Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: She has a few lines from Wicked in this chapter. See if you can spot them. Hint: It's the love ballad, and they're not in English. Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia

They took things slow. This was intimate, gentle, a loving.

Making love was considered the highest form of sexual pleasure to the Arjiki, for all, regardless of status, but here, in this moment, it meant something else entirely to the young chief and his wife.

It was a reunion; a homecoming, of both body and soul. The reuniting of two souls, separated for a period, before being allowed to join back together, working through the heartache and pain to find the love that still bound them together.

Gently, Fiyero moved to his knees; she followed, never breaking the kiss. Instead, her arms tightened around his neck, his hands moved to grasp at her hips as he brushed against her thighs. The juices within her continued to flow freely down her thighs, the sweet scent of her arousal filling the air around them, and he trailed a hand down over the curls before slipping between her thighs. She gasped in pleasure as the feel of his fingers sliding over the lips of her opening, before they gently delved into her slick folds.

She could feel the pulsing of desire within her most sacred of places as his worked to bring her to the brink once more, eventually, she tightened around his fingers, trying her hardest to slow down, but the man could do marvelous things to her body, and she groaned in pleasure, exploding around him. After gently removing his fingers from her, he guided her down, until she lay before him among the grasses of the alcove. Breathing heavy, he gave himself time to catch his breath, letting his gaze wander over the woman who lay before him.

Her chest heaved; even after having given birth to three children, she was still small, but then again, she'd always been small. His gaze moved down to her stomach, noting the small pooch that was the last sign of their children having grown within her, before moving downward. Her inner thighs were coated in her juices, the sweet scent of arousal wafting upwards from between her legs, and after a moment, he moved to join her, leaning down to capture her mouth, hands on either side of her body.

Mouths connected and hands roamed, once more becoming acquainted with each others' bodies upon the grasses of the alcove floor. He moved to kiss her skin, lips and teeth soon finding the hardened buds of her breasts. Tenderly, he teased them, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin and blowing gently on them. She squirmed in anticipation, trailing her fingers down his chest, brushing them over his stomach before moving to caress his hips.

It felt like centuries since they'd last made love- in reality, only about a week, for they'd made love the morning she'd been stolen. But today, as they played and teased and rediscovered, it felt as though they'd come home. Both were slick and ready, the desire they held for each other pulsing deep within and calling to be satisfied; he quivered as he brushed against the slickness of her inner thighs, for each touch, each kiss, each lick and playful tease aroused her more and more, until she squirmed in anticipation, every part of her body humming in excitement.

He quivered as he brushed against her inner thigh; slid a hand over her thigh, moving to gently part the lips between her legs before he stopped. "Yero?" His gaze moved to hers, and she pushed herself onto her elbows, seeing the worry in his blue eyes. "Cos'è, marito? Yero? Cos'è?" Concern filled her voice, and she pushed herself onto a hand, reaching out for him, but he shook her away. "Yero?"

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he glanced away briefly before turning his gaze back to hers. "È solo che... Ho... Suppongo... Ho solo bisogno di aiuto..."

She sat up, now concerned. "Guida?"

"Guida... aiuta a credere che tu sia con me stasera..." She reached for him, and he went to her, kissing her soundly on the mouth. For a week, it had been visions and desires of her back in his arms that had both kept him sane and near drove him to madness. But now, as they lay together in the alcove, hands roaming and mouths tasting, he knew it wasn't a dream anymore, and never would be again.

He slowly broke the kiss, brushing his thumb against her cheek, his blue eyes searching hers for what he didn't know. But he knew it had to do with the fact that she was here, in the alcove, back in his arms as the day slowly turned to night, and the sun began to trade places with the moon. He knew that nearly losing her to the river had woken him up to the realization that without her, life would cease to exist. That without her, his life had no meaning, that his tribe was lost- as they'd been before she came. He studied her now, seeing her through very different eyes- no longer the eyes of a young, carefree prince newly married to the pretty young white captive that had been bought from the Scrow, but a chief, a man meant to lead his tribe, in desperate need of the return of his partner- the same pretty young white captive bought from the Scrow that long ago day, now a beautiful- no, a gorgeous- woman who had lived seven years by his side, who had birthed his children and grown up with him, finally returned to her tribe, to her husband.

"Sono qui, mio principe. Sono sdraiato proprio qui accanto a te, e sarò qui. Sarò sempre qui."

He kissed her again, nudging his nose against hers. "Vorrei far durare ogni momento, amore mio, abbiamo perso tempo per recuperare."

She smiled softly, reaching up to brush her fingers against his cheek. He caught her hand, pressing kisses to her palm. "Quando sei diventato così saggio, marito?" He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, before turning back to the soft skin of her palm, kissing and nipping gently at the skin. "O forse sei sotto l'incantesimo di qualcuno?"

