[A/N]: long ass chapter incoming! Hope it was worth the wait! Things are going to do a 180 in the next chapter! ENJOY!
Chapter title is the Alesso Remix of the song by Starkiller, Alex Kenji and Alesso.
The smell of wood burning became stronger as they neared Flotsam. Gwen held her breath, holding her sword ready, her eyes never leaving her immediate surroundings. From the corner of her eye she saw the smoke that covered the town like a thin blanket, and she wondered what it must feel like for those inside who still lived. Though not completely dark, much of the day's light would fail to reach the ground. That, combined with the fact that breathing would become increasingly difficult and the sounds of humans on the hunt for them… Gwen tightened the grip on her sword and swallowed.
Ivor, who moved beside her with his bow held up, turned to look at her. When she didn't react, he moved his gaze elsewhere. They were getting closer to the city walls. On the other side of it, screams and crying could be heard. Blades clashing. Fire burning. The tell-tale signs of a massacre. Of any battle, really. It seemed that, no matter how often humans witnessed it, they never got enough of it.
Still, since they had met no resistance on their way here, the guards must have been too busy slaughtering any non-human they could get their hands on to worry about a possible Scoia'tael ambush. They certainly were in for a treat. Gwen grit her teeth together, felt the excitement of the incoming battle rush through her.
When they came upon the town's outer wall, they turned towards the south, away from the river. By now, the other units – Iorveth's and Eanvedd's – should have reached the cliff where they would part ways. Eanvedd, together with the vatt'ghern, would attack the barge from the harbour whereas Iorveth was to attack it from the river.
Ivor, however, was to take his unit through one of the main gates. While Iorveth and Eanvedd picked off most of the resistance at the harbour, Ivor would take down the rests and any potential reinforcements. That way, they would create an ambush within an ambush… Or something like that.
Remaining within the shadows cast by the stone wall, the elves made their way around the burning town. Some of the soldiers flinched at the cries coming from the other side of it, while others remained stone-faced, their lips pressed into thin lines and their brows furrowed. Gwen was surprised at the unfamiliar that warmed her at the sight of her companions, but pushed the thought to the side.
Just before the unit, walking in single-file, rounded the corner, Ivor stopped the rest by holding out an arm to the side. He pressed a finger to his lips and gestured towards the corner before tapping a finger to his ear.
Gwen tilted her head and held her breath.
"Shouldn't we be in there, helpin' the others?" a gruff voice muttered. It almost couldn't be heard over the noise of the massacre.
"Nah. Our job is ta make sure nobody gets in'r out. 's boring, but this way we get the easy prey," a second voice replied.
"S'pose yer right," the first one said.
No other voices spoke up. Ivor waited for a few more moments before tightening his grip on his bow, holding it battle-ready. The sign was obvious enough, and the others mirrored his movements. When he nodded and received a nod from all of them, he stepped from behind their hiding spot and loosed the arrow even before Gwen could join him.
A cry tore its way from a throat, though it soon died down into a gurgle. By the time the half-elf had left her cover, the second guard lay on the ground as well. Two others, who had been playing cards at a table beside the large gate, had gotten up in the meantime with their swords drawn. Arrows sprouted from their faces before any of the Scoia'tael swordsmen could enter the battle.
"Remind me why we haven't secured world domination yet?" Gwen murmured to Ivor as he passed her by, but the elf only shot her a small smile before he made his way through the gate. Since they had no way of knowing when the others had arrived at their posts they had to hurry up, and who knew what awaited them inside Flotsam.
Just before she crossed the threshold of the city, however, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Flashes from what seemed like a lifetime ago flitted through her mind, but she steeled herself against them and whatever else she might see next. Loredo couldn't do anything to her with her comrades surrounding her.
And it couldn't be much worse than last time they had ambushed Flotsam, right?
How wrong she was.
It seemed like what little of the non-human community was left had been strewn about the streets. There were even piles of bodies, the putrid smell of death heavy wherever they went. Flies were everywhere, annoying the living more than they did the dead.
