late at night, I drift away
I can hear you calling
and my name is in the rain
leaves on trees whispering
deep blue seas' mysteries
Another storm comes, and rain beats thick and fast on the roof like the pulse of the sky… but inside, the fire burns hotter than usual, and brighter.
The scene is one of silent serenity, a stark contrast to the restlessness of the wind and water just outside. Raine is curled up in the armchair she has come to call her own, proofreading her work by soft golden firelight. Yuan is polishing his boots at the table, but makes the mistake of glancing over at her as he hears a page turn.
His attention snags on Raine's quick and dainty hands, as she rubs parchment thoughtfully between her ink-stained forefinger and thumb, and then moves to the rest of her. She is barefoot, her silver hair a little longer than she likes it and still damp from a recent bath. Her attire is nothing he hasn't seen before—well-worn leggings and an old silken shirt—but it suits her.
Raine notices Yuan staring, as she notices most things, but says nothing. She merely continues leafing through the pages of history. But all the same, she cannot stop her heart from palpitating under his unconscious appraisal.
Not that Raine hasn't been observing Yuan, too, reading him between her lines. Simplicity becomes him. In her eyes, no military uniform suits him half as well as threadbare trousers and a loosely stitched tunic. He is no longer a soldier, but a civilian—though his attitude has not shifted accordingly. But even if Yuan will never lose his edge, Raine thinks his face might have lost a few of its lines.
Things have gotten complicated. Both their kisses have gone all but unacknowledged, save for an increasing awareness of how they look. Each of them worries that if this nameless friction keeps up, it will interfere with their purpose together. Still, they can never bring themselves to do anything about it, because they are both afraid that mentioning it will make matters worse.
But something about tonight feels different.
"I'm going to wash my hands," says Yuan, setting down his cloth, and gets to his feet. It will be best if he busies himself elsewhere for a time. "Do you need anything?"
Raine does not look up. "A backrub might be nice," she says, massaging one of her stiff shoulders absently. That is where she carries all his stress in tangible knots, and she has had more reason for it lately, the way they look at one another.
Yuan blinks, caught off-guard. "What?"
Raine shrugs, but winces at the motion. "It's the only thing I can think of that I might need. Otherwise, I am well provided for. Perhaps better than I should be."
Her words stick to Yuan, clinging to and smothering his doubts as he slips into the kitchen. The cold water and familiar magic clears his hands, but not his head, and does not cool him down. There is something in the air, like the wind before this storm, more tangible than ever. And, despite his growing discomfort, he finds he cannot stay away for long.
Raine hears Yuan return, and feels him weigh his options, before he lets out a short sigh. "Turn aside," he says, gesturing. Raine would be lying if she said she expected him to indulge her, but she will be the last one to question it. She obeys, swinging her legs off the side of the armchair to grant Yuan easier access to her back.
He rests his hands gingerly on Raine's shoulders, but begins kneading them only after another pause. Over the last centuries, Yuan has scarcely touched anyone save to kill them. He does not quite remember how to be gentle.
Gradually, Raine's breathing deepens in the rhythm of his movement, hitching or becoming involuntary vocalizations when he presses just right or wrong. Yuan shudders as his mind begins wandering to other kinds of elicitations, and half thinks Raine might feel it in his hands. Yet, even though he slows his pace, he cannot feel how her pulse races to compensate.
"Thank you," murmurs Raine eventually, and Yuan realizes he has stopped altogether, but is powerless to move away from her. This does not escape her notice, and she seizes the opportunity. "But if I might ask one thing more—you've been watching me for some time. I can't help but wonder what you find so fascinating."
Raine's voice is full of guarded interest, if a little breathless, but Yuan tenses as though they stand opposite one another on the battlefield again. The time is now or never. Swallowing his heart, beating in his throat, he forces out two words: "You're beautiful."
"I'm… beautiful," repeats Raine, the tips of her pointed ears turning a delicate shade of pink, and turns to face Yuan as she rises. She senses it, too: this tension has gone unarticulated and unexplored long enough. "Just what do you think of me, Yuan?"
Any courage he might have had vanishes at the prospects of explaining how highly he thinks of Raine, and his voice fails him. Yet, when he leans down to kiss her instead, she covers his mouth with a few willowy fingers. "A kiss is not an answer," she says reproachfully. "I'd have thought the last couple times were proof enough of that."
Yuan sighs. "What do you want me to say, Raine?"
The truth comes to mind, but he looks so lost and helpless that she takes pity on him. "I will not ask you to tell me you love me," says Raine gently. "But if you feel the same way I do, then tell me you need me, and that will be enough."
Yuan bows his head, relief washing over him at the promise of requital. "I do," he says softly, and dares to caress Raine's cheek. Her eyes half-close under his touch, so long dreamed of yet unfelt. "I need you. And I know this seems…"
"Sudden?" finishes Raine, raising her hand to cover his. At the feeling of Yuan's living warmth, her eyes shine in relief, joy, anticipation. "So were our kisses, and I have no regrets about those. I need you, too." And she permits him to lean down again, this time, even as she speaks.
This kiss is not a goodbye or a good-night, but a greeting, a beginning, a gateway to something more. Yuan sinks into his senses, soaking in Raine, and she responds so passionately that he is almost disarmed. They both forgot the joy of forgetting, of physicality, of the natural progression down this sensual road.
The same fears that once divided them now serve to drive them closer than ever. Raine must fight back against time, and Yuan has something to prove, too. Vengeance on the part of himself that still refuses to let the memory of his lady rest, a desire to lose himself in someone who is not her—to prove that she is not, and can never be, the only one for him.
The human halves of their blood buzz and hum with impatient infatuation, and their kiss becomes insistent, almost oppressive, burning hot like their blush. Yuan smooths his hands along Raine's back, her sides, her waist, and she grips his tunic with the force of her reciprocation. And then for balance, as he leans her unconsciously against the back of the sofa, pressing against her.
"I know now that you need me," pants Raine, "but I had no idea you wanted me." It takes Yuan a moment to register her words, and another to interpret them, before he realizes that she is addressing a physical shift between them.
There is no sense in denying it; lying is unthinkable. "So much of my life has been spent in mourning," says Yuan, a little more urgently than he intends. "Give me a reason to let go. Help me move past the story I tell you every night. Please, Raine."
"And you talk of suddenness," says Raine, but she is not raising an objection. Yuan can see that much in her eyes, unblinking and unabashed, as they meet his. "No, I'd have asked if you hadn't. I have forsaken my own happiness for too long, as well."
There are many things Yuan wants to say to that, but there is no longer any need to say them. Raine's gaze alone compels him to be silent, but he cannot be still. In some lingering impulse to be chivalrous, the gentleman he used to be, Yuan bends down to pick Raine up, relishing her little 'oh!' of surprise as he sweeps her off her feet.
Raine has never been in Yuan's room before, but does not so much as glance around as he carries her through the doorway: it will still be there in the morning. And he is no less preoccupied, as he lays her carefully down atop his bed. It has been four thousand years since last he did this dance, but that misguided faithfulness has never meant so little as it does now.
One more hesitation, and Yuan lies beside Raine, not dominant but equal. Moving more deliberately now, they savor even the simplest of touches. This passion is no longer hasty, but elven-like, almost cautious. They have all the time in the world.
"Raine." Her name comes as half a sigh, long and light and lingering, almost melancholy yet somehow hopeful too.
"Yuan," murmurs Raine, her voice low and curious, and it feels like sealing a pact.
Those are the last words they exchange before their newest journey; there is no more that need be said. Together they make something that isn't quite love, giving themselves over to the night, and weather the forgotten storm.