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Lyra can’t help the acute feeling of guilt as she takes in Wyll’s form laid out on a cold hardwood floor, mere meters away from the perfectly appropriate bed.
“Wyll, please, that can’t possibly be comfortable.”
“You worry too much.” He waves a hand and smiles. “Seriously, I’m fine. I’ve slept in worse places- that one time where I had to hunt down a Banshee that was terrorizing a poor farmer’s...” he trails off, smiling sheepishly at the woman before him. “Well, that is a story for another time.”
Wyll clears his throat and rolls over, laying his head back down on his backpack. “Rest well.”
Even as he’s now facing away from her, he can still hear a small “huff” from her direction, followed by the sound of footsteps. He smiles contentedly at that; he’ll feel better knowing she’s comfortable.
He begins to muse on the previous weeks, along with her various complaints about how thin the bedrolls were, or how there was such a terrible lack of soap in the places their adventure has taken them so far.
His thoughts are, however, interrupted by a pillow being thrown at his head.
He quickly snaps his head back, and is met by the woman he was just thinking about, carrying another pillow, as well as a blanket.
Wyll blinks up at her. “What are—?”
He stops, stares at the young sorceress before him, then lets out an incredulous laugh. “You are ridiculous.”
She sets herself down next to him, shivering a bit— she’s shed most of her traveling gear by now, Wyll notes appreciatively— then offers him a soft smile.
“You know how they say, if you can’t bring the horse to the orchard, bring him apples.”
Wyll grins in spite of himself, then laughs softly. “That’s not... that’s not at all how the saying goes.”
He nudges Lyra’s shoulder with his. “It’s funny, though. So you get a pass.”
She blinks. “How… how does it go?”
“It’s ‘you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.’ Which is to say... you can provide someone with an opportunity or the means to do something, but whether or not they do so is up to them.”
The woman just grins. "I got the horse part right!"
“Mhm.”
“You are the horse.” With that, she lays down next to him, gaze fixed on the ceiling above— she thinks it’s in dire need of some maintenance, but you can’t ask much of the random inns you come across as adventurers, she supposes.
However, Lyra’s focus quickly shifts to how damn uncomfortable this floor is; she can’t believe Wyll insists on sleeping down here!
She taps his arm to get his attention, and when he turns to look at her, she pouts the best she can.
"Can you stop being stubborn now and get into the bed with me?"
Wyll laughs and rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.
“I’m fine.” He smiles at her and nudges her shoulder yet again. “Now go to sleep.”
She pouts even more at that.
"Wyyyyll. I can be even more stubborn. We either both take the bed or neither of us does."
She pauses to shift uncomfortably on the cold, hard floor, trying to look miserable enough. "But that doesn't mean I won't complain about the sleeping conditions."
He sighs— she’s already giddy, she knows she won— and rubs at his face for a moment before grinning. “You know what? You’re right.”
“We should both get comfortable tonight.” He rolls to his feet in one motion, then bends down to offer Lyra a hand.
She claps her hands together in joy. "Yay! Yes! Absolutely!" she exclaims while taking the hand he offered.
He tugs her to her feet, but as she rises, she groans, rubbing one of her shoulders with her free hand.
“Is your back alright?”
“This floor sucks.”
Wyll’s gaze roams over her shoulder, then he smiles sheepishly. “I can try and ease that ache for you, if you want.”
She blinks.
“A massage,” he offers.
“Oh!” Her face breaks into a sly smile, "It would be terribly rude of me to refuse."
Wyll chuckles and lets go of her hand. “Rude, indeed.”
The man steps around her and gingerly places a hand between her shoulder blades. He quickly gets to work, calloused fingers beginning a firm, yet gentle, massage. Lyra relaxes into his warm, steady touch, and basically melts as he moves from her upper back and down her spine, then back up again. The warlock works his hands in a steady, slow rhythm, making sure to spend enough time at a spot before moving onto the next one.
As she relaxes more and more, Lyra’s shoulders sag and her head leans back. When his fingers gradually slow down, she can’t help but be disappointed.
She turns back towards him, and is greeted by the softest of smiles. “Did that help?”
The sorceress can’t help but blush at how earnest he looks in that moment. “Wyll, you must let me return the favour; the massage. You laid on that floor too, after all.”
“Oh really? I must?” He raises an eyebrow, his lips twisted into a smug smile. “In that case, I’ll just have to let you. You’re quite persistent.”
She makes a sort of ‘grabby-hands’ motion. "Turn your back towards me, mister.”
Wyll’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh ho. Mister, is it?”
However, he still turns around with a light laugh, facing away from Lyra. “There.”
She reaches upwards and rests her hands on top of his shoulders, but, instead of starting the massage, she simply tuts.
"Oh, no, I absolutely can't work with this... Wyll?" She taps one of his shoulders so that he'll look back at her.
“Lyra?” His look is one of concern, too earnest for what soon follows.
Her face is flushed, but there is a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Ahem. I simply can't work my massage magic with all this fabric... and leather..." She follows with the deadliest weapon in her entire arsenal: her irresistible puppy eyes. "It'd just be so much easier if you took your clothes off."
