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The chill of the night had settled over the makeshift camp. In the sky, the moon hung bright, and Liarel, hugging the thick fur coat she wore draped over her frame, looked up at it. Waning, she thought as she sat upon the ground; the full moon was a few nights ago, but from the amount of light it cast alone it was hard to tell. Everything in the camp was illuminated, both by the moon itself and an abundance of torches and lamps lit both in and out of tents. All in all, it was a rather nice night. Festive, almost, especially considering what tomorrow would bring.
Liarel tipped the bottle of cider she carried up to her lips, threw her head back, and drank. It did little to soothe the chill of the breeze on her face, but it warmed her minutely on the inside. Not as much as the fur coat draped over her shoulders, admittedly, but Liarel suspected there was a little more to that than just the fur itself.
“Damn it.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked up the last trace of cider on her lips. Liarel looked out across the camp again, and then her eyes fell on a large tent just a short distance away. The largest tent.
Isaac’s.
Another curse escaped her, and she stood from her spot beneath a near-dead tree. The leaves had almost all fallen from it by now, and it was something of a miracle these ones had clung on as long as they had. Maybe it’s a sign, she thought. And then, with a laugh: Or maybe I’m just crazy.
She took another drink from the bottle, then adjusted the too-big fur coat. She drew it tighter around her, trying to compensate for its frankly absurd size, and blew warm air into one of her gloved hands. She pressed it against her cheek, but couldn’t stave off a shiver; and then, slapping that same cheek, she steeled her resolve and walked to Isaac’s tent.
Liarel pushed the flap aside easily, and what she saw brought a tender smile to her face. Isaac sat at the edge of his bed – a rather nice one, considering they were about to go to battle, but Liarel supposed being king had to come with some perks – and he hummed to himself as he worked on cleaning his spear. His hands worked in slow, drawn-out motions as he dragged a rag across the blade, polishing it to a near impossible shine. It had been sharpened recently, Liarel noticed.
His gaze, however, was anything but sharp. Isaac stared down at his spear as he worked, his grey eyes dull and unfocused, as though he were looking past the weapon in his hands and at something else instead. Something invisible, intangible. Liarel wondered what it could be, but upon deeper thought, supposed she had some idea.
“Isaac,” Liarel said, quietly. A breeze fluttered into the tent behind her, making her shiver; Isaac did not look up at all, neither for her words nor for the breeze, which should have affected him more than her, considering how dressed-down he was.
Liarel scoffed. Werewolves.
She stepped into the tent, sealing the flap closed behind her. Isaac still didn’t look up. Liarel frowned, but chose not to take too much offense; he was a busy man, after all, and had much to worry about. Still, she would prefer he worry about her for the time being; she had not come here for nothing.
Liarel strode further into the tent, deliberately making noise with every footstep. It was not her usual style to do so, and she preferred to move in silence even when it was unnecessary, but this was not about her preference – or rather, it was about her preference of making sure Isaac didn’t lash out when snuck upon. She had been at the receiving end of that once, and though it was a funny memory now, she had no real desire to be knocked flat on her ass again.
At least, not like that.
“Isaac,” she called again, closer this time. Isaac’s hand continued its motions on the spear, rhythm unbroken. Liarel might have suspected hypnosis if she didn’t know him so well, but she did, and so she knew she had to take more drastic measures.
Drawing her bottle of cider back out from the fur coat’s inner pocket, she held it up with one hand and drew her dagger in the other. Exactly one second later, steel met glass, and she clanked the two objects in her hand together like she was ringing a dinnerbell. “Hello! Isaac!”
That, at last, got him to look up at her. He did so with slightly widened eyes, and shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“Liarel,” he said, and some of the tension in his shoulders ebbed away.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she said, clipped. “Took you long enough to notice. What are you doing?”
She re-sheathed her dagger. Isaac shifted again, and he looked down at his spear, running one hand along the runes carved into its shaft.
“Reminiscing, I suppose,” he said.
“Yeah?” Liarel sighed, terse, but shook her head in an effort to rid herself of the annoyance she felt. She held up the bottle of cider and shook it. “Care to continue your reminiscence with a drink?”
“Please,” Isaac said with half a smile. Liarel made her way to the foot of the bed and sat down on it, just a hands-breadth away from him. She uncorked the bottle and took a long, deep drink of it, very nearly chugging – and when she was done, she sighed in satisfaction and handed it over. Isaac took it gratefully.
