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the dearest to a mountaineer
who, all life long has loved the snow
that crowned her native summits drear,
better, than greenest plains below
and voiceless, soulless, messenger
thy presence waked a thrilling tone
that comforts me while thou art here
and will sustain when thou art gone
to a wreath of snow - emily brontë
The snow begins to fall just as the coronation ceremony draws to a close.
You think you see the wild, dark tufts of Seele’s hair disappear into the crowd, no doubt chasing Bronya’s heels into the late afternoon glow. You smile to yourself, hoping they are awarded some privacy in whatever discussions carry them into the next chapters of their lives. Quietly, you lament that you will not linger long enough to see the wintry winds of change take root, to see warmth of victory usher Belobog into the future they fought so desperately for.
Welt was right. It wasn’t your problem anymore– you were an anomaly due to be expelled as life ticked on for Belobog. There would be more planets like Jarilo-VI, many in number and all different, that would inevitably require your presence ghosting in and out like a blizzard, but you also knew that the memories of this place would stick with you for a long while. Dan Heng had mentioned that they so rarely got deeply involved with any place they visited, but you had to wonder if they remembered every visit so vividly.
Would the absence affect them so?
Would you ever forget?
Would faces from this wintry wasteland eventually fade from your memory as the Astral Express inevitably made its way further and further away? You supposed March always had her photographs, and Dan Heng didn’t seem to care either way, but there was something about your encounter with the Stellaron that had raised many questions about the one you had become a vessel for.
How permanent were you? And would these faces eventually fade into obscurity? You were sure that many would, though the thought of one eventually receding into darkened snowdrifts made you feel uneasy.
As March and Dan Heng had eventually wandered off during the ceremony, content to do their own thing until you departed for the Astral Express the following morning, you found yourself scanning every face within the crowds in hope to catch the sparkle of the azure eyes that ghosted your thoughts. Watchful, protective– they captivated you so from the moment they had locked upon you in the endless expanse of snow outside the city.
While conflict had been sewed and new seeds of reconciliation planted, you could not help but search for Gepard in the mingling crowds of Belobog citizens. He was the only familiar face you had not seen at some point since the the coronation ceremony began, and as the afternoon bled into early evening and goodbyes were shared with those who you had come to grow quite fond of throughout your expedition, a deep sense of anxiousness gripped your chest that you might not have a moment to offer your goodbyes.
You could not understand your own feelings. There were many things you could not recall or fully comprehend since the day you were awoken in the space station, but you had learned to trust yourself when something twisted in your gut. Usually, it was a sense of danger– today, it is a kind of longing you can’t grasp tangibly. You should be thinking about the journey ahead, but instead, your only thoughts are that of the Silvermane Captain’s soft voice and watchful gaze.
Earlier in the afternoon, you sought out Serval in her workshop with March, spending a good long while taking pictures with Clara and making the most of what would soon just be memories of a distant planet. You had attempted to ask Serval where Gepard was, but she could only offer you a sad sort of smile and a shrug.
Her eyes looked tired. While the relief of the ordeal finally being done had likely lifted some weight off her shoulders, you couldn’t help but remember the memories of her and Cocolia you’d seen as Qlipoth had made contact with you. She was hurting, you could tell. Much like you, she would be resigned to memories of someone she would never see again, and while you could not be sure of the depth of their previous relationship, the way Serval’s face had begun to twist into something sad and bitter any time Cocolia’s name floated past her ears was not lost upon you. Eventually, she had excused herself to tend to some other task, leaving you alone.
You wonder if you would feel similarly in the near future, though you could not bring yourself to level your feelings with hers. Serval had years to think upon, while you had mere days.
It was not the same, so why did the freezing ache grow?
You wander the streets, your messy hair growing slightly damp with the light snowfall. The festivities and merry-making continue on, uninhibited by the cold, and you are often stopped in your tracks for offerings of gratitude. It feels nice, you think, to see the citizens free of their worries for now. You try to memorize as many happy faces as you can. You think you should try to get your own camera. March has the right idea of it, preservation of memories in the name of remembrance.
… preservation?
A thought strikes you, its insistence carrying your footfalls through the administrative district to the eastern side of Belobog. You follow the winding stone-paved streets, weaving through the merriment to find the long, stone steps that lead directly into Qlipoth Fort. You think it likely that Bronya and Seele have already disappeared within its depths, but if you’re lucky…
Ah!
Up ahead, at the top, you see a contingency of Silvermane guards, two you recognize as the heavily-armored captain of security, Dunn, and Pela, their short-statured intelligence officer. You dash quickly up the steps, winded by the kind of cold even your trailblazer status can’t shake off as your boots slip and slide on the ice still caked onto the stone. Dunn and Pela turn to see you scrambling up the incline, hot breath clouding in tiny puffs as you make your way over to them.
“Hello again,” Dunn greets you cheerfully, as if he’d already forgiven the severe ass-beating he was served in the restricted zone.
Pela peers over her spectacles at you, offering a tiny smile and a wave.
“What brings you here, trailblazer?” she asks politely as the guards around them seem to fall away with hushed whispers.
