A/N: Surprise, I did not in fact abandon this story 😅 As predicted, this chapter did indeed bump the rating up to E, and it's a bit longer than usual. Hope y'all don't mind. (Who am I kidding, someone probably/definitely cheered. You know who you are.)
Chapter 7 Content Warnings: sexual content (shocking, I know)
Chapter 7: I knew that look
Jacob
His goodbye to Sofia is the hardest. She alone bears the burden of his and Lara's true purpose and the likely outcome of their journey, and in a few weeks' time, she will be the one to share it with the Remnant.
"I should be there with you." Sofia clutches his arms, her green eyes reflecting his every disappearance over the years. He's always returned to her, his daughter with a heart of fire. But this time…
"Sofia." Jacob kisses her brow. "We discussed this. Our people need you here. You are their leader now."
Sofia's mouth thins, but she nods.
When Sofia was born, he thought watching his daughter grow up and pass of old age would be the most painful ending between them.
Now Sofia is grown, a strong leader in her own right. But it is no easy thing to lose a parent.
As he hugs her farewell, Jacob murmurs a prayer of protection and blessing. His people are in capable hands, and he must trust that God will watch over Sofia.
Jacob tries not to look back as he leaves his daughter and his people behind. Beside him, Lara ploughs through the snow in silence, hovering closer than usual. He can't divine if the brush of her hand is an accident or offered comfort, but he's glad to follow her for a little while.
At the final bend that will take him up to the Observatory, Jacob finds Sofia followed them out of the village. She stands alone at the bottom of the hill, so like the little girl who swung from trees and rocks to stay close to him.
When Jacob opens the Path of the Deathless and descends into the darkness, Lara at his side, Sofia does not follow.
It is our chosen path - our duty. It's never been easy.
The prospect of a human ending once gave him hope for his own eternal peace. But now…
Now, all the lives he has lived still feel inadequate.
They make camp atop a snowy cliff over Kitezh's frozen, useless harbour, in the scant shelter of a small cave. Jacob takes out their meal - dried boar meat and beets, not a lavish last supper - as Lara starts the fire. She strikes the flint so hard she drops it in the snow, swearing on the Lord's name.
"Sorry," she mutters, and strikes it again into the dried kindling and stripped bark.
He's not sure if Lara's apologising for the flint or for swearing; either way, it's unnecessary. Something about her brusque, fragile manner stops him from saying so.
A hesitant flame sputters to life. Lara coaxes it into a proper fire, and they eat in silence, huddled close to the flames and to each other.
For warmth.
Perhaps for comfort, as well.
The beets stain Lara's lips a vibrant red, rich as blood.
Jacob finishes his meal and clears his throat.
"We should reach the Chamber of Souls tomorrow," he says.
"I'm trying not to think about it." Lara brushes off her hands and smiles unsteadily, more sorrow than mirth. "Because if I do, I'll run like hell out of here and drag you with me."
Jacob frowns.
In their recent discussions, Lara agreed they should destroy the Source now, before another Trinity comes.
Next time, Lara may not be here to stop them. She could be on the other side of the world, chasing another priceless artifact.
"We can linger here a few days," Jacob finally says, telling himself the twinge in his stomach is the same fear of eternal death that's stayed his hand for a thousand years.
Hands empty, Lara takes the flint from her pocket and turns it over and over, as if the stone could tell both their futures.
He waits, his long-practised patience taut with nerves he ought to be well past.
Finally, when the fire's coals burn low and hot, Lara answers.
"No. You're right, that… we need to, and better to do it now when we're not being shot at. I just…"
She swallows and falls silent.
Perhaps Lara, too, fears the eternal dark. Lara is brave, fearless, extraordinary, but she is still human.
As is he.
"In the morning, then."
Lara nods, thumb holding the flint to its steel without striking. Jacob waits for a spark, though the fire doesn't need it.
It never comes. Lara sits in silence, the spark stillborn, and stares down their path into Kitezh.
And so their silent vigil begins.