“You seem well at ease,” he said, and then lifted the bottle to his lips. He took a short sip, and hummed when he swallowed it down. “Aren’t you nervous about tomorrow?”
Liarel scoffed. “Me? Nervous? About what, marching into a heavily-fortified city packed to the brim with soldiers and warriors and mercenaries, laying siege to it, and putting my life at risk for our cause yet again?” She laughed. “I dunno. I’m about as nervous as I’ve been every time, I guess.” Then, with a grin and a playful elbow to Isaac’s side, she added, “Not like you’re much better.”
“I suppose not,” Isaac said. He took another drink from Liarel’s bottle – and then another, and another, swallowing deeply with every mouthful he took. Liarel watched him, but quickly grew bored, and decided to fidget with the coat she wore instead, tucking herself further into it.
“I don’t understand how you can handle this damned cold,” she muttered under her breath. “Or worse, how you can actually like it.”
“I’m used to it,” Isaac said simply. He handed the bottle back to Liarel, and she took a drink too – though not as much as she’d have liked, because the bottle was conspicuously lighter than when she’d handed it over.
“You’d better have more to drink,” she grumbled, scowling at her commanding officer. Funny how she had come to respect that title, when before she had abhorred taking orders from him. Where she was reluctant before, now she was… well, Liarel wouldn’t have called herself eager to serve, but there was certainly something about the King of Daen that inspired loyalty. That made her want to help.
Pity, she would have called it, once upon a time. Now, however…
“Over there,” Isaac said, pointing to the corner of the tent where his armor rested. There was a trunk next to it, one Liarel recognized as his private store of liquor. She leapt off the bed, leaving the coat behind, and practically ran to the trunk. It may have been warmer in Isaac’s tent with the oil lamp burning than it was outside, but it was still winter – and on a mountainside, at that. She was surprised they could find a clearing without snow.
“Just don’t get too drunk,” Isaac said as Liarel rummaged through the trunk and pulled out a bottle of spirits. “We have to keep our wits sharp for tomorrow.”
“Funny that you still think elves can get drunk from your weak human alcohol,” Liarel said with a roll of the eyes. She shut the trunk lid with her foot, then made her way back to the bed. “But relax, will you? I just wanted to feel a little warmer before we die tomorrow.”
Isaac was silent, even as she slumped down onto the bed and took a hearty swig of the spirits she’d purloined. He looked down at his spear, index finger picking at one of the carved runes on it.
“Do you…’ he started, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, “Do you think we’ll die?”
Liarel took one last sip of the bottle, then sighed. She shook her head. “I wasn’t serious, Isaac,” she muttered, glancing at him and then looking ahead blankly at the nondescript tent wall. “But I can’t say for sure. Really, considering everything we’ve done up to this point, we should probably be dead already.” She shrugged. “But who knows? Maybe we’ll be lucky this time, too.”
Maybe. She wasn’t wrong; they’d made it out fine together in every battle before this one, and had sustained surprisingly few losses. Isaac was a good leader, a strong commander, and Liarel was a perfectionist to the core. Pragmatic though she could be, she knew the most pragmatic act of all was keeping as many soldiers alive as possible. Live to fight another day, and all that, she had told Isaac once before. It was hard not to feel a little nervous going forward, though, especially since this would be their biggest and most difficult battle yet. The final stretch of their campaign. Tomorrow morning would be the end of it all.
And maybe the end of her, too.
No, Liarel resolved. She would not fall tomorrow. She would continue to live, and to carry the memory of her father and her people with her – and she would continue to live and fight for Isaac, too. For his sake – for his life, for his mission, for his promise – death was not an option. Not for either of them.
She took another drink. Isaac let out a breath, and it sounded fond, though Liarel did not turn to look and see if he was smiling.
“You seem so carefree,” he remarked, holding out his hand toward her in expectation.
Liarel finished her drink, then handed the bottle over. “Of course. What will your soldiers think if their second-in-command breaks down?”
This time, she did see Isaac’s smile. “Like I did, all that time ago?”
Liarel clicked her tongue. “That’s not… that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I just meant that you’ve got enough on your plate. The least I can do is try to keep myself together.” And everyone else, too, she didn’t say, though she had the feeling Isaac caught her meaning.
“Liarel…”
“Don’t you dare thank me,” she said. “I’m just doing what’s needed.”
