#ash and rolo said it was okay so i'm gonna post it

[coldshrugs]

one of the few things i'm sure of

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 1.4k rating: explicit – minors do not interact notes: estinien ruminates on his feelings for io during a moment of intimacy. he's ready to put it into words.

Sprawled in a plush, high-backed chair, Io scans a thick tome of Arkasodara folklore, a recent gift from Nidhana. Late afternoon sun streams through the open window and warm light dances over her face and glints in the ink blue of her hair. Long, elegant fingers dart across the page, and her lips spread in a delighted smile now and then–something must be amusing.

Across the room, Estinien cleans and polishes his armor. He watches her wordlessly and smiles. He likes this.

His chambers are a mess, and she is to blame. Half-finished books lay open on every surface, and her clothes are stashed in his wardrobe with very little rhyme or reason. She burrows into the private spaces of his life, making herself at home, leaving little pieces of evidence for him to find when she’s pulled away to some far-flung corner of the world. He doesn’t mind; all of this and more he can bear, because he loves her–though he hasn’t given voice to that thought.

A short, deep grunt of laughter breaks the silence.

She looks up from her book with the same precious smile, eyes sharp and suspicious. “What?”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” He shrugs.

“And you seem to enjoy staring. Where are your manners, Ser Estinien?”

A twitchy grin accompanies her feigned indignance. She bites her bottom lip to keep up the charade, and Estinien laughs again.

The book snaps closed. “I find it very difficult to concentrate when you do that.”

“When I do what, exactly?” He continues wiping down the pauldron, but teasing her is a game he cannot resist. His gaze sweeps down the length of her body, draped so casually in the chair. She wears a loose linen tunic, though every inch of skin underneath it is familiar to him, and her long legs are bare. His eyes snap back to hers. “Look at you?”

Her chest heaves, and he watches that too. He doesn't have to guess how her body responds to his attention. Her pulse quickens, heat blooms in her chest and takes root further down. She stokes the same fire in him.

She nods slowly. “Yes. Like that.” Chewing her lip again, she looks at the closed book in her hands, the window, the floor... Estinien stops polishing and places his work aside. Unable to find anything else of interest, Io’s gaze slowly slides his way.

He leans back, half-propped on his bed. “Then come here, and I’ll do more than look.”

He never tires of her earnest surprise at being desired. Her wide eyes, as if she’s hearing it for the first time. Her careful steps across the room, almost like she’s allowing him to change his mind.

Estinien reaches for her, sure of what he wants, and tugs her closer until she’s in front of him. The hands he watched so closely as they skimmed the page now brush loose hair from his eyes, their touch warm and light. His eyes fall closed, almost distracted from purpose by the gentle affection, but proximity brings confidence. Io’s hands travel down to the leather cord lacing his shirt, and she unties it eagerly.

“You would have your way, and I would have mine. It’s my turn to look.”

His shirt is on the floor in seconds. Io touches him, roaming over relaxed muscle, tracing knotted scars. Gone is the reserved caution from moments ago, and in its place lies a heavy need. Her eyes, an impossibly deep shade of blue, turn hungry and ever darker. She lifts his hands to her hips, a silent instruction to touch her. 

He grips her tightly, kisses her belly, and curses the thin fabric that separates them. Her hands play in his hair, short nails grazing his scalp, and he groans against her when she tugs his unbound locks.

“Io,” he breathes, voice like gravel. He needs her closer, needs her on him.

Estinien slides further onto the bed and Io follows, planting a knee on each side of him. He grasps her thigh, fingertips finding purchase on her soft skin. His free hand travels up her front, rippling the fabric in its path. She shivers when his palm brushes across her nipple, the peak hardening under his hand.

Io, all sweetness and sincerity, cups his face and kisses him slowly, taking her time. Soft lips move with his, steady, patient. Her hips grind down against him, she sighs at the friction and he can no longer be delicate. Not when she moves like this, determined to feel him half-hard and aching for her through his trousers. 

His hand tangles into her hair, and his kiss is much less refined. Open-mouthed and urgent, he tells Io exactly how much he needs her. Not just now, not merely like this.

At his side in battle, and warming the other side of his bed. In the quiet moments he wants to share with no one else, and in the crowded rooms he’s forced to endure. The small joys and the monumental failures–he wants to be with her for them all.

He peels away her tunic, careful not to let it tangle on her arms or ears. It lands on the floor with his shirt. He has only a moment to draw his tongue over the warmth of her newly exposed skin before she pushes him against the bed with a firm hand.

Io’s fingers rake down his stomach and pause at his belt. “May I?” she asks, dipping to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

“Gods, yes, Io.” 

And she obliges, discarding the last of his clothes quickly before her hands are on his cock.

His low moan encourages her strokes. Estinien shudders at the insistent twist of her hand, chasing the touch, thrusting into her grip until he’s at the edge. Io’s played this game before, and she won’t dare push him over yet. The soft, playful smile she tried to hide half an hour ago is back.

“I love the sounds you make,” Io whispers, lips ghosting across his ear. She moves further up his lap, and he can feel the heat between her thighs. Her hair falls around them, a dense blue curtain. The world condenses to her face, her lips on his neck, his hands on her body. “I love…”

She bites her lip, bites back the “you” he desperately wants to hear.

He loves her. Her hand pressed hard into his chest, back arching gracefully under his hands as she takes the lead. Loves her when she sinks onto him, slowly, slowly, the little gasp when their hips meet and he’s finally buried inside her. Loves the satisfied smile she reserves for these moments with him. She saves so much for him and him alone, creates a language only they understand, and he loves her.

Io moves and, enveloped in her slick heat, the sentence goes unfinished but not forgotten.

Estinien watches once more; dark freckles peppered across her skin, the sheen of sweat catching the sunlight. She leans back and speeds her pace, and his thumb circles her clit. Tiny wrinkles crease around her eyes as she squeezes them shut. Her lips part, frozen in a moan she tries to suppress.

“Don’t,” he says. Io meets his eyes, hazy confusion knit between her brows. “Don’t hold back, not with me.”

The moan rips free, loud in the confines of his room. Louder than she’s ever allowed herself to be before. Shortly after, she breaks, legs quaking as she falls against his chest, panting between kisses pressed to his sweat-damp skin.

He continues when she cannot, cradling her closer and searching out her mouth. Languid, wet kisses pass between them until he finds his end, as warm and sweet and radiant as Io herself.

They lay on his disheveled bed, caught in a sunbeam. She twists his silver strands between her fingers, nuzzling into his neck. He strokes her back.

“We should just say it.” His fingers wander down to her leg, hiking her thigh up higher on his waist. Someone must go first. Easier to say exactly what she means to him. “I–”

“I love you, Estinien.” Io kisses his shoulder, right on top of the old scar.

He’s lucky she can’t see his ridiculous smile. He takes her hand and raises it to his lips. “I love you, too.”