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“How long were you watching me?”, Soft words spoken, unaware of the weight they carried. A loose thread finally unravelling at their feet. A question that had grown heavier with each passing day, born as the fires of Nipton engulfed them. Vulpes couldn’t answer her, fingers tightening against his tunic as he held her gaze — silence filling the room. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, taking in each of her details. The questions in her eyes, the ghost of a smile embracing her lips, the small tilt of her head. He had no right to this question — no right for the softness in her voice as she asked him. No right to find no anger in her gaze, only curiosity.
Nipton had been their beginning, a stranger rising against ash and odds. Reports soon starting to gather, weighing enough to matter. Enough for the son of Mars to notice. She was duty, orders to follow — a trail to observe. She was an anomaly trekking the wastes, footsteps heavier than others. A name building itself a home across his reports. He had watched her from a distance, walking alongside her shadow. Watched as the Mojave unfolded before her, secrets ushered to her alone. She had been Vulpes’ to follow ever since.
But how could he admit ? That somewhere between orders and duty, his gaze had started to linger. Long enough to know how she moved when no one watched. To memorize each of her quirks. To worry when her wound would wake and torment her sleep. To learn the weight of her footstep in the wastes. To memorize how the firelight danced across her skin under the moonlight. Long enough to wish for gaze her to see him. Long enough for his hands to itch, a growing hunger. To learn each curves of her body, etch her form to his brain. To let her voice fill his ears until the wastes stood silent. To let her warmth wash over him, overshadowing even the sun. To wonder how her skin will feel under his fingers. How could he admit that the Mojave felt empty every time she disappeared from his sight.
He told himself it was vigilance, nothing more. But the lines had blurred, faded, then vanished altogether — obsession winning over duty. A faint smile ghosted his lips, brief and unplanned — a sight that only laid under her gaze. A silent admission She didn’t flinch, eyes soft as she watched him. A small smile adorned her lips in return, quiet and knowing. Their gaze never faltered from one another, neither could tear themself from the other. The silence had brought all the answer she needed — eyes confessing what his mouth couldn’t tell.
Longer than I should have
“What was your tribe like?”, a question asked as the fire crackled before them, the sole light as the night enveloped the sky. It had not been asked in malice or pity, merely her pure curiosity. But Vulpes knew that Caesar had already informed her of them, an unremarkable tribe situated in the south of the Utah. The legion had been their salvation, his salvation. Given him a name that he could carry with pride. Made him part of something greater, something just. He vividly could recall the day the Legion had found them, red spreading across town as the Legionaries rounded everyone. Smoke filled his nostrils while the town burned, flames dancing with smoke as they reached for the sky.
He remembered his years of training, the blood and sweat he had shed to survive it. The night that had changed his status, when Caesar recognized him and bestowed a new purpose upon his shoulders. He remembered all of that. But she had not asked for the Legion, she had asked about them.
That mundane tribe of Utah who had nothing to show for itself when the son of Mars landed his gaze on them. She wanted to hear about them, to listen to his stories under the night sky. He had none to tell. Vulpes knew that those memories were long gone. Memories once crystal clear had become but a mere blur in the back of his mind. Shadow of people would haunting his young nights, but he could never make out their faces. He could recall no scenery, no person, neither noise nor smell of it. He had no answer to tell the Courier, no stories to satisfy her curiosity. The fire that danced in front of them mocked him, smoke as it did on that day.
Thoughts came to a halt as he felt her hand landed on top of his. Thumb gently stroked the back of his hand — the matter laid to rest. Heat gently spreading under her palm, calming his racing mind. Although the motion was unfamiliar, Vulpes found it rather soothing. Tearing his eyes from the fire, he found her gaze settled on him, soft and tired eyes studying him. There was no interrogation in her expression, no pity either, just quiet understanding. He hadn’t spoken a word, yet her grip never wavered. His past had long since turned to ash, but her touch stayed.
She had found all the stories she needed in his eyes.