One of the Squirrels – it was Lorcán, who had also gone to the river that time – stumbled to the ground and threw up while another – Maeve – knelt down beside him, a hand on his back. The others shot him sympathetic looks, whereas Gwen continued to take in their surroundings. The corpses and the smouldering remains of cottages were familiar to her. Too familiar. She tightened her grip on her sword and swallowed hard.
A hand rested upon her shoulder, and she jerked her head to the side. Ivor stood behind her, his head tilted slightly and his warm, grey eyes taking in her features, a silent question in the air. She nodded before rolling her shoulder out of his grasp and he dropped his arm to his side.
"Come, we must go," Ivor said, his attention fixed upon Lorcán as the poor boy got to his feet again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he did so. "We have no idea what is waiting for us on our way to the harbour."
As if on cue, shouts and yells came from the docks. Their heads snapped in that direction and Gwen's body began to tremble. She gritted her teeth together as she glanced at Ivor.
"All right. Swordsmen go first, bowmen follow," the elf stated.
Even before he had finished his sentence, the group was already on the move again. Gwen took up front with Maeve and one more elf with their weapons. Ivor, Lorcán and the two remaining Squirrels followed them with nocked arrows.
They had barely even started walking before Gwen's ears picked up the sound of more voices speaking. Imitating Ivor's previous gestures, she stopped in her tracks and held her arm out in front of Maeve, who stared at it as though it were a snake. Only when Gwen pointed towards the corner of the house beside them did her eyes lighten in understanding. By the time Gwen had crept closer to the edge, the others had gotten the message too.
When Ivor gave her a nod, she rounded the corner and took stock of the situation. Five guards had been in the middle of talking strategy to tackle the battle at the harbour. Three of them stood with their backs towards her, whereas two were facing her. Their eyes widened at the sight of what they must have thought was an elf, her sword brandished and a taste for blood in her gaze.
Luckily for her, the closest soldier stood two steps away from her. Even before anybody could utter a warning, Gwen had closed the distance and buried her sword into the neck of her victim. He made a gurgling noise, hands reaching up as if to remove the offending object from his body, but before he could do so he had already collapsed to the ground.
In the time that it took the humans to gather their wits and attack her, she had reached her second prey. He lifted his sword but was too late and too slow – she deflected it easily, his grip so weak that she managed to tear it from his grasp and fling it to the side.
Lady luck seemed to be on her side this once and the human's sword flew at one of his companions, who had to duck out of the way. The moment he stopped paying attention, however, an arrow found its way to his face. He silently crumbled into a heap.
Disarmed, the soldier in front of her reached for the dagger at his belt, but by then she had pierced his stomach with her weapon. Blood flowed from his belly and over her hands, and she gave another shove for good measure. The man groaned and lurched forward when Gwen dragged her sword out of him again. His knees buckled beneath him, but by then the half-elf was already focussing on the next target.
Said target was one of the two guards who had seen her arrive. He came upon her, yelling his rage and his blade high in the air. Before Gwen could act, however, Maeve slid between them, holding her daggers up. She caught the blow from his sword and moved with the weight of his attack, her knees bending. Then she sprung at him, pushing his weapon out of the way with one dagger while sliding the other into his neck.
The fifth soldier already lay on the ground, riddled with arrows.
"You close-range fighters are a pain to fight with," Lorcán muttered as he tried to pluck some of his arrows from a corpse.
Gwen couldn't help the grin when she said, "Apologies."
Maeve snorted as she flicked some of the blood off her daggers. "Maybe you should just become a better bowman."
"Now, now," Ivor said before the discussion – light-hearted or not – could take flight. "We need to move on."
No other guards stood between them and the fight at the harbour, since they had all gathered there to begin with. As they got closer, Gwen noted Gwynbleidd's white hair in the midst of the battle. Watching him move around was almost mesmerising, the precise and slow movements of his blade arching through the air enough to awaken envy in the best of warriors.
Maeve suddenly let out a roar and sprinted towards the battle with a grin on her face. By the time the petite elf had disappeared, Gwen and the other swordsman went after her. Ivor and the rest stayed behind, aiming at their unsuspecting targets with their bows. At first the half-elf tried to stay out of their way, but after a while she lost herself and forgot everything except whatever opponent fate would throw at her.