She reached for the bottle; Isaac snatched it away and held it close to his body. Liarel’s eyes widened.
“No,” he said. “No, it’s not… you’re going above and beyond, Liarel. You’re… for me, you’re…”
He closed his mouth. Liarel’s breath caught. Somehow, she felt as though she’d heard a little too much, or that he’d said more than he’d meant to. It was the strangest thing – like the frigid air in the tent had frozen further. Like it had solidified between them.
Isaac shook his head. “Really, Liarel,” he whispered. “I… Thank you. For everything you’ve done. Were it not for you… were it not for everyone, I would not be here today to lead you all.”
Without realizing, Liarel had reached out for him. She withdrew her hand in midair, however, before it made it halfway to him. Isaac didn’t seem to notice; he was looking down at his spear again, and his dark hair hung in front of his eyes enough to obscure them from her sight.
Liarel shifted uncomfortably. “And you were worried about me getting drunk,” she murmured, though she had a feeling the joke fell flat. Deciding that she didn’t like the sullen mood that had fallen over him, she grabbed at the bottle again, and this time, she managed to yank it from Isaac’s hands. He looked up at her in surprise. Liarel simply scowled. “Get a hold of yourself, Ike.”
Isaac blinked. “I beg your pardon…?”
“It’s not like I don’t want to be here,” she grumbled. “Everything I do, I do for our sake. Thanking me is like thanking the sun for shining. It’s just… a thing.” She waved her hand dismissively. “So shut up and don’t try to thank me again. Honestly, lending me your coat was thanks enough, even though it did nothing to keep the damned cold out.”
She took another drink, tossing her head back as she had before and guzzling down as much as she could. She could feel Isaac’s gaze on her, so she closed her eyes against it, and hoped that was enough to make him look away. She didn’t bother to check when she lowered the bottle and gasped in a quick breath to replenish what she’d lost while drinking.
“I – I’m sorry,” Isaac said, and he sounded equal parts uneasy and taken aback. “I… I didn’t mean…”
“None of that, either,” Liarel snapped, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“Right.” Isaac looked away. “I’m sorry. You probably came here to talk, and I’m…”
Liarel sighed. She looked at Isaac – her commander, her companion, and against all odds, her friend – sidelong. He seemed unusually disturbed tonight, like something was gnawing away at his mind. He was about as forthcoming about his insecurities and unease as ever, though, and Liarel wasn’t about to ask. Not yet.
She changed the topic instead. “Look,” she said, “it’s not that I don’t think we have a good chance of dying. We do.”
“I know,” Isaac replied. “But I have to believe we’ll be okay. If I don't, then…”
“Yeah.” Liarel kicked her feet against the tent floor. She scowled at the ground as though it had done her some personal wrong, but only because she didn’t want to show her troubled expression to Isaac. “Me too. But that’s why I was hoping I could relax a little tonight.”
Isaac tilted his head to the side. “Liarel…?”
“Thinking about the battle ahead isn’t gonna do us much good at this point,” Liarel said. “We’ve already done what we can to prepare. Anything else would just stress us out more, and the soldiers won’t appreciate any changes to the plan at this point.” She folded her hands together and looked at them, resting in her lap. “That’s why they’re all out there trying to have a good time. None of us know if tomorrow will be our last day alive. If we’ll win this war, or if we’ll fall before we even breach the city walls. So all we can do now is…” She laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Hope we make it out, believe we’ll be okay, and make the most of the time we know for sure we’ve still got.”
Liarel twiddled her thumbs, still resting in her lap. She could feel Isaac’s eyes on her, watching the motion, and held herself steady under his gaze, though all she wanted to do was press herself up to him.
“Liarel,” Isaac said, his voice leaving him in one long breath. “I… I promise, you will make it out alive tomorrow.”
Liarel glanced up at him. “We will make it out alive,” she corrected. “Don’t think I’m going to let you die on me.”
“I…” Isaac lowered his head, and then shook it, eyes downcast. “I don’t know what will happen to me. But you… I promise to make sure that no matter what happens, you live. For your people.” He clasped his hands together. “I… you are important to me, Liarel, and if I were to lose you…”
She looked up. Her breath caught, and the air went still once more.
“I – I mean,” Isaac said, eyes flying wide as though he’d caught himself saying something he shouldn’t have. He raised his hands, and scooted back, just a little, away from her. “What I’m trying to say is that I… I don’t know what I would do without you, Liarel.”
