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Beau is never entering another gods-damned mine again.
Nevermind the damp-close-moldy stench of the place or the miles of branching shafts that split the Mighty Nein into three groups or the goddamn bugbear ambush she and Yasha managed to wander into, and nevermind that her whole back is one long stripe of bruises and her darkvision goggles are cracked and hanging useless around her neck. Nevermind all of that shit, because the fucking tunnel is gone.
Beau isn’t even sure how that happened. One moment they were fighting, and then Yasha’s hand was around her wrist and then there was a flash of light and a feeling like all of the sound in the world was racing towards a point just behind her and then it all exploded. She suspects magic. She suspects it won’t matter if they can’t figure out a way out of here.
Beau holds the lantern up beside her face and turns in a circle. On one side, a mound of earth and stone and rubble closes off the shaft. Around her on every other side are rough-hewn stone walls, unbroken except for a few spidery cracks that skitter their way up to the ceiling. It’s less a cavern than it is the abandoned ass-end of a tunnel and Beau cannot fucking believe they let themselves get chased down here. They should have stood their ground, cracked some heads, fought through the line, fuck, they should have...they should have...
But in all of the blood and the chaos Yasha had grabbed her and shoved her forward, and then the world had imploded.
Beau’s chest is still heaving, her limbs adrenaline-shaky as she sweeps the lantern over Yasha. Dust in the air makes the light dance and fracture and it takes a moment to realize that the shape of her is wrong .
Yasha is slumped back against the wall, hair in her face and one arm curled up against her torso, and there is something sticking out of her in a v shape, right where her shoulder meets her chest.
Beau is frozen for a moment in shock because that’s an arrow, those are arrows, when did she get hit? Then Yasha gives a little hiss of frustration and pain and Beau is rushing forward, dropping to her knees and sliding the last couple of inches and setting the lantern on the floor and, “shit, Yasha. Shit !”
“I’m fine,” says Yasha, teeth clenched and upper lip drawn back. “Just get these out.”
“Umm,” says Beau, and maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline or maybe it’s the fact that there are arrows sticking out of Yasha’s chest but her hands are shaking badly, fluttering likes moths in the lantern light, and “isn’t taking the thing out of the wound usually a bad idea? I left my healer’s kit with Fjord, I don’t have anything for bandages and, like, what if you bleed out before they find us?”
Yasha shakes her head and the beads in her braids rattle against each other. Her chest heaves under Beau’s hands. There’s a shallow gash across the side of her face and a bruise darkening around her left eye and Beau knows she’s taken a lot of hits today and that’s fine, that’s fine, that’s normal except normally they’re not alone and stuck gods-know-how-many-miles underground and Beau is not equipped to handle this and, and….
And Yasha is talking.
“...an’t do it if the...Beauregard. Are you listening?”
Beau blinks and shakes her head. Get it the fuck together.
“Sorry,” she says, “repeat that.”
Yasha shifts under her and hisses. “I can heal it,” she says, and shit, right, right. Weird angel magic shit. Ok . “I just can’t heal it around the arrows. I need them out.”
Oh. Ok.
“Umm,” says Beau.
Yasha tilts her head back against the wall, nostrils flaring, breathing deep. She stretches her legs out and rolls her head to look at Beau and Beau’s heart pulses in her throat.
“Ok,” she says. “Right, ok. I can just, umm.” She tries to lean over from where she’s crouched on Yasha’s uninjured side. She braces one hand on Yasha’s shoulder and Yasha jerks and she wraps the other hand around the arrow and that…is not going to work. She’s sprawled awkwardly across Yasha’s body, off balance and at entirely the wrong angle for a good, clean yank. She lets go.
“Beau,” says Yasha.
“I got it,” says Beau, “lemme just, uhh” and she shuffles back on her knees, trying to figure out where to put herself. Maybe if she leans one hand on the wall and...
“Beau,” says Yasha.
“I got it, I got it,” says Beau.
There’s a snort, and a big, warm hand lands on her hip. With her good hand—the one that isn’t curled up and shaking against her belly—Yasha guides her over to straddle her thighs.
Beau’s eyes go a little big because, oh, ok, yeah, that works .
That works.
And the thing about being in Yasha’s lap is that Yasha is big . Really big. Like, Beau’s eyes are roughly on a level with Yasha’s chin - type big. And Beau’s thoughts are not going to go there right now because cave-in and arrows but, uh. Yeah .