Lara
They're going to destroy it.
They're inside the glacier, the Path of the Deathless behind and Kitezh ahead, and they're going to destroy the Source.
Lara stares at the bridge over the city's frozen harbour. It's eerily quiet without the Deathless marching to war.
This is for the best. Fuck if she knows what'll happen to Jacob, to her, to all the Deathless, but they'll have to do it someday.
Why the fuck can't someday be later?
It can't; she's gone over it with Jacob a hundred times. As much as she's considered turning around and pushing off someday in the Remnant's village…
Jacob's right. She knows he's right, because she's thinking the same thing.
She can't be too late again. Last time, Ana got to the Source and it claimed another soul.
Hers.
Was Jacob relieved, in some way, that the new immortal was her? Or did he take it as proof that neither the Deathless nor the Remnant nor even his own efforts are enough to keep the Source safe anymore?
Jacob was disappointed. She knows that much, felt it burning in her stomach as they sat atop the broken glacier, staring down at the Prophet's rubble of a city.
If Trinity attacks again…
I should've destroyed it. I still could.
She should've done it then. Marched down into the Chamber of Souls and ended everything then and there, like Jacob wanted.
Lara grips the flint, its chipped edge sharp against her palm, and imagines she'd been a little wiser.
Jacob might've died. She would've, later, on the Crimson Fire's altar.
But now they both might die anyway. Probably will, right? That's how the supernatural works - it's cruel and hungry and all it does it take, take, take. Every blessing comes with too steep a price.
What is immortality when your soul is gone? What is life without its ending?
Jacob probably has an answer - something soft and sad, full of acceptance and mourning honed by a thousand years.
No fucking way she wants to hear that right now.
Beside her, Jacob sighs, so quietly she almost misses it.
"What is it?"
Stupid question, but it's out before she can think of anything better.
Jacob smiles, gaze gentle behind a sweep of brown hair.
"For centuries I've had nothing but time," he says. "Yet now, I have none."
"Not quite none." Lara puts away the flint and steel and scoots closer, their thighs pressed together. "And maybe it won't…"
It might.
"Do you want to go back? To the village?" she asks.
"Yes." Jacob meets her eyes, glacier-blue twinkling dimly in the firelight. "But I don't think we should."
Lara nods and swallows salt and denial.
In the breath of quiet, tainted with the glacier's creaking and the fire's popping, a tiny ember of hope roots into her stomach.
"Maybe you've got more time than you think."
It's possible destroying the Source will simply free their souls, isn't it? That death isn't the only conceivable ending here?
Her therapist - the one Ana paid off to spy on her - would call that bargaining.
Subject: Adult Female
Name: Croft, Lara
Diagnosis: PTSD. Patient displayed symptoms of stages 1 and 3 of grief. Significant self-destructive tendencies. A danger to herself and others if left unchecked.
Lara swallows a snort, amusement souring in her chest like cheap dive bar smoke.
Jacob pushes his hair off his face, the firelight catching on his beard, and says, "Perhaps."
Soft, quiet, the acceptance to her denial.
She hates that - the sound of defeat. As if Jacob's certain he will die, no maybes about it, and he's making peace with it.
That must be why she takes his hand.
They've held hands before - for necessity, to drag the other along.
Once, for something else. An ocean she's toed the edge of but never dived into. Too afraid of drowning.
Maybe it's time she started swimming.
"There's tonight," Lara whispers. "We have tonight."
Jacob grasps her tighter, his fingers warm and pleasantly rough. Is she imagining the invitation in his eyes, that gentle beckoning?
Lara leans in, a question.
Jacob holds her gaze. She wonders if he'd hold her, after. Wonders if she wants him to.
Realises she doesn't care, just wants him now.
She falls into him like a Siberian gale, like she left her breath behind and she has to trust she'll find it when she lands.
Oh.
She finds it in his mouth.
Oh, at last.