“I…” you begin, unsure what to say in the moment. You hadn’t said goodbye to them quite yet, and it ate at you slightly that you hadn’t even thought to do so in your efforts to find Gepard. “We’ll be departing from Jarilo-VI tomorrow morning. I, uh, wanted to make sure I said goodbye to everyone before we set off.”
“Of course. We thank you for what you did for Belobog,” Dunn responds, his voice echoing inside his massive helmet.
“Safe travels, and perhaps try to be a bit less conspicuous the next time you help save a planet from devastation,” Pela adds.
They watch curiously as you linger, fingers twisting involuntarily in the front of your shirt as your eyes fall over the small ocean of guards that mill about in front of Qlipoth Fort.
“Is something wrong?” Dunn asks.
“... I was… I was wondering where Gepard was,” you finally relent, avoiding their questioning gazes.
“The Captain?” Pela muses, a disturbingly knowing look glinting in her observant stare. “I believe he went off to Serval’s workshop just a bit ago. You must have just missed him.”
She was right– you’d been at the workshop a little under an hour ago. It was amazing that you’d managed to wander in the completely wrong direction when you could have just stuck around. Restlessness creeps into your bare legs, your boots scuffing against the stone as you take off back the way you came, trying desperately not to break into a full-blown sprint.
You can almost feel the look Dunn and Pela exchange as you wave goodbye, unable to understand why your need to see Gepard again presses so deeply into the recesses of your mind. When you ask yourself why, you are continually met with no answer but the intensity of his eyes and the quiet command and timbre of his voice. It acts as your tailwind, propelling you back down into the city and cutting through the festivities once more until you find yourself standing just outside of Neverwinter Workshop.
Just as your steps slow, racing heartbeat hammering in your ears, you hear the chime as a familiar blonde figure shoulders his way out through double doors of the workshop, the glass panes clattering as they swing shut behind him. He’s not carrying Earthwork, but he’s still in his full geomarrow-enhanced armor. You can hear him exhale slightly, a sigh lost to the frigid air before he notices you standing there, out of breath and clearly a bit frazzled. He starts, armor clanking as he moves forward to where you stand.
“Are you alright?” Gepard asks, looking a bit frantic. His hands hover just above your shoulders as you catch your breath, concern and something you can't place swimming across his features.
“I’m… fine…” you puff, making an attempt at being reassuring. You failed to realize just how exhausted you still were from the encounter with Cocolia, slightly embarrassed at how close you felt to keeling over on the frigid stone in front of him. “Sorry, been dashing all over the place.”
“Why?” he asks, puzzled as he peers down at you. His eyes are like sapphires, or perhaps vast and unyielding oceans, twinkling despite the dim light of cloudy skies. A snowflake catches on his nose, melting into his skin.
You don’t know why you hesitate. The idea of permanence hasn’t bothered you up until now, especially not when you first made contact with Jarilo-VI, but the idea of ‘goodbye’ stings just a little more when you regard him. You do not understand your feelings, but when you open your lips to speak, you find it difficult to stop the rambling outpour.
“I– we’ll be leaving soon. That is, tomorrow morning. I, ah, didn’t see you at all during Bronya’s coronation, so I was hoping to at least give you a proper goodbye before we…”
Before you leave Jarilo-IV in a trail of stardust and memory, is what you cannot say.
Understanding washes over him, his pale brows knitting together in an expression you cannot read. It reminds you of the contemplative way Dan Heng reads over his files, though something you can’t place mixes in with it. His cheeks are rosy from the cold, despite the armor that warms him, and he frowns when he considers that this is goodbye.
“Serval left a moment ago, said she had something urgent to take care of, I think. Come into the workshop for a moment, you need to get out of the cold,” is all he says, gently taking your hand in his and tugging you back towards the double-doors of the Neverwinter Workshop.
You can feel the warmth of his hand through his glove, pleasant to the touch as you obediently follow him inside. The doors clamor shut behind you, and you find yourself in the warm, expansive reception area quite alone with Gepard.
He leans against the front desk, hips knocking against the polished wood as he regards you. His face is serious, but does not echo the anger and frustration he felt when you faced him in the restricted zone. You can tell by looking closer that the waves of enemies from the frost must have battered him greatly after you parted ways to seek Cocolia, but you’re sure that’s not what’s on his mind as he silently stares you down.
After what feels like several minutes of tense silence, he finally speaks.
“I’m sorry,” are the first words breathed into the warm air. They confuse you deeply.
“For…?” you prompt, taking a step closer with your head canted to the side in curiosity.
“It is my job to protect. Not just the people of Belobog, either,” he adds. “I was nearsighted in my devotion to the Supreme Guardian. I have always known that her eyes, too cold, stared at something sinister that I could not see. Still, in my blindness, I willed myself forward and refused to listen. I carry shame when I think about our… altercation.”
He looks deeply reticent, azure gaze cast sideways to the wooden floors below.
“You were just trying to help, and I met your helping hand with violence. I am sorry, trailblazer. I owe you a great deal, and feel as though I will have no chance to repay my debts to you all before you spirit yourselves away.”