Wyll looks at her in shock for a moment, but he can’t entirely hide his smirk*. She really is something else*, he thinks.
Then, without a further word, he swiftly removes his jerkin and throws it onto the floor, leaving him wearing nothing but a thin beige shirt underneath.
He gives her a small wink. “Happy?”
She lets out a giggle. "Okay, you may turn around again."
Wyll turns back around, trying with varying degrees of success to conceal his embarrassment at having taken the clothes off.
His attention is glued to Lyra’s fingers on his shoulders, and the sensation of a massage building up. “That’s the spot,” he says, almost in a whisper. “That’s the spot right there.”
His words and tone make her breath catch and her face warm. She clears her throat quietly and continues working to ease the tense muscle beneath her hands, all the while marveling at just how built he is for a warlock.
Wyll sighs as her fingers expertly curl into his shoulder. His eyes squeeze shut in a show of appreciation.
“Oh that... yes, just like that,” he murmurs, a pleased purr escaping from behind his clenched teeth. Even through his shirt, Lyra can feel the texture of his muscles. They ripple with every movement, and some spots are taut like steel.
Wyll is obviously tense, and her touch is more than welcome.
Her cheeks glow brighter and, eventually, her fingers slow down, the massage coming to its end.
He turns towards her and meets her gaze. Her cheeks are a light pink as she offers a quick smile.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” Wyll shoots her a bright grin.
Her following smile is bashful. “Of course I know.”
Wyll rolls his shoulders, marveling at the newfound lack of tension. The massage was exactly what he needed, but he struggles not to think about how... intimate... the whole ordeal felt.
"Thank you," Wyll whispers softly, his gaze still fixed firmly on hers. "I needed that."
"It's only fair." she breaks their eye contact, instead opting to fiddle with a lock of her hair, her fingers seemingly restless. "Ahem, so... sleep? Sleepy time?”
Wyll can't help but smile at that and nod.
"Sleepy time." He says.
With that, he grabs the blanket and pillows she previously dumped on the floor beside him, but doesn’t make any move towards the bed.
He looks back towards Lyra then, her fingers still messing with her hair, braiding a few strands together.
“You— you can take the bed, you know.” He glances up at her, still slightly hesitant about the situation. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Her hands suddenly halt their braiding. "Wyll," she begins, "must we go over all this again?"
She pokes a finger into his chest, cheeks slightly reddening at the solid muscle she finds herself coming into contact with. "We both need our beauty sleep. End of discussion."
He lets out a light chuckle, his gaze shifting from the offending finger towards the sorceress’ face. Lyra’s cheeks are a shade darker now, her blush extending all the way to her neck.
“Oh? Is that an order?” he asks playfully.
The warlock’s grin widens as he takes a step towards her, the blanket and pillows dropping to the floor once more.
“Y… Yes. One you should respect.” she appears flustered, but doesn’t make a move to retreat from him.
Wyll’s gaze falls down to her lips then, and he leans in closer until their faces are mere centimeters apart. His voice is deep and almost husky, his words whispered across her lips.
“You’re quite bossy. It’s a good look on you, though.”
She blinks, taken aback by the sudden closeness, and places a firm hand on his chest.
“Bossy?” she says, as if in a haze.
Wyll’s grin widens, his breath tickling her lips. “Oh? Would you prefer ‘demanding’ instead?”
He is close enough to feel her eyelashes tickle against his cheek as she darts her eyes all over his face.
“I’ve been called worse…” she finally says, with a small chuckle, that he can’t quite tell if it’s forced or not.
A hand gently cups her chin, his calloused thumb brushing across her soft, pink cheeks.
“Not by me, I'll wager. I can think of a other, better descriptors for you." The warlock leans his head towards her pointed ear, murmuring against the sensitive skin.
"Powerful. Intelligent. Beautiful... Enchanting. Divine.”
Lyra’s eyebrows shoot up. “Divine?”
The warlock’s answer is a soft chuckle that sends a thrill right through her. He gives a soft peck to her pointed ear and she fights against the resulting shudder.
“Divine.” he whispers, “a goddess taken form.”
She can’t help giggling at that. “Ridiculous man!” But her mirth is interrupted by Wyll’s lips slowly moving from her ear, to her cheeks, stopping right at the edge of her lips.
He looks into her eyes, an unspoken question between them. Lyra nods softly, then his lips finally press against her own, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her body against his.
He pulls his head away from the kiss for a brief moment, his mouth trailing down her soft, pale skin — to her chin; then her neck, nipping softly at the sensitive flesh.
The sorceress's breath seems to catch in her throat as Wyll pulls her even to him, leaving tender kisses all across her neck all the while.
She sighs into his embrace, her fingers clutching at his thin undershirt.
He pulls his head from her neck, his warm breath still brushing across the skin. The warlock’s eyes find hers once again, their lips meeting once more, this time for longer as he gently picks her up and carries her towards the bed.
He lays her down on the firm mattress, slowly breaking their kiss as he pulls back to look at her— really look at her. He wants to take in every detail of the woman before him.