Jacob's lips are warm and dry, chapped by winter and his many lives. He kisses like he's praying, like her mouth is holy scripture and he's tracing every word with pious reverence. If she opened her eyes, she's sure she'd see him staring down at her like she's the sacred relic of an ancient city of God.
But there's nothing holy about the heat of him, the lewd slide of his tongue, obscene in its gentleness. Jacob may be a prophet, but his mouth moves with the quiet confidence of a man who's done this before, who knows what he likes and what she needs and fully intends to indulge them both.
She doesn't kiss like this. Didn't think she knew how - kisses are perfunctory preludes, a sloppy invitation to be abandoned in the frenzy of a one-night stand. Kisses aren't supposed to hook and twist into her chest and hurt a little, aren't supposed to rattle her heart's steady beating or make her eyes sting with salt.
But this one does. Jacob does.
Lara throws her arms around his shoulders and kisses him more thoroughly, climbs into his lap and gives him her tongue just to see what he'll do with it. Jacob groans and sucks, nibbling enough to keep it interesting, keep her guessing. He tastes cool, clean, like the melted snow they've been drinking.
She would've liked to know that before now.
As if he hears her regret, Jacob rubs circles into her back, lingering around her hips. If he means his touch to be soothing, it's the opposite. Makes her wonder where else his hands might feel good.
He almost certainly knows how to use them. And she has a good idea of what men like.
Well, sort of.
Fuck, she doesn't know what he likes. Quick fucks from college or the bar liked it fast and rough, and back then she did too, but here, this, with Jacob…
It should be - has to be - more.
Lara presses against the hardness pressing between her legs - she'll see to that soon - and makes herself slow down and mirror Jacob's meticulous technique.
She wants - needs - him to enjoy this, too.
Lara tries slower, careful motions, a soft glide of tongues and lips and hands, a gentle tangle of her fingers in his hair. Jacob matches her, cups her cheek and tilts to better explore her mouth. A tentative scrape of teeth on tongue makes his breath stutter. Good or bad, she can't tell, so she stops.
Lara drags her nails at his nape, and Jacob stiffens, neck muscles tensing slightly. She softens her grip, stretches her hand into a caress, and he relaxes.
Right, gentle. He must like gentle.
She can do that.
Jacob's still rubbing her back, circling low and firm, pinkies straying toward her ass. Lara sighs when his hand finally drifts lower and kneads the globe of her arse.
Why tiptoe around their desires now? They might be dust tomorrow.
As if he heard her thoughts, Jacob's next kiss is more insistent, his tongue caressing hers like he's scolding her as he lays down and pulls her with him, onto the bear fur they both sleep under. Lara tenses, ready to fight to keep herself atop him, but Jacob doesn't try to roll them over.
With a strong, sure grip, Jacob centres her over him and guides her in slow, sweeping circles and long, luxurious rolls over his length.
Lara's breath snags, a jolt of pleasure stirring in her cunt.
Jacob smiles.
He grinds, a calculated motion, and manoeuvres her to meet him, hitching her hips up at the last moment.
She gasps and shivers. Can't help it, the sound slipping out before she can suck it behind her teeth.
"There?"
She's in the middle of humming agreement when Jacob kisses her again - all patience, pure benevolent calculation, artful indulgence - and sets a meticulous rhythm. It's slow, scrupulous, an almost hypnotic give and take, pressure and release - like they have eternity and he intends to bleed out every second of it. Jacob's hands are both cage and anchor, holding her fast when she jerks and impatience burbles just behind her tongue.
Her breathing comes hard and hot and sudden, adrenaline-driven pleasure echoing into the glacier that will be their tomb, rough with almost, yes, right there.
It's been a while since she got herself off on friction alone. Then again, sometimes direct touch is too intense.
Shit, she's actually close, so close she's panting into his mouth and fighting his grip. She just… she needs…
More.
Jacob lets her grind faster - a mercy, after holding her back until now - and his next kiss tastes like permission.
"Take what you need," he murmurs.
Yes!