Something catches in his voice as he shifts his eyes back to you, an uncertainty swimming within the fractal, jewel-like light that shimmered there. He seems to understand the permanence of your departure as well, here one moment and gone just as soon.
“You don’t need to apologize,” you finally admonish, giving him a warm smile that blooms from somewhere deep within you. “You do right by your home. You only wanted to protect it. I think you’re pretty smart, honestly. But you don’t need to apologize for anything. In the end, it worked out. … mostly.”
You think upon Cocolia’s final moments and push the thought away. You would dwell upon that later; all you could do now was hope those her death affected the most would someday lose the rawness of it all.
Something changes on his face, then, as you hold your hand out to him.
“Just make sure that you continue to keep this place safe, and I won’t need to worry about you after we’re gone. Deal?” you shoot back, an impish smile creeping across your face.
Gepard’s eyes widen, mouth hanging slightly open by the weight of your words. He was all but ready to come down upon himself for his misdeeds a moment ago, but now, a smile spreads across his lips that sends a fluttering feeling throughout your stomach. Whatever the feeling is, you want to grasp it in your fingers, smother it so that it can never leave you. You feel foolish with the way his attentive gaze makes you feel, but his smile is sunlight against grey skies, and you find yourself leaning into it.
He moves forward to take your hand, this time the cool steel of his gauntlet closing around your your digits in a way that suggests he doesn’t quite want to let you go.
He’s lovely in a way no one else is, his golden hair dusting against the bridge of his nose as he moves closer, his towering frame leaning over you. You can smell him now, warm and inviting and utterly captivating as he looms. You briefly wonder what his arms look like beneath the armor– how would they feel if you leaned in just a bit more? Would it feel like the hug you’d given to his sister, or would he hold you tighter, with more purpose? Your chin tilts up, an offering to him that makes his grip on your hand tighter. You’re falling, spilling over into him like an overfilled cup of tea, tipped against his frame–
Clang.
“Bro, you still hanging around? You’re needed at the– oh!”
Serval has stumbled back into the workshop, surprise on her face when she sees how close you are to Gepard. She sputters for a moment, seemingly realizing the thoughts that rolled unmitigated through your head. For the first time since your awakening, you feel your ears burn. A similar dusting of pink covers Gepard’s face, and Serval can’t help but mirror the shared embarrassment of a moment spoiled. She stands awkwardly near the door– she is not an awkward woman by any means, but she seems to know intrinsically that she has come back at an inconvenient time. She might even tease you if you hadn’t been directly involved in saving their home. Instead, she clears her throat and pretends she didn’t see anything at all to keep your dignity intact.
“Ah, the, ah. You’re wanted. Back at the fort,” she speaks again, gesturing at the door, wholeheartedly deciding that she did not just walk in on you too-consumed with her brother.
“Oh, right, we were just, ah–” he stammers right back, standing straight and immediately releasing your hand.
The cool feeling of his gauntlet lingers. Your hand will remember it long after it fades.
“Saying goodbye,” you finish for him, wanting nothing more than to walk blindly into the snow, never to be seen again after that. “I was juuuust leaving. I’ll be turning in at the hotel, I think. Early departure and all that.”
The awkward atmosphere is palpable as you bid a second goodbye to Serval and Gepard, ducking your head as you practically full-sprint out of the workshop. You aren’t exactly sure what the hell had been going on anyway, but your heart is beating a million miles a minute and you feel vaguely dazed as you stalk back to the Goethe hotel. There is a funny, fuzzy feeling creeping into your limbs as your legs move on autopilot, a lightness in your stomach that still somehow feels like a great boulder sat there.
You chalk it up to frayed nerves and exhaustion as you climb the steps up into the lobby and follow the familiar route back to your room, vaguely wondering what March and Dan Heng are doing to spend their time before departure before deciding to rest your eyes a little.
Despite your mind being elsewhere occupied, you fall into sleep fairly easily, your body succumbing to the exhaustion of the expedition more quickly than you would expect. The rest is fitful, however, as no matter where you to look within your dreamscape, a pair of devastatingly blue eyes seem to follow your every move.
You wake up sometime after the sun has set, hair slightly mussed and still wearing your white shirt and bottoms. Your covers are a mess, and your lamp is still on, emanating a dull, orange glow against the drawn curtains of the window. You aren’t sure what roused you from your fitful slumber until you hear a soft knock at your door, accompanied by a fair amount of anxious-sounding shuffling.
Still slight stupefied, you sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and making an attempt to smooth your mane of hair down before plodding over to the door and gently pulling it open.
You expect to see March or Dan Heng, but instead, you’re staring into the chest of Gepard Landau. He’s wearing civilian clothes for the first time you’ve ever seen, which consists of a tasteful sweater with the pants and boots he usually wears beneath his armored uniform.
The surprise must be plain as day on your face.