Long dark hair contrasts against her fair skin. A pretty face, littered with light freckles, framed by high, proud cheekbones. Sharp, pointed ears, and plump lips, reddened even more than normal from their kiss. Wyll can’t resist shooting her a grin of sheer appreciation.
“You’re beautiful, you know?” he breathes.
“I’ve been told.” she gives him a coy smile in response. “You’re beautiful too, Wyll.”
“Am I?” He lets out a light chuckle.
Wyll's eyes continue to roam the sorceress's face, his fingers tracing along the soft skin of her face.
The moment feels so peaceful to the warlock. For the first time in what feels like ages, the voices in his head are mercifully silent; he doesn’t have to think about Mizora, or the tadpole.
He leans his face closer towards Lyra, just inches from her own, their eyes still trained on each other.
Her eyes soften as she takes him in. "You must have been told that before, right?”
Wyll is quiet for a moment. "Only by people that had to say it." He laughs bashfully.
"You don't have to stroke my ego, you know," he adds, "it's just nice hearing it come from you."
Lyra chuckles. "Me? Stroke your ego? You already do that enough yourself.”
The warlock smirks at her teasing.
Another moment passes in silence. Their faces are still hovering inches from one another. The air around them is thick with anticipation.
"I want to kiss you again." he murmurs.
The woman's expression turns serious yet again, and she moves to wrap her free arm around his shoulder, nails lightly scratching at his back.
"Please." she breathes.
Without hesitation, Wyll leans in closer towards her rosy lips. He presses his mouth against hers, his lips moving against her own. Their arms wrap around one another, taking the time to explore the other person.
The moment seems to go on and on, neither wanting to break away from the kiss. But it has to end, eventually. Wyll finally pulls away, his breath uneven and his mind hazy.
She smiles brightly and gives him a quick peck. "Thank you. That was... nice. Incredibly nice.”
"Hah, incredibly, terribly, extremely nice." A moment passes where he simply takes in the beauty of the sorceress laid out before him. But he can’t help his thoughts from drifting to the inevitable, to what comes after this sweet, romantic moment.
“So…” he clears his throat before continuing. “What now? We get some rest for our adventure tomorrow?”
He manages to keep his tone even, but she can see from his expression: he’s nervous.
Her cheeks redden slightly.
"We should, shouldn't we?"
Wyll nods in agreement. “Yes… we probably should.”
A slightly uncomfortable silence passes between the two. Both are well aware of the elephant in the room— what does this mean for them?
The warlock clears his throat. “Lyra… um…” he starts, flustered. “I have a question.”
She blinks up at him. "I might have an answer.”
Wyll shifts away from her and onto the bed, as he takes several moments to decide just how to phrase the question. He’s careful to choose his words with care.
"I care for you.” he begins, and she inhales sharply, but doesn’t interrupt him. “I wasn’t exaggerating with what I said before; you are all of those things, beautiful, powerful. Yes, even divine.” he chuckles, bashfully.
“I would like for us to be together, officially— I have hoped for that, for a while, but especially after this…”
He moves closer to her again, brushing a hand against her cheek. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing, you know.”
The sorceress can’t help it; her eyes start watering.
“Wyll.” she breathes shakily.
The warlock is startled— did he make her cry?
"Are you okay?" he softly asks her, wiping away her tears with a gentle touch.
Lyra, for her part, seems more than a little bit embarrassed. But she still nods slowly. Wyll's expression softens.
"Tell me," he says gently, "Is that something you want?" he pauses.
She huffs out a quick laugh, even with her tears still rolling down against her cheeks. “Wyll, you have no idea…”
The woman sniffles, quickly dabbing at her wet eyes.
“It’s all I dreamed of.”
Wyll looks at her, her flushed cheeks, her teary eyes. The sorceress’ genuine, emotional response wasn’t what he expected from her— some amount of sarcasm, or perhaps deflecting her true feelings with humour, definitely yes. But not this.
He presses a gentle kiss to her still-wet cheeks.
“You have the softest cheeks, you know that?” he says in a light tone, hoping to make her laugh.
Lyra can't help but chuckle at that.
He presses another comforting kiss against the flushed skin of her cheeks.
"You're alright, love." he murmurs quietly.
"L-love?" She stutters. "I...”
“I think I would like to call you that, if you don’t mind,” he admits with a sheepish smile.
“By now, we’re already well past a simple ‘friendship,’ aren’t we?” he says softly. “It might be too soon, but…” he lets the words trail off.
He takes a deep breath, his heart hammering widly against his chest.
She feels breathless. "Is that how you feel? You… love me?"
A rush of emotions run through Wyll; just hearing the words pass her lips— and not having her pull away or run away as he expected her to— makes him feel overwhelmed in all the best ways.
"I do..." he pauses, "More than I think I loved anyone before." he leans in closer to her. He slowly reaches out and takes her hand in his, caressing her, his touch a soothing balm.
An earnest smile paints her face. "I love..." Her breath hitches, and soft tears keep rolling down her cheeks.
He looks at her so patiently, though, not wanting to rush her or force her to say anything. It makes her heart want to burst through her chest.
“If this is what love is," she begins, "this feeling of warmth, of getting home after a long and arduous journey, then yes. I do. I love you, Wyll.”