I nearly was,' he answered shortly, and a strange belligerence came into his expression.
'Hjorg's jaw is busted. The inn has some damages. Ranmir isn't looking too pretty, either. He wanted me thrown into the Chill and flogged.' She blanched at those words, and his grey eyes softened as he looked at her, shaking his head.
'Relax, Lyna, please. No one's throwing me in jail.'
'How are you so sure?' She demanded.
'Haran and Birna stood up for me. They know what Ranmir's like, and convinced the guards not to lock me up. They tossed me out soaking wet to walk home instead, and figured that was good enough.'
Brelyna scowled, and took a step back to cross her arms at her chest.
'Those guards are fucking savages. Do they have any idea how quick hypothermia sets in?!'
He shot her a mirthless half-smile. 'Nord, remember? I'm a bit tougher than that.'
She scoffed. 'Oh, don't start. It's below freezing! You could've died!' Her voice had risen to something sharp and hard, and an awkward silence fell between them in its wake. His cheeks went pink as his gaze fell to the floor.
Seconds passed, in silence; the candlelight orb she'd cast fizzled out above them. Reflexively, she muttered a curse and cast another – then gusted a sigh, and forced herself to relax.
'I'm sorry, Onmund. I shouldn't snap at you.' She took a step back as his eyes returned to hers, and she shook her head.
'I just worry. If anything ever happened to you because of them—'
But at the last, she pulled up short. She dropped his intent grey gaze and turned to her armoire instead, trying not to flush. Pulled it open and grabbed a clean towel, turned and offered it to him.
'Here, I'm almost finished. You should clean yourself up a bit.'
He nodded dumbly with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and grabbed the towel. Brelyna crossed her arms and stood ramrod straight as she watched, feeling the bare skin of her arms beneath her palms and trying to suppress a shiver when the towel went scrubbing over his stomach.
It was silent in the room as he worked, and Onmund couldn't help but look at her. Without the robe, her willowy body was on display; he noticed notice her eyes trained on him, and found his own being magnetically drawn over and over to her bare shoulders. To her collarbones, where they jutted beneath the neckline of her sleeveless little shirt. They wanted to slip lower, but he didn't dare let them.
To give himself a break he grabbed his ruined robes and pulled them over his head, using them to dry his hair before tossing them aside. In another minute, between spare wet rags and the clean dry towel, he was pretty much presentable. And as he tossed them too and she stepped close again, he could feel that she'd done a good job on him. There was soreness, tenderness, but no more pain. Not really. The last vestiges of it stung in his throbbing, bloodied knuckles, and she stared at them closely as she broke the thick silence.
'Here – let me.' Gently, she took both his hands in her much smaller ones, and as he watched, a warm golden glow came to coil around them. The hot pain lessened right away, and he stared as the wounds he'd opened started knitting shut.
'How are you feeling?' she murmured without looking up, and he felt himself smile.
'Good, Lyna. Much better.'
'I'm doing a good job?'
'Very.' Despite the tension, he ghosted a laugh, and shook his tousled bronze head.
'Much better than that time you turned me into a cow.'
Her head whipped up toward him as she huffed, a scandalized sound. But when those dark red eyes grabbed his own, they were smouldering with mirth.
'Shut up, Onmund. Or next time, I can make it something worse – like a toad.'
His eyes were hungry as they drank her in, bright and eager, and they roved from her eyes to her nose and finally her full, parted lips before he shook his head. She was so close like this that he could smell her, and it made his head spin. When he finally answered, his voice was low and hoarse.
'You wouldn't dare.'
Those lips tugged up at the corners as he watched, and her reply was devilish.
'Wouldn't I?'
'You like me too much.'
The words were out before he could stop them, and something in his gut dropped when he realized what he'd said. But she didn't pull away – didn't move an inch. Could she feel it, too?
