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She’s learned the shape of his body from afar.
She’s familiarized herself with the lines of his shoulder blades, with how it all transforms and morphs depending on the movement of his arms, even the one that is partially gone. The way the ink on his skin seems to flow when he moves, creating slightly different patterns with every new shift of the muscles beneath.
She doesn’t mean to look, doesn’t mean to stare.
Not…rationally.
She’s had many opportunities to stop, and considering how the decision to come here nearly every morning is hers and hers alone, there is no one else to blame. She certainly cannot blame the man she’s been so focused on, considering he has no idea she’s even doing it.
The first time it happened, it was an accident.
She’d come back at the break of dawn, weary from her latest mission. Seeking some adrenaline to chase the drowsiness from her bones, she’d jumped from her Sunwing as it neared the base and glided down. She’d missed both entrances by quite a distance. When she’d walked to the nearest edge, her glider at the ready, she found herself looking at an unexpected sight.
There was a natural clearing several feet below, which opened up East, Plainsong emerging from the early morning mist in the growing light. And there in that clearing was a topless Kotallo, in the middle of some kind of…
Aloy didn’t know how to call it back then. It wasn’t a dance, it wasn’t a training routine either, not exactly. There was a certain rhythm to the way his body moved, one she soon suspected had something to do with his breathing, in turn stretching his arm to the sky, before bending his legs in various poses, his back either straight or rounded.
No, she didn’t mean to look, didn’t mean to stare.
She couldn’t make herself stop.
Like many aspects of Kotallo’s personality, she found the mere act of watching him…soothing. He looked so grounded, so in sync with himself and the world, that the very air around him seemed to vibrate with the quiet energy he was exuding.
And so she watched him evolve as the light changed and the sun broke through, lost in this moment with him, even if he didn’t know she was intruding.
Somehow she liked to think he wouldn’t mind.
That very thought helped her convince herself that it would be okay, to do it again, accidentally on purpose; to get atop the base in the early hours of the day when dark blue shifts to purple, and just…watch him.
She doesn’t know how many times she’s done this, unwilling to keep track of her own transgressions. Enough times to know every pose he takes, and in which order, as he rarely departs from what she eventually comes to think of as his routine. She’s as well-versed with the order in which he makes his body move as she is with the way it moves.
In the end, she can lie to herself all she wants. Truth is, she simply loves watching him, happy to carry on doing this…
…until he puts an end to it.
“You are welcome to join me.”
He’s sitting on the ground that morning, his back straight, his legs crossed in that strange way of his, face tilted toward the rising sun so that his white paint reflects the pink and gold from the sky.
Aloy is so shocked, she’s not entirely sure he’s talking to her at first. He’s never once made any indication that he knew she was there.
When he turns his head and looks up to stare right at her, he confirms he is talking to her indeed. Even from where she is, quite a distance above, she sees the small smirk on his lips, which she takes as a sign that he’s not entirely put off by how she’s been stalking him.
“Come,” he encourages her.
Her warm face stinging in the morning air, Aloy does. She jumps off her perch with her glider, landing a mere few feet away from him. He’s stood back up by the time she joins him.
“How long have you known?” she asks, purposefully keeping her question vague, in the hope that maybe, he only sensed her presence today.
He peers down at her, the smile not entirely gone from his lips. “Long enough.”
Now much closer than she’s ever been during one of his…‘sessions’, she sees the thin sheen of perspiration that has broken through his paint, confirming what she always suspected—that the activity is more strenuous than it seems.
Once again she doesn’t mean to stare, but her eyes fall upon these small beads of sweat slowly trickling down the painted skin of his chest, and this simple display of gravity is oddly fascinating.
Not wanting to be caught gawking, having embarrassed herself enough today, she looks up, only to be caught in his gaze instead.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” she can’t help but ask, her voice strangely breathless.
He stares at her, and truly, this increased proximity is distracting. It is only fair, though, that he would get to stare back, given how long she spent staring at him.
“I like coming here at dawn,” he says quietly. “Doing this with the rising sun helps me find balance within myself. I simply presumed you had your own reasons for remaining up there in silence. I highly doubt I am that fascinating to look at.”