Liarel blinked. Did he just…?
Isaac shook his head again. “I mean – you are… you’re my second in command. Yes! That’s it. But – no, that’s not it; you’re so much more than that, too.” He swallowed, and then laughed, nearly hysterically, looking up to the tent’s ceiling and trying to hide his nervous grin. “You are strong, Liarel, and compassionate, and loyal, and… Oh.” He shook his head. “That isn’t to say that I… that those are the only reasons I want you.”
What?
“B-by my side! Why I want you by my side,” Isaac said, quickly. Too quickly. He stood up, and Liarel watched him, barely registering the movement. It felt as though she were watching the scene from outside herself: her body on the bed, Isaac beginning to pace before the bed, his hands gesticulating until he turned on his heel to face her once again, while her mind was floating somewhere above the two of them.
“—The soldiers,” he said, halfway through a sentence Liarel hadn’t really been listening to. “The soldiers, too, they value you so highly – as do I, of course, but it’s more than that. Or, no, not more, but…”
Liarel tuned him out again. She stared off into nothing, the bland beige tent flaps swirling and melting around her to reveal the deep, endless blue of the night sky. There was no waning moon in it this time, nor any stars: just darkness, and the shapes of people she used to know. Her father. Her friends. Elves, soldiers, each and every one with a face she recognized even cast in shadow. People she had known, years ago, and people she still missed.
Could he really be saying what she thought he was saying? Was Isaac – her friend, her companion, the man she had come to respect and to admire – was he saying that he returned her feelings?
Was he saying that he loved her?
It wasn’t as though Liarel was completely unaware of how she felt about him. Though she tried not to let her feelings get in the way of her work, she knew that her friendship with Isaac had blossomed into something deeper over the years. He had been there for her when nobody else was; he had taken care of her, and allowed her to take care of him in turn. But hadn’t that been true of her people, too? Of her father?
And they had all left. One after the other, they had gone, leaving her alone, cold, scared.
Did that mean that Isaac would leave, too? Just as they had?
“Isaac,” Liarel murmured, airy and vacant. The sound of her voice surprised even herself. But she blinked, trying to right herself and return to the present, realizing with a start that her cheeks had become damp. She reached up to touch them, trailing the pads of her fingers downward. They came away tipped with the shining residue of tears.
“Liarel – oh, Liarel, I’m sorry,” Isaac said. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t even mean—” He shook his head, one hand flying up to press against his forehead, under the stray wisps of dark hair that had hidden his pretty eyes from her before. “I know you’re – that you’ve had a rough past, and with everything and everyone that… No, no. I’m sorry. I should stop.”
But again, Liarel had tuned him out – or instead, rather, Isaac’s words were only sinking in at half their normal speed. Not even that, really; a tenth of it, more like. It took her ages to process what he was saying, and for her to realize that he was speaking specifically because she had started crying without realizing. She had just – frozen. And now he was panicking.
Oh, how she wanted to soothe him. How she wanted to reach out, to touch Isaac, to tell him that he was fine, he didn’t have to apologize. There was nothing wrong with the way he felt – or with what he was saying. With the way he was trying to reassure her.
And with the way he still stood here, right before her, and hadn’t run away.
As that final thought sunk in, Liarel turned her head to finally make sense of the man standing in front of her. Somehow, the sight of him there, in front of her, feet firmly on the ground despite the tension in every inch of his body, pulled taut and coiled like a spring, helped to soothe her and slow the rapid, rabbit-quick beating of her heart.
Isaac was here. He hadn’t left.
He wouldn’t leave. He loved her.
“I just – I just don’t want to lose you,” Isaac said, finishing his ramble – which had continued even as Liarel spaced out – with an accompanying drop of the shoulders. “You mean too much to me to even think of it.”
Liarel nodded. She still felt like she wasn’t quite in control of her body, but at least now, she could recognize the way it felt, could recognize the thoughts in her head and how they translated into action. And so this time, when she spoke, it was more firmly: “Isaac.”
But that, apparently, was enough to set him off again.
“I mean… well, it’s not just me, of course—”
“Isaac.”
He looked away, laughing erratically again, and reached up to scratch at his cheek, nails scraping along the edge of his beard. “As I said, the soldiers, and – and…”
“Ike!”