She squeezed herself between an elf whose back had been turned and the human advancing towards him and caught the guard's sword with her own with a loud clang. Irritation flashed in his dark eyes and he went in for a quick second blow to her midsection. She deflected that one, too, after which he tried for her arm.
The human seemed to have suspected her weapon against his again, but when his blade simply bit into thin air, he stumbled forward. Before he could regain his balance, Gwen had slammed the pommel of her sword against the back of his helmet. By the time his face met the mud, the half-elf had already kicked the leg from under one of his comrades. That man's back hit the ground with a thud, and she slid her blade just beneath his chin.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something rushing towards her from her left. With a gasp, she moved away from it, and that was probably what saved her arm, but she could not evade the sword that bit into her shoulder. Pain bloomed on her limb and she clenched her jaw. When she looked up, she saw her assailant moving in for another attack.
With a grunt, she lifted her blade once more, but before she could parry him he froze and another sword slid out of him. Coated in blood, it stopped just shy of her chest before it slipped away again. As the soldier disappeared from her view, her gaze met that of the vatt'ghern, his dark golden eyes emitting that strange sense of calm his entire body always seemed to project.
An arrow whizzed by, though whose it was she could not tell. Nevertheless, it captured their attention and they followed it with their gazes only to watch it lodge itself in between the eyes of an elf. From somewhere nearby, a voice yelled an elven curse. Without wasting another moment, the half-elf and the vatt'ghern dispersed, each seeking out another target.
Gwen could not say for how long they had been fighting when, finally, the last guard fell. For a few moments, she simply stood there, her aching shoulders heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The grip on her sword was so tight she could not feel her fingers and her eyes darted everywhere. When she realised that only Aen Seidhe surrounded her, she managed to lift a hand to wipe away the grime and the sweat from her forehead.
Turning around, she noted that Iorveth and Gwynbleidd had reunited on the barge with what remained of their units. Ivor and one of his bowmen helped a limping Maeve across the docks towards the boat. There was no sign of Lorcán and the others. Her heart felt heavy in her chest at the realisation that corpses of both humans and elves surrounded her.
On the other side of the harbour, more soldiers had begun to gather, though in that moment Gwen could only count three. She let out a breath and turned to jog after the others, her sword still in her hand.
When she caught up with Ivor, who had just stepped onto the boat with the others, a voice boomed across the wide space. A coldness spread out across her back when she recognised it. She didn't want to turn around and face him, but found herself refusing her own order.
"I knew you'd partner with those hatemongers, mutant! Think yourself a hero, do you?" Loredo yelled from the balcony of a high tower by the docks. With his right hand he held a female elf by her blonde hair. His left hand lifted a torch into the sky. "Sail away, and I'll burn these sluts alive!"
Gwen's head snapped towards Gwynbleidd, who stood at the edge of the boat, watching the human with those eyes of his. Iorveth sidled up next to him and said something to him. It took her the blink of an eye to realise that she could hear nothing but that loud buzzing noise again. It filled her head, consumed her entire being, until she felt nothing but hot anger coiling inside of her.
Whatever the commander told the vatt'ghern must not have been a lot, however, since he left his side only a few moments later. That rage she had expected from him - especially from him – remained absent in his demeanour. Disbelief added itself to the turmoil within her.
As if on cue, the barge gave a lurch and was on its way, and Gwen found her body moving of its own accord. Before she knew it, she had launched herself over the railing and back onto the dock she had just left. She did so in time to watch Loredo throw the torch onto the roof next to him, and it didn't take long for it to catch fire.
By then Gwen had already left the docks behind her, her feet pounding against the wood and then the mud as if an arachas were chasing her. With her mind blank, the half-elf dodged any guards who attempted to stand in her way, even pushing one of them into the water as she went by. She rushed by wounded elves and grumbling dwarves and even more dead bodies, both human and non-human. More than once, burning buildings reached out for her with their tendrils of warmth, the smoke assaulting her nose and eyes.
When she caught sight of that disgusting human being, she somehow even managed to speed up a little despite the fact that her lungs had begun to burn by then. He ran towards the gate that divided the market square from this part of town, but she hadn't even had to sprint to catch up with the fat bastard.
