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Navia likes to kiss with teeth, stubborn incisors against the plush of Clorinde’s lip, savoring each stolen moment with vitalized fervor in a way that is so Navia . Even when Clorinde breaks the kiss to pin Navia to the bed she can’t help but smile. Navia lives her life as blazing as a meteor, except now she’s touchable, here pliant under Clorinde’s fingers, batting her eyelashes and pouting as if Clorinde isn’t touting a 3-to-1 winning streak against her.
Clorinde has never been one for vulnerability. Her heart is a guarded door, one that she lets few people unlock historically. Even Navia, who has been beside her longer than anyone else, is just now being let back into the corridors and rooms of Clorinde’s soul.
Navia is frustrating—reckless in a way that only inspires fondness from the duelist, but she goes through the torn pages of Clorinde’s inner life with the utmost gentleness and caution. It’s almost like they never were apart.
Clorinde doesn’t lose. Not in her job, not in her hobbies, and seldom in relationships. And yet three years ago Clorinde threw in the towel and surrendered before Navia could win. Navia held a smoking gun aimed directly at her in her wake, spiteful in loss.
But now Navia is kind; shyly coy, and laughs at every single one of the jokes that Clorinde doesn’t intend to be all that funny. Like the days of their youth, Navia unceasingly and ferociously embraces her, her beaming smile by Clorinde’s side despite everything. Clorinde allows her.
Some things differ from their youth, however. Like the hot slide of Navia’s tongue against her own and the fever-pitch moans the blonde makes when Clorinde crooks her fingers roughly inside her. Navia has never been abashed about anything, and she certainly isn’t with sex either. It’s a miracle that all of the Spina di Rosula aren't aware of their midnight escapades.
Perhaps they are. Perhaps they choose to not say anything.
Therefore it isn’t too surprising when, after a night out in the Court of Fontaine, Navia drags her to her chambers and looks at Clorinde with those hooded eyelids again, and Clorinde knows it’s on. Six months of dating Navia in an official capacity has taught Clorinde that Navia gets what she wants and isn’t afraid to initiate. Clorinde is generally happy to give her what she desires, and she relishes in every sweet, not uncommon, moment where what Navia wants more than anything is simply the release of surrendering to her. Clorinde does indeed like to win.
But tonight, Navia is vying for victory. She bats her eyelashes in that way when she wants something and moves to rest her chin against Clorinde’s shoulder so that she’s by her ear. Heart to heart.
“Clorinde,” Navia begins, voice sly. “I feel like you need to relax a bit.”
Clorinde scoffs but doesn’t move away. “Of course you would say that. Need I remind you that I have no issue with separating my work and personal life?”
She can’t see Navia's face but can hear the eye roll in the noise the blonde makes, however, Clorinde can’t find it in herself to be annoyed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Then elucidate what you mean for me, Miss President,” Clorinde says and moves to rest her hands on the small of the other woman’s back, not missing the subtle way Navia arches into her touch. Navia sighs into her ear.
“I’m saying , Clorinde, that I want to make you feel good for once.”
Clorinde at once knows what she means but decides to feign ignorance. It perhaps amuses her a bit too much to toy with Navia in this way. “What do you mean? You do make me feel good, very frequently in fact.”
Navia pulls away to face her, still holding Clorinde by her shoulders, but her azure eyes pin her, and search for some response within her expression that Clorinde feels hesitant to give.
And yet somehow Clorinde also feels as if she would willingly serve her heart up on a platter for Navia if she just kept looking at her this way.
“You always take care of me,” Navia says, glancing aside, and caresses a gentle hand down Clorinde’s body. Clorinde can’t help but sigh as well. “Let me return the favor?”
“Are you asking me now?” Clorinde says snidely, trying to probe at teasing, but Navia’s flickering gaze overcomes her like the tide. She loves this give and take they do, ebbing and flowing in the way two dancers still orbit each other even when apart. Clorinde relishes in the space between the margins.
Still, she is aware of Navia’s impatience, of the uncertainty she knows has plagued Navia ever since the day she wordlessly left. The quietude Clorinde finds shelter in like shadows instead brutalizes Navia and easily reveals her anxieties. Clorinde must take care not to be too selfish.
Clorinde feels her heart swell in her chest. Saying no to Navia about most things is hard, but especially about a selfless bid for connection. Yet the vulnerability is daunting. There is safety in being the one to give, and Clorinde finds solace in that consistency.
