The dream was all too familiar by now.

It had followed him since his first memory, plaguing him at night with no rhyme or reason, no definitive pattern. A wash of piercing light reaching in every direction, and the overwhelming cacophony of voices. The sound had filled him with panic in his younger years, as though his very psyche was being attacked, and in the dream he would run in all directions in search of relief. The sound of his footfalls were drowned out by the chaos surrounding, and there was no telling where the world might end, as there was no true ground beneath him and no landmark on which to set his sights.

As the years rolled on, though, he came to realize that the nothingness was just that–nothing. There was no imminent danger to be found, and though the echo of the voices was staggeringly loud, after a time he realized there was no aggression in their tone. It was then that his terror shifted to curiosity, instead spending his time inside the dream attempting to parse words among the clutter of syllables. When he awoke, he began his records, tracking, one week apart, two weeks, three days, a month. He would scour his personal library in the wee hours of the morning by candlelight, searching for books on the structure of language, etymology, linguistic history, anything he could think of that might have an answer. The search felt infuriatingly fruitless, but still he kept note. Four months since the last dream. Three weeks. One week. Two days.

Quilleran opened his eyes to the darkness of his quarters, the hair of his nape subtly sticking from sweat. He sat upright, reaching to his left for his journal atop a side table, habit informing him of its location even in the dim. Bare feet padded across the stone floor, taking him to the window, and he pulled open the curtain to gauge how early in the morning it was. Beyond the slope of the mountain was the faintest glow of eventual sunrise to the east, likely still about an hour out, but it would be good enough for now. He pulled a chair up directly to the sill, peeling back the leather cover of the book in his hand and letting the pages unfurl to where a charcoal pencil held his most recent place, littered with notes from yesterday’s work. Pencil in hand, he began in a blank spot.

Time since last dream: One day.

He stared at his handwriting a moment. For years he had been having the same dream, doing everything in his power to detect a pattern in its occurrence, and for years any sense of consistency had eluded him. But, flipping back on recent pages, it was clear there was a new development: the dreams were coming faster. When did this start?

A few more pages turned, and his eyes quickly scanned each new entry in search of the last large gap. He found it earlier in the spring of that year. The time since his last dream read, “Five months, fourteen days.” And what had occurred the night before? Another page back.

Ah, yes. That was the day of his unexpected landing in Llora, when the poor townspeople had the whispers of impending war crash with a shout into their own backyard. The Sordid’s cover was blown wide open as terrified men and women scattered from the square, lest they be trampled underfoot two massive dragons. The town was hit again by a separate, more organized attack later that night at Fyros’s command, desperate to squash the alarm of their presence, but both he and Quill knew word had already begun traveling. The day was of course made even more eventful by Saruya’s presence, though he hadn’t known her name then. She and Quill had been worlds apart and yet all too similar, both outcasts of their kind, and when she had called out into the still air for the sake of his defense he felt she had seen the very core of his humanity.

Quilleran’s brow softened, and his chest sank with a soft sigh. It was fitting that such a day would be the start of it all. He began turning the pages forward again, keeping mental note of the durations between each dream as he progressed. Another dream three days later, when they met again in less dire circumstances. Another dream a week later, the first time they had spent a whole day together. Another week, on the day she had shown him her home and her craftsmanship. Twelve days more before he would be sent down on assignment again and use it as an excuse to see her. A little while longer and spring would roll into summer, and he would find himself running away even more often, climbing trees and swinging from vines and swimming in rivers or watering holes. More pages turned. He asks for permission to kiss her, and she accepts. Another page and he swears to himself that, though he continues the facade of being one of the Sordid, he will never strive for their benefit ever again. Two weeks. Eleven days. Eight days. Four days. Two, and now one, and he’s back at the most recent entry, the empty page still awaiting his attempts at deciphering last night’s dream.

He picked up the pencil again.

The dreams grow more frequent the more I am around her.

Everything and nothing made sense. The conclusion felt so correct, so undeniable; this was the first pattern the dream had ever followed in all the years he has experienced it. But what connected it to her? That was the remaining mystery. He could not call this investigation concluded quite yet. Quill closed the leatherbound journal around his pencil again, tucking it under his arm. The questions would never end.

He stood up, using the faint light of dawn to find an oil lamp. There was no going back to sleep now, so he began to get dressed and start his duties for the day. Draw water, feed and tend to his dragon, exercise, wash up, prepare for work. He stood now in his washroom with a bowl of shaving foam, finally catching a glance at himself in the mirror for the first time that morning as the brush smeared lather across his jaw.

He became suddenly, acutely aware of his appearance. His hair had grown out a bit, enough that it had begun tickling the back of his neck and the tops of his ears, and light freckles were making themselves known across his cheeks and the tops of his shoulders from hours spent in the sun. His stubble this morning was longer than he usually let it grow before shaving it down. Quill’s eyes lingered downward at the straight razor in front of him, setting down brush and bowl to pick it up. The cold steel bore a different reflection, the reflection of his former self–polished, rigid, brows ever furrowed. Fyros had asked about his stubble a couple of weeks ago, and at the time Quill had defended himself by insisting that a rugged appearance was more natural, and gave him a trustworthy air to the people in the towns below. Deep down the answer was much different: he kept this more loose appearance because Saruya had told him she liked it. He felt warmth creep to the tips of his ears at the thought.

She was changing him.

He was alright with that.

One more day of stubble wouldn’t hurt. He ran his hands into a bowl of water before him, pointedly removing the lather he had applied before changing into his work attire. Another day of masquerading loyalty to Fyros lay ahead, but an evening spent with her would make up for it.

The dream, and its potential connection to Saruya, lurked in the back of his mind all morning, impeding his focus. Just last night, she had allowed him to be closer to her than ever before.

The memory of her swam amongst his thoughts, how she sat splayed across the chaise in her home, showing him every inch of her skin so that he might admire it. Her voice, as sweet as the filth in the back of his mind had imagined, lilting into higher octaves than he had ever heard from her, and he was responsible for drawing it out. She had parted herself for him, shown him how she liked to be touched, and he had the privilege to explore her deeply. She was so beautiful, he had thought to himself, as his lips crossed her skin, so beautiful that fear licked at the edge of his senses. He could not, would not, be the one to destroy her. And so he left all too soon, before she had even dressed, knowing that had he remained any second longer he would have been tempted by his own lack of self-control. It guilted him terribly.

