Chapter Text
Kiss me once
Then, kiss me twice
Then, kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time
And she believed him.
They sat for a few moments in silence. Eugenides reached to take her hand again and she did not resist. He rubbed his thumb gently across her knuckles, then looked up at her, smiling a little shyly. “May I...kiss you?”
“You didn’t ask me the last time,” Attolia replied impassively. She remembered the rain drumming on the roof of a tent and her determination to face her death without flinching.
He looked down, closing his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze squarely. “I am sorry,” he said humbly. “It was badly done. I thought I was going to die, and I...I just wanted to kiss the woman I loved one time.” He shook his head a little, his gaze distant, and she knew he too was remembering that feeling of hopelessness.
She sighed. “It is my fault you expected to die, after all. It was badly done on both our parts.” Her gaze softened. “I am sorry as well. For...so many things.”
She looked sad, and Eugenides had no desire to spend any more time dwelling on painful memories. “Let us not speak of the past. I want to think about our future. And I am asking,” he emphasized, “may I kiss you?”
Attolia nodded, feeling oddly shy as well. She had little experience with kissing. Her former fiancé had kissed her only a handful of times, preferring the welcoming embraces of his many mistresses to her sharp bones and angles, for which she was profoundly grateful. She had endured his unwelcome touch stoically, showing no sign of how much she hated him, knowing that any sign of resistance on her part would only excite him. She had felt nothing but a cold distaste at the feel of his lips on hers. She imagined it was different if you actually loved someone, or even found them attractive.
She glanced at Eugenides’s lips, admitting to herself that she did in fact find him quite attractive, if the warm feeling that washed over her were any indication, and as he sat up and leaned towards her slowly, giving her time to change her mind, she surprised herself by suddenly lurching forward to meet him halfway.
Their noses bumped together awkwardly. Attolia stiffened and flushed a little, always hating to look foolish, but Eugenides apologized. “Sorry, I...don’t have a lot of experience with this,” he said wryly. She blinked, surprised as much at the admission as the information. She felt a surge of affection and her shoulders relaxed. “Neither do I, but...it cannot be that hard to figure out, can it?” He laughed and she smiled slightly, amused in spite of herself.
Reaching out, he put his hand on her cheek to hold it steady, then tilted his head slightly and leaned towards her, closing his eyes. She closed her eyes as well, and this time their mouths met instead of their noses.
His lips were warm and firm, yet soft. It was pleasant, though rather brief. He pulled back with a bemused expression, looking at her with awe, as though she were a figment of his imagination, or a dream, sure to vanish like mist in the morning light. Suddenly it was very important to Attolia that he see her, the real flesh and blood woman that she was. Moving to sit next to Eugenides on the bed, she slid her hands up to his shoulders and pulled him towards her.
She pressed her lips to his, then parted them slightly and impulsively swept her tongue across his upper lip. He made a small sound of surprised delight and kissed her back enthusiastically. He pulled her closer and she melted against him, feeling warm and alive and happy, and she thought it would be wonderful to feel this way forever. Giving up any attempt at rational thought, she let the madness sweep her away as he kissed her again, and she threaded her fingers through his soft curls and met his intensity with her own.
Attolia did not know how much time had passed when Eugenides reluctantly released her lips and leaned his forehead against hers, breathing unevenly. Slowly she became aware that she had tumbled half on top of him. She sat up, flustered, and smoothed her hair nervously. She wondered with growing alarm what was happening to her. Glancing toward her, his dark eyes wide, Eugenides looked as shaken as she felt.
Standing up, Attolia took a few steps backwards, then, composing herself, she regarded him coolly. “You should rest. I will see you later.”
He nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
She turned to the door behind her and pushed it open but paused at the threshold, head bowed. She did not look back. “It’s… Irene,” she said in almost a whisper, then more firmly, “My name is Irene.” And with a swish of her skirts she was gone.