It's small, her first orgasm. More shiver than release, a flint-spark on simmering coals, prelude and please, more. Jacob rocks her through it, his hands and lips softening to teasing pressure.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
Shucking off her scarf and coat - the one Jacob gave her - is less decision than instinct, a necessity she doesn't bother questioning. Jacob stops her when her thermal undershirt is halfway up her stomach.
"A moment," he says.
He sits up - her breath snags, caught by the press of him, wanting - and takes a second fur from their packs. This, he wraps around her shoulders.
Sweet, she realises. He's a fucking sweetheart.
Lara kisses him for it, more tenderly than she thought herself capable of - soft and lingering, a silent thank you she should've said before now. That kiss bleeds into another, then another, heat returning as animal instinct beckons again.
The only problem with undressing is she can't keep kissing him while she does it.
When Lara reaches for her shirt, she finds Jacob's hands already there. His hands are pleasantly weathered, calloused by centuries and warm with wanting.
Before now, before she knew the touch of his hands and the taste of his mouth, she wasn't sure if he did - if he wanted her the way she wants him. It was a hope, fragile and four-years-buried, because how could Jacob want her when she failed him?
But here, kissing him half-naked as she undresses him in turn?
There's no use denying it. The truth is right in front of her.
The proof is tenting his pants. Considerably.
He doesn't need those.
Even as she strips him as bare as herself, Jacob's relentlessly meticulous pace never cracks. Every touch lingers, deliberate, and his unending gaze warms her more than the furs, merciless in its tenderness as his eyes sweep her body.
She should be doing the same - observing, appreciating, burning very inch of him into her mind, there to stay for whatever eternity awaits them.
Instead, Lara sees him in fragments blurred by the haze of climbing pleasure. A muscled shoulder, a spear-scar over his heart, a trail of dark hair, powerful thighs, thick fingers, a drop of sweat in a brown beard, pre-cum beading on a thick red tip - fuck, he's almost three fingers wide - a mole on his ribs, muscles rippling on a pale torso, the soft scrape of his callouses over her skin.
His hands span half her ribcage, for God's sake. It's criminal that she's only feeling them now.
Jacob smiles, and something in his gaze makes her throat go tight. Not quite grief, this weight on her chest - too heavy for passion, though that still simmers between her legs, too sticky for simple regard.
How in God's name did she stay away for so long? Why, when she could have been here, like this, with him?
I want to know you, she thinks as Jacob pulls the fur tighter around her. I want to know you so much more than I have.
Jacob guides her into his lap, and the first brush of him with nothing in the way steals her breath.
He might be the biggest she's ever had. And fuck if she doesn't want to pin him down and sheathe him inside her right then and there.
Her eagerness tumbles out, clumsy:
"How do you want to…?"
Heat pricks her cheeks, so Lara busies herself kissing his neck as she waits for his answer. Jacob has a lovely neck, corded shoulders blending into a stubble-covered expanse of skin that wears his many lives like a map. She traces every hill and valley with her lips and tongue, lingering over scars and a thinner patch of beard just under his jaw. There, she breathes in snow and pine, frosted sunlight and earthy campfires, a subtle spice - musk, him.
In turn, Jacob finds her clit with startling efficiency.
"Exactly like this," he murmurs as he slips a finger inside and her hips jerk. "I want to see you, Lara."
"Then you - ah!"
"Too firm?"
"No, no, perfect, it's -"
Lara grinds into his hand and the fur slips off her shoulder. Jacob pulls it back up.
"Should let it fall," she manages. "The fur, if you want to see - shit, a little - right - yes, there." A throaty moan falls out of her, permission and plea.
Jacob's smiling, pride well-earned.
"I also don't want you to freeze," he says.
"Unlikely," she scoffs, a shudder of pleasure roiling through her. "And I'd come back."
Jacob's fingers slow, and she'd retract the quip if she could.
"Even so." Jacob's thumb dips down to gather more wetness and circles more insistently, lighter up and firmer down, over her hood like he knows direct touch would be too much.
Not fair, not fair; she's close again and she hasn't even touched him properly!