I cannot be thinking about this at work, he chided himself. The thought of Fyros catching him was enough of a deterrent. He had gone to great lengths to avoid mentioning Saruya in any of his reports, so it would be detrimental for Fyros to find out about her at all, especially so if he knew how much Quill loved her.

Even as he put to the side his memories of her, the curves of her body lingered as an abstract concept in the back of his mind. Quick flashes of her skin, glowing warmly from the light cast by her stove. The points of her ears, flitting about in all directions as the rest of her body struggled not to squirm.

He was admittedly a bit apprehensive to face her again after last night’s rushed departure, and equally apprehensive that his own urges would get the better of him, but the bliss of being in her presence far outweighed the anxiety. He was capable of being careful with her. Probably.

Fyros was trying to get his attention. “Quilleran? Did you have an opinion on the weight of the greataxes?”

Quill’s shoulders jumped slightly as he regained his composure. “My apologies, sir. Yes, I think the new material ratio has had a desirable result, and the recruits have said the new grips feel much more stable.”

Fyros nodded and waved a hand at the smithy standing before him, who promptly backed out of the room and shut the door. “You look a mite worse for wear, boy. Did you not get enough rest last night?”

“These past couple of nights, no, sir.”

“Is it the same dream as always?”

Quill hesitated a moment before replying. “...Yes, sir.” Fyros knew about the dreams, of course. Quill had told him about them long ago when he was much younger, when the dream was still a terrifying nightmare and not the subject of his intrigue. But now that Quill had put together a pattern, speaking of the occurrence out loud with Fyros felt somehow more risky–even if in his heart of hearts he knew the man didn’t have enough information to have reached the same conclusion. Fyros was cunning, that was certain, but the frequency of Quill’s dreams was not important enough on his list of things to-do for him to notice.

The Sordid leader nodded to himself, fingers rubbing across his chin in thought. “Ah, I cannot say that I have ever dreamed, so I offer my condolences for being unable to relate. Perhaps it is just another thing that makes you and I so different.”

“Perhaps.”

“Have you eaten yet this morning? I was thinking of having something sent up.”

Quill paused again, thinking back on his morning routine. The notion of breakfast had somehow slipped past him entirely. “I have not.”

“Perhaps a meal will have you feeling more like yourself. Fetch the head chef for me, would you?”

Quill bowed politely. “Right away, sir. And many thanks for your generosity."

A hot meal was helpful indeed, allowing Quill to focus through the remainder of his work day. Fyros must have thought he looked truly terrible, though, as he relieved Quill of his duties earlier than usual, and the man was not typically one for pity. This was, of course, to be expected of the ruthless leader of the Sordid.

Quill didn’t waste a second of the spare time, not even bothering to return to his quarters to change. A quick flight to the edge of the mountain’s treeline, a short hike downhill, and a brief creek crossing brought him to the outskirts of Sapwood Forest and with it a route he knew all too well by now, leading him to Saruya’s treetop home. To an outsider, the woods were gigantic, repeating patterns of tree trunks making a difficult trek for the uninitiated. Saruya, herself, had shown him some of the clever signs left by forest-dwellers to navigate the area while still leaving the nature surrounding mostly untouched. That wasn’t to imply, though, that they left the undergrowth completely to its own devices–to the contrary, there were many who lived there whose livelihood revolved around the upkeep and balance of forest life, managing everything from hunting restrictions to controlled burns. Saruya had once indicated to a clearing, dotted completely with different grasses and growths, and told him that just months before it had been ash. But there were plants with survival encoded in their very being, who knew how to recover after brush fire, and that doing so was a healthy part of their process. It had never occurred to him that fire could bring about new life; to the Sordid it only served for destruction.

He picked up his pace, eager to hear that voice of hers once more. As much as he loved reading, listening to her rattle off information about the things she knew best was far more enthralling.

The familiar tree trunks along his route led him to his destination, and he could see the floorboards of Saruya’s hut peeking through the foliage above. As late summer lazed into fall, Quill was slowly able to see more and more of it as the first leaves began to make their way to the forest floor below, but there was always just enough coverage here to keep the local inhabitants safe from the elements. He hoisted himself up to the lowest-hanging branch and began climbing, being as careful as he could not to damage his slacks, until he reached the deck outside her front door and laid upon it a series of knocks.

“Come in!” The call coming from inside meant that she surely had her hands full with some project at the moment, otherwise she would have answered the door personally.

Quill smiled at the thought, and pulled the latch to let himself inside.

Saruya looked up to see who had entered, the tips of her ears lifting at the sight of him. “Welcome back! You’re looking sharp today.”

She was hunched over her potter’s wheel, surrounded by glazes of many colors. With her foot, she slowly operated the pedal that spun each dry clay piece, allowing her to decorate them with precise stripes and patterns. He had been right, her hands were absolutely covered with the silty material, and she sat in only her bodysuit to protect the rest of her clothing from the mess.

“I decided not to change. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too! You left so suddenly last night, a part of me was worried you wouldn’t be back.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I apologize. I should have spent more time with you.”

She smiled sweetly in response. “I’m just giving you hell, Quill, I know you like to have time to process things.” 

He had definitely been doing a lot of that.

She set down the paintbrush in her hand and stood upright. “Let me wash my hands. Would you like some tea?”

“I wouldn’t decline a cup.”

“I’ll put some on.” She dunked a sponge into a bowl of water, running it over her hands, forearms, and even her legs, where glaze had somehow managed to drip or splatter.

Quill’s eyes followed the sponge closely, once again taking in the patterns peppered across her skin. Just last night he had touched all of them, and now here he was, presented with temptation once more as she turned over each limb in search of more spots to clean. An earthy droplet raced down her inner thigh and calf and he forced himself to look away when she spoke again.

“What brings you here so early?”

“I was let off work, so I came straight here.”

“Let off early? That never happens.” She set a kettle over the stovetop. The light flickering from it was faint due to the sunlight still shining outside, but he could still remember how its glow had illuminated her features the evening before.