Her face is positively burning, now, and she catches a glimpse of his small, amused smile before she looks away, grimacing a little in embarrassment.
“Sorry if I made things…weird,” she says, almost cringing at her clumsy words. She decides that being honest is the way to go. “I just…I’ve never seen anything like what you’re doing, and I found just watching you go through your routine almost…relaxing.”
She sees him nod once from the corner of her eye.
“It is called yoga,” he says, “and it is meant to be relaxing. It is an Old World practice GAIA suggested to me, to help me with troubled sleep and some pain I’ve been experiencing.”
She looks back at him, and whatever emotions show on her face, it causes him to smile again.
“I am fine,” he tells her before she can ask. “This has helped.” He tilts his head, then, back to observing her. “In truth, I believe this could help you as well.”
She doesn’t even bother with her usual ‘I don’t need help’ rebuttal. They are close companions; he’s very much aware of the lifestyle she leads, and the toll it takes on her.
Still, she feels vulnerable under his piercing gaze, feeling the need to dissipate some of the tension. “No way I’m doing any of that stuff I’ve seen you do,” she says in a joking tone that almost sounds natural. “I’d probably break something.”
He gives a minute shake of his head with another small smile. “I wouldn’t recommend you starting with any of them either. But there are a few simple things you could do, if only to release some of that tension you often seem to be carrying, especially in your upper body. Like controlled, deep core breathing.”
She blinks at him. “Deep core breathing?”
He stares back, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “It means very deep breathing, Commander.”
The smirk is back on his lips, and she squints at him.
“Alright, Marshal,” she says. “How do I…breathe from my core?”
He tilts his head again, considering her question.
“Would you let me show you?”
She’s not entirely sure what he means by showing her, but she’s fairly certain it will involve them getting…closer, a thought that is enough to make her face warm up again.
“Alright,” she says again with a dismissive shrug of her shoulder, as if this was no big deal at all.
He’s moving then, taking a gentle hold of her arm and opposing some pressure so she will turn around, until she’s facing the valley below.
When she would usually have taken a moment or two to appreciate the beauty of the sight before her, how the rising sun is painting the landscape with a whole different palette of colors with every passing minute, all of her focus is on Kotallo.
He stands behind her, close enough for their bodies to nearly touch.
Try as she might, she is powerless to stop a wave of shivers from breaking under her skin when he presses himself to her back, before bringing his hand to her chest, resting his fingertips low on her sternum.
“This is as deep as most people will breathe,” he says, rather close to her ear, and indeed, the way she’s breathing now is pretty shallow, not exactly going past the place where Kotallo’s fingers are touching her.
He makes it significantly worse and better by moving his hand, until his palm is resting low on her abdomen.
“This is where you should breathe from, letting the air all the way down to your core, at your own pace.”
She nods, feeling she should do or say something at this point. Since she definitely cannot speak, a nod seems reasonable enough.
“Breathe with me,” he instructs right into her ear, then, his voice low, that breath of his warm enough for heat to start stirring within her, too.
Her first inhale is neither smooth nor in time with his, understandably distracted by everything going on, her next exhale equally wobbly.
Despite the rush of sensations overtaking her more rational self, Aloy manages to concentrate enough to focus on the rise and fall of his chest behind her…on the way the feel of him increases when he breathes in and holds it in…then lessens when he breathes out.
She finds his rhythm and begins to follow it…in…hold…then out…until her back feels fused to his chest, moving together.
“Deeper,” he tells her, the press of his hand somehow increasing upon her abdomen, his breath now warming up the skin of her neck, and she shudders in his arm.
Somehow she does as instructed, breathing deep in time with him, the air filling up every inch of her lungs, even these inner parts so rarely used.
The feel of his breath upon her neck changes, replaced by his lips…and the warmth of his mouth...her next exhale humming through the morning air.
Despite the now tight wrap of his arm around her waist, his hand no longer on her stomach as he pins her to him instead, they don’t move after that. They simply breathe in…and breathe out…until Aloy is not simply in sync with him.
She’s in sync with herself and the world.