All her life she has yearned to be as untouchable as the heavens above, to be completely beyond remorse. But Navia is here, dragging her down to earth and grounding her in the mortal plane, just as she did all those years ago, effortlessly humanizing her and familiarizing Clorinde with the sting of regret. It’s as beautiful as it is terrifying.
Navia hasn’t looked away. Clorinde doesn’t want to look away either.
“What I meant to say is yes. I’m yours for tonight, Navia.”
Navia pampers Clorinde. They take a bath, their clawfoot tub bubbling with rose-scented water that nearly overflows when they both enter the water. But it’s comfortable, domestic, almost, if that’s a thing Clorinde permits herself to think about a six-month-long relationship. But narrowing Navia down to six months feels sacrilegious, especially when the memory of hiding behind her master as a freckled girl with blonde curls grinned at her is something Clorinde still holds dear. Their tale is far more expansive.
So this is Navia in another capacity, she supposes, still her best friend but now she’s pouring soapy water over Clorinde’s back, brushing her hair to the side to wash off the suds off the nape of her neck. It’s intimate and wholly not sexual despite their nudity, despite what’s coming. Any space shared with Navia glows to the brim with warm inviting light, and Clorinde allows herself to bask in the sun like a feline. She leans against Navia’s chest in the water and lets her eyes fall shut.
“Don’t fall asleep here and ruin the fun,” Navia whispers fondly from behind her, and Clorinde hums in passive acknowledgment. How easy to drop all pretense with Navia, to put down her sword and career and obligations and just lay content against her, skin on skin.
Falling asleep in the tub isn’t the worst idea, but Clorinde knows she should entertain Navia‘s request, so after a few more sleepy, peaceful minutes, they exit the tub. Navia produces a fluffy white towel and begins to dry Clorinde off.
“You don’t need to do this, I’m an adult, I can dry myself,” Clorinde says gently, and Navia rolls her eyes in response.
“Of course I know that, but this is about me taking care of you for once,” Navia says, offended, and as if to emphasize her point she uses the towel—previously occupied with squeezing water out of dark locks—to ruffle Clorinde’s hair vigorously. Clorinde yelps.
“Navia!” Clorinde breathes out through a laugh, bothered but not angry, and the other woman smiles back at her. That same toothy grin from all those years ago, filling out her cheeks to reveal dimples that Clorinde finds oh-so-kissable. Clorinde sighs with mirth.
“You messed up my hair. I take special care of it, as you know.” Clorinde chides, but Navia just chuckles to herself, and like it is the most natural thing in the world, brings the bare expanse of her arms to circle Clorinde’s neck until what little is left of the space between their lips feels unbearable.
She feels Navia’s breasts against her own as they stand there, bodies still wet and nipples peaked from the cool air or arousal.
Within the past six months Clorinde has already mapped out Navia’s body as dutifully as a cartographer would; noting every stray freckle, studying the gentle curve of her hips when Clorinde takes her from behind. Yet at this moment, Navia feels new, her body intoxicatingly present and foreign in its proximity.
Clorinde lets the excitement bristle through her veins, how lucky she is to love this sun shower of a woman, who carries leonine confidence through life with fervor but still chooses gentleness at any opportunity.
That sentiment is larger than words, too massive to bear, so Clorinde just guides their lips together until they are kissing delicately. Navia’s lower lip latches wet against Clorinde’s lips, and it’s gentle as far as Navia goes, to be prying open Clorinde’s mouth with slow kisses and kitten-licks rather than with the full passion of the dull edge of her teeth. Navia’s hand travels from its resting spot on Clorinde’s nape until she is cupping her cheek, and if Clorinde leans in a bit that’s between her and the Archon.
When Navia’s tongue parts Clorinde’s lips to slide against Clorinde’s inner mouth she lets out a breathy, choked noise, and it would be embarrassing if it was with anyone who wasn’t Navia. After their reconciliation, trust has begun to pass between them again like the finest of wines, and as Navia hums contentedly into Clorinde’s mouth the duelist finds that there’s a pleasure for her too in letting Navia have her cake and eat it too.
Exhaling shakily, Navia pulls away. Clorinde lets her eyes open again and meets the cerulean of Navia’s gaze. Wry amusement sparkles in her eyes, but it’s not unkind, simply knowing. They have never been able to hide anything from each other, have always walked through life at the same frantic pace as the other, and by now the rhythm of Navia’s footfall brings her comfort.
