Heirot

Havi tensed, holding his breath. Sensation pulsed through him, and expecting it didn't make it any less startling. His skin crawled with a need to be touched. He felt hypersensitive. Even the slight breeze that wofted through the open window affected him, ghost fingers tracing over his arms, along his neck...

It was both just like the other times they'd done this, and also totally different. This time, he'd chosen it. This time, his body knew what it felt like to feel her hands clenched over his horns, guiding and demanding him. He shifted slightly on the floor, as if changing his position might reduce the sensitivity, but the adjustment only made him more aware of the weight of the ground pressing firmly up from beneath him. Even the violent shifting of bones under his skin, which he objectively knew was agony, felt gratifying. He wanted the pressure and intensity.

The blurred edges of anxiety circled in his gut, and he didn't know if they were a harbinger of coming panic, or a side effect he could safely brush off. He didn't want to lose control of his state of mind in front of her. She had barely agreed to do this. If he caused her more guilt, then...

Then what? Logical thought was getting harder, and so was his body. He tried to reposition himself again, and the hard floor pressed into him like a lover. He huffed a soft curse and leaned forward with his hands on his knees to prevent himself from moving them elsewhere.

Flames of longing licked through her, and she shivered at the feel of them. It was calling her. More, it whispered, and she was afraid. Let go, it said. She shook her head, as if to answer it. This felt like it was taking too long, that she was tormenting him with desire. Let go, it said, and she did.

Tenara toppled into ecstasy so potent that she thought she might never come out. Was that such a bad thing? To be trapped in endless pleasure. It was, she thought, because it was an endless beginning, with no end. It built in her, growing and holding her on the threshold of release and then never letting her cross over. Touch. She wanted Havitharon's hands, his lips, his...

No. Stop. Stop. Don't think of that. He doesn't want it. He doesn't want you.

When Tenara felt the last bone snap into place, felt the skin of his knuckles mend together, she sucked in a breath and released his hand. She trembled, too consumed to bother looking at her own arm to see how the black had faded to near-nothing. She kept her eyes closed, and clenched her hands in her dress at her thighs. She shifted the fabric, fighting the urge to touch the place begging for a graze, a whisper of sensation.

To his horror, Havitharon made a sound dangerously close to a whine. Her grip on his hand normally felt reassuring, but it was much more at the moment, and it was a swat in the face to have that connection removed. He felt the magic slide back out of him, leaving him naked and empty.

He was sitting in a disheveled cross-legged position with both hands on his knees. His blood still throbbed with ecstatic need, each beat of his pulse like a tongue laving over his throat. He shivered and didn't dare move a muscle. Even the friction of his clothes might drag him into a climax right now.

He looked to Tenara, and her expression nearly had the exact same effect on him. Had she always looked that erotic when she used her powers on him? Was she feeling what he was?
If he were to touch her, would it make her...

He dragged in tight, panting breaths and couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

Tenara opened her eyes, her hands kneading the fabric gathered around her legs. Her hand traced the inside of her thigh, featherlight fingers wanting to trail higher. She was flushed, rose cheeks and rose lips. Havitharon was flushed too, at least, she assumed the darkening in his silvery cheeks was flushing. There was desire in his eyes. Want. She wanted him too. Was it so wrong? Was it a lie?

Tenara leaned forward and kissed him with all the tangled need she felt. The moment she did, she realized her mistake and drew away, hands covering her mouth. "I'm sorry!"

That one moment of contact made every nerve ending he had tight feel tight to the point of snapping. It was alarming. Havi's hands finally jumped away from his knees, only to hover at his sides. He was desperate to do something, but couldn't bring himself to either push her away nor pull her close again. He looked at her flushed face, at the mix of barely-restrained lust and apology in her expression. He didn't want her apology. Gods help him... He wanted to see what her expression did when that hunger in her eyes was fulfilled.

He told himself to stop thinking. To let himself do what his body was begging for, just this once. Instinct guided his attention to her hands. He reached for her uninjured arm and drew her palm to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers. The touch of her skin made his breath come thick against her hand. He held her gaze and slid his tongue along her palm, tracing up towards her thumb. He closed his lips over the sensitive skin between her thumb and pointer finger, and sucked at it, much the way a man might suck something entirely different. He licked her, and barely stifled a moan.

Tenara's breath caught in her throat, and the shock she felt at kissing him melted away at the feel of his lips on her skin. Her head swam at the feel, wanting those lips to trail other places. Did he even know what those other places were? She wanted to show him that he could have pleasure freely. That he could feel something and not have to give in return.