“Is there something you enjoy doing?”, the question rose as the sun laid to rest, Novac sheltering them for the night. Both tending to their nightly routine when she spoke. She already knew the importance of duties to any Legionary. Discipline and order orchestrating each of their breath. The Legion had no use for wandering minds. To desire anything without utility was dangerous, a rot beneath the surface. A crack in the stone. But that had not been her question. She wanted to know if some of his time was his. A second that did not belong to the Legion, but only to him. A corner of the world that he could claim.
Vulpes opened his mouth to answer her but found himself at a loss. As much as he knew that the Courier would not disgrace his confession, he could not speak it — Shame burying any words threatening to leave his mouth. He hesitated for a moment, fingers brushing over the worn pack he carried. Deep inside, tucked between maps and weapons, laid his sin — a worn book, torn pages tucked safely inside. No order or information laid among those pages. Instead, poetry and tales danced across them. It had no value to the Legion, but he could not part from it. A betrayal of discipline, a wound that should bear no witness. A sin too grand to abandon. He laid the worn book in her hands, hands retreating in his laps — as if burned.
He watched the book laid in her hands, careful hands spreading across the cover. She opened it slowly, gentle fingers lifting each paper as her eyes travelled across them. Vulpes watched her as she read, gentle eyes cast on the pages — no disgust or anger painted her face. He watched as a smile grew on her lips, reading pages after pages. The Courier found no shame across those papers, only the softness of the paper and the words it carried. The ink had faded in some parts, others had words written above those that had disappeared with time. A shaking pencil keeping them from the cruel passage of time. None bore the same look, in their paper or in their words — one even bore a golden rim around the pages. It was beautiful, soft and fragile.
Vulpes held his breath as the Courier found a particular piece. It had been tucked carefully among the rest, Pencil stain witness to its frequent use. Her name stood at the top, scratched out before being written again. Again and again. On the fragile piece of paper, laid but a single sentence. The ink slightly faded as the paper spoke of the ages it had lived.
I ache every night, wondering what truth my eyes surrender to you.
“Can I kiss you?”, the question had been a mere murmur, whispered words spoken as the Mojave slept, faces separated by a single breath.They laid there, limbs tangled, conversations long forgotten. Hands lazily travelling across skins, fingers leaving a trail of searing touches as it found soft skin to caress. Culmination of weeks of brewing tension finally breaking.Weeks of hands grazing one another a second to long to ignore, gazes travelling where they should not, bodies inching ever so closer as they stood together, night spent remembering all that was done and said. Now, a lone sentence was all that stood between them.
Can I kiss you. Four simple little words, ushered in the middle of the night. It had not been asked in submission, he knew the Courier too much to entertain that thought. No, it was vulnerable, a heart laid bare reaching for another. It was a need, to know he desired her as much as she desired him.
Can I kiss you. Vulpes held no shame in his desire for her. The thought of her had claimed too many of his nights to fell shame. Nights spend wondering of her and her lips. If she would claim him as he had seen Legionaries do, lips crashing with force, dominance overtaking devotion. Duties performed and hunger fed. Or if she would do it the way profligates on the Strip did, passion pushing patience to the side, forgetting the entire world around them as their lips travelled aimlessly across their bodies.
Can I kiss you. Vulpes had no answer, finding words too little to meet those four simple words of hers. Lifting himself by the elbows, his shaken lips finally met hers.The kiss was slow, curious and tentative as they searched for their own rhythm.It felt neither Legion nor Mojave, this kiss was theirs alone. Tentative pecks soon turned into passionate kisses, lips unwilling to part for a single second, tongues soon joining the dance. Heat spread across their bodies as the kiss deepened, dwarfing even the scorching sun of the Mojave. Nothing could reach Vulpes as each of his senses zeroed in on her; the smallsighs escaping her lips, the scared yet soft skin shuddering under his fingers, her scent enveloping him whole, her fingers gently tangling themselves with his hairs.
He felt her smile against his lips.
“Will you stand by my side?”, forbidden words ushered against his lips, whispers shielding them from the world.
“I’m yours”, words ripped from his own lungs, trembling lips finding each other once more under the stars.