Do I deserve this, she wonders.
"Yes," says Clorinde, and Navia realizes that she's asked the blasted question aloud.
She is beautiful in her bed, the expanse of her skin glowing in the moonlight that filters in through the window. A candle flickers on the table by the bedside, casting orange light that deepens the shadows on Clorinde's face.
Navia waits. She waits for Clorinde to take back what she's said, to realize that this is too soon, that the air is too awkward. Clorinde does no such thing. She lies beneath Navia with a twinkling gaze, head tilted back.
"What… are you waiting for?" asks Navia, hushed.
Clorinde blinks. "For whatever it is that you want to do."
"I—Clorinde."
"You're thinking too much. This is… whatever we make of it. If the goal is to lay here and sleep, then that is what we will do. If you'd rather drink tea and eat chocolates until your stomach hurts, then—"
"And what if I want…" Navia swallows as her voice dies off. Clorinde is considerably dressed down, her capelet hanging on a chair back to the side. Her blouse is loose. She doesn't wear trousers, the smooth line of her legs on display in the sheets.
Navia supposes she shouldn't be surprised. She's the one who requested an audience despite the late hour. Clorinde had been asleep.
"What do you want, Navia?"
Unlike the cold and sterile room, Clorinde's voice is warm. Navia seeks it out, diving into the folds of it. She didn't know that everything else seemed so chilly until she was leaning over Clorinde's sleepy form, the heat stifling even through her thin clothing. Clorinde is more alert now. Those lavender eyes watch her with the sort of patience that the old gods speak of, and again, Navia thinks that she doesn't deserve this.
"Navia," murmurs Clorinde again, reaching out to press a hand against Navia's side. "Why did you come here tonight?"
She was lonely. So cold and lonely. They'd shared a nice dinner and had a little too much wine. The buzz is gone now but hours ago, Navia whispered that she'd rather stay the night which prompted Clorinde to prepare her a room. Not what she had meant—but even Navia can barely give into those wants. The silk sheets of her bed had been empty, though, and she'd writhed in them for a few sleepless hours before seeking Clorinde's company again.
"There was a chill in the room," she says.
"Oh? I doubt it's any different in here." There is a teasing lilt to Clorinde's voice which calms the blood that rages in Navia's veins. Right. Clorinde is easy around her, far more relaxed than the general public will ever see. To others she is a steadfast Champion; to Navia, she is a woman who laughs at silly jokes and enjoys sweet chocolates melting on her tongue.
Navia licks her lips, her gaze dropping to Clorinde's mouth. Soft. Pouty, the top one slightly upturned. A little chapped due to the cold weather.
Clorinde's gaze narrows until it's half-lidded. "What are you thinking of?"
"That I want to kiss you."
"And what's keeping you?"
It sounds easy the moment Clorinde asks. And perhaps it is easier than Navia made it out to be. She dips closer quickly enough. Clorinde's lips are soft and yielding when they meet. The hand against Navia's waist rests there, hot like an iron, curling around her back to hold her steady.
It's always easy. Kissing. Clorinde is patient and takes what Navia gives her, be it in the shadows, stealing short little pecks, or linking their fingers together as they walk underneath the aquabus lines. Even here, in Clorinde's bed, she lets Navia set the pace.
Infuriating. Infuriating.
"What?"
Oh, she's done it again.
Clorinde's breath is warm against Navia's mouth. "What is infuriating?" she probes. Not unkindly. Genuinely curious.
"You never… I'm the one who tests our limits. I guide us in… this. You never just take what you want."
The silence stretches for what feels like a century before Clorinde says, "Do you want me to? Take what I want?"
"Yes."
Clorinde's hand dips low to squeeze Navia's plush ass. Like her, Navia is wearing only a loose blouse, pillaged from Clorinde's closet. Fingers smooth over the fabric of her panties, tracing the elastic hem that digs into her backside. Clorinde kisses Navia again, this time deeper, passionately, tongue slipping between her teeth as Navia gasps in shock.
This, too, comes easily. All of this. They fall against each other instinctually as if they've practiced, as if it's meant to be and they've done this a thousand times before. Navia responds eagerly, nipping at her mouth, seeking out more.
Clorinde pinches Navia's cheeks between firm fingers to still her. "Needy," she laughs. "Had I known I would have taken the initiative long ago."
She's always known, she had to have. "Don't lie. You aren't naive. We're just… well, it's been a dance, hasn't it? A sordid sort hidden under the cover of the night. But I've been clear from the get-go that I want this to work out and be something."
Clorinde swallows, her throat bobbing. "And are we something?"
Navia huffs. "I'm in your bed, aren't I? Half naked in your clothes? Blaming the cold? Come now, Clorinde. You can put two and two together." She drops her hips to prove her point. Her panties are beyond damp, they're flooded, wet around the edge, slick smearing across Clorinde's thigh that moment Navia's cunt makes contact.
