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“I shall… take my leave now.”
“Wait!”
You were probably the only person in Eos bold enough to yank the High Commander of Niflheim by his coattails. Odder was the way he simply followed your lead, as if he’d been the one acting out of turn. You may have been his aide, but sometimes, the Son of Tenebrae was the one running circles around you.
The scent poured over you in the same, warm way he’d run the bath, just for you. Lush lavender and posies of lilac stirred the pool into a bouquet of bubbles with a hint of mint and moonflower. Milky candles spilling their dim light in the darkness and wax melts pooling purple in oil burners set your skin aflush. Fine brass features and pure porcelain carved a comfortable fit, cradling you in its opulence. Just when had he drawn it for you? Had he planned it all along? Wasn’t this his private bathroom? Gosh, how late was it already?
In contrast to your confusion, he regarded you with care — to the layman, with coldness, what with his stern looks and stony edge. You knew better. You knew the soft spot in the snow, a docile moonbeam in the dark eye of the storm. Who needed sunshine? When the night came, he always waxed toward you, a strand of starlit platinum shooting across, framing the pristine planes of his face.
“I need help- uhm… Help. Getting in. I’m scared I’ll slip…”
You were but a moth to a white flame.
He stilled, the heel of his boot and the steel of his arm echoing in the air. The flames of the candles flickered, cowering in fear, their shadows dancing and darting for safety out the window slightly ajar. The evening air calmly wandered in, wondering what all the commotion was about. Teetering on risk and reward, you faced him firmly, despite your fib…truthfully, you had no problem placing yourself.
He swallowed under your stare. The motion within the column of his throat was mesmerizing.
“I suppose I can do that. There is the matter of your…”
Sheer tights wrapped taut around your legs led to a pair of pretty - uncomfortable - high heels, a faux-pearl flush on either pointed tip. A pencil skirt tied you up tighter, a snug blazer and a buttoned-up blouse further squeezing you into a fabric embrace, save for one button undone to allow for breathing. Your chest rose and fell indeed, feeling him full like the moon upon the small, crescent sliver left exposed.
“I shall avert my eyes. Allow me that, at least.”
You laughed as he indeed folded his arms and turned away. He retreated to the corner, the expanse spacious enough to provide him all the respite he apparently needed. White tiles helped hide him and his silver self away, leaving only a shade of rouge to stick out. It grew ever more rosy as you relinquished yourself of your uniform, piece by piece. Each layer freed you from the confines of formality. The second retainer to House Fleuret would return another day, the crest of Tenebrae laying crumpled with the rest of your clothes. For now, you would remain the simple, small-village girl you’d always been. Even your undergarments had been but a plain set, yet it sent the Lord of your House into a coughing fit so fierce, you could have sworn you’d seen a splash of red stain the floor.
Your scents and shyness sent you to your left, where your hazy vision caught up to a canister of salts, in and amongst the candles littering the sill of the window. You resisted the urge to fiddle with the container. Your curiosity however, remained piqued by a lustrous ribbon to the right. Peeling it revealed more salts, but now shaped into a strange snowball shape.
“Lunafreya… called it a bath bomb,” The statue in the corner stated.
You smiled back, neatly returning your hands to your lap. After you unclasped your bra, of course. The vessel fell, along with the rest of your clothes, lacy snowflake down to the cold white tiles. Stepping out of them was the last step, the last line crossed, the last chance he had to run out the room and save the last of both your sanities. You both knew this—you gulped thickly, hands balled into fists, salt slicking upon them, waiting for the inevitable. It was hot, stinging as you stared down, the divot of the water dipping under the pads of your fingers, testing it for its give.
You dared to breach.
“Will you help me in, Rae?”
When his averted gaze met yours, you knew. Of course he would.
Relief simmered up from the pit of your stomach where anxiety had otherwise been aching. It grew into a small gasp as he lifted you, broad body and built arms, one human hand and one metal claw both a hot press to your flesh and a cool shiver down your spine. The dual senses, dual shades, lidded and lowered, sent you further into sensitivity. He stayed away, respectfully, and his modesty only drove you madder, your toes curling, your core coiling. For no matter how much of him you asked for, how much you had stepped where no other had dared to tread, he would always give you just enough to leave you craving for more.
Before you could sink ever deeper, you were promptly plopped into the water.
Foam kept you afloat, lilac and lavender-hued spheres shattering a shimmering display as the light of the moon rendered each one a prism. Some burst, fizzing out freshness as you snuggled into the blanket. Geranium and gentian violet blossoms soaked your nose with all your preferred perfumes. The longer you thought about it, how he could have known, how he’d prepared, the louder your little heart sang.