Her smile slowly flickered and faded as they stared at one another, and seeing that had his melting off. Her eyes had gone watchful, inscrutable. Then before he could think of anything to salvage it, she spoke in a quiet murmur.
'Onmund. Why did you attack them?'
There was no way he could avoid the question, now – not with those eyes pinning his. Inwardly he cursed, and as his heart started racing in his chest, he plucked up his courage. His voice was so low it was barely a whisper. But the words still came out.
'Because...they were talking about you, Lyna.'
The words gave her pause, and so did the look in his eyes, and she tilted her head.
'What do you mean?' She asked cautiously. 'Ranmir and his cousin?'
His expression twisted into something dark and stormy at the names, and he nodded once, short and stiff.
'They're bad men, Lyna. You stay away from them. And don't go visiting Birna alone anymore, either.' His tone had shifted into granite, and it sent a brush of fear down her spine.
'Why? What were they saying?'
His mouth clamped shut and his eyes slid away from hers. But she wasn't having it. Insistently, she gave his hands a squeeze.
'Tell me. Onmund!'
'Things I won't repeat.' The words came tearing from his mouth, loud in the quiet of the room, and full of anger, and his eyes burned when they met hers again.
'Disgusting things, about you being Dunmer. And Ranmir – he wants to hurt you. You need to stay away.'
Her healing spell had faded out at some point; now, so did the ball of light overhead. In the diminished light of the sconces around them, she stared transfixed at Onmund. There was something in his eyes that held her pinned, unable to move or look away. And as the meaning of his words really hit her, she was gripped by a chill of genuine fear.
But she didn't allow herself to shudder, or quail. He was breathing hard in his temper, and something about it steadied Brelyna. A question tugged at her, a quiet whisper from the back of her mind, and she asked it.
'So...you attacked them for me? Because of me?'
He sighed, harsh and shaky, and then nodded.
'Yes.'
'You wanted to hurt them...because of what they said.'
A flash of something dark glinted in his eyes, and he scowled.
'I wanted to do worse than that.'
Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she made herself push forward. They were standing on the precipice of something vital – she could feel it. She had to know...
'Why?'
He froze. Muscles went rigid along with his frame, and when he stared at her, there was panic in his eyes. She realized she was holding her breath, watching him – and then continued to hold it, as her heart started pounding anew. Her eyes spoke to his, even as silence fell between them – daring, pleading, commanding that he tell her the truth. Whatever his truth may be.
She could see it, the moment he took the leap.
'...Because,' he said softly. 'Nothing matters more to me than you do.'
Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, and her mouth came trembling open. She'd been holding her breath so long, she was starting to feel light-headed. Slowly, he looked down to their hands still clasped between them; just as slowly, he released her right one. Then gently, he turned her left so that her palm was facing up. Carefully, light as a feather, he traced the long line down the middle of her palm with his index finger, wordlessly following it all the way to her wrist. It was like electricity, and she couldn't hold back the shudder that gripped her.
His head lifted, and their eyes met again. And in that deep grey, she saw the truth.
'Brelyna,' he whispered. 'I—'
'Onmund.'
'Yes?'
'How long?'
He sighed, a quiet sound.
'About a year.'
Nearly as long as she'd known him! Her heart soared and thundered in her chest, and finally she had to breathe – a happy little noise that he definitely heard, this close. Without even noticing, she grinned up at him, bright and shining.
'Why did you wait so long, you big oaf?'
His expression had brightened when hers did, and now he opened his mouth to answer – but she didn't let him. Closing the gap between them with a final step forward, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down, capturing his mouth with hers.
'Aahnm – ' The sound he made went spearing straight to her core – wild, consumed – and in a heartbeat, he was answering her with enthusiasm. Large hands went sliding around her torso to grip her waist, pulling her flush against him, and his mouth moulded hungrily to hers. She eagerly gripped a fistful of hair, and when she felt the hot slide of his tongue, she moaned and opened for him.