Clorinde sucks in a breath. Eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Her fingers dig into Navia's ass, tiny pinpricks that sting. Clorinde moves, flipping them over with the strength of a Champion Duelist.
Navia's back hits the soft sheets. Clorinde hovers over her, eyes bright with lust as her gaze washes over her. "You're…"
"Are we done kissing?" teases Navia.
They are not. Clorinde dips low and meets her lips again. This kiss is just as eager but slower, sweeter. Languid as they work together, tongues tracing teeth and the soft palates of their mouths.
"I wouldn't dream of stopping," says Clorinde. Navia moans, cupping Clorinde's face, holding her there. She chases her when Clorinde pulls back to kiss her cheek, her jaw, and the column of her throat. She hums, inhaling, dipping down, and pulling the collar of Navia's borrowed shirt aside. Her tongue travels the length of her collarbone.
Navia squirms. Heat pools in her gut, her cunt clenching, desperate for more. "Clorinde," she murmurs, threading fingers into silksoft hair.
Clorinde's eyes flicker up. "Should I stop?"
"No."
A laugh as she kisses Navia's sternum, that peek of skin right where the shirt lays open. Then she rucks the shirt up, knuckles trailing over Navia's skin, smoothing over tone muscle, her ribs, and the underside of her breasts. "Beautiful." The way Clorinde says it, soft and breathy, has Navia believing it.
And it isn't that Navia doesn't think so, but Clorinde's tone is one of awe. Her eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room, hot with lust as her fingers track every edge of Navia's body. Clorinde thumbs over a nipple. Navia arches, sighing at the pressure, and the way the calloused pad of her thumb tugs at the sensitive bud.
"Navia." Clorinde pinches the nipple gently and tugs. Navia hides a gasp which makes her click her tongue. "None of that. I want to hear those sounds."
Since when was Clorinde so mouthy? Since when did she express her desires so plainly? She's always been reticent at her core, hesitant during their interactions, but Navia's request for her to take what she wants seems to have loosened more than just her tongue. Her touches, the way she leans close, nipping and nuzzling her skin—Navia gasps again, loudly when Clorinde's mouth latches around her breast.
She suckles, sweeping her tongue around the hardened nub, and Navia just melts into the sheets. She tugs at Clorinde's hair. "Oh," she murmurs. Her hips roll, trying to find friction. Anything, at this point, any sort of touch that'll lessen the heat that boils in her veins.
Clorinde laughs, hot against Navia's breast. She dips lower, kissing her way across her stomach, those nibbling bites driving Navia mad. And then hesitation as she nuzzles the skin just underneath her navel. Those eyes flicker up and they meet gazes again. Clorinde's face is flushed. Her breathing, uneven.
"Should I stop?" she asks so quietly that it's nearly lost in the moonglow that filters in through the window. "I will if you aren't ready for this, but Gods, Navia, I want—"
"Then take," cuts in Navia, spreading her legs wide.
She anticipates being embarrassed. She is slick—so wet—and squirming in the sheets. But when Clorinde's gaze dips low to look, Navia's throat goes dry when she sees that gaze of utter adoration. A thumb presses against the soft fabric of her panties, tracing her dampness.
"Navia, you're—" A groan as Clorinde drops to the sheets, chest against the cotton, the collar hanging low and so open that Navia can see the swell of her breasts. She kisses the inside of her Navia's thigh. Her thumb rises, ghosting the bulge of where her clit sits, swollen against her underthings.
"Gods," hisses Navia. Fuck, even just that feels good. Better than her frustrated solo moments when she fucked her own hand after their dinner dates. She aches, desperate for more, the soft fabric of her panties frustrating, and Clorinde's light-handed touch just too little.
Clorinde reads her well. She always has, and maybe it's due to those Duelist instincts, but Navia knows that Clorinde is about to play her like a fiddle. She traces the hem of her underthings and Navia feels the touch in her spine, sharp and electric.
Navia buzzes with pleasure. "Please," she mutters. "Please."
Clorinde kisses the swell of Navia's cunt sweetly. "Alright," she says, hooking her fingers into her panties and tugging them down the long expanse of her legs.
And there is still no embarrassment, no curling unease in her chest, or hesitation as she lies prone in the sheets. Instead, Navia feels alive under Clorinde's gaze. "Go on. Navia reaches down and spreads her drenched folds for a better view.
Clorinde looks at her with wonder, with greed, nostrils flaring as her tongue wets her lips. "I—" She is speechless.
Navia's laughter fills the room. "At a loss for words? Cat got your tongue? Is the sight of me so unearthly that you cannot speak?" She doesn't know where her boldness comes from but the tension breaks and Clorinde smiles.