“Fyros noticed that I did not appear to have slept well. I feel fine, but I suppose my appearance must not match my outlook.”

Saruya looked up from the stove, the inner corners of her eyes narrowing ever so slightly to focus her vision across the room. “Your eyes are looking a little dark. Not sleeping well, you say? I’m sorry to hear.”

He scratched the back of his neck where the hair was long enough to tickle, making his way to her couch. “It is not anything terribly out of the ordinary for me.”

“It’s news to me. Is something keeping you up?”

Before sitting down, he withdrew his trusty journal from his back pocket, thumbs smoothing over its worn cover. “There is a recurring dream that I have had for years, and once I am up I am often left awake thinking about it. I’m quite accustomed to it, as I said, but I can never predict when it will occur.” Could not predict, he should say, but the connection he had discovered that morning he still considered a hunch. The dream and his visits with Saruya were correlated, but it would be foolish to call it anything more just yet.

She paused from preparing teacups to put her hands on her hips, eyes darting across the floor as she thought. “Huh. Sounds pretty unordinary if you ask me. And it’s recurring, you said? Like it’s the same every time?”

“Exactly the same, though my perception of it has shifted over time.”

“What do you mean?”

“It used to be more startling. Not so much anymore.”

“Do you mind talking about what happens?”

He shook his head and flipped open the cover of the book in his hands. “I go to sleep and find myself in a bright void. There is no floor or ceiling, just curtains of light that stream endlessly downward, intangible. The only other feature about the place is there are voices echoing loudly, loud enough that I feel them through my whole body.” He placed a hand over his chest. “But I have never been able to understand them. They all talk over each other in no language I can understand, though I have tried.” Quill flipped a few pages before passing the journal to her as she approached the sofa and sat next to him.

She looked over his handiwork for several seconds while she listened. Across the spread of the pages was a collection of notes and sketches. She could see the “curtains” he had been describing, light waves of charcoal streaks allowing the eye to flow down the page. There were groupings of text scattered everywhere, single syllables complete with phonetic notation in a sequence that he had tried to organize, as evident by more smudging and erasing. The page was indented with several attempts past.

“That is all. I have tried running from them, but there is no ‘from’, and frankly, no ‘toward’ either. Attempts to respond and initiate conversation were fruitless. I have long stopped fearing it but its persistence has littered my mind with questions.”

Saruya nodded, passing the journal back to him. “Puzzling indeed.” She felt the urge to ask again, “And it’s really just that, every time?”

Quill nodded back.

Saruya’s furrowed brow mirrored his, but the befuddled expression lifted slightly as the tea kettle began to whistle. With a quick pardon murmured under her breath, she got up to attend to it. “It sounds almost like something has been trying to talk to you, for a really long time. I’m sure that sounds crazy, though.”

“It gets crazier.”

Saruya returned to the chaise, passing Quill’s tea to him before settling down with her own. “How so?”

“I noticed something this morning.” He turned to the book again, flipping pages haphazardly with his free hand. It seemed less like he was looking for a particular entry, moreso turning pages to illustrate his point. “All this time I have recorded these dreams to find their meaning, and for so long I have been unable to detect any patterns in their occurrence. This is the first instance where the dream has come to me two nights in a row, and both nights followed after days I had spent with you.” He lifted his head from the pages, turning to look at Saruya and check that she was following.

Saruya’s expression was blank but focused, a crease still teasing at her browline.

Quill decided to continue. “I also observed an uptick in their frequency, so I backtracked to find where the increase began.” He passed the journal to her again, tapping his index finger against the top-left corner of the page where the date had been written.

Saruya took the book again, eyes following his gesture before quickly glancing over the first lines he had written in that day’s entry in search of more context. Llora. Dragons. Elf girl. “This is the day we met.”

He nodded, blowing quickly over the surface of the teacup before hazarding a sip. It was still much too hot, but the smell was developing nicely as the tea leaves steeped. He set the cup down on a windowsill nearby.

She let out a breathy chuckle of disbelief and passed his journal back to him. “Woah. Yeah. That is crazy.”

“I-I am sorry,” he stammered upon seeing her reaction, “It occurs to me that this places some amount of pressure on you, which was not my intention.”

“No, don’t apologize!” She reached a hand out, gently resting it atop his bicep. “This isn’t troubling to me. Baffling, sure, but not troubling.”

Quill’s shoulders relaxed, and they shared a soft smile. She was too kind to him.

“There could be more to it, anyhow. Maybe it has to do with being away from Talon Hill, and I just happen to be your vehicle for escape.” Saruya lifted her own cup of tea to her lips, also recoiling from the heat. Definitely too hot.

“And some escape it has been.”

She shot him a cheeky glance.

He was once again confronted by the softness of her form, and how little clothing covered it currently. Her hair was tied up higher than usual today so that it would stay out of her way while painting, but by now smaller strands had fallen free along the sides of her face. Her long ears were much easier to see now with her hair pulled up, along with the shape of her forehead and the smoothness of her cheeks. A few months ago, she would have shrunk under his stare, tucking a foot behind the other out of nervous habit, but here and now she seemed unafraid.

Quill pulled himself together a moment later. “Well, regardless. I did not come here to spout my half-baked, early morning theories at you.”

“Oh, but I love half-baked early morning theories!” This was a joke, he knew, though perhaps there was some truth to the sentiment. “Besides, I wouldn’t even call it half-baked, it’s clear you’ve put a lot of time into collecting the data. It’s just as thorough as I know most of your observations to be.”

“It is pleasant to know you don’t find my questioning to be tiring, but we can discuss other things if you wish.”

“Are you sure? If you’re tired from being up so early, you can always rest.” She set her teacup down, unfurling herself from her spot and patting her thighs. “Here, you could even use my lap.”

“You were in the middle of something, were you not?”

She patted her legs again, insistent.

He conceded, shifting his position on the sofa to accommodate his long torso and legs. The chaise was the one piece of furniture in her home that was not Saruya-sized, as it had been constructed with her friend Bethara in mind, though it served him just as well. He still had yet to meet her, but according to Saruya, Bethara wasn't much shorter than he.