Tenara gently took her hand from his mouth. "Stop me... stop me if you don't want me to..." Her words were thick and heavy as they left her lips. She slid closer to him, almost climbing into his lap, but instead she placed her hand on his knee and slid it upwards to the hardness pressing against his trousers. She pressed her hand there, massaging against the fabric.

"Tenara," he barely managed to groan. Licking her had unloosened every screw in his composure. Even her breath on him would have finished him then, but her hand...

Whatever was left of his control toppled instantly as she pressed against him. It ripped his orgasm from him like a lodged thorn. He grabbed for her hand desperately, but it only pushed her harder against his straining body. The sensation was so intense... more than he knew how to contain. He covered his mouth with his wrist and bit down, and prayed he wasn't making enough noise to be heard in the next room. His body throbbed and pulsed under her hand, soaking both the fabric and her.

Tenara pressed her forehead to his shoulder, nodding against him. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like to never know pleasure and then feel it, truly feel it for the first time. "That's alright," she soothed, wondering if he might be feeling embarrassed or shy. She hadn't known he'd have such a reaction. She might have moved slower, but the need in her drove her forward, until... now. Until here and now and she felt worry he'd hate her for what she'd done to him.

She swallowed back the fear, gently touching him, like calming a frightened dog. Then, she pulled her hand away, back to the safety of his knee.

She still felt the ache of need between her legs, the want to be touched and filled and devoured. But this was enough. Pleasing him was enough. She finally turned her gaze down to the injured hand resting in her lap. The black had faded to pale gray around the edges of the red burn. Even the burn seemed less than it had been. She wasn't sure what magic they had together that would turn Thar's wrath away from her, but it was nice to be free of the anger of his curse.

She almost thanked Havitharon, but it seemed ill-timed. Instead, she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Havitharon took deep breaths that shuddered with each exhale. The room felt blindingly bright, and his stomach still twitched with residual spasms. He couldn't quite absorb what had just happened. Tenara's kiss on his cheek, her hand on his knee, felt like hallucinations. It was impossible.

It was impossible.

He looked down at the indents of his teeth on his forearm. At his healed hand. At the soaked fabric where her hand had touched him. At her fingers - the ones he'd sucked on and licked, resting on his leg. This situation he'd literally fought tooth and nail against his whole life. Had he really compromised everything under the thrall of a spell? How had he done those things? How come it felt like that? It was like he didn't even know himself.

He sat up carefully straight, throwing up a blank mask so he wouldn't look as spooked as he was feeling. "Your arm..." he inquired carefully, poker-faced.

Now that her magic was fading to an alluring aftertaste, Tenara fought the growing anxiety that she had made a terrible mistake. She’d let it guide her and feared she’d done something that had irreparably harmed what fragile relationship she and Havitharon shared.

She showed him her arm, keeping her eyes on the holy mark still perfectly imprinted on her palm. The black lines had faded. “The holy wound will heal. Until then, I should try not to use the darker parts of my magic. Thank you for… for helping.”

She glanced at the open doorway leading into the wash room, and the mess on them both. She wiped her hand into her already ruined skirts. “You can get washed up in there… I’ll use the other room.”

Tenara rose, her legs still trembling, her body still wanting. She tried to sooth the fire in her cheeks. She didn’t want to leave the room as she was but fear was climbing over her like frost, and she thought he needed space. “I’ll bring you some clothes.”

As soon as he saw her arm, something shifted inside him. Those toxic scars had all but vanished. It filled him with satisfaction, and relief. A smidgeon of confidence returned to his state of mind, overriding some of the shock.

But then she got up to leave. Before he could think better of it, he scrambled to a knee and reached for her, catching her hand. He stared at their connected fingers, baffled.

Tenara stopped, her gaze going to their hands and then finally lifting to him. Her heart throbbed. She couldn’t read him. Ever. “I’m afraid,” she said, soft as a whisper.

He blinked. He thought of her expression earlier, when her parents had come to her side. She'd looked happy, and relieved, and safe. By contrast, he was scaring her. It didn't matter how. He released her hand. "Go to your mother," he said, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair to ensure he didn't grab her again.

She flexed her fingers, missing his. “No, you don’t understand… I’m afraid of hurting you. I’m afraid I’ll make you hate me. I’m afraid of me.”

He met her eyes. His position on the floor meant he was looking up at her for a change. "I believe you," he said carefully. "It was I who said to go as far as necessary. I am not hurt."

In the other room, Vlad returned through the door, looking and feeling much better. He took in the quiet room and gave his wife an inquiring look.