Work Text:
Even the setting sun seems to drain her, energy fading as the light goes down in seemingly magical splendor that she envies. Her exhaustion is no magical thing; she feels flayed raw, siphoned for every last ounce of her soul by the long day. Hair sticking at odd angles from the general hurriedness of life itself, outift wrinkled from wear, her tired eyes find every last flaw to nitpick in the dying light. She shakes her head to clear the spiraling thoughts, trudging towards the atelier and entering it without the care it deserves.
She wants nothing more than to bathe and flop into her nearby bed, to drown herself in the plethora of pillows and blankets that the master witch at the head of the home has stockpiled for her comfort and his own beauty-rest (not that he gets much, if any, and somehow still does not seem to need it as much as she or Olruggio). Boots kicked off and deliberately, painstakingly, fixed into their proper place, put away somewhere to keep the illusion of tidiness to set a proper example for the young girls she knew would be no doubt trampling through later, the weight of the day hits her in full force, nearly dragging her to the floor with it.
Strong arms catch her as a curtain of blue cloak envelops her vision, tickling her nose with the scent of sun-warm stones and heated metal.
"Love?"
She thinks he must have been talking to her for some time now, as her head stops spinning long enough for her to decipher just one word of his question. The only word that matters to her right now, the only thing she would like to be (not a coworker, not a acquaintance, not even a friend, just "Love" for tonight) is all that she latches onto as she lets him hold her.
Mumbling a response, a tired hum to let him know she is listening even as she makes herself comfortable in his steady arms, she feels, more than hears, him frowning and musters up what strength she has left to try and explain herself.
"I am..."
She starts, but the weight deep in her chest is more powerful than she had anticipated and she ends up choking out the rest of her sentence.
"So tired, lover."
His little "ah", soft and tender and full of understanding, even in gruff baritone, reaches her ears as she starts sniffling, trying to hold back the tears wrought of big emotions from falling and splattering on to his shirt (not that he would mind, really, the shirt has seen far worse from stone and fire and ink and brushbuddy footprints and children's snot at this point in his life, tears are almost a welcome change of pace to normalcy).
Shifting then, settling her until he is holding her more solidly to himself, her head tucked into his chest as he cradles her in his arms above the floor, he moves. They pass through the interior of his atelier, of their homd, in silence. His heartbeat leads her into the beginning vestiges of slumber, lulling the exhaustion in her head into a more tolerable, cottony fog.
She thinks she hears him speak again, but only realy registers as such when another set of hands runs carefully over her scalp, brushing her hair and murmuring sweetly all the while. Olruggio must have sought out Qifrey as they walked to wherever he had decided to take her, rest on the horizon for both of them so why not go for all three? It had been a while since the three of them had had time to relax together, and though she loathed to be the cause that stoped them from their daily plans, she did take some pleasure from the notion of getting either or both of her lovers to get an actual proper rest.
When Olruggio sets her down on the edge of her bed, or his bed, or their bed now? she hardly notices. He coaxes her into a sitting position, with her legs dangling over the edge and facing him as he kneels in front of her. One hand of his reaches towards the outside of her thigh, close to her hip, and he makes eye contact with her until she rouses enough to blink and nod, giving him the consent he seeks. Hand now laid at her side, grounding her with the solid heat of his palm, he speaks.
"How can I help?"
The soul that shines through his eyes gazes up at her from behind his lashes, his thumb absent-mindedly tracing soothing circles into the plush of her thigh. His voice is only a whisper.
"Just let us know, yeah? Let Qifrey and I help you a bit."
From across the room where he had been gathering more bundled blankets to add to the already overly-plushed bed (all to make it even more comfortable and difficult to leave in the morning certainly), Qifrey agreed.
"Anything at all, my love. We are here to help one another, you know."
Olruggio's left hand holds her right gently, massaging it with the same carefulness that one might use to pet at flower petals, the feel of gentle tide lapping over smooth stone. Bringing it to his lips, slowly, when she murmurs her response, he kisses it softly in promise.
Asking them to help her unwind, to help her leave the day behind, earns her more than one soft kiss as well. Tenderly, Qifrey slips off her cloak from her shoulders, using one of his arms to help hold her upright, knowing that the trust she places in him to carry the weight of her (all of it, physical and mental and emotional) is not misplaced. Folding it and setting it aside, he continues, until piece-by-piece she is freed from the work day and clothed for lounging and sleep.
He towels off her face and hair with open adoration, soft gratitudes and sweet nothings (everythings) slipping from him to her as easily as he breathes. She responds in kind as best she can, but he only hushes her with a light chuckle and soft sounds, encouraging her to just relax and let him help as he intends to. Closing her eyes, she does. A free fall into his care is perhaps the single most freeing, darling experience of love that she has ever known, and she takes secret revelry in hoping that he feels the same when thinking of her.
Brushing, soothing, holding, caring- these are the crux of her evening as Olruggio and Qifrey fulfill their mission. She falls asleep part way through their lovingly dedicated endeavors, and is soundly in the land of sweet dreams by the time they are done. A kiss to her forehead bids her goodnight, and the hand that cards through her hair as she sleeps promises her safety, safe entrusting them with her love.
° ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🌹˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🌹˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
Waking in the new morning, the atelier humming to life as the dawn approaches, apprentices' feet patter by the door as they rush to and fro and make their way towards breakfast, Qifrey rolls his head towards where his loves lay next to him. Olruggio is still soundly out, and lightly snoring (not that he would admit it). She curls closer, seeking him even as sleep tries desperately to cling to her, to cling to them both. He is loathe to leave the bed, snuggling her tighter as she blinks awake.
"Breakfast?"
His heart asks, just as he has asked her to, for what she wants, and it pleases him so ardently that she has such faith and trust in him so as to let herelf be so true. Still, the bed is warm and cozy and for once he thinks five more minutes would be quite a good idea, Olruggio barely waking beside them. He acquiesces.
"As you wish."
(Breakfast is served with a kiss when they all finally rise for the day).