"Devious thing," she says, pressing closer, lifting Navia's hips until they're hooked over her shoulders. Then she mutters, "Pretty." Her tongue is hot as she licks from hole to clit. Navia jerks, but Clorinde holds her down with surprising strength. "Easy there," she says. "Just lay back and enjoy this."
Oh, she will. Navia whines as Clorinde's mouth finds her cunt again, lapping at her folds. Clorinde moans at the taste of her, sweeping that devilish tongue through her wetness before dragging back it up. It swirls around Navia's clit, flicking that hardened nub.
Navia gasps. "That's—Oh—" She tugs at Clorinde's hair sharply, earning a groan and a pinch to the hip. But Clorinde says nothing else, suckling at her. She brushes her knuckles through Navia's sex, teasing her. And that damned tongue— Had Navia known maybe she would've demanded this sooner.
Better than the kisses in the dark, or their quiet date nights, or the clandestine hand-holding. Better than her own hands, or the dreams that have plagued her. Navia's heart skips a beat. Pleasure floods through her as she rises and rises, already so close to cresting that edge.
She writhes in the bed. Clorinde's grip on her hips has loosened, letting Navia raise them and ride her mouth. That damned tongue. Navia keens as she forces it where she wants it, but it still isn't enough, it still isn't—
"More," she demands. "Clorinde, more."
There is no hesitation. Immediately, Clorinde presses a finger inside of her and it sinks deep. Another soft moan, muffled by Navia's cunt. Her wicked tongue never stops either, swirling around her clit, sucking and mouthing at it. Navia gushes, flooding the sheets, Clorinde's hand, everything, and Clorinde just eats her up sloppily, uncaring of the mess.
"Gods." Navia bucks against her mouth. The tip-top of that mountainous peak is within sight. Her gut curls tightly, heat spreading through her and all she can think of is the woman between her thighs. A second finger slips inside, curling in her cunt, sliding against that spot that makes Navia jerk. "There. There—"
She rides Clorinde's fingers until she comes, squeezing tight. Navia groans, taut in the bed, pleasure gripping her tight as the flies high through the clouds. And Clorinde—Oh, Clorinde—she smothers herself in Navia's sex, lapping her, stroking her through her orgasm, whispering praises that Navia wishes she could hear through the rush of blood in her ears.
It lasts both too long and not enough. Navia melts in the sheets. Her thighs shake and Clorinde rubs circles against her hip bone as she carefully peels herself away. "Precious thing," he says, pressing a sweet kiss against the apex of Navia's thighs, that damned tongue giving one last lick to her oversensitive clit.
"That's—I'm. Stop, stop."
Laughter peals through the room as Clorinde leans back and wipes her mouth against the back of her arm. She climbs back over Navia, thighs settled onto either side of her waist.
Navia's eyes dip low, peering between her thighs, trying to catch a glimpse. She reaches out, unable to stop herself. Clorinde catches her hand and tugs it to her mouth instead, kissing her knuckles. Navia frowns. "Rude."
"Wasn't the point of this to take what I want?"
"Are you saying that you aren't done?"
Clorinde's gaze turns sharp and suddenly, Navia wonders if this is what others see when dueling her. A half-smile spreads across Clorinde's face, striking and handsome. "And if I was?"
"I want—"
"Oh so now it's what you want."
Navia gives her a cool look. The moonlight that filters in through the window casts a silvery glow over the two of them and she itches to touch, to smooth her fingers over the long expanse of Clorinde's exposed legs, to press her fingers inside Clorinde's cunt and bring her to completion.
Perhaps it is madness. She's never known such want, pushed to the edges of sanity with lust. But with Clorinde it is natural. Normal. Navia lies in this bed, panting, sweaty, thighs slick with her spend, and all she can think of is that this is right.
The moment stretches for a little too long and Clorinde's teasing smugness falters, a line pinching her brow. "Navia, ever since…" Hesitation. She drags her fingers down the length of Navia's chest, tracing the curve of her breast. "It has been a careful game of cat and mouse, hasn't it? Our history is… complicated but I—"
"I want this," cuts in Navia. "Clorinde, I want you. Isn't that clear? Why is it that I still have to prove this to you?" even though she says this, her words waver. For all her bravado, Navia has spent this entire time proving to herself that this is real.
Clorinde's expression softens. "Oh," she murmurs. "I—Well, I should have realized. For all the good I am at observing people—"
"I would think that this may be out of your depth."
"So you want me then?" Clorinde smirks then. "How so?"
Lust curls through Navia. "I would think it obvious."
Clorinde still holds her hand between roughly calloused fingers. She leans forward and nips at Navia's lips, tugging it until it settles between her thighs. "What was it you begged of me earlier? Take what you want. Show me."
It is a demand that Navia takes full-heartedly with biting kisses and heated fingers. She doesn't think Clorinde has ever looked so beautiful.