Out of nowhere Navia wrinkles her nose and chuckles. “What?” Clorinde says, and Navia beams.
“You were giving me the silliest smile,” Navia teases and pokes her cheek, and Clorinde frowns.
“I was not ,” Clorinde huffs, but it sounds less stern than she intended and more indignant. “You should see how your face looked too,” she adds dryly.
Navia flushes caught off guard. “W-well, that’s not what we were talking about, is it?”
All Clorinde can think to do is to kiss her again, to kiss her and kiss her until that blush deepens even further and until she’s the only thing Navia can think about—so she does. When their lips meet once more Navia sighs into her mouth, and Clorinde thinks it’s the most melodic sound she has ever heard. Navia as a whole breathes out poetry.
Clorinde pulls away, and Navia traces her lower lip.
“Let’s get you to bed, Clo.”
Clorinde dislikes resting on her laurels. Anything that is in her capability to be done is worth doing properly, and inaction doesn’t befit her. She’d much rather finish things up herself.
Therefore it is hard to not be nervous just lying there in the nude with her damp hair undone against the feather-white pillows of their sheets. It’s embarrassing really, practically makes her feel like she’s a virgin again when it’s just Navia, who she should be more comfortable with than anyone else in the world. And she is, she is but—
“You’re clenching your fists,” Navia breaks her reverie from above her, and her voice is riddled with concern. Clorinde blinks and releases her clutch on the bed sheets. Navia hasn’t even touched her yet beyond kissing her neck and still the thought of relinquishing control has Clorinde setting her jaw in its usual tense position. She’s positive she’s wearing an expression fitting for work, but not for Navia.
“We don’t have to do this, you know?” Navia says, and there’s no judgment in her tone, just gentleness, and it’s unbearable how lovely it should be; Navia’s scent surrounds her, and golden hair like curtains pool around them. Navia reaches down and brushes a thumb over Clorinde’s forehead, smoothing out her furrowed brow.
Clorinde stops to consider. Retreating into fragile safety, into the familiar embrace of untouchable solitude is admittedly tempting. Navia would let her, and she knows this. Navia would do anything for her.
But being vulnerable with Navia, who she almost lost, letting the person who has her heart touch her in full—that feels somehow more important than fear.
Clorinde swallows before she begins. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, I—I apologize, Navia,” she says and meets eyes as clear as the sky. They regard her with utmost acceptance.
“To be honest I’m afraid,” Clorinde swallows, glances to the side. “I think I’m afraid of this .”
“Of disappointing me? Because you know I wouldn’t be disappointed either way,” Navia says, and Clorinde knows it’s true.
“No—I mean. I think I’m afraid of what it means to be touched. To not be the one in control,” Clorinde breathes out, and the words feel shaky and brittle in the air between them.
She still thinks about Petronilla, her gloved hands on her palms to guide her training sword. Cold and impersonal. Always strike first , she would say, her wooden sword swinging remorselessly against Clorinde’s little body over and over again.
She remembers nursing her wounds from the geovishap hatchling in the shadows of their kitchen, Petronilla off away at Archon knows where. Petronilla never called her by her name or treated her with any special regard. Yet, Clorinde still clutches onto the memory of the day after her tenth birthday, alone in their abode waiting for her master to call out her name into the empty room. If she closed her eyes she could practically imagine what the warmth of a hug would feel like, the room alive and in color again.
Clorinde feels a shaky resolve settle within her. Maybe now, years and years later, that dark room could make room for some sunlight.
“I’m scared of losing my composure, and I’m terrified because I know how badly I want to,” Clorinde finally says quickly, the words as true as they are frightening.
Navia pauses, her gaze is soft and her breath hangs still in the air. She then smiles at her, and it’s like sunlight.
“Guide me, then,” she whispers, fingers lacing together. “Show me exactly how and where you want to be touched. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
She gives Clorinde’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and Clorinde feels her shoulders drop. She didn’t even realize the tension she carried in them—years worth, probably. How fitting for Navia to lay her bare yet again.
Moving her hand from the sheet, Clorinde loosely grasps Navia's wrist. Silence fills the room.
Letting Navia look at her and looking in return, without a word, Clorinde places Navia’s palm so that it rests over her left breast–right over her heart.
Navia smiles warmly. “I see,” she says, and clear fondness dances over each enunciated syllable. “Can I?”