All the while he’d been watching you wordlessly, taking his seat at the far end, turned toward the ivory pitcher he’d whisked from who-knew-where. As fragrance poured into the emollient foam, filling your eyes with iris and nose with natural oils, he peeked at you from the periphery. The ice surged its blue hue through you, the melted mauve sending you into a sweat. As you suffered, he stood sternly vigilant.
You felt the urge to say something.
“You can look, you know,” You smiled. “There’s nothing to see here.”
“What are you talking about? You’re beautiful.”
“Oh, I meant the foam is… ah…”
“… I see.” He said, after a long time.
Another awkward silence. You, at least, took solace in your ability to turn such a solid man, for lack of a better term, squishy. There was a more eloquent way to put it, one befitting of your station, one more appropriate to be uttered in his presence. There were more eloquent ways to talk to someone like him.
It was then when you started worrying again, if you were acting out of turn, asking too much. Drifting in the depths of doubt, threatening to drown you and all you felt in a deluge of a role you really didn’t think you deserved to have. A role that had seen you plucked from the farthest corner of Piztala, where even in your tiny hometown, tucked away in tall forests and tumbling hills, had a call for the position of retainer to one allegedly ornery Prince, been posted.
Ravus Nox Fleuret had been a bold, brooding sort of man since birth. Even the highest ranks had known to rather give the lone wolf a wide berth, resulting in him remaining his seemingly sheltered and stoic self. A self-fulfilling cycle that you, as the latest attempt, had taken upon to break. Where all others had failed, it had been you, a commoner hired out of sheer desperation, who’d been able to look past the veil, to not mistake coldness for callousness, no matter how thick it had woven itself over the wintry man, and dust off the frost upon his long-forgotten soul. You may have been but his aide, but something more had taken root between the two of you, like a mirage of those mist-blue flowers you’d seen for the first time. You’d stayed at his side ever since.
Imposter syndrome had been second nature. The bath bomb had somehow tumbled down and dissolved into the sparkling sea. You too, began to sizzle away.
And then, he made you whole.
“You’ve worked yourself to the bone again.”
The marble man suddenly became a whole lot more animated, adjusting to face you from the front, the frontier. Slowly he lowered, knelt at your side to serve you. You let out a sigh as you saw him rest his metal arm over the edge, rather letting his human touch explore the tangles tracing your tired eyes. Falling into his palm, the cool surface chilled yet warm and welcome. He wove the weary strands of your once-silken hair between his fingertips, stitching his affection into them, into you.
“You know how it is…”
You could only turn away; he had a point. The moon hung high in the grid of glass. That was the way he loved you—a constant, controlled force, capturing your world with a blinding bolt of light. Pure and demure in its glow over you, a breeze almost too bashful to blow over.
“It is more that I know how you are.“
He had his moments where the storm broke, his shyness making way to reveal nothing but sincerity. Sharp, then soft. A blade wrapped in lace. A kiss, but hushed, a small press, but pounding loud. You could barely keep up, and still you wanted more.
“…Come now, you love it.” You stuttered.
“I do. So rest, lest I lose the one I love most.”
Purple bubbles turned peach as you hid yourself away from the truth so plainly said.
You were, at least, not the only one affected, the affection even startling the one who’d uttered it, a stunted stammer before he coughed it away. Such straightforward ways were not uncommon, despite it not having been too long since you’d started seeing each other. The common term would be that, the one you’d use, the one that didn’t send you into a state of stuttering out the word he personally preferred.
The following months of your courtship had been a seed in the green earth of the gardens of Tenebrae, your secret sanctuary, that he’d all but have to wrench you away from your work to follow him into these days. Petals and pieces of paper-like lily scattered to paint a picture of the first few nights, trysts where he’d wait for you outside Fenestala Manor, where he’d watch you from across the round table, where he’d walk alongside you in the rain, wetting the stone to germinate. With each passing day, each shimmering twilight where he’d stop just shy of the humming sheet of your skin, you’d been left struck deep with desire, sinking down your gut and drenching the spray you waded in, a sweet fragrance masking a sour, dour aftertaste.
You turned over to him, slipping against the base of the basin, your fingers frisky. There was something you had to say.
“Have I overstepped?”
That was the type of question you were supposed to ask, not him.
He waited for you, but you could never be so forward. A charmless commoner, nothing particularly grand nor Glacian. And so, you’d worked all those worries away into the nocturnal hours, spilling midnight oil over your documents and designs, pages marching from your inbox to your out. The onslaught had bested you both; the duties of the High Commander had seen the two of you separated, left you strung up high with hopeless yearning. A want, a need you bit back behind bruised lips, writing reports, sending letters; yet your heart remained unread.