Liarel stood. She took a step forward, and then another, striding quickly to close the short distance between them. And when she did, she took Isaac’s thin nightshirt in her hands, twisted her fingers in it, and dragged him down to meet her.
“Shut up, you idiot,” Liarel said.
And then she kissed him.
She pressed her lips to his, and he let out a muffled sound of surprise into her mouth. It made Liarel almost smirk into the kiss, but she held herself steady and stoic as ever despite the warmth exploding in her chest. It felt like fireworks going off inside her, sparking and fizzing and popping as she pulled Isaac even closer.
And then, at last, Isaac kissed back. His eyes slipped closed, and he wrapped his arms around Liarel’s waist, and the two of them came together like they never had before. It was a warm, passionate embrace, and one that lasted both far too long and not long enough. Seconds, minutes, hours – Liarel could not tell how much time had passed; only that she never wanted to leave the safety and security of Isaac’s arms.
She had to, though. With reluctance, Liarel pulled back – but she did not let her beloved go. She simply broke the kiss to catch her breath, and then she pulled him in again – and back, this time. She took a step behind herself, toward the bed, and Isaac followed her movement, stepping into her space the moment she had vacated it, stopping only when she laid herself down on the bed.
“Isaac,” Liarel whispered, looking up at him as he stared incredulously down at her. “My seras.”
“Liarel…”
“I know you’re scared,” she whispered, reaching up to take his hand. She held it gently, and tugged it forward, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. He got one knee up on it and leaned forward, bending at the waist to hover over her, close enough for their lips to brush again. Liarel wrapped her arms around his neck, and smiled against his mouth. “But for tonight… just for tonight… let’s forget about the day to come.”
She pulled back, falling down onto the bed, and watched as Isaac’s face turned red. His eyes were wide, stricken; it would have been comical had it not made Liarel so nervous. Her heart pounded hard and heavy against her chest, so loud she was certain he could hear it. She took a deep breath through her nose to steady it, and hoped that Isaac didn’t notice.
“Li,” he said, whispering her nickname with a mix of reverence and uncertainty. Tentatively, he reached for her, fingertips tracing along her jaw and thumb stroking a tear track from her cheek. “I don’t…”
“Don’t say you don’t want it,” Liarel pleaded, her voice cracking in sudden fear. “Don’t say you don’t want me. I…”
“No, it’s not that,” Isaac said, and the open, unabashed note of desperation in his voice convinced Liarel of his sincerity. “It’s not that at all! I… I have felt this way about you for a long time, Liarel, but…”
“But what?” she asked, leaning up close enough to kiss him, but holding back before she could.
“But I don’t know if I can… give you what you want,” he finished lamely, pulling back and hanging his head. He did not look her in the eye – or perhaps it was that he couldn’t. He laughed, self-deprecating. “I’ve never… I don’t have that sort of experience. The most I’ve ever done is kiss someone, and even then, it was on a drunken bet. I can’t say I’ve ever… that I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.”
A moment passed in utter silence, so thick and tense that the rustling blades of grass outside the tent could be heard. Liarel stared at Isaac, searching for his eyes beneath the strands of hair that had fallen to obscure them, and taking in the shape of him. His shoulders sagged, his back curved inward, and in that moment, more than any other she had seen him in before, he looked small. Fragile. Impossible for someone so large, so full of life as him.
“Isaac,” Liarel said, stepping back into Isaac’s space and reaching up for his face. He looked up, eyeing her beneath his lashes. The moment their gazes met…
…She took his cheek between her fingers and pinched it. “You idiot!”
Before Isaac could react, Liarel brought her other hand to his neck and kissed him. She held him in place, swallowing his startled gasp, and pressed her lips even more insistently to his. When she opened her mouth, Isaac, in his shock, mirrored her; and then their tongues met, Liarel shoving hers against his, so fiercely and so desperately that he nearly stumbled back with the force of it.
She stood up on her toes, leaning up against him. A moment passed, the two of them held intimately together by their shared desire, by their shared love; and then Liarel stepped forward, curling her fingers more tightly around the back of Isaac’s neck. Sensing what she wanted, his hand came to the small of her back, and she hiked herself up, half-jumping until he got his other hand under the crook of her thigh.
“That’s better,” Liarel said. Her smirk was sharp against his lips, teeth grazing them lightly. “Now hurry up and do what I know you’ve been dying to for months.”
