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The sun mocked at your eyes to open, sizably encouraged by the peeling of curtains that hid you from the world. In a cruel affiliation with the muted howling of wind that entered the room, pulls an unsatisfied groan from your throat.
In response, a single menacing snicker emanates from the core of the silhouette in the doorway. The levelled drum of approaching footsteps finally motivates you to shift, whimpering a guttural screech as you perch yourself against the headboard at your back.
“I trust you slept well?”
Ambessa’s voice booms, bringing life to your sluggish form as you pull yourself up higher. Eyes begrudgingly greeting the light-blaring bastard that taunted you in signifying the arrival of morning.Scanning the room at the sudden awareness of the lack of another’s warmth- you grumble with a light shake of your head hoping to bring clarity to your sleep-fogged mind.
The mattress drips, A body fills the previously vacant space. Ambessa, a woman of prestige and pain-staking punctuality so much so that even now, now, very now the woman is unable to abandon her ritualistic practice of racing the sun to rise.
“How long have you been awake?” you counter, rubbing your eyes and opening your hands to welcome the mug presented before you , in preparation to consume its contents. It’s potents giving it away.
Coffee grounds in Noxus were always better than her surrounding lands. They were richer, in smell and taste.
“You should not be here, my lady,” You tease recklessly,
“You have a job to do.” Meeting her gaze, which is effortlessly reciprocated with a mischievous smirk—an astonishingly rare occurrence for those who aren't you.
“You didn't want me to leave,… or did you?” Ambessa disputes, scooting herself closer to your side, wrapping an arm around the silken shorts of your waist, relishing in the stinging aged scent of her own chalice’s velvet-red contents.
Like many other things, a stark contrast to yours.
It was childish really, The general's impulsive decision to halt her duties of the day on a whim for the sole purpose of pleasing you, like some lovestruck teenager who had no responsibilities to hold themselves responsible for, which she in fact was not.
The general releases a breath of her own, the chalice clinking on the side table before wrapping her arms around your waist entirely. In one swift but equally attentive movement Ambessa has swung you onto her lap, caging herself between your thighs still ensuring not to stain your newly changed sheets as you wail and shriek in a giggling fit above her.
Mildly forgotten is your ‘morning pick me up’ until Ambessa grabs the mug ridding it of the fluttering hurricane of joy and chaos that is your laughing form, placing it absentmindedly adjacent to her own, her hand steady compared to yours. The same hands rest warm against your thighs in a practiced ease stroking mindlessly at the flesh. A light subsiding breath fills the air as your laughter dies down. You bring your forehead down to red against hers, eyes scanning across the scars that find themselves decorating her face.
“No really, why are you here?” you ask lightly seeing lost for words at the beauty of her tapestry of war.
“I'm more than certain that there are more important things for you to be doing, maps that need to be methodically analyzed somewhere, maybe an impending war to prepare for, no?” She only smiles in response. Had anyone else been blaring such condescending ‘insults’ at her so early in the morning-or at any time really- they’d likely never be seen again.
“They will all still be there tomorrow, and every day after that.” She responds, her voice just as light lifting her face gently to push closer towards you, completely and utterly sure of herself.
“Besides,” she continues “A certain individual is stubborn on preaching the importance of rest. And ‘as the general’-“ she begins in a mocking gesture of her own.
“Alright never mind fine!” You vehemently interject hands moving to cover her lips, earning a smirk from the general as she leisurely leans back, shaking her head back and forth, dodging your silencers.
“Honestly little one,” she begins again shifting to lift the pair of you off the mattress allowing your feet the opportunity to slip into a pair of slippersfar too large to be your own, shielding you from the cold wooden floor she herself found no issue making contact with.
A hand at the small of your back, urges you towards the balcony, the air warmer now, the wind quieter, her commonly bare self clothed in a signature red silken robe accented in god-like black frills, not out of shame-
-purely out of secrecy, respect, for you. No man or woman in all of Reunterra could even begin to prove themselves worthy enough to bear witness to what is only for your eyes. Your back is met with the warmth of her chest, even through the robe. Her arms finding refuge in the dips of your waist, her face coming down to shelter in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. Sweat-soaked and all. Her voice is soft as she continues. Brushing air against your skin.