“Get it together,” Beau says to herself, and the little puff of air against her face might be Yasha laughing before Beau presses one hand against pale, blood-slick skin and wraps the other around the shaft of the first arrow and says “deep breath” and pulls.
The snarl that follows is less amused.
Beau ignores it and braces her hand again and yanks the second arrow free and then there is blood, blood, blood, dark in the flickering lantern light and seeping down into the woven leather straps of Yasha’s armor. The smell of it creeps down the back of Beau’s throat and she gags, even as Yasha gently pulls her hand away and replaces it with her own large, callused palm.
There’s a bright, unearthly glow, and the bleeding stops.
Yasha’s head rolls back against the wall and she closes her eyes, her chest heaving. Beau stares at the two arrow wounds, which have definitely closed even if the blood is still everywhere, and then she stares at Yasha’s bad arm as she unclenches her hand and rolls her wrist and flexes her muscles, because shit .
“Shit.”
“Mmmm,” says Yasha.
“That was cool as fuck. You, uh...better?” she asks.
“Mmmhmmm,” says Yasha. She stretches both arms out to her sides, rolls her shoulders forward and back, and then drops her hands down onto Beau’s hips.
Because Beau is still straddling her thighs.
“Oh,” says Beau, awkwardly, trying to rise. “Sorry, I can just…”
Yasha’s hands tighten. “Stay,” she says.
“Um,” says Beau.
Yasha opens her eyes and turns her head back.
Beau can’t help it: her eyes go a little wide, because the look Yasha is giving her is hooded, heated, her eyelids heavy and her lips quirked up on one side. The hand on Beau’s left hip lifts up to curl under her chin, and Yasha’s thumb presses just below her bottom lip.
“Stay,” she says. “If you don’t mind. It’s a, uh, a welcome distraction from the pain.”
“I...uh, I do not mind,” says Beau, because cave-in? Bugbears? Fuck it. The others will find them soon enough, and if they don’t…
Beau will deal with that later. A later Beau will deal with that. Yasha wants her in her lap. Yasha finds her distracting. Beau is absolutely thrumming with adrenaline. Shit.
“Shit.”
“You keep saying that,” says Yasha. Beau is pretty sure that crooked little smile is the Yasha version of a shit-eating grin.
“I mean, yeah,” says Beau. “Look at you, you’re, seven feet tall and made of muscle and, like, divine magic or something and I’m pretty sure you just saved me from being exploded to death. So yeah. Shit.”
The smile gets a little less shit-eating and Yasha’s eyes get a little wide and maybe it’s a trick of the lantern light or maybe that’s a blush blooming over her cheeks and either way it doesn’t matter because she curls her hand around behind Beau’s head and pulls her in and then it’s all warmth.
It’s a good kiss, soft and wet. Beau throws her arms around Yasha’s neck on instinct, and then draws back a little, worried about the arrow wounds, but Yasha shakes her head.
“It’s fine,” she pants against Beau’s lips. “I’m fine. Come here.”
She draws Beau in closer, shifting her effortlessly with only the hands on her hips, and Beau turns her head aside to muffle a groan.
Beau’s legs are spread wide around Yasha’s hips.
Yasha shifts one hand around to the inside of her thigh. The weight and heat of it, even through the rough cotton of her pants, has Beau dizzy.
“Ok?” asks Yasha.
“Gods, yes. So ok.”
Yasha dips her head to kiss along her neck, and Beau could swear she feels a smile as the warmth of that hand drags in and up and up and…
“Shit. Oh shit.”
Yasha snorts against her neck, and Beau is too wound up now to give a shit. Her thighs shake a little as she tries to press down into that touch, to get more of it theretherethere. Fuck.
Yasha keeps her touch light, and lifts her other hand to grab a fistful of Beau’s bun.
“Nnngh,” says Beau, arching into her grasp. “Yes. That. Yes.”
“You like this?” asks Yasha, pulling gently, and she does it just right, all firm pressure from the root of the hair, and Beau nods frantically.
Yasha hums, and her face is definitely flushed, her eyes intent on Beau’s parted lips. Beau arches her back a little more, rolls her hips forward and preens a little when Yasha’s breath catches.
Yasha’s hand goes to the tie of her pants. “Can I…” she starts just as Beau says “fuck, yes, off,” and then they’re both tugging it loose. Beau shifts awkwardly, one leg and then the other, until she has the pants off and pooled around one ankle and her knees back on the cold earth floor and her legs spread bare around Yasha’s rough-clothed hips. Fuck, fuck, fuck she has never been this wet this soon after a near-death experience.