“I’m sorry if this is a bad time,” he says in greeting, taking a moment to peer down the hall as if he’s worried about being caught doing something uncouth. “Serval insisted I come find you. If you’re sleeping, it’s alright—“
“No, no, I’ve been tossing and turning anyway,” you admit, stepping back and beckoning him inside. “It’s not much, but you’re welcome to come in.”
You owe Serval the world for this, you think.
He looks almost sheepish as he ambles behind you through the door, gently pushing it shut. You find yourselves standing awkwardly at the foot of your very messy bed, hands folded against your belly as you stare up at him from beneath your lashes. There’s an intent look on his face that echoes the moment back in Neverwinter, but his eyes wander to your tangled sheets first.
“Not sleeping well?” he asks, his voice soft.
You shake your head.
“I don’t usually, anyway. Comes with the territory of having to worry about being ambushed,” you quip, offering him a toothy grin.
“You don’t seem particularly worried about it, little warrior,” he muses, crossing his arms over his chest.
You can see where his arms strain the fabric, and that same funny feeling creeps into your chest. It bids you to wonder what his muscles feel like. Unlike with your fervent dumpster diving, you resist the urge.
“Not really,” you admit, “mostly because we always seem to find a way out of it. I just hope that future expeditions are less full of political intrigue.”
An airy laugh escapes your lips, but you can feel the space between you once again grow heavy with the promise of your imminent departure to other planets. It’s hard to avoid, hanging stagnant in the air like an unwanted ghost that no one wishes to fully acknowledge.
“You’ll be fine. I know it for certain,” he says, kind smile piercing through the uncertainty like an arrow in your chest.
“And why’s that, Captain?”
You can’t help but tease him. His face grows more serious, but there is a lightness to his words.
“Because you have managed to accomplish in mere days what I could not in many years,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You have the kind of strength in you that Belobog should and will strive for. I find myself drawn to it. You’re… you’re very admirable.”
Gingerly, as if he’s not entirely sure, he raises his hands and takes a careful step forward, resting them upon your shoulders. Without the gloves and armor, he’s sweltering, warm to the touch through your shirt as he gently presses his calloused fingers into your flesh. Your stomach swoops again, that wonderfully warm sensation spreading to your fingers and toes once more. Despite the warmth, you shiver.
“As are you,” you find yourself replying, staring up into his beautifully uncertain features.
Experimentally, you act on the impulse you felt before, drawn in by his radiating heat and snaking your arms beneath his to wrap around his torso. You carefully lean your cheek against his heartbeat, listening to the little organ hammer just as hard as yours is as he mimics you, securing you to his chest.
Days ago, you were technically enemies. Today, you feel sorrow that this is the last time you will likely ever see him. Sorrow is new to you. You decide that you do not care for it.
“I think I’m going to miss you,” you blurt into his sweater, feeling as his arms tighten ever so slightly around you.
“I think I am going to miss you, too,” he murmurs into your hair. “Once again, I must apologize for overstepping. I could not bare for that to be the last time I laid eyes on you.”
If your heart stutters within your chest anymore, you will go into cardiac arrest. Your fingers knot delicately in the fabric of his sweater as you pull your head back to stare into the eyes that haunt you so.
“We have tonight, at least.”
There is an unspoken weight to your words. Gepard withdraws one of his hands to gently fold his fingers, brushing the backs of his knuckles against your cheek and jaw. He swallows, the sound of him drowning his trepidation before closing the distance to brush his soft, searing lips against yours.
You wonder if this body knew the touch of another before you woke up in some lifetime forgotten. It must have, as your hands pull up and smooth over his broad chest, wrists linking behind his neck as you pull him down into you. Once you’d have thought him a frigid snowbank, smothering you until your bones froze. Now, he feels like home, like the inviting aura of a geomarrow heater in the center of a snowstorm.
His lips move against yours, carefully at first as to not overwhelm you, but you kiss him like you’re trying to swallow him. Your lips memorize his in ways your mind would never memorize his face— what cannot be preserved in pictures or memory will be preserved in touch alone, by the way he licks into your mouth with a soft gasp and the way his hands cradle your head and the small of your back.
Breathless, your kiss breaks for but a moment, his breath hitching in excitement as he stares down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils.
“Is this truly alright?” he whispers, searching your eyes for any hint of regret.
He finds none. You reach over to your right and dim the lamp.
“Please,” you breathe, and every ounce of your body stands behind the plea.
Gepard scoops you up, kicking off his boots and carrying you over to your messy, abandoned bed, pulling you on top of him in an easy, fluid motion. You straddle his hips from above him, knees pressed into twisted sheets as his lower back rests easily against your pillows.
Splayed beneath you, flushed and panting, he is a gorgeous creature of earth and frost. Your hands are everywhere, timid fingers pressing into every dip and curve they can reach as if they are more reliable than your eyes. He kneads his fingers into the slightly exposed flesh of your waist, leaning forward to bury his face into the crevice of your neck.
He inhales, shuddering slightly as you move atop him. You can feel him stir to life beneath you, the parts of him you’ve yet to see invigorated with the promise of you. You feel drunk off the honesty of his body, tilting your head back and letting your eyes flutter as his lips find your throat. You roll your hips experimentally, and he releases a beautifully broken whine. Your skin prickles at the noise, electricity crackling through your veins. Your mind is cloudy, but your body moves on its own, chasing his touch as though you’ll freeze to death without him.