Lara shivers, teetering on an edge she doesn't want to tip over alone, cursing when Jacob drives her over anyway. His careful touch works with brutal efficiency, guiding her over like it was inevitable - like a cresting tsunami, a natural disaster waiting to happen.
"There," Jacob says, like she just grumbled at catching chickens instead of getting off twice in his lap without even beginning to return the favour. "Just let go, Lara."
With her cunt clenching around emptiness, there's nothing to let go of.
As she comes down, Lara seeks his lips to bring her back to earth, to give her something to cling to, but Jacob's making it so difficult to do anything but shiver and gasp and feel, as if her pleasure isn't even up to her anymore.
It just… is. Aftershocks jerk up her pelvis like she has no say in the matter, like it's a force of nature and she'd be foolish to even try to get in the way.
Jacob strokes her cheek, and she leans into the cradle of his palm. And then, because he's been too generous a lover thus far, she rolls her hips to coat him in the mess he made.
His breath catches, and his answering jerk is too sudden to be anything but instinctual.
"So impatient," Jacob murmurs, tracing the bow of her lips.
Lara sucks his thumb into her mouth. At the last moment, she remembers to be gentle, to tuck her lips over her teeth.
"Aren't you?"
When she swirls her tongue, Jacob twitches between her thighs.
"One of my worst vices," Jacob answers, a little breathless, "is too much patience."
Lara considers him, this man who looks at her like she's an equal, like she's breathtaking, like she's extraordinary. Like he's been waiting on her, and he'd be chuckling if he wasn't nestled between her lips and thrusting absently like even the great Prophet's chastity is a thing easily discarded for her sake, for her.
"Well, stop being patient and tell me what - oh god - what you like."
"You."
Lara rolls her eyes, sass Jacob punishes her for with a firm circle on her oversensitive clit.
Her hips jerk, and she whimpers from overstimulation.
Ass.
She leans down and kisses him, nipping his lip in retaliation. Jacob chuckles and eases up, seeking the curve of her breasts instead.
"Be specific," Lara grumbles. "Do you want my mouth first?"
His eyes darken, but Jacob shakes his head.
"Perhaps later. In this moment, I -" He lets out a low groan - almost a whine - as she slides over his tip in encouragement.
She knows what he wants, but how much sweeter it will be to hear him say it.
"All I want is to feel you."
Jacob wants it, she wants it - no sense in waiting.
Lara cants her hips and sinks down.
Jacob's head falls back into the fur with a throaty groan, vocal appreciation she echoes at the sudden, delicious fullness.
Her walls burn a bit at the stretch, just shy of painful, but it feels too good to withdraw. A few moments, and she'll adjust, and then she'll move in earnest.
But when Lara glances down, there are still inches left to go.
"Fuck," she breathes. When she leans back, gravity impales her further, and she hisses.
"Easy," Jacob says, a little hoarse but far too composed for the situation at hand. "Patience, Lara."
She whines instead, a bubble of complaint that makes him smile and sit up.
The motion slides him deeper, and oh, the angle! Groaning, Lara tries to take in more of him, effort her cunt punishes by clenching.
It's worth it for the moan that shudders out of him. Jacob pants her name as he drops his brow to her shoulder, gripping her thighs white-knuckle tight. He thrusts like it's an accident of instinct, a shallow jerk that tears a guttural cry from her throat, that he soothes with wet kisses up her neck.
When Jacob's hands stray to her breasts, her quivering grind is unavoidable, need meeting need.
Jacob says something in Greek that sounds like a curse.
"Try to relax," he says, sounding as wrecked as she feels.
Lara almost laughs.
"I've finally got you inside me, and you want me to relax? God, Jacob, that's - ah!"
She chokes on pleasure as Jacob scolds her with a harsh, sudden suck of her nipple. The other twinges, caught between his fingers.
Jacob has nice hands, she's realised before. These hands have seen centuries.