Until he’d stood in the shade of your doorstep, eyes electric. You’d protested, you’d said no, there was just one more errand, one more stamp, one more self-imposed seal upon your needs. But that was then, and now you were here, the man before you one of action, of acts of service. Your palm was as static as he’d left it, as he’d pulled you away from your work and into his arms, down the abandoned alleys, through the windswept curtains, into a space where there was nowhere to hide.
Little did you know, the both of you lay bare to each other.
“You could stand to step more. In here. With… you could… If you want…”
The safety of subtlety was a place you could escape to, but not for long. He blinked at you; perhaps you needed to be more upfront. Perhaps you could no longer help yourself. Or, perhaps the bubbles were blotting out the last of your doubts.
“I’m feeling lonely.” You admitted.
His fingers fell to your pulse, soft blue against the bright blush. You sighed, feeling frail.
“I know what you’re thinking, right? What sort of aide am I?”
“The only one I’ll ever need.”
This time, you were left lost for words.
He withdrew once more, and your chest fell at the sudden loss of contact, collapsing until you saw him turn back. His silhouette stood stark against the shadow, his heart bare to you in the pattern. Before long, that hidden shape, much alike the soul, was shucked off, exposing his broad shoulders, the fabric stopping just after.
There was no whirr of mechanisms twisting and turning by themselves. He simply wrenched the thing either way, and then it fell limply, as one puts a pair of glasses away for the day, or how one makes sure to lock the front door before bedtime. Such memories of yours seemed so simple before your Lord, who relieved himself of the apparatus along with his royal robes. His back remained turned, carved board and bust a work of art. Light struck the sharp edges, splitting the night in two, reflecting their pitch black and pure white way towards you, freezing you in place. While he slowly shed more of his own clothes, your gaze stayed to one spot in particular.
You’d never known him before the incident; you weren’t even sure what the incident was, exactly. He ran his hand over the phantom limb. The ghost of it lingered as you did, the fist flexing in the air, brought back to life. You bit your lip, wondering how an empty view could feel so voyeuristic.
“Ravus…”
He looked at you over his shoulder. As he did, your own wandering sight watched the muscles ripple. The water did too, as your legs writhed together.
“Right, I’ll… avert…”
As you looked to the sky, you were blind to the broad grip just below the base of your neck, sliding like soap down your back until it reached the middle. The site shot shivers from head to toe, tiny bumps prickling under your perspiration. Then, he gently pressed you forward. You wriggled under the weight, a fraction of his fierce strength known to set even a Shield to shame, reduced to a timid peck. He pulled away, leaving no mark in his wake: only you, glowing right alongside the chorus of candles. Suddenly he was behind you, water level rising; the heat level, doubly so.
“And if I wanted you to watch?”
“As if you weren’t all but running away at the sight of me and my… scandalous skin.”
You pulled your knees up, to make your point and to make yourself feel less anxious. His were hugging you at either side, twice the size of yours, twice the size of you. The silence as you stared into the small space in front of your face sounded the one, two, sweet few drops of spring trailing down your legs, sugar building upon your tongue.
“…Touché.”
The tells of your lover were letting themselves slowly rise to the air, joining the steam. Stems of lavender and crushed applause rose dusted against the bend of your hip. A silky sea of foam outlined your figure, your skin wrapped in anticipation. Letter by letter, the touch of your beloved drew the words neither of you could say out loud. A firm chest and a firm clasp at your waist caught your soft fall as you sank into his silent speech.
This is what you’d been wanting. For him to fold open to you as a sylleblossom in bloom, to whisk you away in the violet, violent whirlwind. To be carried along, petals caught in the flurry towards the black brushstroke across the sky, splashes of colours you’d never known before, clouds charged with levin light you’d never felt before. There was something about the scent of the rain washing over you, from the glide of his grip dripping up your own arm with the slip of soap far too fancy, that had you waxing poetic, petrichoric, and maybe… a bit presumptuous.
Either way, you were as still as the drizzle upon your brow, simply turning over where you sat, resting your cheek against the chiselled surface.
“I wasn’t not wanting to look at you…”
You’d tease him again if you hadn’t felt him seize up. Something was brewing, the rumble of his voice deep, a calm before a storm.
“…I merely want to do right by you.” He continued.
“Do right by me? Rae, just look around you, I- I could…”
A deep breath drew in the perfume of the pale pool. The warmth baked it fresh all over again, like the Ulwaat berry tart he’d made sure you’d receive during your long days at work. Like the letters he’d made sure to write to you while he was away. Like the times you’d made sure you were just another citizen of Tenebrae, only to be treated as its next Princess.
Like the bubbles, something popped.