His long, calloused fingers slide beneath your shirt, savoring your goosebumps as he trails them up your belly. He is agonizingly slow as he draws them up, enveloping your chest with the same sinewy hands used to defend his city against onslaughts of monsters. Even through your underthings, the brush of his scorching palms over your chest is maddening, your nipples standing at full attention as if to make as much contact with his touch as humanly possible. He hums, the sound low and approving as he gives your chest a squeeze, savoring the soft sound he coaxes out of you.
Gently, he rubs a slow circle over the pert buds with his thumbs through the fabric, savoring the way you involuntarily jerk into him. It was like he shocked you, the sensation both dulled and somehow heightened through the fabric. His short, blunt nails catch against them and you shiver even deeper, the feeling jolting straight to your core.
He takes his time with you, nosing along your jaw as he toys with you beneath your shirt. He pinches and rolls your nipples so softly that you feel as though you might come undone, gasping into the air as your head tilts up to the ceiling.
“Help me get this off of you, lovely,” he whispers just below your ear, only removing his hands to coax your arms over you head so he can slide your shirt and underthings off and let you sit bare-chested atop him.
You open your mouth to protest that he should be losing clothing too if you had to, but he leaves no opportunity, claiming your lips for his own the second your arms drop back to his shoulders.
He kisses you like he can’t breathe, like you are the only bit of oxygen on a dying planet and he has no qualms about depleting the resource that is you. He kisses the corners of your mouth, across your jaw, and down your neck. His teeth gently nip at your skin, suckling the sweet flesh there like it’s all he’s dreamed about for nights.
You are sustenance, willing and pliant.
He mouths along your collarbones, his hands sliding down your sides to grip at your hips, pulling you forward against him and causing you to gasp sharply. He’s painfully erect— you can feel him tenting and straining beneath you, caught between the apex of your thighs. Your skirt rides up your thighs, and you can feel the seam of his pants against your soaked core through your underwear. His large hands grip your ass, and your breath catches so sweetly.
Gepard hums in approval again at your delighted, half-strangled noise as he gently lifts his hips and pulls you in against him, a low grown rumbling out through his lips as he licks and kisses across your exposed chest. The wet streaks are cold in the night air of your room, but the feeling is drowned out by the fluttering of your cunt as he grinds himself against you. The feeling is both somehow sharp and sweet, both familiar and unfamiliar, and leaves you shuddering, aching.
His lips close around one of your nipples and you hear yourself whine at the feeling of his hot tongue swirling around the bud. You feel the upward twitch of his lips, and his teeth ever so gently clamp down. Your hips roll, chasing the incredible feeling that spreads like sunlight and life through your limbs. You’re a goner, and he knows it— he can feel just how soaked through you already are, and he’s barely touched you.
You pant, consumed with his ministrations, the walls around you melting in the dim light as you let him pluck pleasure from you with the easiest of movements. You can feel the hot panting of his breath as he bucks into you, guided by the death grip he has on your ass as he grinds you against him. He hits that spot so perfectly, your walls clamping shut aggressive around nothing as your body seeks to be filled. He tongues lazy kitten licks against your nipple as he feels you go slightly rigid stop him, something cooking deliciously in your belly—
And then he stops, lifting you easily off of him and drawing back his lips.
You make a noise you do not recognize, even if it’s carried by your own voice, as your hips continue to roll into the empty air above his own.
“Why—?“ you ask, the air between you cooking the soaked fabric of your underwear.
He gives your hips a rough squeeze, his face buried in the center of your chest. Spittle still drips from your nipples, hard like ice in the cool air. The sensation is overwhelming.
“I will not spend you too quickly,” he speaks into your skin, “I will give you a memory that will live in your bones long after you have disappeared from me into the stars.”
When he says this, you can feel the levity of his words, the promise of willing your body to remember him in the ghosts of his touch when his face will someday elude you. Far beyond his planet you will travel, but flesh etched in flesh, you will feel him as stardust in the cavity of your chest when time and distance becomes unkind to memory.
You take his words to heart.
He slides his palms over your hips and up your sides, lifting you gently grasp at your elbows.
“Be good for me and put your hands on the headboard, okay?” he directs, his soft voice in stark contrast to his control. It brought both peaceful warmth and authority, which went straight between your thighs. “Please do not move them, you will need it for stability.”
You comply, lifting your fingers off his shoulders and resting them against the wooden headboard of the bed. Gepard shifts beneath you, keeping your hips lifted and your legs spread just enough that he can maneuver his upper body between them, but not so much that he has difficulty pulling your skirt and underthings down over your thighs, gently helping you out of them leg by leg. You’re entirely exposed, now, hovering with trembling knees just above his shoulders.
He relaxes his head against the pillows below, savoring the view of your swollen, drooling slit as he reclaims his hands position on your ass. You cannot see the way his beautiful sapphire eyes threaten to roll back into his skull, his fingernails digging into your flesh as he attempts to coax you down.