She pulled back to get a good look at his face, and what she saw did not disappoint: Isaac’s deep grey eyes were wide, the pupils contained within that stormy hue wide and devouring. He leaned up, almost like a twitch at first, but that was all the hesitance he showed: a moment later, he had surged up to meet her, capturing her lips with his own and kissing her like she was his only source of breath.
He made his way back toward the bed, footsteps deceptively sure despite his earlier apprehension. Liarel tugged on his hair as if to guide him, and once she felt him come to a stop, she broke the kiss to speak – to tell him she wanted to be treated like nothing more than some simple tavern barmaid tonight – but she was thrown from him before she got the chance, tossed onto the bed and crawled atop like it was the only place Isaac had ever thought to be.
“Ike,” she breathed, arms coming back up to wrap around his neck. She brought her legs about him, too, bending them at the knees and hooking her ankles around the small of his back. She fiddled with the back of his light tunic’s collar, nails brushing against his skin and conjuring gooseflesh in their wake. Isaac shuddered, and then he growled, a sound that shot through Liarel from head to toe, fanning the flames of what had already begun to burn inside her.
He leaned down to kiss at her neck. Isaac’s movements were clumsy, uncoordinated; there was little rhyme or reason to them, and no rhythm at all, but somehow, that just made it all the better. His inexperience meant nothing to Liarel – and, now that she was thinking of it, only served to endear him to her more. He hadn’t had anyone like this before her, she told herself He hadn’t wanted anyone else.
He had chosen her.
The thought spurred her further to action. She brought her hands from the back of his neck to the front of his chest, clumsily sliding them between their bodies and downward. She tugged at the hem of Isaac’s tunic, silently begging him to take it off; he did, rising up on his haunches and all but tearing the garment away. He tossed it to the floor and hovered like that a moment, chest heaving as he caught his breath – and oh, what a figure he cut: broad shoulders, supple chest, toned and defined muscles under a firm but thin layer of protective fat. It wasn’t the first time she had seen him like this, by far – they had seen each other relatively unclothed a few times, when they were being treated for battle wounds – but this was nothing like any of those times. Now, Isaac was flushed with desire rather than pain, and his breaths came heavy from restraint rather than exertion.
He was perfect. He was beautiful.
And he wanted her.
Isaac trailed one hand down Liarel’s torso, his strong, thick fingers felt even through the layers of her leather armor. That, too, was a request for it to be removed, though admittedly a much gentler one than Liarel’s had been. She grinned, pleased, and complied with the silent plea, unhooking her legs from Isaac’s waist and squirming out from under him.
“Would you like some help?” she asked, turning on the edge of the bed and exposing her back to her beloved. Liarel reached to her own side to fiddle with the buckles on her breastplate, and Isaac’s hands followed, taking up on the other side to undo the straps that met him there. They came undone, he lifted the breastplate off her, and she removed her pauldrons and shoulder pads herself, casting them all aside as Isaac watched.
“You’re holding back again,” Liarel remarked, half a laugh resonating in her voice. “I think I liked it better when you were carrying me around.”
Despite himself, Isaac laughed, a little bit self-effacing. “Is that a request?”
“It’s a demand,” Liarel said. She stripped herself of her shirt, then stood to do the same with her leggings. Isaac watched her, and when she realized, casting a glance over her shoulder, she flashed him a teasing grin. “And here’s another: lose the rest of your clothes, too.”
She continued to stand at the edge of the bed as Isaac hastily sprung up from it and carried out her tongue-in-cheek “demand.” And though she had felt it before when they were pressed up so closely together, now it was made all the more apparent just how affected he was by all this.
“Oh,” Liarel said involuntarily, lifting a brow at the sight of his erection springing free. Liarel was not typically one given to judgement in that area, but even so, she could not keep herself from staring. It was an approving stare, and an eager one, if she was willing to admit it – which she wasn’t – but all the same, Isaac shifted his weight from foot to foot, and looked as though he were trying to resist the urge to cover himself back up.
“Don’t,” Liarel said pre-emptively. She grinned and stepped forward, closing the distance between them again, and gave him a quick peck on the lips before dropping to her knees and taking him in hand. “I’ve wanted this for longer than you know.”
She didn’t look up at him, but Liarel didn’t need to to know the way he was blushing now. She grinned at the idea of it, and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, giving it one slow, experimental stroke to start. It was thick in her hand, and pleasantly heavy, though not excessively so. She thought, for a moment, to put her mouth to it, but if Isaac was this close to spontaneous combustion already – in more ways than one – then she decided that it was probably for the best if she didn’t. With any luck, they would be doing this again after tomorrow, anyway. Perhaps as a victory celebration.