It was true, you’d been wanting to take the next step in your relationship. But maybe you were in such a hurry, such a worry about your role and your reasons, you hadn’t had a chance to stop and smell the sylleblossoms. Whatever the saying was; too many flowers coloured your world, fleuret in your lungs, taking root in your breath. With a gasp you turned to him, the slick of your skin smooth, your hands on his shoulders.
“I truly couldn’t ask for more.”
You leaned in. Close as you had been before, when he’d all but carried you to where you currently sat. Well, he actually did have to carry you there, over the threshold of your office, the barrier of the burden you’d put upon yourself. Your palms slunk to the shape of his jaw, thumbing the defined edge. His large hand folded around your left wrist. Beads fell to the bath below, punctuating the moment with a pin-drop.
No matter how you’d ended up here, you were happy to be in his arms once more. It felt like home, like a memory, lost in the floral fog. Lost in the endless field where you’d met him on your first day of service. Fate had led you to him and faith had seen you stay, all of it flowing from you as he traced the veins rushing red up your arm. All of it flooding back, his fingers tracing the truth along, reciprocally.
“I’m not lacking?”
“…No,” You realised. “Not at all.”
“This is good news. You know I’ve never done this before.”
“Take a bath?”
He huffed against your scalp.
“Courtship.”
“I knew you’d use that word.”
Your head fell to the juncture, the point of his pulse. Of all the scents surrounding you, his was your favourite. Silence steamed the room, the steady rhythm the only thing tethering you from floating away in kind.
“What other way is there to put it?”
“Us commoners use the term ‘dating’.”
“I’m afraid that term doesn’t appropriately describe my intentions.”
He snaked his arm to your side, the distance between his body and yours closing. Skin on skin set yours alight.
“Wait- what?”
You perked up, emerging, exposing yourself.
“And the c-word does? My lord, I don’t think you know what that word means…”
“I know exactly what it means,” He cupped your waist, curved just under the swell of your breasts. As expected, he made no further moves. Unexpectedly, you wished he had.
“My lady.”
Somehow, and suddenly, you had slingshot yourself away to hit the opposite end. The slide, slam and subsequent squeak made you a fish out of water, yet surrounded by it, your lips bubbling open and closed, soundless save for the smacking. You looked at him, the pearl and the platinum glittering in the beams bursting from the moon, amethyst and aquamarine bleeding just as boldly into you. They spoke only truth as they peered out from under that furrowed brow, a lift to the lip, no doubt there just for you to ponder yourself sick over as the implication roared like waves through the still water, through one simple sentence, one wordless look, one inch of a tilt.
There it was again, that want. The way you’d looked at him with such quiet desire, you could now see it staring back at you, two-toned tension. He ran his hand along the porcelain ridge of the impossibly large, abysmally deep tub, the tide receding, the heat rising as he too moved forward. The sound splashed over your senses, the sea parting until the space between you two had all but disappeared. In the shade he cast, he shone bright, waning over you, dappling in and out as he cut across starlit stripes, joining them, then fading again. The two lines at the base of his abdominals tugged you, an arrow from the trail to the top, in between the tempered muscle and tender flesh on either side. Sapphire ran through his veins, the arm caging you in. Lavender floated in the bath he’d drawn for you, the way he looked at you.
Ravus looked at you, with nothing but love.
“Are you alright?” He whispered.
Speaking of intentions...
It was the first time you'd taken the initiative. He stiffened where he sat, obviously not used to being on the receiving end, a tightly wound bud not yet ripe, still soft as silk, as expected of one so chaste. You chased his taste, mild, mellow moonflower, warm milk that you could only help yourself to, cinnamon sugar on your tongue. Stars sprayed white-hot in the black sky of your mouth. You drank every last drop as you burst him open underneath you, until, as you broke away, he was left dripping, your thumb swiping the last of it from his parted lips. Even through the weight over your eyes, his deep rouge settled sweet and clear. A trembling puff of fog filled the air already thick with it, heaved into your neck.
Now, you’d finally evened the odds.
“…Come now, before it gets cold.” You pouted.
Swiftly turning your back to him, if only to thumb-point to the pitcher of lily-scented shampoo. You didn’t have to look back to know he was left sitting there, simply stupefied. You might’ve been too, if he hadn’t all but confirmed it. Confirmed that this was where you belonged. Not beneath him as you’d thought, but by his side. As you always had been, behind the iron walls of your self-doubt, within the fortress of your fear, behind you, the House Fleuret opened his embrace to you, folding around your waist, a house, a home. One last, quiet reminder of “I love you too” before he got to work on your tangled tresses, untying the knots within which you’d twisted yourself. Upon knots and tying them, you shook away the thought and shuffled back into the foam.
From it a bubble rose, reflecting a ring of light back at you—of the two of you, together…