Even through your aroused stupor, you find yourself hesitating.
“Wait,” you gasp. His breath fans out over your cunt and it makes you feel weak with need. “Isn’t this uncomfortable for you? I can always—“
He interrupts you by craning his neck, licking a stripe through your folds and savoring how ready you already were for him. The way you squeak as the tip of his tongue catches on your aching clit makes him throb painfully, a wet spot clear on his trousers, but he is too consumed with your pleasure to care.
“You would deny a starving soldier his final meal?” he asks, his voice low.
When you can only gape like a suffocating fish in response, he pulls your hips down to smear your arousal across his mouth and tongue.
If you think he is talented as a leader or with a weapon, it pales in comparison to his mouth. It is hot and hungry, drinking deep of everything you can offer him as if you secrete an elixir of life. Your slick dribbles down his chin and cheeks, soaking carelessly into the sheets below as he grinds your cunt against his tongue like he strives to consume you, body and soul.
You do your best to keep your voice down, but each time his tongue sweeps across your clit, his lips pausing to suckly your flesh, your knees buckle and he draws from you noises you did not think you would ever make.
His tongue is slow, agonizingly so, as he laps gently against your puckered flesh, melting at your sweet, soft little gasps. Every lick and swirl is a compliment, a testament to his respect for your skills and for your deeds spoken in a tongue you can understand in the thudding of your veins. He speaks a language of reverence into swollen skin, weaving poems into pleasure with the mouth that had once cursed your actions.
The fervent way he coaxes that wonderful, melting feeling in your belly is a letter of adoration, addressed directly to you. Your hips jerk violently, and the vibrations of his humming have you arching your back. You chase a foreign feeling, building like a molten spear through your middle, and Gepard moves a single hand from your ass to twist his middle digit deep into your begging entrance.
The finger curls delightfully within you, nudging through your soaked cunt to find and press the pad against a spot in your walls that almost makes you sob. You wonder if you have enough grip strength to shatter the headboard with how tightly you grasp it for support. Your previous worries are gone as you move against him, hips wiggling desperately for his touch.
He can feel the way you flutter and contract around him as he adds a second finger, the pressure at your core ready to burn you away. Your legs can barely support you, giving out to press the full weight of your body against his face. You hear him growl his approval, left hand leaving half-moon imprints in your flesh from how hard he grips you there. He only moves his mouth away from you to sing your praises, replacing his tongue with his thumb on your clit. The calloused digit smears lazy circles across it, causing your breath to stutter wildly.
“So good for me, little savior,” he pants. You can hear the adoration in his voice, made hoarse by lust.
His mess of blonde hair tickles your thighs as you squeeze his head so much you feel as though you might decapitate him. He leans up to kiss the crease where your thigh meets your core, and you hear another low whine slip past your lips.
“Please,” you gasp into the night.
You can feel him smile contentedly.
“Please what?” is the innocent question he floats back.
His fingers slow to featherlight touches, only barely nudging the spots that have you feeling as though your skin has been set ablaze. The sharp coil in your belly releases some of its tension, but begins to rebuild so slowly you feel as though you’ll melt atop him. He replaces his thumb with his tongue again, lapping so very gentle against the stiff peak of flesh with the very tip of it. The build is slow, like climbing a steep hill, and the sensation has you writhing.
“P-please,” you croak, delirious. “It’s so much, I—“
He feels you tighten again, and he thinks he may meet his end just from listening to your whimpering.
“Let go,” he tells your skin.
And so you do.
The loaded spring deep in your belly finally snaps, and a sensation like no other washes over you like the colors of the sunset paint the sky from rose to dusk. Your climax comes fast and heavy, your pulse drumming and carrying the cadence of pleasure through your blood. You can feel it in your ears, see it in your eyes— it spreads like honey, sweet and sticky from your belly to the tips of your fingers and toes. When you think it has passed, he gently teases your cunt with his tongue again, and you feel yourself washed away by another great and intense wave of gratification.
Gepard stills the eager stirring of your hips with his grip, lifting you off of his mouth so that he can take in a great gulp of air. You chance a look down at him, and can see the frenzied look in his sparkling eyes. His mouth is soaked and smeared in your slick, which he laps up with enthusiasm. He cradles your tired body as he sits himself up, leaning back against the headboard and holding your limp and gasping body against him. You can feel yourself soaking the crotch of his pants, but neither of you seem to care.
His mouth, still sloppy with your juices, claims yours again as he slides his warm hands delicately up the curve of your spine. You can feel him, hard and heavy, between your legs and it only makes your longing more pronounced. His restraint is incredible, but he’s only focused on you.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater, giving it a feeble tug. His quiet laughter rumbles beneath you as he breaks your fevered kiss you regard you. You’re glowing in his lap, blissed out and somehow still hungry for more of him.
“Words, lovely,” he admonishes gently, grasping at your wrists to hold you prone.
“Off,” you assert, tugging on the damnable sweater that blocks your view of him.