Liarel chided herself mentally for that, remembering that she had been the one to suggest they forget about tomorrow. And so she put the apprehension of the upcoming battle out of her mind once more and instead gave Isaac another stroke. His breath escaped him in a long, shuddering exhale, and he lowered his hands to his sides, curling his fingers into trembling fists. He was trying to hold back. She knew he was.
“Just relax,” Liarel told him, looking up into his eyes. Those strands of hair had fallen in front of them again, but the angle was such now that they didn’t matter. She could see the wide black of his pupils and the thin grey rings of his irises clearly, and it only served to spur her on further.
“Good,” Liarel said. She twisted her hand, testing her technique, and was pleased to find Isaac’s hips twitch forward in response. He was still holding back, but it became clearer and clearer with every stroke that his restraint was slowly ebbing away. Soon he was thrusting into her hand, matching her pace eagerly, the loose half-smile on his face solidifying into something far more pleased, far more excited.
“You look good like this,” Liarel said, her own smile doing nothing to mask the fondness in her voice. “Happy.”
“L-Li,” Isaac gasped. His nails dug into his palms, the tension in him visible in the lines of his hand. Liarel wondered what it would feel like for that hand to be between her legs – for it to stroke between her folds, for his fingers to slip inside her.
She bit her lip and curled in on herself, just a little, unable to suppress a shudder. No, she thought; Isaac was already overwhelmed as it was, and he had little confidence in these matters to begin with. Asking him to prepare her would be too much for them both. So instead, she brought her own hand down to herself, and sat up on her knees, making room for it to slip between her legs.
“Ahh,” she sighed, exhaling dreamily as she began to play with herself. The rhythm of her hand on Isaac’s cock faltered, just for a moment, as Liarel fought to regain control of herself. Soon enough, though, she had resumed, keeping time with both hands and inserting her fingers inside herself to the beat of Isaac’s thrusts.
“Li,” Isaac whispered again. This time, Liarel looked up at him, at his beautiful eyes, grey and hazy and clouded-over with desire. “Liarel, please, I…”
“Just a little longer, seras,” she said. “I need to get myself ready for you.”
“What do you…” Isaac blinked, but before he could finish the question, the answer to it dawned in his eyes. His cheeks reddened, transitioning from rosy pink to deep, vibrant red, and he swallowed thickly to try and steady himself. “I – I see.”
“Mhm.” Liarel grinned. She twisted her hand on Isaac’s cock, and with two more slow, tight strokes, let it go. She kept her other hand between her legs, spreading the two fingers she had inside her wide before pushing them in to the knuckle. It didn’t quite hurt, but it had been a long time since she’d stretched herself so well, and even longer since anyone else had. With an amused chortle to herself, she contemplated the fact that Isaac wasn’t the only one who had been saving himself without realizing.
But that was unimportant now. Liarel stood at last, withdrawing her fingers from herself and dragging them up the stiff length of Isaac’s cock, using her own juices to slick him up. Not that he really needed it, though – she hadn’t been this wet in a long time, either. It would go in easily.
Liarel threw herself down on the bed, back to the mattress and legs spread wide. She bent her knees and brought a hand to her breast, curling her fingers below her collarbones and drawing Isaac’s attention with the motion.
“Take me,” she said, with a sharp, inviting smile.
Isaac descended on her with all the passion of a starving beast. He knelt between her open legs, the length of his cock brushing up against her folds. He ground against her as he sealed their lips together, tongue twisting inside her mouth while his cock bumped up against Liarel’s clit. Liarel gasped into his mouth, then moaned, eyes rolling back and slipping shut as she hiked herself up to meet him. She angled her hips, and with one hand guided Isaac’s cock until the head regretfully moved away from her clit and down to where she really wanted it. It pressed against Liarel’s hole, and she twitched and fluttered in anticipation – but before she could even tell him to hurry up, it slipped inside her and drew a sharp, desirous gasp from between her lips.
And oh, it was perfect.
Isaac’s cock felt as though it was made for her. He stretched her out perfectly, filled her out like he was a piece of her that she had been missing all along. Liarel’s eyes snapped open, and she fell back to the bed, back arching and lips parting around a choked-off, broken moan. She clung to Isaac’s shoulders, legs shooting out and curling around his waist, and kicked at him with her heels, desperately trying to draw him in deeper.