Time shuddered to a halt, in their room; there was only the two of them. Hunger too long ignored was finally being fed, and now they were both swept away. Teeth nipped and pulled, tongues clashed, moans and gasping pants were greedily swallowed. Hands wandered; as they ground against one another, she dragged one down his corded neck to palm his chest. His slid from the cinch of her waist to the swell of her ass, and when he squeezed her there, she broke the kiss on a gasp.
His eyes were dark as stormclouds when they locked onto hers – his lips were already red and swollen. But he stilled, and looked down at her with an expression of concern that made her heart somersault.
'Is this too much?' he asked, panting slightly.
Brelyna groaned and shook her head, digging her fingers into the muscle of his pec.
'Not enough.'
His pupils blew wide at that, and he cursed under his breath as he nodded mindlessly.
'Hang on.' Stooping a little lower, he grabbed her firmly where her ass met her thighs, and then lifted her clear off the ground from where he sat, as if she hardly weighed a thing.
She gasped, and bent her legs at the knee so she could maneuver them over the edge of the table. As he settled her firmly into his lap, she wrapped them fluidly around his naked waist, and it was his turn to gasp as she squeezed him with powerful thighs.
'Kiss me, Onmund,' she heard herself order, and he obeyed; lips crashing down to capture hers as her arms snaked their way around his neck for a second time. He wrapped his around her like iron bands; a forearm pressed like a heavy bar against her spine and a strong hand gripped the nape of her neck, while the other dug its fingers into her ass cheek and held her flush against him.
She shuddered at the possessive embrace, and in answer he rolled his hips beneath her. She moaned as a sudden press of hard length rose up to meet her core, and he ate the sound greedily as it came. She bit his bottom lip and pulled, dragging a groan from deep in his chest, and when he rolled his hips again even harder, she felt her hands fisting in his hair. Anchoring her in place as a thrill swept through her, and she answered with a roll of her own.
His hands started travelling her body, as they carried on; exploring her at a pace that was devastating in its sensual ease. Questing hands slid from neck to shoulder, from ass to hip and then across, meeting in the middle to grasp her waist – gliding upward over her ribs, spanning much of her with little effort, coming to rest at her sides with thumbs barely brushing the underside of her breasts.
It unravelled her, and she squirmed and panted in Onmund's lap, too lost to care about the noises she made. There was no conscious decision to break away from their kiss, to lean back and say the next words, but she agreed heartily when she heard them.
'My shirt, take off my shirt, take it off – '
He nodded, wordless and panting, and those strong hands gripped the hem of her shirt, peeling the crisp white linen away and baring her to him. She wasn't bound, and when his stormy eyes landed on her naked chest, he let out a harsh breath and cursed.
'Oh, fuck, Lyna.' He'd dropped the shirt, and now he lifted hands that visibly trembled as he reached for her. That combined with the look on his face had her flushing to the tips of her ears.
'Gods...you're so fucking beautiful,' he breathed, and she watched with her heart pounding a tattoo against her ribs as he raked those hungry eyes over what he'd uncovered. His hands came to a stop hovering over her breasts, and he tore his gaze away to meet her eyes instead.
'Can I?'
'I think I'll die if you don't,' she choked, and it was nothing but the truth. He moaned again at that, and then took a breast in each hand, letting a curse slip as he gave them a firm squeeze. She arched her back, and swore right along with him.
Her nipples were already achingly hard against his palms, thrilling at the friction, and she bit her lower lip so hard she tasted a hint of blood. Intuitively, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers, nearly mindless in her frenzy as she sought more – just more. His tongue came thrusting into her mouth, slippery velvet, and she welcomed it, grinding down wantonly onto his lap and the friction she found there.
It was sudden when he gave both nipples a sharp twist between his fingers, and Brelyna cried out gracelessly into his mouth. They were rutting against each other now, writhing in tandem, and after he swallowed the noise she'd made he broke away just enough to place a calloused finger over her swollen lips.