Once she could hear his laboured breathing she jumped at him, fingers finding purchase on his leather coat as she dragged him down with her. She made sure he toppled over, but he had just been in the process of turning around to face her, and so she ended up all but straddling him. Before he could react, she had grabbed his wrists and pressed them into the ground above his head with all her might.
His skin shone with sweat and he smirked at her, though he said nothing as he continued to breathe heavily. She scowled and did her best not to gag at the images that tried to fill her mind, covered her discomfort with her hatred. Now that she was in such close proximity to the man, her throat felt dry.
While she thought of something to say, she licked her chapped lips, trying in vain to wet them. It seemed as if all the things she wanted to do to him, everything she wanted to tell him, had become something so massive that it occupied her entire mind. She could no longer see the individual strands of the ball of yarn, but the ball of yarn itself consisted of nothing but hatred…
"Come back for more, have you, darlin'?" Loredo sneered at her.
The ball of yarn seemed to explode and all rational thought flew right out of the window. For a single moment, she lay on that bed again, with him breathing down her neck, but she chased it away by reaching down and pulling her knife from her boot. Her sword lay discarded somewhere behind her, having been dropped before she tackled the human, but it didn't matter. She dug the edge of her dagger against his throat, her limbs trembling as she seethed.
"For revenge, more like," she hissed at him. She dared not meet his gaze and so instead she watched a bead of blood slide down his neck.
Despite their current predicament, the man had the gall to let out a bark of laughter. Through gritted teeth, Gwen bit out, "What's so funny?"
"You can't kill me," he said. He sounded so sure of himself that, for one heartbeat, Gwen almost believed him. "Any moment now, you'll see the errors of your ways, and then"–he reached up to brush a fingers against one of her strands of hair and lowered his voice–"we'll have some more fun in private."
That coldness from before returned, starting at her spine and spreading out to the tips of her fingers and her toes. The only noise she could hear was that of her heart beating in her chest, loud and wild and irregular. Then there was the squeaking of a bed, a groan in her ear, a weight on top of her.
Fucking kill him, a voice snapped at her all of a sudden, angry and blunt, though she didn't recognise whose it was.
She blinked and was back in Flotsam, with the fire and the fighting and Loredo still grinning at her. Right then, she wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his ugly face.
"Why can't I kill you?" Narrowing her eyes at him, she spoke with a confidence she did not feel. "You do realise you have nothing I want, nothing I need?"
It was as if he realised this only now, and the corners of his lips fell. All mirth disappeared from his body, and he seemed to grow pale. This was more like it.
"P-please," he began, a slight tremor in his voice, "Tell me what you want. I'll do anything."
The half-elf stared at his deflated form. His ego probably took up more than half his posture. Her blinding rage slipped away, leaving nothing but loathing behind. How could a pathetic man like this have ever made his way to the top of the food chain here? Somehow, she felt disappointed by his weakness. She had expected better of him.
And so instead she spat, "You disgust me."
Too late did the anger contort his face. He struggled against her hold, his free hand reaching for her face again. "Demavend should've killed all you fr—"
He never finished his sentence, which instead ended with a choked groan. Drops of blood spurted from the slit. The half-elf flinched when some of them found their way onto her face.
As if in a daze, Gwen looked up and took in her surroundings. Suddenly she remembered the current situation, and without wasting another moment she scrambled to her feet, leaving the body for what it was. After retrieving and sheathing both her weapons, she took off back towards the harbour. Her legs protested as she pushed herself to her limit once more, the battle finally taking its toll on her.
Of the burning tower, not much was left. A painful jab shot through her side, but she couldn't tell whether that from the running or not. At least no guards stopped her on her way back to the docks. She realised why that was when she got there.
The sight of the barge still there made her stop. She rested her hands on her knees and swallowed hard as she took in the scene before her – more dead humans littered the path between the tower and the barge. Had they been there before? On her hunt for Loredo, she hadn't come upon any dead guards… Or had she?
Standing there and wondering to herself would get her nowhere, however, and so she took off again. This time she kept her pace to a jog before she ambled up to the barge and jumped aboard. She wasn't even allowed to catch her breath before Iorveth had found his way into her personal space.