And now they're here, greedy for her skin, playing her like she's an ancient, precious instrument, pinching teasing reprimands and kneading soft, sensitive flesh, coaxing a flood of desire.
Lara tangles her hands in his hair, damp with sweat, and barely remembers to be gentle as she swears around a please. Her cunt squeezes encouragement, but Jacob's strangled grunt sounds like he's in pain.
Right. Relax, he said.
Lara closes her eyes and tries to focus on the muscles inside her. They're tight, simmering with the slow-burning prelude to yet another peak.
If she comes now, again, she might push him out. And that, she cannot allow.
Lara sinks her teeth into her lip until the sting brings a little clarity. Slowly, she forces her walls to soften, to give way and make room.
Jacob mumbles something about not having to take all of him, about "Don't force it, Lara," and "Take your pleasure, it's alright."
Silly man. He's finished her twice already; she's damn well going to ride every inch of him so he'll keep looking up at her like she's the eighth wonder of the world.
"I want to," Lara gasps, fighting her body's instincts to make room for patience she doesn't have. "Please, I want to."
It takes longer than she wants, easing him deeper and deeper in shallow, careful strokes. Jacob's lavish attention to her tits is a mercy, keeps her wet and relaxed without causing another peak that'd tip her too far into overstimulation.
Until, finally, the last inch sinks in.
Lara's mouth falls open, her thighs trembling with newfound restraint. It's worth the wait just for the sound Jacob makes - a strangled half-sob, his face contorting in pleasure before smoothing into bliss as he sighs like she led him by the cock into the gates of heaven.
It feels so… right, to be full to bursting. To lean back and see the vague outline of him in her lower stomach as the searing stretch gives way to a slick inferno she has no choice but to chase.
Brow shining with sweat, Jacob joins their hands over the slight bulge, and even that is almost too much - pleasure so good it burns like pain, like holy fire consuming an enraptured believer.
If this feeling was a god, she'd pray to it. She'd sing goddamn hymns for this, write scriptures and sonnets and epistles of the gospel.
She wonders what Jacob would think of that - if he'd deem it blasphemy, or if he'd kiss her to make a new church with a congregation of two.
Thighs aching with effort, Lara resorts to circles, not quite graceful. But it's Jacob who first moves in earnest - a slow-roll thrust that punches a moan from her.
"Too much?"
Lara's hair whips in her face, the fur slipping off her shoulders as she frantically shakes her head.
"No, it's - fuck. It's perfect."
A light sparks in his glacier-blue eyes, something she's never seen from Jacob. It's dark and hallowed, wicked and wanting, the look of a sinning saint brought to his knees for something other than his god.
Fascinating, delicious, intoxicating, this sudden change - this man and Prophet driving into her relentlessly like a beast, carving out a place inside her just for him as she cries out to keep going, take what he wants, take everything.
Jacob's release might be the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. More exquisite than all the ancient treasures of the Valley, of Kitezh, of the whole world. His garbled roar, his prayers and curses blending Greek and English, his delightfully bruising hands branding her hips - it's all for her. She could watch him like this for lifetimes and never grow tired.
He's barely quieted before he's reaching for her clit. Jacob, she's learning, is quite the generous lover.
Lara growls around clenched teeth at the first touch of his thumb, not so tender as before.
"I don't think I -"
"You can," Jacob murmurs, like he can command the very sun to rise and expect it to obey. "One more for me."
This time Jacob's less gentle. He holds himself inside her with one hand and strokes her with the other, and like a thunderclap, a vicious swirl of pleasure-pain drags her wailing over the edge.
When her vision clears, Lara is slumped onto his chest, fur tucked over her and his cock still miraculously buried in her cunt. Jacob's breath is a hot puff on her brow as she presses a lazy kiss to his heart, thundering under her ear, and fades into sleep, exhausted and content.
Whatever their fate, they will always have this.
A/N: You don't even want to know how many bad NSFW puns my beta reader and I traded on this one. Seriously 😂 Anyhow, Chapter 8 is coming... hopefully this month, but definitely before the end of the year.