'Sshh,' he admonished, voice rough with desire. His expression was downright carnal, and it sent a wave of heat from the crown of her head to her toes as he looked at her, shaking his head.
'Not so loud, Lyna. Do you want someone to hear?' The thought sent a shudder wracking through her frame, nearly equal parts thrill and fear. Reflexively, she shook her head, and he grinned.
'Then you need to keep it down,' he whispered huskily. 'Think of it like a test. You're so good at those.' Then before she could answer, his mouth was taking hers again, and his hands were resuming their work.
She nearly choked at the feeling, and her eyes went slamming shut as she gasped. Her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance, nails marking the flesh, but Onmund didn't seem to mind. In fact, when she dragged those nails down his chest, he groaned and arched his back, throbbing beneath her.
Think of it like a test. Tests needed studying – and there was nothing she'd rather study more than him. Curiously, she dragged those nails down his back, his side; each time, she was rewarded with a gasp or moan. When she snaked a testing hand up his chest to give his nipple a twist, he actually swore.
'Fuck! You drive me—' he broke away from the kiss, gripping both her hips to grind her against himself.
'—Crazy!'
'You were – unnh – crazy enough when I met you,' she shot back, and was rewarded with a derisive snort. He gripped the back of her neck to hold her in place, and instead of returning to her mouth, he started sucking at the pulse point in her neck. When his other hand started pinching a swollen nipple, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she bucked against him.
'Gods – damn it.' He switched from her pulse to her shoulder, from her shoulder to her ear, and she made a guttural sound despite her attempts at restraint. His hands were squeezing her reverently, roaming mindlessly, and he stopped with his fingers curled around her back, beneath her arms, rubbing her nipples with his thumbs.
'You're so warm,' he breathed, voice rough and full of awe, and she nodded helplessly, struggling to breathe in and out.
'It's – my blood. Dunmer...run h-hot.'
'I love it,' he growled. And before she could register the change, he was ducking his tousled head to her chest.
When she felt the wet heat of his mouth latching onto her breast, her vision burst into stars, and she jolted as another loud cry came tearing from her. She bucked and shuddered, and her slender hands scrabbled at the back of his neck as she locked him in place, rocking against him with abandon as he sucked.
'Onmund,' she moaned, deep and shaking, and when he merely rumbled in reply, she did it again.
'Onmund. On – please. Please!'
He released her with a wet, sucking pop that made her clench, and looked up at her with eyes on fire.
'Please, what?'
'Enough,' she said shakily, trying for her usual bossiness and failing.
'Enough teasing. I need you, now.'
His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.
'Lyna,' he groaned, looking as if he didn't dare to believe his ears.
'Do you mean you – that we – ' He faltered, his pale face flushed with desire, and it finally gave her the push she needed.
'I mean,' she said firmly, with a roll of her hips against him that made him wheeze, 'that I want to have sex with you. Right now.'
And without waiting for him to reply, she pushed him hard with both hands, and sent them sprawling onto the bedspread behind him.
The blood was roaring so hard in his ears that he could barely hear anything that wasn't his frantic heartbeat – he was so caught up in her that he hardly registered the fall, hardly felt his back hitting the mattress. The breath in his lungs left his body in a whoosh, and he hadn't even managed to inhale before she was moving over him, on him, grinding and gripping, kissing and sucking with frenzied abandon.
'We've waited long enough,' he heard her groan, and distantly, he knew that she didn't just mean right now.
But now was now, and even though his brain seemed to have locked up, his body knew what to do.
Long enough. Way too long.
Gasping for air, he found it in her sweet exhale, and his hands came up to grip her – at the base of her neck, wrapping an arm around her waist and digging into her side. The lower one slid to grip her ass, encouraging her thrust where she rocked against him, and every muscle in his abdomen bunched as the friction rubbed against his cock. His hips rose on their own to meet her, and the sound she made into his mouth made him shudder.