“I missed you.”
Stated so quietly that had it not been spoken into you, you would have deemed it a figment of your imagination.Words you’d yearned so desperately to hear that your mind was playing a sick joke on your flesh. Though your torment was its amusement. But alas this morning was not a part of the catalog that all began this very same, ending in various sweat-jolting midnight terrors. Blaring in visions of blood, death and bodies. Of you lover dying alone in a blood-stained mound of snow. Her vision drawing thin. In tear-stained prayers.This morning was not one of those. For she was here, with you. And she was not a nightmare that haunted you in your most lonely and vulnerable times.
No. This was real. She was real. And she was right here with you. Heart still beating, blood still flowing and lungs still breathing. The movement of her lips brings you back from your void of thought.Soft, slow and gentle they begin to move as if they've got a mind of their own.
“Are you with me little fox?” Her voice echoes through your cranium, rattling at your thoughts. Her lips begin their descent, from the base of your ear down to meet at your collar. Unhurried. Unworried. Calculated. A reminder.
Like she knew all too well, which she did, the worry you allowed to swallow you whole so freely. As you stand frozen before the Noxian landscape ahead of you. The kiss, a simple reminder
‘I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.’The little fox of the Medarda house.The wife of the wolf. The Medarda’s equal.
“Ye- Yes.” You respond, lost for air. Her lips freeze in their trail. Suspicion in their orientation.Sensing the pause you continue . “Really, I swear I'm alright my love.”
my love.The name alone makes the Medarda’s heart want to burst. She snickers into your skin. “Alright then , I believe you.” she humors as her kiss-course resumes. ✶ ———————— ✶ ———————— ✶ ———————— ✶ ———————— ✶ ———————— ✶
After a long moment the body behind you instinctively begins to sink forward, into you, as her hands begin to creep. Easing her weight onto you as though ready to crush you beneath her without a second thought.
“My love?” You chirp, a ping of uncertainty saturates your voice at the unexpected added weight. Despite this, the body’s descent does not stop. The voice starts up again, scarcely quieter now “My love?” One might call it something akin to fear. Though you were far from scared. Concerned? Maybe, but not scared. And yet, still. The bigger woman persisted.Becoming heavier. And heavier.And heavier. And all at once you’re off your feet, bringing a foot forward to stop your impending crash to the floor.
In a flash you are spun to your right. The Medarda’s eyes are calm and content seeking refuge in the cave of your neck. Again, a direct contrast to the expression etched into your face, now wide and almost frantically searching. Eyes momentarily praying not to meet the floor with an earth-shattering thud. Before coming to rest on the face to your side.
“Have you no faith in me little one?” She asks in a hushed, almost tactile tone. It is a question she already knows the answer to. Never. Finally your expression eases. The blood rushing to your face. A shy smile creeping across your face as the general turns you further, now to face her fully.
In a haste-less movement she mirrors your smile, lowering her head. Her lips meeting at your sternum leaving behind a slow quaint kiss against the column. In a move of pure instinct your hands grip at her hair. Harshly tugging for a heartbeat before releasing. A guttural noise leaves your throat before you are able to think of stopping it. Rubbing to soothe at her scalp you feel her smile widen against your skin before you see it.
“Not for lingering ears little fox.” She states so matteriffactly it is slightly annoying, as if you have a choice in the matter. She’s very clearly proud of herself you think before she continuing her concentrated cascade down your chest. Her hand meeting at your waist once more.
Finally the Medarda raises her head again, eyes meeting your own. Her lips move again to peck at your lips. Once. Then a second. And a third. As though ever touch of your lips reminds her of exactly what she has been forced to live her life without up until this point. After a moment the Medarda takes hold of your hand, lacing it with her own. She brings your intertwined hands to lips for before leading you back into your newly shared space once more.