Her legs were firm from a lifetime of running and climbing, but still comfortable. For a moment he could see her looming above him (a rarity) and looking quite pleased with herself, but catching her eye in this position brought some heat to his cheeks and he opted to shut his eyes instead. He could only pray that the blush he was feeling had not made itself obvious as Saruya giggled and slowly pulled her fingernails over his scalp.

The gesture was almost too much to take. The tenderness in each sweep of her hands was so intimate in a way that he could not explain, enveloping him in a feeling of comfort and safety he hadn’t known from anyone else before. It was not fair for her to spend her kindness on the likes of him, when the entirety of her bloodline would have been repulsed by the knowledge of who he was. The two of them had well worn out the topic, with Saruya insisting that he had proved his humanity enough for her to justify their time spent together. No matter how sure she sounded of herself, Quill knew deep down that in her naivety she could not truly grasp the scope. Like him, she, too, was lonely, and she fed off of his company as much as he fed off of hers. They were two broken people using each other to meet a very human need.

Need. The word made his abdomen twist with shame. He needed so much more of her than he was willing to acknowledge consciously. So far, he had managed to be nothing but gentle with her, but the demon in the back of his mind was ready to ravage. Even now, the image of his fingers inside of her was still burned into the backs of his eyelids, and for a moment he considered what it would be like for his head to be between her thighs, rather than atop them. Such thinking, though, was unfair to her–she was too pure to deserve such behavior from him. To stain her with his touch any further would be selfish. Still, the need rested in him with a latent urgency, begging him to take another bite.

“Quill,” Saruya murmured gently, wrenching him from his thought loop, “you are never going to get any rest if you don’t relax your neck.”

He let the air rush out from his lungs, his body deflating slightly into the chaise below. “My apologies.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your shoulders! If you didn’t exercise like you do they would be tight as a board.”

“I suppose my mind is too busy to rest now.”

“With the dream stuff?”

He opened his eyes, catching her gaze again. He knew that his answer would only give way to more questioning, and the thought of telling her the truth of what he was thinking made his tongue feel heavy, but he couldn't stand to lie to her. “No.”

She blinked back at him, waiting. She was patient as ever when she knew he was gathering his thoughts. Another kindness he did not merit.

“There is something I have not told you. Last night, the reason I left so quickly, I…” he let out his breath again, not wanting to look at her but unable to escape. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” she repeated, her expression concerned but not critical. “I should think that’s only natural. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man inside my home before you, save for delivery men and maybe one of Bethy’s friends, so to suddenly be naked in front of one was new!”

“Not like that. Well,” he corrected himself, “partially. Of course I felt nervous. Moreso than that, I was afraid that I would take advantage of you if I had stayed any longer.”

“What makes you say that? You’ve never done anything of the sort as long as I’ve known you.”

He shifted, lifting his head from her lap and standing up. This wasn’t the type of discussion to be had in such a casual position. “I fear I have already crossed a line. Being what I am, and you who you are, to have touched you so feels wrong of me.”

Saruya pursed her lips, disgruntled. She’d heard this one before. “With how many times we’ve discussed it, do you still not believe me when I tell you I’m okay with this?”

He hesitated, hearing the dismay in her tone. “I-It’s not that…”

“And I know that it feels like I trust you too easily, but please understand that you’ve given me lots of reasons to! And that any reason on paper I would have not to is usually something out of your control.”

“That is true, but–”

She stood up, getting heated the more she went on. “Somehow you’re gonna have to start seeing yourself the way that I see you, in that you’re not some monster.”

He sighed. “It would be foolish of me to expect you to read my mind. But there are urges I feel that, to me, are monstrous.”

Saruya stopped in her tracks. She had expected his usual protests about the nature of their relationship and the cultural barrier that separated the two of them, but they had already established that they both existed mostly outside of their respective cultural contexts. Her, ostracized by her kind, not feeling like a welcome member of the community so much as merely tolerated, and him, an outsider belonging nowhere being manipulated for strategic advantage by the world’s worst enemy. Bearing that in mind, “urges” was a very interesting choice of word.

Quill set his jaw, having cornered himself into an admission. His ears felt hot with preemptive embarrassment. “Even before last night, I have thought of you. I had all manner of ideas about…”

Commit, you fool.

“About how you might look, and sound, and feel. They conjured impulses I would never act upon in my right mind, and it made me worry about the possibility of losing control like some barbarian.”

Saruya’s mouth hung open. “Wait. You fantasized about me?” The wording sounded more excited than she realized. 

“I—yes.”

“That’s what has you so worked up?”

“Yes.”

A brief silence. Now it was Saruya’s turn to blush. “...What was it about?”

He cleared his throat and glanced away. “What’s relevant was my behavior during them, not the specifics.”

A statement that only made her more curious, but an exploration into his lustful desires would have to wait. “Why?”

“The lack of restraint in my imaginings felt like confirmation bias.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If I were to act so unhinged, I would be as brutish as any other Sordid. It would negate any reassurance of my humanity. And more importantly than that, if I were to handle you too roughly and hurt or otherwise mistreat you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

Her expression was troubled. “Quill, you’re being so cruel to yourself. To say that it cancels out all the good parts of you is downright unfair!” She crossed one foot behind the other, as she was one to do. “You haven’t hurt me before, and for goodness’ sake, I don’t even handle myself as gently as you handle me–I’ve hunted bears, Quill.”

He chuckled, despite himself. The statement was disarming, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “You are right. I should not underestimate you.” Some sullenness reemerged in his voice as he returned to his train of thought. “But that does not mean that you deserve such intemperate behavior from me in any respect.”

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am.”

“I would ask that you do not underestimate me, either, Saruya.”

She paused at the statement. As she ran the words through her brain a second time, her eyes narrowed flirtatiously. “Oh, I don't.”

Quill opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure what to make of her expression. That wasn’t supposed to be an invitation. He ran over a variety of protests in his mind, but found himself unable to string the words together properly.