His eyes are kind, but flash with amusement as he smirks at your demand. Gently, he lowers your hands into your lap and grasps at the fabric, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside somewhere to find later.
Though the light is dim, you can see every dip and curve of his muscles. Your breath catches, sucked between your teeth and lips. He’s just as beautiful as you imagined, with tiny, silvered scars littering the milky expanse of his pallid skin above the rippling structure of his muscles. Transfixed, you trail your fingers down his exposed chest, dropping down across his abdomen. There is a dusting of blonde hair that disappears below the waist of his trousers like a golden road that leads to where he strains against his zipper. Now that you can see him more clearly, you feel yourself salivate.
Your digits hover just above his belt buckle, flicking your eyes up to hold his gaze. His lips are slightly parted, his breathing uneven in his arousal, but there is nothing but ardor in his eyes. He grasps at your thighs, rubbing soothing circles against your skin with his thumbs. He does not tease you, does not force your hand, only leans into you to pepper gentle kisses down your jawline and neck. He savors the delicious way you shiver.
“Any more demands of me?” he whispers, goosebumps rising across your shoulders, chest and arms. His soft voice is more a purr, gently lifting parts of you that laid completely dormant to the surface.
“Off,” you command again, this time with less authority as you falter under his touch.
“Yeah?” he echoes, nipping at your earlobe.
“Please?” you add, the request lilting at the end like a question.
“You have deft fingers, love,” he reminds you, and you feel yourself clench. There’s something about the soft timbre of his voice that raises every hair on your body.
You make a soft and almost frustrated noise, sucking your teeth at him as you loop your fingers dutifully behind the leather of his belt and work it free from its buckle. The metal clanks softly as you pry it apart, too aware of the piercing gaze that watches your face the entire time you work. You pull the belt apart, releasing the button of his trousers and catch yourself holding your breath as you pull the zipper down.
You can hear Gepard hiss in relief as the pressure releases, leaving only a thin veil of cotton between you and your prize. Carefully, dutifully, you curl yourfingers around both waistbands and free him from his fabric prison, his rosy-headed cock springing up so violently that it slaps against his hair-dusted navel. He gasps, squirming slightly as he kicks off the remnants of his clothing to let them fall forgotten at the foot of the bed. He should feel vulnerable beneath your gaze, but all hye can notice is how you’re staring at him slack-jawed.
He’s flushed and leaking, a beautifully thick and perfect vein running down his length. He’s curved and twitching under your hungry gaze, eager to give to you just as much as the rest of him. Experimentally, you scoot closer on his thighs, wrapping your fingers around the base of him and reveling in the grunt he offers you. You can feel him pulse and twitch, hard, heavy and aching for you between his muscular thighs.
He wraps his arms around your waist, stroking hands up and down your spine and buries his nose between your breasts again.
“You like what you see?” he prods, sliding his palms back over your ass to bring you forward.
He tilts his head back, a soft but strangled noise escaping him as your soaking folds stroke against his painfully erect dick. You decide you quite like that noise, opting to press yourself against him again instead of answering verbally, savoring the friction. His hips stutter, his grip on you tightening fiercely as his lovely mouth hangs open.
“That wasn’t an answer,” he manages, lifting you up slightly so that you cannot torture him any further. The smile you answer with is positively devilish, and something dark and dangerously libidinous dances through his eyes.
It takes little effort for him to lift you completely off of him, flipping you over on the mattress and yanking your hips up towards the ceiling. He keeps a gentle but firm palm between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned prone against the soft surface, your right cheek pressed into the sheets so that you could barely see him.
“Perfect,” he whispers, and you can feel his probing fingers spread you open from behind.
He loves the way you leak down your trembling thighs, so eager to please, so eager to have pleasure stolen. He’d pluck it from every inch of you, steal the very air from your lungs if it conveyed just how deeply he’s captivated by you. He’s mesmerized by the way you twitch, like your hips are bucking back against his fingers for any sort of friction you can achieve.
“Are you that eager?” he chances at a second question, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit.
You’re still so sensitive from before that you yelp, and you can hear Gepard’s breathless laughter from behind you. Even in the low light, as he spreads you wide, he can see the way your hole clenches around nothing. You can only whimper in response as he begins to rub slow circles against your clit again. You gasp and shudder, your senses going into overload. This time, the spring coils fast, too fast, and you keen for him as you’re built up again, only for him to withdraw his hand and caress the curve of your ass.
Your thighs spasm, your engorged clit jumping as your climax dies. You think he’s done teasing you when you feel his lips against you again, lapping too-gently at the bundle of nerves that has your toes curling so much you swear they’ll start cracking.
“I’m not sure,” he murmurs, gently lapping at you between words, “that you’re ready for me.”
“I’m– ah!-- I’m…” you try, but the words are lost as he shifts his weight, leaning his large frame over your hips and back.
You can feel his cock pressed against you, the crown of him nudging against your overly sensitive bud and coating him in your fluids. He groans, soft voice breaking as he rolls his hips into yours, pushing past the ring of muscle at your entrance. He stays there, letting you wriggle and squirm beneath him.
