Her eyes were black as night, enflamed with passion. They bore into him, as if through him, seeing something beyond which even he knew. It scared him. It invigorated him.
Her skin glowed in the moonlight, more pearly than green, and was firm yet undeniably soft under his large, roughened hands. He touched every inch of it: the gentle curve of her side, the delicateness of her knee, her bony ankle, her expressive breasts, her tight stomach.
Her lips tasted of sweet rain, of crisp apple, of tart grape, of something he couldn't describe but he couldn't deny. He kept coming back for more, wanting, needing.
Her short breaths mingled with this, and as she arched into him she would moan and whisper his name, like a prayer or a secret.
They moved together, hidden in the night, she a field of flowing green and he the hunter.
If Fiyero did not dream of broken bones, of crucifixion in a cornfield, of agony and loneliness, he dreamt of Elphaba. There was no other alternative.
Those passionate dreams were hardly preferable. They did not grant him with more sleep and certainly were not satisfactory, for he would still wake up with his heart racing, his muscles taut throughout his body, filled with a hunger and desperation that couldn't be satiated.
He hated how he lusted for her, how stupidly male he was. The details of the dreams would fade within minutes – they always did – but the arousal wouldn't. He would stay up the rest of the night, both unable and unwilling to drift off again.
The midnight she had invaded his bedroom had found him in such a state and after he had calmed himself he rolled from his bed and to the window where she had stood only hours before. He opened the curtains, revealing the night, and stared across the commons, above the fruit trees to the window where the green girl would have been to have seen him on top of the dorms. She wasn't there. When he took his daily run a couple hours later, he looked again to see a hint of green through the panes of Crage Hall, but there was nothing.
It wouldn't be until later that morning, before their Life Sciences class, that he would even see her.
She was pushing Nessarose across a brick pathway and he was sitting on a wooden bench across the square, his fingers digging into the saccharine flesh of an orange. Nessa seemed more subdued than normal and something in her posture indicated that she also had a less than restful evening, but otherwise she appeared well. She was talking, her hands gesturing in a restricted way as if to prevent her from seeming too big or too loud like her sister, and Elphaba was leaning forward over the handles of the chair to calmly listen to her.
He watched as they slowly made their way past buildings – clearly Elphaba had chosen to escort her sister across campus before making her way to her own classes – and for a while neither Thropp noticed the prince. But then Nessarose's striking brown eyes saw him and a delicate smile graced her features. They were far enough away that neither party was obligated to approach the other, but she waved and Fiyero returned the motion good-naturedly. Elphaba merely glanced up at him but didn't acknowledge him, so he returned his hands to the rind of his fruit as they continued on. He would see her soon.
Fiyero took his usual seat in Dr. Dillamond's classroom, behind hers and to the right, and when Elphaba entered the classroom and sat down his eyes burned into her. He should have been angry after the way she had confronted him the night before, but he could hardly hold onto her heated defense of her sister when all he could think about was her body against his.
As the semester progressed, she had either come to accept that Fiyero had the tendency to stare at her during class or had become very good at ignoring it. But today, even after lecture started, she had given in and stolen a glance over her shoulder as though she too was thinking about that lost moment the day before. Their eyes met and she lingered like that, her brow furrowed like she was running calculations in her mind; unconsciously the hand that was supporting his chin shifted and his fingers brushing against his own lips as he thought about hers.
It was then she turned away, the tops of her ears turning an alluring shade of bottle green, and he smiled to himself. Perchance he wasn't the only one having uncontrolled thoughts that day.