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The battlements were theirs. For a few moments each day, they forgot about all the decisions and missions that needed their attention.
“I need to borrow you,” she would say when she came to his office. He would smile and put down his work.
“I am yours,” he would reply.
They would walk along the battlements hand in hand until they were at that one corner where hardly a guard ever crossed their path. The two crates there were not comfortable, but it was enough to sit on. He would tell her about his day so far, she would do the same. Sometimes, when she had been away for a long time, they barely talked at all. Just held each other close. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other hand holding hers. Her head resting against his chest, savouring his scent.
And they would kiss.
Maker, they would melt into kisses. Long, slow burning kisses. Sometimes sweet and tender, sometimes rough and hungry. With hands gripping hair, or just feeling the other’s heartbeat through their clothes. It felt almost a little forbidden, to share these intimate moments when they both had such important matters to attend to. But in these minutes when they were up here together, there was nothing more important than feeling each other, tasting each other.
Some days, the kisses started abrupt and without hesitation. She would grab his collar and pull him down, crushing his lips to hers, hard and fierce. She would all but sit on his lap, her hands in his hair, their lips hungry for the taste of the other. Tongues meeting in excited strokes.
Other days – like today – the kisses were slower. They would sit side by side for a long while, caressing hands with fingertips. She would look up, brush her lips along his jawline, his cheeks, warm and soft. Their lips would meet softer then, she would brush hers over his gently, kiss his scar. Her hands would cup his face, fingertips stroking his earlobes, sending shivers down his spine, heat that burned the air he was breathing before it could reach his lungs. His tongue would run over her lips, tasting fruit on them. He would gently pull her lower lip between his, suckle just a little, to make her moan sweetly before he would tilt his head to close their kiss. He would do so with a deep breath, inhaling her scent and taste as his arms wrapped around her, pressing her body against his. Her breath would be just as heavy, as slow, languid strokes of his tongue met hers. His hands travel up and down her sides slowly, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through her. These kisses could last forever and ever, he would never tire of them, would never tire of the way she felt in his arms, the way she tasted.
He would only pull away for a moment, only long enough to let the words she had drawn on his tongue tumble from his lips, panting against her lips, hot breaths mingling.
“I love you.”
“Mmmhh…” she would hum back into his kiss, hands in his hair, hips rolling against his. Just for him to pull away before he could no longer control his longing for her. A smirk would curl up his lips as he would slip away, holding her hands until the last moment before he had to turn away. He could hear her frustrated huff behind him, then the ‘Love you, too’ she whispers just before he is out of hearing range.
He returns to his work with a smile and the taste of her lips on his, a promise for something more once the work was done.