Work Text:
Night after night, in the familiar confines of his home in Waterdeep, Gale fell asleep alone. He had, over time, grown accustomed to the way his body could stretch across the entire width of his bed. The only sounds he heard were whatever filtered in through the window in his bedroom that he always left cracked open, the ocean waves breaking against the dock nearby, the calling of birds, the blowing of the sea breeze, and occasionally the sound of Tara’s fur brushing against the covers he hid under from the bright and wild world outside.
It's the quiet he misses, mostly. The wilderness is never quiet, and try as he might he can’t get used to all the noise. Trees overhead rustling, branches snapping, campfire crackling, so much crosstalk from his new companions speaking over one another that their sentences merge and he catches only snippets, distorting meaning, losing context, overwhelming.
And, breathing. He holds his own breath for a moment to listen to the breathing of the warm body beside him, laying on a bedroll on a patch of dirt in what could be considered a clearing in the woods, if he was being generous. Which he is. He is being very generous, for someone who hadn’t had to share anything in over a year, to suddenly be sharing not only his bedroll but also most of his personal space and his body too.
Shadowheart’s breathing is slow, so slow that he thinks she may have fallen asleep. Her body is slightly draped over his, her other half on the ground, so her every movement is felt by some part of him. His own breathing is bordering on shallow. He starts to shift to move her gently off of him when her arm snakes around his waist suddenly.
“Trying to make a quick getaway?” she asks. Her voice is low. He can barely hear it over the whispering of the wind through the trees that circle them.
“Not quite,” he says. He stops moving. Her arm only tightens around him, pulling him closer to her. “I thought you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you with all my fidgeting.”
“Sure,” she says. She shifts until she’s more than half draped over him now, her lips touching his collarbone, moving as she speaks and sending a shiver down his spine that he can’t hide no matter how much he tries. “I suppose this is your method, waiting until your lover is asleep and then darting off to… where?”
“My tent?” he offers.
He feels her lips curve into a smile against his skin. “Because that patch of dirt is so much more comfortable than this one?”
Her voice is light, teasing. Her tone smoothes out the wrinkles on his forehead. He finds himself smiling.
“And quieter,” he adds.
“Oh, of course, yes, much quieter.” Her lips drag across his collarbone, onto the mark of the orb that sits just under the base of his throat. Another shiver passes through him. Slowly, he places his arm around her too, his hand settling on the soft skin of her lower back.
“Maybe not quiet exactly,” he says, staring up at the gaps in the tree cover overhead, at the starlight that filters through. “Perhaps private is the word I’m looking for. More private.”
Shadowheart withdraws a little, lifting her head from his chest. The skin she was touching suddenly feels cold.
“Do you want to be alone?” she asks him.
“No. No! I don’t.” He pulls her closer, back down to lay her head on him. Her hair cascades across his body. He’s covered in her, covered by her. The memory of him inside her bursts through his thoughts like a door slammed open. He loses his train of thought.
“Then where were you going?” she asks. Her voice sounds small now.
He shifts until she’s on top of him again, her chest flush with his, her hair falling on either side of them, covering them like a curtain against the moonlight and the orange glow of the fire in the distance, back at camp. He can pretend they’re the only people here, far away from everyone else, as isolated as he was back at his tower in his miserable self imposed exile. The sight of her hovering over him fills him with tenderness. He cranes his neck up and kisses her forehead.
“I just wanted a moment to process… what we did,” he says haltingly.
She raises her eyebrows. “Gale. Have you been with other mortals before this?”
His cheeks heat up. “Yes, of course I have. It’s just….”
“Just, you’re having second thoughts?”
He feels her withdraw again. His arm tightens around her, holding her in place, holding her close to him.
“I’m ruining this,” he mutters. “Listen. I’ve been alone for a while. All this adventure is completely unexpected. And finding you, even more unexpected. And somewhat overwhelming.”
She shifts against him, readjusting herself on top of him. Her hair tickles his face. He thinks of all the times he’s imagined how she looks with her hair down and realizes how much there is left about her to discover, to uncover.
“Good overwhelming or bad?” she asks.
“Good,” he says quickly. “Very good.”
She smiles. His face feels hot enough to burn her skin as he cranes his neck again to kiss her. She leans into him, close enough that he can feel her heartbeat through his own chest, pounding as hard as his.
“That’s good,” she says. There’s something forceful about how she says the words, as if she doesn’t believe them. “I suppose I can’t compare to a goddess, so good and very good will have to do.”
Before he knows it, as though someone else has suddenly grabbed hold of his body and moved him, he has flipped her onto her back and propped himself over her. Her lips are slightly parted as she takes a breath to reorient herself, and before she can breathe in his mouth is on her, whispering between kisses, “You’re right, you can’t compare to a goddess. No goddess could ever match you.”
He feels her clench, her hands on his chest balling into fists. Bracing herself. He waits for it to pass, but the pain doesn’t seem to hit her, only the anticipation of it. Gently, he takes one of her fists and nudges her fingers apart, pressing a kiss into her open palm.
“Flatterer,” she says against his mouth. Her voice is a little shaky. She clears her throat and says, “How many women have heard that line?”
He pulls away. The sight of her on her back again is distracting. He thinks of the sounds she made when they were making love and presses his tongue to the backs of his teeth.
“You’re the first,” he says, addressing her shoulder, finding a sprinkle of freckles there as he speaks, another discovery. He kisses her there too, earning a soft sigh that travels down the length of his body. Her fingers weave through his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. He trails kisses down her arm, pulling her hand out of his hair so he can kiss her fingers, uncovering another freckle on her elbow, a healing cut on her fingertip, a smudge of dirt or perhaps a healing bruise on her wrist. He catalogs each piece of her that his mouth drags over, skin and beating heart and hot rushing blood, churning thoughts, soft sighs, so real and fleeting and mortal.
Her eyes are steady on his face, all traces of teasing gone. She hooks her leg around his hip and draws him closer. He shudders as he leans into her, pressing his face into her hair and taking a deep, bracing breath.
“I need to process… you,” he tells her, whispers into her hair. “The enormity of you. Of us.”
She wraps her other leg around him. “So do it here. Get out of your head. Be with me.”
He relaxes against her, one limb at a time. Her body is warm and immediate, the air around them is slowly cooling as they fall deeper into the night, and the chatter of their companions can be heard from the distance beyond the trees, brushing against their breathing and the sounds of their skin slipping against each other, all of it blending into an anonymous crosstalk that he can push aside as he lets himself sink into her again and again.