"What do you think you were doing?" he hissed at her, murder written all over his face. The hard look in his eye seemed to soften at the sight of the blood on her face, but his jaw remained set.
"Doing the world a fucking service, that's what," Gwen retorted with a strength she no longer possessed. Her body ached all over and she was tired. She wanted a space to herself so that she could take care of her wounds and fall asleep.
"And you thought that doing so by yourself was a great idea, did you?" The commander crossed his arms, his voice as harsh as ever.
Right now, however, it rubbed her up the wrong way. Her hand shot out before she could think, and she heard the sound of her palm meeting flesh even though she felt no resistance against her skin. When she looked again, she saw that Iorveth had caught her wrist before her palm could connect with his face. There was a dangerous look in his eye, and she knew she was thoroughly fucked.
He dropped her hand and turned sideways before bellowing, "Unfurl the mainsail!"
The moment he let go of her, she turned and left, almost stumbling when the boat suddenly began to move. She found her balance again and rushed by rows of wounded elves receiving treatment on the deck. All the while she tried to ignore the eye on her back.
She passed Maeve below deck, whose leg was being looked at by that elf from the camp – Mervyn, if she remembered correctly.
"Where are the supplies?" she asked them the moment she spotted them.
"Hello to you, too," Maeve grumbled through gritted teeth. Her fingers dug into the shoulders of the elf binding her leg. Without opening her eyes, she nodded to the left. "At the cabin."
The cabin, Gwen found, was a small separated space which was big enough for a mattress, a desk and a chair. Just outside the entrance, a pile of supplies had been dumped. The half-elf took what she thought she would need – bandages and salve – and entered the small room, closing the door behind her with her foot.
She sat at the desk and dropped her supplies on it. As she stripped herself of most of her armour, leaving her in her breeches and a thin tunic, she investigated the papers scattered across the surface of the desk. It didn't take her long to recognise them from Iorveth's tent. Of course the bloede Aen Seidhe would claim this stupid cabin within moments of having arrived.
And so she dressed the wound on her arm and treated the cuts and bruises she had collected during the battle as she poured over the beautifully drawn maps. Except she couldn't concentrate on their contents and instead she found herself thinking back to their owner.
Why had she tried to hit him? Out of frustration, powerlessness? Anger? At what, at whom? Him, herself? Loredo? She had no idea. What she did know, however, was that she shouldn't have done it. Now she could clearly see that he had been worried for her. She had jumped ship at the last possible moment and disappeared without a word after all.
The door opened suddenly and Gwen's body jerked up and away from the desk. Her mouth hung open, ready to say… well, she did not know what, but her voice caught in her throat when a green eye peered down at her from the door opening. She had been frustrated by his unreadable expression often enough, but never had she hated it more than she did in that moment.
She stood up, the chair scooting backwards rather loudly as she did so, her eyes wide. "I—"
Iorveth stole her lips before she could utter her apology, the door falling in its lock behind him. He closed his eye and took a deep breath, the sound and sight of it making her tired knees grow weak. His gloved hands found their way into her hair and he held her in place as he swung her around, pressing her back against the wooden wall next to the door. One hand left its spot long enough to put the lock in place.
Only then did he truly begin to move. His lips, which had held hers, now nipped at her skin, tongue running along hers. Without thinking, she returned the effort, straightening her back so that she could press herself up against him.
In that moment, however, he pulled away from her, his hot breath fanning over her face as he stared into her eyes. He wanted to say something, she could see as much in the way his jaw slackened and clenched repeatedly. She felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards and hoped it was enough of a response to his unvoiced thoughts.
"I'm sorry for hitting you," she murmured. "For wanting to hit you, I mean."
"What happened?"
"I…" Gwen began. Did he want to know why she left the barge, or did he want to know what happened afterwards? "I killed Loredo."
The commander's eye widened and he took a step back with his hands in the air. "Apologies. I did not…"
Staring at him, the half-elf's mind struggled to catch up to the situation. When it did, however, she closed the distance between them just as Iorveth had done mere moments ago. Something in her eyes must have tipped him off, for he did not struggle when she grabbed the lapels of his armour to pull her down to him, smashing her mouth against his.