She dragged her teeth from his mouth to his stubbled jaw, and then his neck, making him pant and jolt when she sucked with fevered purpose on the solid cord there. He moaned low and hard when she hit a spot close to his shoulder, and the heat building in his abdomen boiled over all at once, like a flash. His eyes flew open, and he grabbed her by the arms, rolling them neatly so she was beneath him.
'Lyna,' he managed to gasp, and she was nodding hard before he'd even finished, eyes wild and dazed and dark as wine in the flickering light. Her slender hands came to lock around his wrists where he held her, and she bit her lip as she squirmed.
'I need it,' she groaned, and those hands flexed and tightened, digging in the nails.
He nodded, feeling light-headed. 'You'll have it,' he heard himself rasp.
'Give me your hand,' she demanded. There was no denying her, and he held his weight up with just the one as he placed the other into hers. With no hesitation, she guided it down between them to the vee of her legs, cupping his palm there with hers. His cock positively surged when he felt the cloth soaked through with her, and again he wheezed.
'Gods...'
'Are you listening, Onmund?' she asked, eyes glittering and voice cracking.
'I need you, right now. Get these pants off.'
The raw desire in her voice had his heart skipping a beat, and he nodded. He forced himself to pull away, just far enough to hook his thumbs into the band of her leggings – and then he was yanking them off, with such force that it lifted her ass off the bed entirely. He tossed them mindlessly somewhere behind them, and revelled in her breathless gasp.
'You too,' she demanded, and before she'd finished the words he was scrambling to tear his own breeches off, snapping the laces in his hurry. No sooner were they gone than he was crawling back over her, covering her body with his own, and his cock was so painfully hard that he didn't even notice the change of being free until he felt it slide up her thigh. Then he clenched his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, overwhelmed.
'Look at me,' she half-begged, half-demanded. 'I need to see your face. When you come inside.'
'I need a second,' he groaned, lost in the feeling of skin to skin, and she writhed beneath him. When he managed to open his eyes, they were met with hers – the expression on her face was so enthralled, it was almost pained.
'You're perfect,' she breathed. 'I was scared this would never happen. But it is, and I can't wait anymore!'
She sounded so wistful and wanton that it gripped his heart and squeezed, and he lifted a hand to cup the side of her face.
'I always wanted it to,' he confessed, raw and hoarse, and she leaned into his hand and shuddered.
'Now it's here. So please, Lyna, give me one more second just to look at you.' I want to remember this forever.
She nodded, short and choppy, and he stared at her like the student studied the masterpiece. She was art, laid out beneath him; all splayed limbs and soft, fanning hair, dark glowing skin and glowing eyes. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever see.
'Please let me,' he whispered, and drew back so he could lower his face to her abdomen. She let him, eyes huge and watchful, and when he put his mouth on the skin below her navel, she shuddered. He licked a single wide strip all the way to her breastbone, with more reverence than any prayer he'd ever said. Holding that eye contact, he licked across to one breast, making her keen, and then sucked it into his mouth, where she all but wailed. He savored the taste, musky and sweet, before doing the same to its twin. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and when she clutched at his back with both hands, he was startled by their warmth – like she'd held them over a fire.
His body was screaming at him now, telling him to move, already – he couldn't wait anymore either.
'Please,' she begged, and he could feel her trembling. Tenderly, he brought himself up to meet her, planting onto his elbows, and brushed his nose against hers as he settled himself at her center. He could feel the heat emanating there, and a white-hot shiver ripped down his spine. Softly, he gave her a seeking kiss, and she answered in kind before he broke away.
'I'm here,' he whispered.
Then he thrust his hips forward. She was so wet it was effortless, and he slid half-way in one go, every muscle tensing with the mind-wiping pleasure. She keened in his ear, and all the breath left him as he gritted his teeth and pulled most of the way back out, only to thrust again and sink even further.
'Gods, Lyna,' he choked.