“Look, I know you’re very strict on yourself, but I think you would have a lot to learn from letting loose just a little bit. And you’ve already come so far! We’ve had a lot of fun this summer doing all sorts of things. Maybe,” she gave a little shrug, “it wouldn’t be so bad to have a little bit more. I obviously can’t force you to do something you don’t want to, that wouldn’t be right, but if it helps…”

He watched her ears flatten out for a split second, then jump back to their previous position.

“...maybe I want to have some more, too.” She became preoccupied with her hands, picking some dry glaze from under her nails. Between all of the nervous behaviors she was exhibiting, it was clear she was finding some challenge in speaking her mind. “You aren’t the only one who’s been doing some thinking late at night.”

Quill swallowed, suddenly regretting not having changed out of his work clothes. The layers were getting to him, feeling constrictive and a bit warm, and he loosened the knot of his tie for some relief. “Really?”

“You’ve left a lot to my imagination, still.”

Knowing her artistic prowess, he could only assume that imagination to be nothing short of vivid. But the most skin she had ever seen from him had been while swimming; she didn’t have any more information than that to go off of. He took a deep breath to summon his own courage. “Are you sure that is something you would want to change?”

“I’m sure. But what do you want, Quill?”

He looked her up and down, his gaze softening as he admired her. “I want to treat you the way you deserve, and I have tried so hard to hold myself back because I did not feel I could trust myself to do so. But if you do, then for you, I would give every part of myself to uphold that trust.”

“I do trust you,” she replied, uncrossing her feet and pulling her shoulders upright. There was no more shrinking and hiding now. “So why are you still holding back, then?”

Quill weighed his options for a moment: give in to temptation, or maintain his own virtuosity? And what for? With Saruya, did his exceedingly high standards for himself even matter? It was a major step out of his comfort zone, but she, herself, had done the same in even giving him a chance at being her companion, a privilege granted to so few in her small, lonely world. Even if he did not feel worthy of her attention, she was worthy of his.

With one final breath, he reached behind his shoulders, tugging vest, shirt, and loosened tie over his head in one swift movement and tossing them at her feet.

The tips of her ears perked back up again. A part of her felt flustered, ready to reiterate that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but she knew there was no point in doing so. The way he always operated with conviction had taught her to recognize when he had made up his mind.

Quill took a moment to shuffle through the minor portions of his outfit–shoes, socks, objects removed from pockets. It was once his belt was tucked away, though, that his pace slowed, the reality of the situation catching up with him again.

Saruya, luckily, didn’t mind him taking his time. Even seeing him with his shirt off was a rare treat, something normally confined to time spent in the river, or the one instance they were caught in a heavy summer rainstorm. She figured his form was just as intriguing to her as hers was to him, even if he didn’t seem to agree.

He felt almost clumsy in the way his fingers fumbled with his pants buttons. There was nothing for her to do yet except watch, leaving Quill feeling put under the microscope. With some remaining manner of poise, he removed his slacks, leaving him with only one garment remaining. “...Ah.”

“Hm?”

“I feel suddenly timid,” he admitted, his expression meek. “I don’t think anyone has seen me this undressed before, not even by accident.”

Shyness was something she had not witnessed from him before, not like this, so deeply personal. The flush quickly spreading across his pale skin betrayed the last of his composure.

“Is that alright?” Saruya asked.

“Y-yes, it’s fine. Though I am unaccustomed to being the center of attention.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “I imagine you may have felt similar last night under my scrutiny, and I…relate, now.”

She smiled back. “Hmm, it’s different when you’re the only one standing in your drawers, isn't it?” She paused to look down at herself, still barely clothed as it was. “Though I suppose we are on nearly equal terms. But, please, only keep going if you’re ready.”

“Would you…like to do the honors?” Perhaps it gave him something to do with his hands, but Quill eagerly reached one outward toward her. When she took it, taking the last couple of steps required to stand across from him, her proximity alone had him feeling even more exposed.

“May I take my time?”

It was a fair request. He had taken plenty of time to strip her bare a relatively short time ago. Standing before her like this was already excruciating, but he would allow her the chance to explore him in the same way he had explored her. “You may.”

She kept her left hand in his, the other reaching for his chest. She spread her fingers softly across it, feeling the hair, more coarse than that on his head, as it shifted beneath her palm. It was scratchy and ticklish, but still lovely, adding texture to his muscular form. Her hand moved, smoothing past the center of his chest towards his left pec, which jolted and tensed noticeably enough to make Saruya wonder if he was nervous or showing himself off. She peeked upward at him. He had been watching her, but catching her looking back made him snap at attention again, eyes darting away to stare at the wall, but making their way back to her. The heartbeat under her palm was rapid.

She kept going, letting her nails scrape lightly across his skin as she made her way to his arm, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the firmness of his bicep. Atop his forearm was more hair, and she glided over it briefly before moving again, reaching up and around to caress his tricep. She was so close to him, she realized, close enough to embrace him, so she did, pulling her hand free of his grasp and snaking her arms beneath his. Both palms now pressed against the backs of his shoulders, and her forehead into his wonderfully scratchy chest hair. She left a small kiss there.

Quill moved to return the motion, one large arm reaching across her back while the other hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer into him. Holding her felt more comfortable than standing still, and Saruya could feel his shoulders relax, even just a little bit.

She took this as an opportunity to roam once again, her hands gentle as they crossed the musculature of his body. Her nails teased the surface of his skin, the feeling similar to when she had been stroking his hair, but Quill swore he felt them dig in a little harder as they reached the small of his back. 

Where he had explored her with his eyes (and his lips), she seemed to be exploring him more through touch. He could feel her fingers studying him, pressing over each dip and curve of his body like the clay on her wheel, and he wanted so badly to be molded by her. He would gladly let himself be pulled and stretched by her delicate hand, until he no longer existed and she had sculpted him into her masterpiece. 

When her hands moved again, returning to his chest before trailing downward towards his abdomen, he found himself tensing once more. He felt his gut light up from her touch, twisting and churning the lower her hands drifted. Temptation began to flood like it had been given permission, pulling at his groin and the edges of his thoughts. Her thumbs slid over his hips, following the line of his pelvic bone, and the sensation—while almost ticklish—pushed the arousal higher.

Standing so closely to him, she could feel his cock as it stirred.