“So good,” he croaks, like all the air is being pushed out of his lungs. He’s so taken with you, watching the way your eyes search for him from your prone position. “Tell me you want me, and I’m yours until the sun rises.”
His voice is as commanding as it is pleading, crackling with desire and energy and a million things he wants to convey all at once. You can hear it in his voice, desperate and ragged in his consumption. There is softness, greed and affection all rolled into one man, and you decide he is everything in the moment.
“Gepard,” you plead softly, “I will never not want you, even when the sun rises and sets again a million times over.”
Your name falls sweetly from his lips, and he pushes into you with a careful thrust.
You keen beneath him as he fills you, the stretch so much more than just his fingers. The sensation burns as he bottoms out, but having something for your cunt to clench around fills you with such a lurid sense of relief. His fingers dig into your hip, knees knocked against yours to keep your thighs spread for him. He waits for you to adjust, your twitching stilling before he begins slowly rocking into you.
The feel of him is everything, and the soft sounds of his panting from somewhere above you is burned into your memories as much as the rest of him. You can barely hear him above the creaking of the mattress, but his breath comes in ragged gulps, as if its just as overwhelming for him.
The gentle rhythm picks up, skin slapping against skin, and the delicate curve of his cock bullies that spot so deep within you that you cry out against the bedsheets below. You’re already half spent and overstimulated, and your entire body lurches beneath him as he snakes his right hand around your hip and reaches between your thighs.
He groans low and deep, feeling you clench tightly around him as his fingers brush against your clit, rubbing slow and deliberate circles against the slick nub. Your cunt flutters around him as he thrusts deep, fucking you into the mattress with the erratic pace of a man so touch-starved he could have found release just watching you cum around his fingers.
“You’re everything,” he breathes, relishing the way your body simply gives over to him. He can see your blissed-out smile from beneath him, eyes rolled back as you keep your back so perfectly arched for him.
Nothing but pants and wet slapping fills the air around you– his desperate little groans are better than music, and while he is somewhat rough with you, he still holds you tightly to him as if he couldn’t bear to do anything with you but meld your body with his own.
He speaks between thrusts, his gentle voice ragged with desire.
“Even if your mind forgets,” he gasps, “you. Will. Remember. This.”
It was both a plea and a command, a call to your cells to memorize the shape and feel of him he continued to fill you up. The devotion in his words and voice soothed your flesh and soul, that searing pressure building in your core and making you shudder deeply. He reached every part of you, consuming your senses and threatening to tip you over the edge completely.
When you thought you might succumb, you called to him softly, half-muffled from being pressed into the bed.
“Gepard,” you sigh, “let me face you. Let me see you. Please.”
This gives him pause, restoring just enough of his senses to understand what you are asking. He cannot help the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips as he slowly pulls himself from you and helps flip you over so that your are lying on your back, hair fanned out wildly around you. His warm hand strokes your cheek.
“Better?” he asks gently.
You nod and reach for him, your arms winding around his neck. He re-positions himself at your entrance, and this time, as he slowly pushes into you, you melt beneath the weight of his eyes. You can see the way his mouth contorts as he loses himself within you, pushed from gentle professionalism to near ferality when it came to you. He grasps at your knees, pushing them up into your chest as he pounds himself into you, spreading you wide so you can both see the way he slams his hips into your soaking cunt.
Your legs bob and your toes curl as he builds you back up, warmth blossoming through your core and spreading bliss through your nerves. Your head turns, huffing as your eyes flutter shut and your body begins to give itself over fully to the feeling.
“Don’t look away,” he begs, and your eyes snap back to his the second your climax washes over you again.
“Gepard—”
This time, he can see the way your tongue lolls as you rake your fingers down his back. He thinks that no matter how much time passes, he will never lose the picture of you come around his cock. It’s too beautiful an image to lose even to time, and as you clench around him, he realizes he has no self control left.
Your name spills from his lips, riding a wave of whispered expletives as he pulls himself from you, seed spilling out over your belly as he’s milked dry. Warm and wet, you feel it trickle down your ribs as you listen to him gulp for air, letting your legs down to collapse next to you.
You should feel ridiculous, lying on your back covered in his spill, but all you can do is match his blissful smile, knowing that there was no way as long as the stars shone that you would ever forget the feel of him.
Once your breathing calms, he cleans the both of you up, turning the lamp on the desk all the way off before fixing the sheets and crawling beneath them with you. It’s been a long few days for the both of you, and for once, you fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep in the arms of a knight whose careful touch you could never forget, even if a lifetime passes.
You know he will be gone by sunrise, the glow of morning spiriting away your perfect lover as duty pulls you in separate directions, but not even lightyears of stardust left behind by the Astral Express will ever weaken the memory of the way he holds you in the moment. The feel of his calloused fingers and soft lips have been whittled into your soul.
You can never turn and look back, but you can always treasure the memory, even if ocean blue eyes will forever send a pang of longing through your veins.
but angel like, when I awoke,
thy silvery form so soft and fair
shining through darkness, sweetly spoke
of cloudy skies and mountains bare