That’s a lie.
That’s not the point.
The point is that Yasha is looking at her ravenously and tugging her forward by the hair and there is another hot, biting kiss just as that warm hand presses up between her legs again.
Callused fingertips draw up her inner thigh, teasing, and Beau shudders. “C’mon,” she says against Yasha’s lips, but the fingers just draw back down. Beau’s hips buck forward, almost of their own accord, and Yasha tugs a little harder on her hair and fuck . Beau honest-to-gods whines .
Then Yasha draws her hand back up, higher and higher until finally a single fingertip runs, feather-light, over Beau’s lips. Another joins it, and gently they part her and slide down to where she’s wettest, and Beau leans forward against the hold on her hair and presses her face into the crook of Yasha’s neck as heat curls low in her belly.
Those two fingers press and roll against her, work her until she’s shivering with the need for more, more, just a little more. And gods, Yasha’s hands are so big, her fingers are so thick, and how many times has Beau imagined them…
“Inside,” she gasps, mouthing sloppily at the pale skin of Yasha’s neck. “I want your fingers in me, fuck me, please.”
“Fuck,” says Yasha. The hand in Beau’s hair moves down to clasp around the back of her neck and yes, yes, yes, that is also good, that is very good, and so are the two fingers pressing carefully inside of her and so is the fierce curl of Yasha’s lip when Beau lifts her head up to look. Yasha’s eyes are intent on her face as she works her wrist, slowly pumping her fingers in and out, curling them, searching for…
“Fuck, there.” Beau jerks as a sharp bolt of pleasure shoots through her.
Yasha’s lips curl up into something halfway between a smile and a snarl and her hand picks up speed and Beau is perfectly, fantastically, helpless, caught between the heavy pressure on the back of her neck and the heat and wetness blooming between her legs. She’s moaning, low and breathy, and the sound bounces around them in the tiny cavern, and she rocks down, down, down.
Yasha curves her hand, circles her thumb against Beau’s clit, that’s it, that’s it, that’s so good, Beau is so close she can barely breathe, and she’s not moaning now so much as whimpering, “please, please, fuck fuck fuck please ,” and then she’s gone.
She doesn’t actually black out but for a minute there it’s close. She rides Yasha’s hand through her orgasm and then slumps forward, shuddering, her vision hazy.
Yasha’s arms come up after only a moment’s hesitation and wrap around her waist. Beau hums happily, pressing her cheek to a pale, bare shoulder and curling close.
She stays like that until everything—the damp-mildew-blood smell and the dust and the cold cave air on her bare ass—comes trickling back in, and then she groans. Yasha chuckles, and Beau feels it roll through her entire body.
“With our luck,” says Beau, “this is the moment everyone else comes barging in to find us.”
Yasha tips her head back against the wall and laughs again. Shitty mine adventures notwithstanding, Beau could get used to this.
“This would not be the worst thing Molly’s caught me doing.”
“Well there’s a story I need to hear,” says Beau, pulling back and rising—reluctantly—to put her pants back on.
“Later,” says Yasha, and then again, when Beau runs a finger over her collarbone and drops her gaze pointedly to the space between her legs, “later.”
“Yeah?” says Beau.
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here, get back to the inn. Then you can return the favor.”
“Well shit,” says Beau, already striding towards the pile of rubble blocking the mine shaft. “That’s an incentive if I’ve ever seen one.”
Beau’s pretty sure she hears Yasha laugh again before a familiar, shrill voice sounds in her right ear.
“BEAU! WE FOUND A COLLAPSED MINE SHAFT. ARE YOU IN THERE?”
Wincing, Beau puts a hand to her head and gestures for Yasha.
“Yeah, Nott, that’s us. Wanna get us out of here?”
A long moment, and then:
“STAND BACK! WE’RE COMING THROUGH!”
“Got it,” says Beau, and she takes Yasha’s hand and pulls her back against the far wall of the little chamber. There’s a loud bang from the other side of the rubble, and the air gets heavy with dust and the taste of magic, and Yasha squeezes Beau’s hand.
“Later,” she says again.
Beau grins. “Shit,” she says. “Hell yeah.”
Beau is never entering another gods-damned mine again, but she’ll remember this one pretty fondly.