Saruya managed to conceal her surprise at the sudden swell prodding at the space between them, but would be lying if she did not admit that her own heart had begun pounding, as well. She was a complete novice here. She had shared her bed only with Bethara, so to be so close to a man, and one so finely constructed at that, she was at a loss for what to do.

Her hands were so tantalizingly close, the tips of her thumbs barely gracing the waistband of the only clothing left on his body. Quilleran shut his eyes, leaning his head down to breathe the scent of her hair, unable to open his mouth to goad her onward. She was so close, all she needed to do was reach below the band and perhaps he might feel an ounce of relief, to finally be touched by her, but she was frozen. 

In a brief moment of self-awareness, he knew that if she were looking up at him right now she would likely tease him about the metaphorical crater that had formed between his eyebrows. The reality was that his whole body felt like a tightly wound spring, so clinging to any semblance of focus was the only thing keeping him from squirming.

She seemed to regain her bravery after the moment of pause, pulling her hands away from his hips. The sudden lack of her sent his thoughts into a flurry, his mind ready to race, to riot, to—

The breath rushed out of his mouth as he felt her palm cup over the bulge between them, the pressure and warmth breaking the tension of anticipation. He felt her head pull back a bit, enough that she could search for his gaze to check on him.

“Is that alright?”

Quill took a breath, willing himself to recover his composure enough to prevent any concern. “Please don’t stop,” he managed to respond, the request soft and earnest. Impatience licked at the back of his mind, the part of him that wanted to devour her. Overpowering the thought, today, was a new feeling: the idea that he wanted to be taken by her, instead. 

Saruya nodded before chancing a glance between them. She was taken aback by how firm he felt beneath her fingertips, by how taut the thin fabric was pulling over him. She tested the area with her thumb, smoothing over the surface of the bulge, pressing and caressing with her fingers, triggering another swell. It was shocking to her how responsive it was. It already felt so thick, so heavy, as it pressed against her hand, she could only imagine underneath…

Well. She didn’t have to imagine. A drawstring was all that kept her from seeing it fully. Her free hand crept up, pulled gently at the loose ties until the knot slid undone, then tugged at the waistband until it was loose enough to move. From there both hands set to work, thumbs finally hooking into the garment and shuffling it down. It was more of a struggle than she had anticipated, navigating around an erection, so she pulled away from Quill’s hold on her, partially to see what she was doing and partially to observe every moment. With her eyes, she could track the thin line of hair that began below his chest and trailed all the way down his abdomen. It had captured her attention a while ago in the way that it peeked out at the edge of his waistband, always just out of view. But now it was hers to follow, and she exposed more and more until his member had no choice but to spring out into the open—and with a quick extra shuffle past his buttocks, his drawers finally fell to the ground.

He was big. Rusty red curls of hair gave way to the thick base of his shaft, curving proudly upward, and beyond that was the crown, plump and rosy. Quilleran stood still, his cheeks burning under her scrutiny, his thoughts torn between bashfulness and the intense desire for her to touch him again. Every second without her was nearing a level of criminal offense.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed, taking in the sight. “I-I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Fear tugged at his thoughts again. He was so hard, and she, so small; it was likely he could injure her without careful preparation. He had already felt how much his fingers had stretched her, so thinking about how tightly she would fit around his cock—the thought was intoxicating, he couldn't lie. But he also couldn't stand to hurt her, and the guilt he had been feeling was ready to impede his focus. This whole ordeal was just trouble waiting to happen. 

His thought pattern broke when Saruya spoke again. “Could you show me what to do?”

Alertness returned to him, and his gaze on her refocused. “I–yes. Here,” and he wrapped his hand over hers, guiding her into a fluid pulling motion. “Start like this,” he began, maintaining the movement for a few strokes before focusing on the head. “It is more sensitive here, especially the underside, so keep that in mind.”

She could feel the spot where the crown flared out pass over each fingertip, the skin tight but also soft, and the bumps of veins running down the shaft. There was so much texture throughout, and all so warm. “Can I squeeze it?”

Quill guided her hand to the base. “You can, try here.”

She tightened her grip, a little bit at first, increasing gradually until she watched his cock respond again. With the squeeze she felt a rush beneath his skin and the head flared out further, deepening in color, accompanied by another exhale from Quill. Her mouth fell open without her realizing. It was hard to describe the feeling, so firm and yet still organic and malleable. Enthralling.

He felt torn up inside, both relieved by her touch and driven by it. His hand fell away from hers once the stroking resumed, and his hips rocked against his will, pushing forward as she neared the base and withdrawing when her hand glided back up. It was dizzying. With the blood long having left his brain, self-consciousness and thought could finally fall away, replaced by the sensations in his body: the dryness of his throat as his breathing became more heavy, the air cooling the sweat on his chest, his cock grinding into her dainty hand. His head lolled backwards, eyes shut, his temples tingling while the world spun, and he placed a hand on her shoulder for balance. Another noise escaped him when Saruya swirled her thumb over the head, a sound that pleaded, “Give me more.”

To his great dismay, she pulled away again, and it took everything in Quill not to raise a complaint. His head dropped, eyes rapidly assessing the situation in search of a reason for her departure. His nerves were calmed a moment later as he registered her fully, just in time to catch her as she shimmied her bodysuit off of her hips and onto the floor. As she stood upright, he followed her with his gaze, the curve of her thighs, her hips, her waist, her breasts, her eyes.

Once she was standing straight again, she caught him watching her. “I felt overdressed,” she admitted with a gentle smile. Then, shifting her focus to him, “You’re a little shaky, do you want to lay down?”

Quill found the wherewithal to remember to step out of his undergarments where they wrapped around his ankles before crossing the room. He collapsed on the chaise with less grace than he usually carried, but in this moment it mattered not.

She stepped closer to the sofa but did not settle down with him quite yet. Her hand drifted down his stomach, nails playing with the trail of hair again and tracing it back and forth in thin lines, lighting his nerves on fire without even knowing it. A giggle broke the silence. “Look at us. Did you ever think you would be here?”

His eyes went back and forth from her hand to her face, then back again. “Never.” His head felt so heavy, even with the armrest for support.

