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There's a faint smile upon Aloy's face that she cannot dissuade as she listens to Kotallo's voice, contentment warm beneath her skin.
It hadn't been long since they had finally—since she had finally broken past the worst of her fear, and reached out to Kotallo, seeking what she had never truly thought she deserved, yet he had been far beyond willing to give.
Love.
He loves her.
It's still somehow unreal within her mind, even as she knows that it is true. That Kotallo loves her, that her own feelings for him had not been hers alone, but returned.
And now, his voice rumbles gently over the focus line, warm and soft and everything she had never realized she had been craving her entire life, to simply be known and be loved.
"I'll be there within the hour," Kotallo continues, and Aloy's smile deepens on her lips. "I am… very eager to see you."
Her skin flushes, excitement and nerves burning through her, and she shifts in her seat, her fingers tangling through one another on her lap. "I'm glad," Aloy whispers, staring down at her hands, smudges of color still across her skin. "I have a surprise for you."
Kotallo rolls a small sound of interest between them, and it sends Aloy's heart stuttering. "Then I shall hurry all the more to be at your side."
When he closes the line, Aloy lets out a heavy breath, all of her nerves bundling up in her chest as she sinks back against her bed. The blankets and pelts are soft and warm against her skin, in contrast to the still cooling sensation of paints upon her face.
How could this be her hope, her life? How could she ever have foreseen, even those months ago when she had first charged towards the rest, that she would find not just allies to stand at her side, but a steady hand to hold her as well, to trace the outline of her scars and linger upon her skin.
How could she ever have imagined that the marshal who had swaggered up to the Embassy would come to fight at her side, and she might be the one to see past his many shields and masks, to find the softness of his gaze and the man inside?
Past the hurt, past the brittleness of pain that they had both survived, and the losses that had somehow bound them closer together. Past their many sleepless nights, spilling into those moonlight hours when it had been her and Kotallo alone against the world, silent and somber beneath the stars.
Until the silence had broken between them as her lips first met his own.
That first kiss, and suddenly, her life had been filled with light and the warmth of his voice—murmured against her skin, pressed to the shell of her ear, drifting comfortably between them as he coaxed her voice to meet his own.
Heat flush beneath her skin, and Aloy sighs, lost within the memory of that night.
That night, and every day that had passed, until she had stopped at the Bulwark only a few days before and picked up those precious pots of paint, the colors within them rich and bright.
Aloy smooths out another breath, tracing her fingertips along the lines she had marked before, trying not to crease her face against the tackiness of paint.
When she had asked Dekka what she could do to show Kotallo how she felt for him, some way to give her love in return for everything that he had given her before… the woman told her to turn to the Sky clan, and present herself to him wearing his former colors.
There had been a certain knowing quality in the older woman's eyes as she told her this, that his reaction would be well worth any trial or wait.
So of course, Aloy listened, her heart filled with the hope of what she might see in Kotallo's eyes when he returned to her.
And now, all she must do is wait.
-
The flight is far too long and yet overwhelmingly short all at once.
From the Grove to the Base—the time and distance had seemed to stretch endlessly around him, until Aloy had called and suddenly, all of the space between them had fallen away all at once. At the sound of her voice, and the lingering promise left between them, the remaining hour of the flight had seemed to disappear into the span of time between one breath and the next.
The next full thought to eclipse through Kotallo's mind is that of the warmth of the Base as it opens before him, but even that pales in comparison to the anticipation thrumming through him at returning to Aloy once more.
It had only been a precious few weeks. A small collection of time in which all the love that had built inside of him for her—and Aloy had been the one to bridge the gap, to press her lips feather light to his own—and Kotallo had finally allowed himself to outpour all of his care and devotion upon her.
A few weeks, and every day had been spent with the overwhelming knowledge that he had been chosen. By her—Champion of the Tenakth, Destroyer of the Bulwark, Savior to the Carja and countless more titles trailing in her wake, and yet in his presence…
She became Aloy alone, and the only title that remained between them was that of the holder of his own heart, to whom he had vowed the entirety of his life and blood.
His footsteps sound off against the metal halls, mirroring the loudness of his thoughts as they echo within his mind.
How can he ever begin to explain what it means to him, to be chosen by her? To know that she could have the world—and yet it is at his side she chooses to fight, and to the warmth his arm that she retreats into in the dead of night.
How can he begin to tell her what it means to love her—she who saw him at in his most broken moments, shattered breaths and raw edges and bleeding nerves, and yet she never judged him, never saw him as anything less.
He could never have stopped himself from falling in love with her. He knows this—it is a truth, as inorexable as the tide, as certain as the stars overhead, that there is some part of him that loved all of her at once, from the moment that the Bulwark fell and she looked back at him with a smile.
But there is also the knowledge that Kotallo loved her slowly, unerringly, with eyes wide open and in fullness of mind, to watch his chosen commander face down the world, but to also see her in moments of softness, of joy, of comfort and of strength and of battle and release.