She was so fucking hot – hotter than a fresh bath, close to scalding – and it was all he could do to hold it together as he sank into searing bliss. She shook from head to toe when he hilted himself, and wrapped her legs tight around his waist. Dug her hands into his hair and pulled.
'Onmund,' she moaned, and the sound of her voice combined with the heat of her walls had him burying his face in her neck with a groan, as he started pumping in earnest.
She was going to strip him down to nothing, and make him new.
Some untold time later, they had finally stilled, and blissful silence had settled over the room. He was lying flat on his back in her bed, with her slender frame snuggled into his side; her leg hitched over his stomach, an arm thrown over his chest. One of his arms was pinned between his head and the headboard – the other was wrapped loosely around her, with his hand in her hair.
Neither knew how long they'd been laying that way, when Brelyna made a contented little sound in her throat and broke the silence.
'...I love you.'
The words gave his heart a wild jolt, and he looked down to stare at her pointed, heart-shaped face where it rested on his shoulder. She was staring up at him with eyes that simmered like coals, and flushed cheeks, and she shot him a rueful little smile as he took her in.
'If that wasn't obvious,' she murmured.
It was such a Lyna thing to say – and there was nothing he'd rather hear. Emotion swelled in his chest, and he grinned at her, so bright it dazzled her.
'Gods, I love you, too.' Those grey eyes looked at her with adoration as he lowered his face to hers, brushing their noses together, and her heart skipped a beat as she slid a hand up to cup his neck.
'Why didn't you tell me sooner?' Her tone was too soft to be chiding, and when she planted a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he sighed.
'I was scared you wouldn't feel the same,' he admitted quietly, and against his shoulder, she shook her head.
'I was scared of the same, from you,' she whispered, chagrined. Softly, he snorted.
'Impossible.'
'Ha, ha.'
'I mean it, Lyna. It's always been you.' He fixed her with a steady look, and she flushed a lovely color to the tips of her ears, biting her lip and dropping his gaze.
'...I'm happy to hear it.'
His smile came back, and he rolled a bit to face her better, sliding the arm above his head to wrap around her waist instead.
'Oh, yeah? Just happy?' There was a teasing hint to the words, and she chuckled despite herself as he gave her a squeeze, swatting lightly at his arm.
'Alright, very happy. Ecstatic. Jubilant—' He dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her ribs, and she gasped a laugh as she squirmed and snatched at his hands.
' – Over – the moon!' He couldn't help but laugh with her, he felt so weightless, and for a minute they just thrashed and grappled and made each other squeal, the need for quiet utterly forgotten.
Finally, a truce was called, and they collapsed in each other's arms again, panting and grinning like fools. Onmund was the first to speak this time, warm and a little breathless.
'I've got an idea.'
Her eyes danced, and she gave him a smile that made his heart skip. 'Uh oh.'
'What if...' he pulled her flush against him, close enough to see the individual spikes of her lashes, and carded his fingers through her silky black hair as they smiled at one another.
'We agree to be honest, from here on out – no matter how scary? Just do our best, and see what happens?'
'Hmmm.' He watched her make a face like she was thinking about it, brows furrowed. In reality, she was so full of joy that it was making her head light, her heart race. She knew he could feel it, where their chests pressed together.
After a beat she smiled wider, and brought her face closer to his – close enough that when she spoke, their lips brushed.
'That's an interesting proposition, Onmund.' Sliding her hands into his hair, she held him firmly in place.
'Do you want to hear my hypothesis?'
'Of course,' he breathed.
'I think I'll like that experiment very much,' she whispered, and warmth glowed in her chest when she felt his smile widen against her own.
'So much, that we'll probably just have to keep it up forever.'
His eyes locked with hers, mesmerizing and full of love, and he ghosted a laugh.
'Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's test the theory.'
His mouth caught hers before she could answer, but Brelyna didn't mind, and she groaned as she gave herself over, pulling him as close as she could get him.
There would be time for more talk. For now, she knew all she had to know.
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