“Neither did I.” Her hand reached further down, drawing a line up his member from base to tip, along the underside where he had told her it was best. “I couldn’t have expected any of this.”

Quill felt breathless, a shiver running up his spine faster than her touch. “At the least, now we are even from yesterday.”

“No, not yet.” She propped one knee on the edge of the sofa, reaching for his hand. “But we could be.” And she guided his hand between her legs.

From this angle, he could perfectly cup her in his palm, feeling the firmness of her pubic bone beneath plush lips and hair. Though he could not see her center anymore, he could feel its warmth, and that it was soaking. Fingers tentatively pushed inward, slipping past the folds of her labia, and slid deeper with such ease it was almost appalling. Touching her today was different than it had been yesterday, for as her hand held him there, it also held the power, a fact which had him awash with bashfulness. His spare hand involuntarily moved to cover the bottom half of his face, his head turning away, but eyes still glued to the spot, unwavering.

Saruya hummed pleasantly at the presence of his touch, her expression bordering on coy (a new sight, coming from her). Her fingers wrapped around his shaft once more, languidly stroking up and down as she watched his chest rise and fall. “You keep making a mess of me.” She rocked her hips further into his hand, her flower silky wet and hot. 

When her palm passed over the head of his cock, a tense whine emerged from his throat. “Saruya,” he choked, his hand moving away from his mouth long enough to address her, “I feel as if I may fall apart if you keep teasing me like this.” Enough precum had beaded at the tip of him that it spilled over, trailing down his length and coating her hand as it continued playing with him.

“What do you want?” The tone was the same as when she had asked him before, before she had dissolved him like casting slip in her clutches.

“I-I don’t know,” Quill’s spare hand gripped onto the back of the chaise, knuckles white. He looked distraught, the flush and sweat across his face making him appear even more haggard than in the mirror that morning. Words tumbled out of him. “I want more than what I have already taken, I want to cover your body with my lips and tear into you with my teeth, and hear your voice lilt and whine again. B-But, I also,” his head fell back on the armrest again, eyes squeezing shut in his strain, “I want you to have your way with me, and finish what you have started, I cannot take this any longer, please.”

He felt a tap on his hand, a silent request for him to move out of her way. When he withdrew his fingers, he could see her slick glistening on them, a thin line strung between his pointer and middle finger when he spread them apart.

She pulled herself up on the chaise, knees straddled across his hips. One hand delicately traced his shoulder, the other held him in place at the base of his shaft. “You can have what you want, Quill,” she reassured him, lowering herself ever so slightly until his head pressed against her, and she drew herself across it, wetting him with the sweetness that dripped from her. “All of it.”

It was more than he could take. He whimpered with each pass, hips trembling, jaw tight as he fought to withstand the heat. He knew she needed to take her time, but was unsure how much time he had to give before the need for release would overtake him.

Saruya took a deep breath for courage. He was big, intimidatingly so. She pressed her hips downward bit by bit, the tip of his cock pushing back and stretching her apart. Even in the depths of her arousal, it still stung to be spread open so drastically by something with such girth. Stop. Relax. Breathe. A little shimmy to wet him further. Another inch. An exhale, and she had finally made it past the head, the thickest part, and could slide the rest of the way down. She let out a heavy breath as she nestled him fully inside her, feeling the stretch in the pit of her belly when she sat upright.

Quill’s eyes looked glazed over, a groan rumbling in his chest as she descended, but he still managed to speak. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh,” she breathed in response, shifting her hips back and forth to acclimate herself. “You?”

He pushed a shaky exhale through his nose, the hot air coming from him feeling not unlike the smoke he saw trail from the nostrils of his dragon back on Talon Hill. The fit was so tight it was like a chokehold, and with how breathless he had become, the comparison felt nearly accurate. He mustered a nod, his hands reaching to smooth over her haunches and give them a squeeze.

She began to move, slowly at first, feeling warmth wash over her body as she fell into a rhythm. With every rise and fall of her hips, she could feel the thickness of his crown as it pushed in and pulled out, carving a place for itself the more that she relaxed.

Quill couldn’t keep his eyes off of her—hell, he couldn’t decide which part of her he wanted to look at most. From her hips, where he could watch himself slide in and out of her, to her breasts, bouncing lightly as her pace increased, to her face, now graced with a flush of its own, her eyes round and honeyed. He wanted all of her, and she had said he could have what he wanted. With another squeeze of her hips, he pulled her closer until he could lock his lips with hers, gentle at first but rapidly building in eagerness.

The first time he pulled her lower lip between his teeth, a moan came with it, the sweetness of her voice spiking the excitement in his chest. It made him kiss her harder, faster, deeper, yearning to taste her. He pushed himself up with his elbow, sitting more upright on the chaise arm just to reach her further, down her chin, under her jaw, lips latching onto the skin of her neck. Her pulse was so strong he could feel it with his tongue.

Saruya gasped, reaching one hand behind his head to hold him there, scruffing the nape of his neck and locking his hair between her digits. For a moment she was extra thankful he hadn’t yet trimmed it.

The sudden sharpness of the pull was enough to make his nerves sing, and his teeth bared without thinking, scraping against her delicate flesh. The sound it dragged from her throat before he released her was heavenly, driving him wild, and his hips began to move with hers in search of a fuller thrust. He was deep enough that his balls ached for relief, but he was so overstimulated that the goalpost kept moving maddeningly further and further away.

She could hear his desperation in his breathing and the sounds that accompanied each heave of his chest. She could see it in the tense lines at his throat where his jaw clenched mercilessly, and in his eyes, unfocused and pleading—whenever he managed to keep them open for long enough, that is. As soon as there was any shift in angle or depth or pace they would squeeze back shut, the man trying so hard to see himself through each wave. She had never seen him so unraveled before, and she could only guess how long he had left himself so pent up.

His hands were everywhere, scratching and squeezing her with a fervor he hadn’t shown the night before, or ever. Yesterday was a time for learning and care; to squeeze her even slightly would have been too rough, crass, inappropriate for one such as her. Today, however, was pure sensation, all hunger and excitement. The way that he groped every inch of skin he could get his hands on was a different form of exploration and enjoyment, a much freer one. Today he could help himself to her, take her soft breasts into his hands, feel the way her nipples drew taut under the flat of his thumb, hear how she cried out when he pulled one into his mouth. He could scratch all the way down her spine before spreading across the roundness of her ass with his fingers, feeling how it could be so soft but so thick with muscle. His hands chose to settle at her hips, thumbs digging in painfully.