He met her gaze now, lips pressed against her palm, before he released her hand and pinned her back into the grass, balancing above her. "Se lo sono, allora non sono sotto l'incantesimo di nessuno tranne il tuo, la mia principessa. Eppure, ci si sente che in qualche modo... in qualche modo è su che sono caduto. Non sotto."

She reached up, trailing her hands over the sturdy muscles of his shoulders, caressing the hard planes she knew so well. They said nothing, for the time for conversation had since passed; her hands moved up to caress his face, and he turned, kissing her palm again before leaning down and kissing her soundly on the mouth. He drank from her, greedily, as he always tended to do with her, and slowly situated himself between her open legs, brushing against the swollen lips of her opening. She whimpered in pleasure, hands sliding down the strong muscles of his back. He moved to work on her neck, sucking and nipping, in a away that would leave a harsh bruise against her beautiful milky skin come morning.

Not that it mattered; he would bruise her skin for the rest of eternity, just to prove she was his. But he needn't to, for the diamonds spoke of her status, and the gem she would receive upon her return tell of her place as his chieftess. But for this moment, she was his and he hers. He lifted his head from the breast he'd been pleasuring, meeting her gaze. "Posso, moglie?"

She met his gaze, her arousal evident in her eyes. "Si, marito. Sii come vuoi."

He kissed her, whispering softly against her lips, "Come voglio essere è in te."

"Lo voglio anch'io."

This kiss was gentle, tender. And with her permission, he slowly pushed into her, seeking comfort and shelter within her soft, wet warmth. She moaned, arching her back in response to his entry, and he grunted softly, breaking the kiss briefly to adjust to being within her again. Though they had only been separated a week; it had been far too long for them both. They needed each other; they thrived off each other; as the sun needs the moon and earth needs rain. One could not exist without the other, for their souls were entwined, long before either had been conceived and brought into the world.

Great Mother had foreseen a white woman mating with an Arjiki man; though she could not say why, the white woman had great importance for the tribe; and her mating with the Arjiki would produce beautiful mixed children that would keep the tribe alive. Brought together by destiny, they would face near deadly separation, only to reunite and bring forth a new beginning for the tribe. A fourth child would be borne from the white woman's body, created from her husband's seed in a time of reunion.

But for Fiyero and Elphaba, their only focus was on each other, not prophecies or futures, as he pushed into her, filling her, filling every nook and cranny, every crevice, every pore and fiber. He met his wife's gaze as they adjusted to being together again, and she smiled softly before her eyes closed and she arched her back, a moan of pleasure escaping her vocal chords that only served to spur him on and make him speed up. He grunted softly as he moved in and out of her, slowly increasing his speed, being aware of her cues, of the whimpers and moans and hastily whispered words that escaped her.

This loving, this movement, was slow, deliberate. As their familiar rhythm returned, however, they soon began to move as one, taking it slow, making sure to reach climax together, as they had so often done before. As their movements became for familiar, she pushed her hips up, into his before eventually wrapping her legs around his waist, driving him deeper inside her.

He had made it a habit of making sure she came first, doing all he could to make sure she received the most pleasure from their coupling before coming himself, and even now, his intention was to bring her to the brink and over before following. "Yero..." She groaned, arching her back as he continued to push himself deeper inside her, hitting every sensitive spot within her most sacred area. "Ho bisogno di voi, tutti voi, marito... tutti voi dentro di me... mmhm... Yero!"

Her back arched as pleasure rippled through every part of her, legs tightening even more around his waist, her walls locking hard around him, groans of pleasure turned into screams of ecstasy, loud and primal and wild and the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in the entire world. He watched as she writhed beneath him in complete pleasure, the sight and sound and feel of his wife experiencing orgasm making his come all the quicker; waves of pleasure rocked through him as hard and fast as they did her, catching him in their grip and sending him over the edge. Snug tight, and full and desperate for release, he exploded inside her, filling her completely with his seeds, as the moonlight filtered in through the trees and they soon collapsed in each others arms.

As he pushed himself onto his elbow afterwards, being careful not to crush her, still nestled comfortably within her, body humming in pleasure, he caught her gaze. She smiled softly at him, content with him still inside her folds, and reached up, brushing her fingers against his chin before they slid down his chest to rest against his heart. Neither said a word, but they didn't need to. Their actions spoke volumes, and after a moment, he caught her hand, bringing it up to press soft kisses to it, blue gaze never leaving hers. Then, he leaned down, kissing her softly, the meaning in his eyes loud and clear,

Welcome home, wife.