“Ike,” she gasped, unaware she was even forming the word. “I-Ike—”
“Yes,” Isaac whispered back, turning his head to bury it in the crook of her neck. “Oh, Liarel, Li, you feel…”
“Yeah.” Liarel swallowed, though she had no idea what it was she was agreeing with. “Yeah, Ike, you’re…”
He began to move inside her, drawing his hips back and snapping them forward without a second thought. Instinct had taken over, it seemed, and though he moved too fast, went too hard right from the outset, Liarel couldn’t bring herself to mind at all. It was perfect. Exactly what she had wanted. What she had waited for for so long.
To her own embarrassment, it took Liarel a moment to recollect herself. She shook and gasped beneath Isaac, letting him dictate the pace of their lovemaking as she tried to snuff out the lights that had exploded behind her eyelids; when she finally recovered, too long later and yet not long enough, she rolled her hips up and back to meet him.
“Li,” Isaac groaned, his voice right next to her ear. She felt him turn his head, his beard scratching pleasantly against her skin. “Li, I’m not going to last…”
“Don’t you dare hold back,” Liarel snapped, turning her own head to speak against Isaac’s lips. She fisted her hands in his hair, and Isaac whined, a noise so high-pitched and unusual from him at first Liarel wasn’t sure he’d really made it. “I don’t care if – oh, fuck, Ike – if it doesn’t last. Just… d-don’t fucking stop!”
And he didn’t. With that clear granting of permission, Isaac fucked her impossibly harder. He lifted his hips, angling them so he drove her into the mattress with each thrust, so hard and so fast Liarel feared he might break the fragile travel cot. Or that he might break her.
And what a thought that was. She cried out, muffling herself belatedly against his lips, seeking out his tongue and sucking on it when she felt it thrust into her mouth. Isaac pounded into her mercilessly, the head of his cock ramming against her inner walls, striking at the spot inside her that made her vision turn white and her head spin from overstimulation. She screamed again, the broken sound of it swallowed by Isaac’s lips, and when he took her by the hips and pulled—
Liarel came, her entire body quaking. Her muscles tensed and relaxed in waves, and she clenched and unclenched around Isaac’s cock, unconsciously trying to drag him over the edge with her. Liarel couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear – in that moment, the only thing she knew was pleasure, and the white-hot sensation of passion as it flooded through her veins and temporarily overtook her body.
She felt something inside her, suddenly, though Liarel was hardly conscious of it. A pulsing, a twitching, of sorts; something moving, and then, suddenly, a wetness that wasn’t her own, shooting into her and leaking out as Isaac continued to thrust. It sent another wave of pleasure cascading over her, and that, too, swept her mind completely blank.
It was some time before Liarel was able to return to herself. When she did, Isaac was still hovering over her, holding himself up on his palms and gazing down at her hazily. There was so little in his eyes, then – all reason and rationality had fled him, to be replaced only with adoration. Liarel imagined she must look similar, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. All she cared about right now was Isaac, her beloved seras, the man she had devoted herself to and had steadily fallen in love with.
“Ike,” she whispered, once she found control of her voice again. “Ike, my love… My seras…”
Isaac blinked, and then a moment later, vitality returned to his gaze. A smile broke out across his face, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against Liarel’s jaw and ducking his head to rub his nose against her neck.
“Dearest,” he whispered, his voice almost deliriously loose. “Companion. Friend.” His lips curled into a deeper smile, one Liarel felt against her skin. “That’s what you said that word means, didn’t you?”
Against all logic, Liarel laughed. How was he remembering that at a time like this? Though, she supposed upon further thought, it made a bit of sense. They were both feeling unreasonably affectionate now, apparently.
“Something like that,” she said, reaching up to tangle her fingers in Isaac’s hair and comb them gently through it. “But I suppose a more accurate translation would be…” She smiled. “Lover.”
“Lover,” Isaac repeated, his lashes tickling Liarel’s neck as he closed his eyes. “I like the sound of that.”
“As do I,” Liarel agreed. And then, despite what she had said before, how she had forbidden them both from thinking of the day ahead, she turned her head, kissed Isaac’s temple, and whispered to him: “And I hope to call you that when we win the day tomorrow, too.”