Saruya’s hands rose up his firm, sweaty chest and up his neck, resting softly on the sides of his face. Her thumbs smoothed over the stubble as her pinky fingers nudged him beneath his jaw, tilting his chin towards her. 

“Look at me.”

Her voice cut through the ringing in his ears, and he gulped for air he wasn't aware he was lacking. One eye crept open first. It was difficult to make eye contact in this moment, something so deceptively simple at any other time, knowing she was witnessing him fall apart. But he fought for the willpower to force both eyes open to meet her request, even though another whimper accompanied the effort.

“Please, I–” he hitched, but when his head began to pull away from her, her careful grip on his jaw brought him right back.

“Please what, Quill?”

“I-I need you, Saruya,” he managed, battling the dryness in his mouth to get the words out. His hips were jumping erratically, his grip on hers almost deadly. 

“You have me, darling,” she responded, one hand moving to run through his scalp, her touch fiery.

As the words reached him, he pulled roughly on her hips, colliding with her so powerfully that it sent him over. He came with a yelp that dissolved into a groan, keeping her held down, the pressure of her enough to draw the last of his vigor from him.

Saruya’s eyes widened in surprise when she felt him surge inside of her, the rapid pulsing of his release equally stimulating. The excitement and his depth was enough for her to meet him at his peak, her moan mixing with his, warmth flooding in her abdomen as he finished. It felt like the whole forest could have heard them, but all care for such a thing had left her.

Quill’s head fell back against the sofa again, the dizziness returning in a rush. His grip on Saruya went slack, and the tension in his brow finally lifted. His skin burned and tingled, and his limbs felt heavier than ever before–no long day of training could possibly compare.

The coiling serpent of his desire retreated to the corners of his mind, thoroughly satisfied.

Saruya was equally in a heap, her shoulders sinking with every exhale as she caught her breath. She smoothed her thumb over his jaw once more before her hands fell to her knees in an attempt to keep herself propped up. Her eyes took him in as the energy drained from him, and she chuckled. Now, they were even.

“Not gonna rush out the door this time, are you~?” Even in her own exhaustion, she could still manage to be cheeky. Just like her.

Quill made a show of lifting one arm before letting it drop heavily to the back of the sofa. “I couldn't if I tried.”

She hummed lightly, nestling atop of him. “Good. I don’t need you falling off a branch, I would not be able to help you right now.”

His chest rumbled as he chuckled in response. He brought one hand up to rest it upon her back, his large palm rubbing small circles on her skin.

“How are you holding up?”

He opened his eyes briefly, half-lidded and tired-looking. “Light-headed, almost, but very relaxed.”

“My work here is done.” 

Another chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Saruya reached a hand up, tracing the outline of his ear and flicking the small gold hoop that hung from it with one finger. “I mean it. You deserve to relax, and I’m glad I could help.”

“You help more than you know.” He replied, and pressed a kiss to the top of her scalp. “Are you okay, though? How are you feeling?”

“Hmm…floaty."

Quill leaned his head back to check the windowsill, sighting the teacup he had left there earlier and reaching for it. “Something to drink?”

She gathered the strength to pull herself upright, taking it from him and putting it to her lips before making a face.

“What’s wrong?”

She heaved a tired laugh. “It’s cold.”

He laughed with her, taking the cup away again and pulling her back to his chest. “Sounds like it’s time for that nap, then, instead.”

“I like that plan."

A new day, a clean shave, a lighter step, and twenty minutes spent ironing wrinkles out of his slacks before it was time for work again. It had been his first night staying over at Saruya’s treehouse, and even if it meant he had to wake up extra early to make it back to Talon Hill in time, he wouldn’t have traded the evening spent with her after their nap. They had washed up, made dinner, and he had kept her company while she finished her glazing projects, until the sun slipped past the horizon and there was little else to do but talk. In the morning, he had woken her briefly to kiss her goodbye before departing, and she had wished him well in a sweet voice heavy with sleep. In his mind it was better to wake her than disappear without a trace.

Someday he would find a way to outsmart Fyros and be free of the Sordid entirely. But until he could figure out how to do so while still ensuring his safety, he would continue the charade.

Before he knew it, he was striding down the stone hallways of the castle once again with a renewed sense of focus. He gave a short nod to the guards, and the throne room doors swung open for him, causing Fyros to look up from a stack of papers in his hand.

“Ah, Quilleran, there you are. You must take a look at this correspondence, these fools think I am made of resources.” He swatted the back of his hand at the page, sending up a small cloud of dark miasma with the impact.

Quill tucked his journal under one arm, reaching out his hand as he crossed the final few steps to the throne. He took the pages and skimmed them briefly. “Do not anger that your men trust you to provide for them. It is proof of their fealty, Your Excellence.”

“It feels more like I am suiting the whims of upset children.” Fyros pinched his temples between his pointer and thumb. “Honestly, it’s too early in the day for this shit, can they not wait even a single moment without guidance?”

“I do not think their requests are unreasonable, it’s possible that we could allocate a small team or two.” Quill passed the stack back to the Sordid ruler before taking his place at his side. “I can evaluate the situation later today, if you wish to be free of the burden.”

“Your patience knows no bounds,” he grumbled, dropping his chin into his palm. Upon getting a closer look at Quill, though, he sat more upright. “You’re carrying yourself better today, boy.”

Quill’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yes, sir. My sincerest apologies for yesterday. I was able to rest easily thanks to your kind offer for time off.”

Fyros squinted at him, dark pupils looking him over. “Clearly. Something’s different about you.”

He felt his heart beat faster. Was it that obvious? “I also shaved, sir.”

There was a moment of silence, the furrow in Fyros’ brow deepening as he considered the suggestion. “...That must be it.”

It took everything to not let out a sigh of relief. Fyros was too sharp for his own good.

But Quill was sharper.