She's just getting it over with –
At least, that's what she tells herself, when she's flung herself at him, arms hooked around his neck and lips clumsily seeking his own, sending the both of them tumbling to the cold stone ground. Her body settles into his. The taste of him on her lips –spice and ash –is not entirely unpleasant, and she feels her tongue compulsively dart out for more.
She tells herself that this is what they agreed on; that it would be one time. She hears the derisive voice in her head mocking her. Is she really doing this to find the cure for the taint that has drawn intricate spiderwebs of poison and corruption all over her body; or is this the inevitable outcome? What a pitifully lonely girl, so starved for affection that she had been thinking about this very encounter for weeks before she got up the courage to do anything about it.
She can't exactly say she doesn't relish in the stunned gasp that catches in the back of his throat as his hands settle over her waist; or the soft groan as he pulls her closer. At first, he shows reluctance and then, all at once, he is eagerly drinking her in, letting her pull the reigns – letting her pull the straps of his leathers off of his chest and replacing them with ghosts of kisses so agonizing it feels like she's tearing into his flesh with her teeth and slowly dragging his still-beating heart into his throat .
And then she takes his lips again. Her skin burns under the ginger dance of his long fingers as they move to undo the laces on her tunic; the other hand reaches for her cheek, moving her curls out of her face. Amid the heat, she can't help but feel a chill, finding herself pressing her skin against his, digging deeper into him and finding herself a home in his arms.
This isn't her first dance and once they've gotten into a rhythm, she finds herself completely disconnected from the physicality of it. She feels the breathless whispers beneath his voice capture her bodily in a vice-like grip, wrapping her in a sensation that she can't quite identify, but it makes her think of the constancy of the waves caressing the Amaranthine shores and the vastness of the Waking Sea.
Her eyes are hooded and unfocused in the fog of sensuality, and in spite of that, she is overcome with a clarity that washes over her like ice water, which serves only to make her realize she can breathe underwater and yet all she wants to breathe in is him.
And she almost feels the dam around her heart – a structure as massive as the fortress at Ishal and twice as solid – crack under the weight of him. She can feel him push harder now and her legs feel numb against his hips. She can feel something heavy weighing against her vocal cords and she can't tell whether her body has summoned a sob or a moan, so she drags her face back to his and gives him another desperate open-mouthed kiss which he eagerly reciprocates.
The cacophony of grunts, whines, and moans comes to a crescendo as all at once, she feels herself free-fall from the top of her fortress's grand tower and land safely and soundly in his arms. She feels his muscles wrap so firmly around her arms that she wonders if it's fear that he's feeling or contentment.
She wiggles in his grasp, arching her neck to see the expression on his face. She finds him bearing a mix of wonder and fatigue and his lips tilt up in a smile when he meets his gaze. It is the curious burning in her chest that compels her to lean in and steal his lips –ash and spice again.
It's nothing special; nothing she hasn't done before. She's just getting it over with. But she didn't have to kiss him. No; that had been just for her – and she's far too tired to try and understand what it all means. The only thing she can comprehend is that she's never slept more soundly than by his side, with his arm draped around her like a harness and his breath whispering nonsense in her ear like a lullaby. She wonders if he feels the same.