To see her in the midst of the darkest hours, with tear stained cheeks and reddened eyes, and Kotallo knew he could never not love her, could never feel such an endless devotion for any other person when she had let her walls crumble down before him, and then trusted him to catch her when she fell as well.
How could he ever hope not to love her, when his soul had been written to hers in that very moment?
Kotallo taps his hand to the holo lock displayed upon Aloy's door, and it unlocks with a small chime, the colors twisting and spinning away as the door slides open.
How could he ever say to Aloy just how much she means to him?
Kotallo steps into her room, lifts his head, and stops dead in his tracks.
The air in his lungs leaves him in one sharp twist, as if he has taken a clawstrider's tail to the chest; yet instead of an ache, all that is left is a burning against his ribs and a heady sensation rising up his spine.
Aloy sits on her bed, waiting for him, her posture loose and yet expectant as she looks up at him, and there upon her skin—
"Would you lock the door, Kotallo?"
He cannot move. Every one of his thoughts has narrowed to this moment, to the brush of paints across Aloy's skin, to the movement of color upon her lips as she speaks.
Her head tilts, her hair brushing along her should, dripping down to her chest and coming to rest on deep maroon band across her chest.
Ten save him, to see her now—
Concern begins to creep into her eyes, and all at once, Aloy is pushing upwards to stand, stepping towards him, yet all Kotallo can see is the colors emblazoned across her skin.
"Kotallo? Are you alright?"
Another step closer, and she is close enough to touch. Kotallo reaches out without hesitation, almost in desperation, and some half-giddy part of his mind insists that this must be some Ten-blessed sort of dream, to have Aloy painted and looking at him now in such a way.
Yet when his hand wraps around her arm, her skin warm beneath his touch, Kotallo knows. This cannot be dream alone. Somehow, impossibly, this dream of a woman is his, and she is real.
"Your paint—"
"Steady, Kotallo." An easy smile plays across Aloy's lips, the brush of a laugh, and all of Kotallo's protests and thoughts fall abruptly away. "Let's get you out of your armor, alright?"
His body is burning, mind reeling and he cannot help but to stare, to gape at Aloy in wonder as she stands before him.
Covered in Sky clan paints.
She has removed his bracer, her hands moving lithe and swift towards the straps holding his pauldron in place. Kotallo steadies himself by cupping his hand against the curve of her face, his thumb drifting along her cheek. The cyan of his wrap remains wound along his palm, and it contrasts starkly against the magenta bright around Aloy's eyes, yet matching to the stripe that curves down the center of her face.
His colors, once.
"The old ones used to have a holiday." Aloy's hands are fast, undeterred, yet all Kotallo can do is look upon her in wonder, marveling at this miracle of a woman, that she might claim and mark herself in such a way. "They called it Christmas."
A final twist of her fingers against the clasps, and his armor crashes to the ground.
Kotallo pays it no mind.
"They gave one another gifts; to friends, to family, but most importantly—" Aloy steps backwards, her hands wrapping around his own and drawing him to follow in her steps. "To their lovers."
Her feet hit the pallet upon the floor, and without hesitation, Aloy drops back upon it, her hair flaring out around her; a flame-soaked halo, the rising of the sun caught within this moment, and with the streaks of sky clan cyan and magenta against her skin, marked along purest depths of white…
Her beauty is far beyond that of any sunrise Kotallo has ever seen in the sheersides.
"I wanted to give you a gift."
And there, beneath the paint, her skin is flushed into a rosy hue, rivaling the softest of dawn-touched skies and speading down to her throat, spilling to the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.
"I wanted to paint myself—for you. Because I'm yours."
A groan spills itself from Kotallo's lips, and he snaps into himself at once, his hand moving with a frantic awareness as he all but tears away the tassets upon him now, before moving down to catch against his boots, struggling to undo them.
Aloy's features split into a laugh, clearer than snow-melt, brighter than the sky itself, and she pushes herself up into sitting, her hands reaching out once more to free him from his burdens.
From the first second that the last latch is undone, Kotallo kicks the boots away—before falling to his knees before her.
"You—"
Another groan catches itself within Kotallo's throat, and he finds himself reaching out, steadying his touch against Aloy's warmth.
"Aloy, you have no idea what you have done to me."
Her lips brush upwards into a soft smile, and Aloy leans closer, ever closer, her breath ghosting across his parted lips and her nose brushing against his own.
"I think I have some idea, Kotallo," she hums, satisfaction clear within her eyes. "But how about you try and show me anyways?"
Kotallo does not hesitate. He surges forward, his mouth crashing against her own, claiming her as his own—but she had claimed him first, to wear his colors and present herself before him in such a way.
His hand holds beneath her jaw, steadying her, and the kiss tastes of paleberry and clay, the familiarity of Aloy and the newness of her paints, and Kotallo knows—he will savor this memory for the rest of his life, as they both crash down to the bed, intertwined.
And if her paints do not survive the night…
Well, it is not as if either one of them minds.