Fever Dream

He was feverish; plagued by thoughts of her, despite his harsh desire to free his mind of her face.

Her face, the oval shape of it, so recently held between his palms in the glade beyond the estate of Moonacre. A place he was forbidden to go, by nature of his birth. A place he could not being himself to stay away from.

He wandered against the shadow of moonlight, it hung against his specter like a cloak, dragging long tendrils of grief behind him with each new step he took away from her.

Wondering, absently, how it could be that a girl, so small and frail, with ribbons in her hair, could entrance him so strongly… How was it that she could have existed so far away from him for so long?

Robin could still recall that fraught trip he had taken to London when her father had died. He had been sent, by his father, to capture the girl, hold her against her will until she could be taken to the De Noir estate. He remembered the feel of her struggling against his chest, regretful now, of any harm he may have caused her, even as she held his palms now, every indecision forgiven by each kiss of her lips against his face.

The remembered touch of her mouth against his eyelids made him shutter anew.

Now, with the De Noir castle in view, he turned away from his trajectory, gazing back at the moonlit path that could take him back to her, if he only decided to go. In his mind he could see her, safe and alone in the tower room of Moonacre, her face upturned and lovely to the same moon hanging above him.

Was she thinking of him, wherever she was? Was she consumed with the scar of his touch as he was with hers?

Robin couldn't go any further, his skin too hot to the touch against the coolness of the night wind. He turned away from his ancestral home, taking the same path he had come, at a run. Ignoring his exhaustion and fear, until he found himself once again back on Merriweather land.

He daren't go any further. Sir Benjamin, and even his sister Loveday, would not understand this. His sister had wed Sir Benjamin, refuting their families ancient curse, but all of the teachings of his childhood held him back from stepping foot through the doorway.

Robin was content to stay where he was, on the outskirts by the swaying trees, make a bed on the moss and lichen grass, closer to her here, in the forest, than he ever would be back in his bedroom at home.

He untied the ribbon over his eyes, the lace of it clinging to his skin. He removed the band of feathers around his neck as well, letting it fall to the ground at his feet. His heart was pounding, the blood in his veins pumping through his body, intensifying his need and ache for her.

When she appeared before him, her body draped in a long white nightgown, her barefooted tread light on the marble porch, her pathway to him clear, he startled. Had she felt him so near to her, or did she have the intension to go to him on this night?

"Maria," he breathed. Her name the sweetest whispered prayer against his lips. He held his arms out to her and she filled them, wordlessly. The strength of her arms around his neck spoke of her need for him, and he could tell it was equal to his. "Maria," he sighed again. His fingers pulled her hair aside so he could drag his lips across her neck. "Maria! Maria!"

"I knew you would come."

"I couldn't go back. I couldn't stay away."

She pulled away from him slightly, his chest felt the cool of the air without her body pressed against his.

Maria brought both palms up to his face, held his cheeks, searching his eyes. Robin gazed back at her. They were speaking a silent language of longing. She pressed her thumbs against his eyes, smudging the coal he wore around the rims.

"Come inside with me," she pleaded, her voice velvety against the night.

When he spoke, his voice was raw. "I can't," his eyes strayed to the house. His childhood was spent being told of the curses woven into it's walls by his angry father. His stomach dropped. Robin couldn't imagine her leaving him on this night, but he knew that he could never go inside that house.

She didn't press the issue with him. Using her strange ways to sense the pain behind his unspoken words.

Maria kissed his eyelids, first one and then the other, and he shivered. "We'll stay here tonight, then." His arms encircled her, tighter than before. He wanted to feel every part of her flesh against his, breath her in deep in to his bones, feel his body curve against her like the silver of the crescent moon above them.

"The storm," he reasoned, and the trees around them seemed to howl even stronger than before.

"You feel feverish," she noted. Her mouth was on the side of his neck, and he swallowed, loudly. Her voice reverberating against his skin.

Robin sighed, deeply. "I'll be alright."

"Your breathing is so loud."

"I can't catch my breath."

She stroked his back. "You need to sleep."

"I can't sleep without you in my arms." He palmed the folds of her nightgown. He wanted to lift her up into his arms. She was so lithe, so fragile under his hands, and yet she was worried about him.

"We'll sleep afterward, then."

The wind howled again; the skirt of her gown bellowed around her ancles. "Afterward?" He didn't understand.

Maria let go of him; his body immediately grieving the loss of hers. Silently, her fingertips slid up to her shoulders, her touch dusting across her collarbones as she pulled the sleeves of her gown down. The fabric falling away until it pooled like water around her feet. Her body was washed in moonlight, her hair tangling all around her.

Robin was speechless, his gaze traveling from her upturned grin down to her body.

She reached out to him, pulling his hands slowly to her body, one palm resting on the warm stretch of her hip, while she placed the other gently against the erect nipple of her breast.

He shook his head, reasoning, "We shouldn't."

She took another step forward, coaxing his fingers to starfish against her skin. When she was flush against him again his arm stretched around her, lifting her up until she could wrap her legs around his torso. She continued to anchor him with her palms against his face, and he had to look up to gaze into her eyes.

Robin could feel the scratch of her breasts against his chest as she pulled herself closer to him. His whole body was pulsing around him.

Slowly, carefully, she removed his shirt, too slowly and too carefully for his liking. When she kissed his neck, sucking his warm skin against her tongue he moaned. Maria reached her hands down to the buttons on his pants, unfastened them, and with her hand, she reached for him. His skin throbbing under her touch. She rubbed her cheek against his and when she looked back down at him, he noticed that the coal from his face had transferred to hers, leaving messy tendrils down her cheeks. He restrained himself from kissing her skin clean.

He laid her own on the mossy forest floor. The trees shaking and skittering all around them. She was cupping his erection while he pumped into her hand.

He said her name again. The syllables stretching into moans of pleasure and pain.

"Your skin is so warm," she breathed, her voice hot against his ear.

"This feels like a fever dream," he confessed, his voice strained. She had one hand on his hip, her wrist following the thrust of his hip into her hand.

"I love the sounds you're making."

He laughed; it was a breathy, forbidden sound. The jolt of his body in mirth made his penis pop out of her hand.

"Come back," she breathed, reaching out for him again.

When her hand grasped him, he hissed, and he started up the rhythm that he needed.

"This is a dream," she revealed.

He continued to pump himself into her hand, his pace increasing with his need for release.

"I love you," he whispered. The wind howled. All around them they could hear the cracking of tree branches. There was a violence of breaking, things coming undone.

She mimicked his words, whispering her own proclamation of love. Her breath smelt of cinnamon and vanilla, as though she had recently been eating cake.

"You're ill, Robin." She stretched her hand up to his face, held his forehead up as he spilled himself in an exclamation of her name.

"You have to wake up now," she whispered. He had collapsed against her, spent. Drowsy from the litany of her name. His body was covered in gooseflesh.

He reasoned, "I am awake. But all of this feels like a dream."

She kissed his eyelids, first one and then the other. "Wake up, my love."

Robin gripped her tighter, suddenly fearful.

"Wake up, my love."

And he did.