Chapter Text
The shifting of slight weight on his chest startled him, nearly making him jump up in a fervour to assess his surroundings. Miraak could not initially make out much in the darkness, but after a moment of his eyes adjusting, he was surprisingly grateful for the small light that Odette had insisted on keeping on to sleep. Within the subtle pink lighting, he could see the room they stayed in, and did not need to squint into the darkness in a cold sweat to determine if he was back in Apocrypha. To further his surprise, it was the same weight which calmed him back to reality, to recognize the absence of danger and realize what the movement was.
Odette had migrated to laying on him.
Her thigh had been nestled between his legs, and he could feel the innermost part of her pelvis pressed to his hip. The shifting must have been her slipping from further on his chest, tucked half-against his side with her breasts pushed against his ribs. Her hand laid delicately on his sternum, and her head was using his axillary artery as a pillow. The arm in question was completely numb and tingly, but he didn’t dare move it or her.
Miraak felt every crevice and curve of her body that was pressed to him, but nothing had felt more intimate than her breath. Every gentle inhale and exhale, the slightest brush of her air grazing his bare skin, touching his neck with the lightness of a feather. He could not keep himself from concentrating on her breathing; the feel of her ribcage expanding slightly and more apparently touching his, the few muted hums she exhaled while she dreamt, her cold breath against his slowly-warming skin.
Her steady heartbeat had been one thing, thumping rhythmically in her chest like the steady flap of a bird’s wings, but the sound of her breathing and the feel of her body was completely new to him. She was so peaceful and calm, serene, and her lungs were only a showcase of that.
It did not take long for Miraak to inhale when she did, to sync their breaths and truly feel connected with her. Their chests rose as one, fell together. He felt a sort of oneness that he never thought he would experience with another living soul.
Inhale, exhale. Pause. Inhale, exhale. Pause.
It became second nature to him, as if this was always the way he was meant to breathe. He could not remember how he existed before.
Miraak wondered then, if when she awoke that she would be frightened, fearful of being so close to clawed hands and a mouth of sharp teeth. To be so peacefully asleep, completely at ease despite sleeping on something with claws and a tail—it felt like a fantasy. He was merely waiting for her to wake from her slumber and scramble away, to flee and put as much distance between them as possible.
Until then, he did not move, and simply listened, experienced her breathing—basked in it, even. He could think of no greater glory.