The movement created delicious friction between the two of them, and Iorveth moaned into her mouth. She broke the kiss by turning her head to the side. He rested his lips against her cheek, unmoving. Waiting for permission.
She reached out for his wrist and pulled the glove from his hand before placing it against her breast. Her shirt did nothing to stop him from feeling her hardened nipple through the fabric. The dark look in his eyes told her as much. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed herself up against him, more specifically hardening parts of him, and whispered three words into his ear.
"Make me yours."
For good measure, she added one more, this one in a low and husky tone.
"Please."
The man growled and his lips soon found her neck, teasing and nipping at the skin there while his hand began to knead her breast through her tunic. He all but lifted her as he moved towards the wall again, where he pushed her up against the wood while he continued to ravish her with his mouth. She let her head fall back against the wall, biting back a moan. Thankfully the boat itself was producing enough of its own to cover theirs.
In the meantime, her hands roamed his body, ran up and down his arms, removed the other glove, pushed his scarf and feather from his head. She combed her fingers through his slightly greasy hair, slid a nail across the length of his ear, heard him let out a breathy moan and repeated the movement.
He squeezed her breast in return, making her arch her back. With his hand trapped between her chest and his, he removed it and instead used it to remove his belts. The movement forced him to pull back from her neck, and he snorted at the sound of her soft whine. She made up for it, however, when she reached out to place a hand to his cock through the layers of armour – far too many of them – that still remained between them.
By the time he stood in nothing but his breeches and a thin tunic, much like Gwen herself, there was nothing subtle about his need for her. He hoisted her up and, without thinking, she wrapped her legs around his hips. When he ground himself against her core, their groans mingling in the air, she knew that they had reached the point of no return. She didn't have the time to contemplate her lack of doubt about what was going to happen, no fear or hesitation.
Their lips met in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, bodies vibrating with the hums and grunts that left the two of them, as they rolled their hips against each other. Greedily. Needy. Demanding.
They lapped at each other like thirsty dogs at a creek until their mouths began to divert – hers to the tattoos on his shoulder, her teeth digging into the lean flesh there, his to the tips of her ears, which were just pointy enough.
His hands were on his buttocks, fingers squeezing her until it almost hurt as he held her aloft, whereas she curled her arms around his waist and grappled at his shoulder blades.
All the while, their bodies moved along with the rhythm of the ship, swaying to and fro, trying to hit all the right places. Their movements picked up as they went, became more frantic, until she clenched her thighs around him and kept him in place right where she needed him, positioned right against her clit.
A low moan tore itself from her mouth and she repeated the action. He did not seem to approve and nipped at her ear, eliciting a whelp from her instead. The single moment of distraction he used to drive himself against her again, this time in the way he needed, and he grunted at the friction it caused.
Then her hands were on his pants, trying to tug them down with desperate, jerky gestures. Her hands trembled more than they should have, but in that moment, she couldn't have cared less. The chuckle that she felt rumble in his chest only made the heat that coursed through her veins spike.
He dipped his head down to hers and his lips, curved into a small smirk, captured hers again before she could open her mouth to voice her complaints. She let him, for a short while forgetting the biting need inside of her as he ran his tongue along her teeth, digging into her mouth almost forcefully. Without thinking, she returned the act, lashing out at him with her own tongue before curling it around his. The guttural noise that left the elf's throat only encouraged her to push back with even more force.
And suddenly her entire world tilted backwards. She wanted to yelp, her hands turning into claws as she prepared to reach out and grasp the nearest thing to her, but then the fall stopped and her back hit something soft. Opening her eyes, it was only then that she realised Iorveth had moved them from the wall to the mattress. In the process of that he had somehow managed to loosen her breeches and had even begun working on his.
A shiver made her skin crawl, the sudden air cold against her legs as well as her most intimate parts when she shoved her pants down to her knees. With him positioned between her legs, however, she couldn't remove them any further, although he did not seem to mind. His never made it past his calves either before he was upon her again, covering every part of her body with his own and expelling any cold that attempted to cling to her skin.
