story - part 39 - passion - 932 words

Again, when she answers her door, Calidris is in her bed clothes - but this time there is no grogginess in her face, no distance in her eyes. She is sharply awake, despite the late hour, and blinks up at me curiously and attentively. There must be a desperate look in my eyes, or in the set of my mouth, because the moment she takes me in, she drags me back into her room.

A sweet smile is offered up at me, comforting. She does not ask me what is wrong, she knows me better than that; if I want to tell her, I will, but the more she pushes the more secretive I will become. Instead, she gently strokes the back of my hand and leads me back to sit on the edge of her bed.

I do not know why I am suddenly so desperately lonely. Just a few hours ago, I felt that I was starting to settle into this routine, that I was beginning to get used to snapping Tumaire into shape and was beginning to ignore all the people around me. Lunch in the great hall was uneventful, the afternoon court slipped easily past.

It might have been something in the starved way Amazilia looked up at me, or the fact that some part of me, however small, wanted to drag her into my arms and comfort her. Or in the fact that we share a bond, that hopeless and unreturned love for the King, the feeling that nothing we do will ever be good enough. Or that no one cares about us unless we are doing something wrong, we escape their attention, otherwise.

This feels better, though. Her hand entwined in mine, her fingers smoothing gently across my wrist, trying to drag me down out of this panic. I let myself lean in against her, my fingers uncurling and hands going limp in her grasp, my eyes beginning to fall closed. This is relaxing and soothing, and I need it desperately.

"Are you alright?" Now voicing the question, in a timid whisper. She is not pushing, I do not have to tell her, she is just giving me an opportunity should I want to. Fingers trail up the center of my palm and slowly back down, nothing more than a simple, gentle touch. I wonder who else she has soothed like this, and I realize that I know nothing of her family. I should know if she has brothers or sisters, I should know about her parents, I should have more than some general idea that she is wealthy. I know the noble families inside out, and yet somehow, I cannot even remember which one she belongs to.

Again, my world is thrown off-kilter. Eyes flash up to her face, searching for some flicker of deceit, no matter how small, and finding nothing. Her expression is wide and honest, even when I am looking for some lie in her eyes I can find nothing. Immediately that disjointed moment of uncertainty twists back into something calmer and more familiar. I cannot doubt her.

"I do not know. I just…I did not want to be alone. And I could not sleep." Thoughts shifting instead to other concerns. She knows all about me, about my family and my past, but I have never taken the time to learn about her, or ask her questions. Does this mean that I am using her, that the only connection we share is the fact that she will have me?

If I am, she does not mind. Another smile comes to her lips, she tilts her face in to brush lips against mine, her fingers still moving in a slow pattern against the inside of my wrist. It is exactly what I need, and she knows it. Any last worries fade away, and I smile back down at her, meet those lips in a slow kiss.

She lets it linger for a moment, her lips parted so that we share a breath, that I can taste her. Then, gently and carefully, she pulls her head back away, the tip of her nose brushing teasingly against mine. It wins a sigh, I do not want it to stop, I want to let my hands wander and to settle close against her.

"Do you want to sleep here? Would that make it easier for you?" More than an offer to sleep. I can tell by the way she pulls my hands around to settle against the small of her back, to feel the ridge of her spine through that thin nightdress I can tell by the way she tangles her own arms about my neck and settles closer, leans into me.

I almost want to protest, to protect her dignity and her reputation - but she is a grown woman, she has a right to make her own choices. And she already is certain that I will not say no, her fingers wandering over my shoulders to undo the long rows of buttons down my back. Cloth slips away from the base of my wings, and hands smooth warm against bared skin.

There is no more question; my arms settle tight about her waist, dragging her in tight, to fit her against me, and I catch her mouth in another kiss, hard and hungry. It is only a matter of time before we are a tangle of limbs and searching hands in her bed, comforting and warm under her soft sheets. And I am sure that no one knows her as well as I do.