“Yes,” Clorinde says, barely audible, and Navia then runs her thumb over a peaked nipple, taking care to watch Clorinde’s reaction. And oh—it feels good. She’s all too receptive to Navia’s touch and Navia is aware of this. But the blonde has no pride over it, just takes her thumb and index finger and rolls the bud between them gently. Clorinde hears herself moan.
“You sound so pretty,” Navia coos, and moves her body down until she’s hovering over Clorinde’s breasts. “Let me show you exactly how I feel about you,” Navia finishes, and she carefully lowers her face until she is kissing Clorinde’s chest.
Navia presses kisses over Clorinde’s heart like she’s trying to reach it; as if she could quietly tell the tenderest part of Clorinde that she is adored through the movement of her lips alone. In response Clorinde feels herself arching off the bed, curving further into Navia’s touch.
Kissing up to the top of her breast once again, Navia takes the hard nipple into her mouth and flicks her tongue against it. To ground herself Clorinde threads her fingers through Navia’s damp curls, letting herself pull her hair slightly when Navia’s teeth graze a sensitive spot amidst her lavishing. Navia has never complained about pain in bed and wouldn’t start now.
The movements of Navia’s tongue begin to border on overstimulating, however, and Clorinde pulls Navia’s curls once again, a bit firmer, to indicate that she’s finished with that. Navia rises and moves back up her body with a flushed grin. Yeah, she certainly isn’t bothered by the pain.
“Guide me again,” Navia says quietly into her ear.
With one slow, measured movement, Clorinde grasps Navia’s wrist and brings her open hand down to her center. Navia gasps, her hand barely touching her folds, not straying beyond where Clorinde lets her.
“You’re wet,” Navia says breathlessly, and Clorinde nods against her shoulder. “Did I do this?” she asks. The question isn’t teasing, rather it is unbearably genuine.
“Yes,” Clorinde breathes out, “you did this to me.”
“And what do you want me to do to you?” Navia says, and her voice has that solid gold Spina conviction behind it. Yet it isn’t cocky, or even playful in that warm way she regards her loved ones. Her voice is colored with something reverent, something loyal down to the marrow of her. Navia is putting her soul on the line too.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to, Clorinde,” she finishes, and wordlessly Clorinde jerks her hand closer until Navia is making contact with her clit.
It’s like electricity shoots through her as soon as it's touched, every nerve lit up with Navia. Clorinde can hear herself panting and she can’t tell if it’s from tension or the sheer want that bodies her, strips her clean.
“ Fuck me, Navia,” Clorinde says, and Navia gently begins to rub a thumb over her.
“Like this?” she asks, but Clorinde is just nodding into her neck again, completely loved and in love. Every part of her glows under Navia’s ministrations.
Navia continues to maneuver against her clit, pressing firm circles into the nerve. She hits a particularly good angle and Clorinde gasps, nails digging into Navia’s shoulder. If Navia is bothered by the pressure she doesn’t say anything, rather she just kisses the shell of Clorinde’s ear.
“Can I enter you?” Navia asks fervently, and Clorinde sighs out an agreement. She lets go of Navia’s wrist, and the other woman’s newly relinquished hand parts dewy folds to probe curiously at Clorinde’s entrance. The clit stimulation will be missed, but having Navia inside her feels crucial—like she’d die if she had to be anywhere else other than right here, unmade by Navia’s hands alone.
Navia rests her forehead against Clorinde’s and it's intimate in a pleasantly sticky way. They will need to bathe again once this is all over. However slowly Navia’s index finger is pushing through the resistance of her entrance, and Clorinde loses that train of thought.
“I would never hurt you,” Navia says, and it’s an oath, both of them sworn to each other. “I would die before doing that again,” and it’s true, it’s the truest thing she’s ever known—but soon that index finger is curling against ridged, sensitive walls, and Clorinde swears out loud as she sees stars.
Soft moans fill their bedroom as Navia continues to crook her fingers inside Clorinde. “Another finger,” Clorinde demands, and Navia chuckles.
“Anything for you,” and her middle finger slides into Clorinde’s cunt without resistance.
Clorinde shudders, she is so sensitive to Navia’s touch, just as she has always been keen for Navia’s eyes and presence alone. Briefly, she recognizes that she’s probably dripping outside of herself, leaking wetness onto the bed sheets that will have to be replaced and remade after their liaison ends. But in this moment there is just the pleasant motion of Navia beckoning inside her, filling her up in a way that Clorinde didn’t know she needed until now.