She felt him press up against her and she knew her cheeks had turned bright red. Embarrassment and need merged into one big, hot mess writhing inside of her that made her reach up and, with her hand on the back of his head, pulled him down to nip at his lips. He eagerly covered her mouth with his once more while his hands guided his hard length in between her thighs.
Even with their bodies pressed so close to each other that they threatened to melt together, their skin rubbing and moving as if they were already one, he stared into her wide, brown eyes and waited. Her heart fluttered in her chest and, wondering if this would ever get old, she closed her eyes and nodded.
Before she could inhale, as if to prepare herself, he was inside of her, forcing her to gasp instead. He placed an elbow on either side of her head and leaned down on his lower arms, their noses almost touching as he began to move in and out of her. At first the pace was slow and tender, almost excruciatingly so, but as the tension began to build in their muscles, he began to thrust with more urgency and need.
She wrapped her legs around his hips once more, taking in as much of him as she could, and arched her back into him again, moaning at the much-needed friction. Sweat began to cover them both, entwining and making their flesh cling to each other. The smell of it was almost lost in the confines of this small room on this boat out on the river, though she did not get enough time to lament it.
As he continued to move between her legs, their noses never once stopped touching, neglecting the natural shifts that were the result of their movements. Neither of them moved to kiss the other or to break eye contact. Their breath came out in quick puffs and they shared the same air as they edged closer to the precipice of euphoria.
He moved his right hand to her left arm, clutching at him as though she might fall to her death if she let him go. His calloused fingers guided it away from him and closer to her, lower, towards where their bodies connected.
"Touch yourself," he whispered in between pants. His forehead creased, his eyebrows – for once visible – knitted together, and she felt the need to clear his face of that frown.
And so she did as he asked of her, sliding her hand in between the two of them until her fingers found that bundle of nerves. His arm made its way back to the mattress beside her head again, and in that moment, Gwen realised she hadn't felt this safe in forever. That feeling alone was almost enough to push her into the abyss, but she bit her lower lip and concentrated on the green of Iorveth's eye.
That green disappeared soon enough when he closed it, his jaw clenching as he turned his head to the side. His scar greeted her instead, but before she could register it he made a sound that was the combination of a hiss and a moan and the rhythm of his movements became unsteady.
"Ah…" A soft gasp was the next noise that he made, and it was such a vulnerable little thing, something so unbefitting the commander of a Scoia'tael unit, that it set something inside of her off.
She held her breath and curled her toes, let her head fall back and tightened the muscles in her stomach as much as possible in an attempt to hold back the feeling of pure pleasure that crept up on her. Two more circles from her fingers and as many thrusts from the man on top of her – including the sounds said man was making in her ear – and she sighed long and hard. The sparks spread out from her underbelly up to her neck and down to the soles of her feet, bursting into what felt like every cell of her body.
When the feeling died down, she lay there with her chest heaving against his. His body had begun to shake and he rolled off of her soon after. Falling onto his back next to her, he stared at the ceiling through a half-lidded eye without making any moves to get up. Not even when she meekly pointed out that she was still bleeding, although less heavily than last time.
Gwen decided to clean the two of them up herself, using some bandages and cloths she found near the desk with the maps. At least nobody would notice the blood, especially at a time like this.
When she returned to Iorveth's side, she noted the change in his demeanour even without him having to speak. It was then that she realised he hadn't let go of it at all while they were having sex. Even as he lay there, his hair and clothes dishevelled and a slight blush dusting his cheeks, he was still the commander.
Back at the waterfall, if even for the blink of an eye, he could shed his skin as the commander. Here, however, surrounded by his men and women, she couldn't expect something like that from him. They could need him at any possible moment, but they wouldn't really need him. They'd need that one version of him, the commander. Always the commander.
At that thought, her heart felt like someone was squeezing it. Her chest felt awfully tight and uncomfortable, as if her lungs had grown too large for it. As if she might burst.
But she didn't and these thoughts remained even as she closed her eyes. With her head on his arm, his body close to hers, it was almost possible to forget who this man truly was, who he could be. Who he had to be.
Almost.
Even then, she had never been able to expect how deep his dedication to his own people truly ran.
~PART I FIN~