“Don’t stop,” Clorinde says, practically speaking automatically, and Navia pistons her fingers into the deepest part of her, switching from curling to thrusting. Clorinde cries out as she lets the pleasure overtake her.
Absentmindedly Clorinde realizes that Navia has picked up on the things she has typically done to her , and really Clorinde only has herself to blame for this monster she’s created; this stunning woman who is insanely good at sex as she is at most things. Navia will tease her for this later, she’s sure. Yet when she opens her eyes Navia is looking at her with unbroken adoration, and Clorinde doesn’t feel mocked at all.
Navia’s mouth is slightly agape, her eyes sparkling with what can only be described as awe. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Navia breathes out, ever the romantic. “I could look at you forever.” She moves her head to layer kisses on the fragile skin of Clorinde’s neck, and Clorinde sighs, knowing she is in good hands.
The feeling is all-consuming, and when Navia’s fingers slide fast against a deep part of her that feels particularly sensitive Clorinde feels her toes curl and her eyes screw shut.
“I’m getting close, Navia,” she pants out, and Navia ceases her kisses on Clorinde’s throat to lock their lips together, the slip of tongue against tongue. It’s a brief kiss, but lovely because Navia is a passionate lover, and with what can only be described as dutifulness senses what Clorinde needs. Clorinde is not the only one who has been studying the other’s body with devoted eyes.
“Come for me, darling,” Navia whispers.
Neither of them has dared to say I love you yet, not after wounds are still mending after years of hurt. They have come a long way, but certain things still feel mutually off-limits. But maybe this is edging near it, their bodies interlocked in a wordless vow to each other. Clorinde knows Navia feels it just as much as she does.
As always they are bound to each other, and if Clorinde sinks she wants to sink with Navia.
The pleasure reaches a final apex, and Clorinde feels her body convulse as she comes in Navia’s arms. She utterly surrenders to the feeling, to the soft nothings Navia whispers to her as she releases, and it’s wonderful, she realizes, to put down her worries for a brief moment. There is just Navia against her, solid and real and carrying her through the depths of the sensation. That empty and monochrome room that has long haunted her fills to the brim with every color imaginable.
Eventually, Clorinde comes down, and Navia slows her fingers to a stop. Clorinde blinks her eyes open. The blonde is looking at her eagerly, mouth turned up into a dopey smile. So much for Clorinde being the one with the silly smile.
“What is it?” Clorinde asks. She’s still breathless, basking in the aftermath of an orgasm, but being sarcastic with Navia feels achievable and tempting once again. Navia rolls her eyes.
“You were so cute for a moment there and now you’re back to teasing me!”
“Try to be less easy to tease, then,” Clorinde deadpans, and Navia scoffs.
“Whatever, at least I can do this,” Navia says, and casually removes her slick fingers from inside Clorinde and brings them up into her mouth. She languishes her tongue over them for a moment before bringing her two fingers out of her lips with a pop.
“You taste good,” Navia husks, and shoots her a dark, lidded look that in any other circumstance would result in Clorinde jumping to alert and pinning Navia to the bed for a few hours until they both were satisfied. Unfortunately for them both, Clorinde is exhausted.
A tender feeling settles in Clorinde’s chest. Navia is perched above her, face red and blonde hair mussed from Clorinde’s tugging. For ages, she has known that she would willingly give Navia anything, and yet for the first time Clorinde realizes that all Navia would truly want is for her to stay.
Maybe now she can do that. There is much to learn between the two of them, and surely more time will pass before either of them says the word ‘love.’ But staying feels right, comfortable even.
For once Clorinde wants to be selfish. She wants Navia all to herself, by her side endlessly, their breathing effortlessly in sync. Instead of saying this, she just loops her arms around Navia’s shoulders and drags her into an embrace.
Navia yelps but soon settles into her arms. They’re meant to be like this, not quite puzzle pieces but still easily fit together. Clorinde breathes in the clean smell of soap and shampoo and kisses Navia’s cheek.
“Thank you,” she says, and while Clorinde can’t see Navia’s expression she can practically imagine the confused look she has right now.
“What for?”
“Everything. For being here. For always being here. For letting me be here,” Clorinde breathes out in a rare moment of honesty.
Navia strokes her cheek, and Clorinde leans into it. This time she has no shame about welcoming Navia’s touch.
“Always,” Navia whispers, intuitively understanding every part of Clorinde like she so easily does, and grasps her tighter. Neither of them will let go.