Archive of Our Own

At night, the desert is much like the sea. An endless stretch of darkness, the simmer of the heat of the day slowly cooling under the watchful eyes of scattered stars. Dunes like peaks of waves unmoving, frozen in time.

It stretches to all directions in hues of dark blue and purple, as far as Yanka’s eye can see.

Silhouettes of palm trees against the horizon, darker swaths of leaves against an impending night.

The place they’re staying for the night belongs to an old friend of theirs – Zalambur, who owns many a wayside desert villa. Carved into the very stone of the desert mountains, it makes for an attractive, luxurious getaway of warm tones and white marble.

Silk pillows and hookahs. Sweet scents of incense; heavy flowers like jasmine.

Fires and candles both a necessary warmth and a lure for any outsiders in this corner of the desert.

Yanka and Braham are out on patrol, but it’s been quiet so far. Nothing but soft noises of scuffling claws through sand of the raptors still half-awake in the stables; Yanka petted some of them earlier, fond of the fire in their eyes and the spikes across their scales.

Powerful, unruly creatures. Braham had watched her with them from a distance, somewhat on guard.

She shifts, lazily leaning against one of the pillars marking the gate. Grazes her nails against the hard stone, catching in the grooves of lettering from her own language.

“Scriptures and linguistics,” she tuts. “What do you think, Braham? Were my people here too, once? Carving our way from deep in the earth, ever upward?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.

Braham crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. “Couldn’t tell,” he says gruffly. “Asura script’s common.”

She grins, flicking her fingers against his elbow. It’s the only part of him she can reach without standing on her toes. “Ha! You telling me we’re common now, Braham?”

He huffs, but it’s amused. “Didn’t say that, boss.”

Yanka chuckles, feeling the slow rolling cold seep into her robes. “Ah, I understand. The mathematical structure of the language isn’t easy to understand for everyone.”

Braham says nothing, but Yanka spies the spark of amusement in the curl of his mouth and the twinkle in his eye. They both watch the horizon in silence.

Yanka breaks it by cursing. “By the Eternal Alchemy,” she mutters. “Appalling temperatures.”

“Desert gets cold at night,” Braham remarks with a shrug, the buckles of his armor clinking together. “Lots of stars.”

Yanka moves from her spot near the pillar, standing next to Braham. “An empyreal spectacle,” she muses. “Any tales to share about which dot connects to another?”

She wraps her arms tighter around herself, and Braham slightly shifts his stance. Leans back on the balls of his feet.

“Stars have their stories,” he says, eyes still on forever. “For the norn, they’re very useful for tracking. Gotta know where you’re going when you’re hunting, after all.” He throws Yanka a lopsided smile.

She raises an eyebrow in turn, canting her head to the side. “Do you now? Care to show me, Braham Eirsson of Cragstead?”

Braham grins and leans down, sinking to one knee. It puts him much closer to Yanka’s face, and his blue eyes are warm with fondness. “Sure,” he says, light and easy.

Stretches his arm in front of them, pointing towards a grouping of stars close to the horizon. “See? Those two shapes flanking a larger one?”

Yanka could try to see if she wasn’t so damn distracted by the exposed part of Braham’s brown chest, and the long, broad stretch of his arm. But for curiosity’s sake, she makes an effort.

“I do,” she manages.

Braham turns back to her. “The Hounds of Balthazar,” he proclaims, a white, sharp flash behind his lips. “Flanking their god.”

He smells of leather and earth and his eyes are very, very blue.

Yanka’s ear twitches against his cheek. Braham doesn’t move, and his gaze dips for just the briefest of moments. Yanka sincerely hopes it skips across her mouth.

“Those were fearsome dogs,” she says, a little breathless still. “A shame that the only thing that remained is some scattering of ash across the sky.”

Braham looks pleased. “Mmm-mmm,” he hums in the affirmative. His face is beautiful up close.

Yanka’s heart races, suddenly. They haven’t discussed this thing between them – not before he left, and not after he came back, head shaved and grief tucked away in his chest. He’s better now, and so is she.

But attraction still boils at the pit of her stomach. Makes her want to reach up and draw that damnable face down, see how soft those full lips really are. Brush the edge of one of her claws across the scar splitting his left eyebrow in two just to feel the vulnerable skin.

“Is that all you have to share?” she asks instead, suppressing a shudder.

She’s not sure if it’s just the cold or if it’s his presence. Maybe a bit of both.

Braham laughs, low and warm like the flit of candlelight. “Don’t you have any tales of your own, Commander?”

“Ha,” Yanka huffs. “No tall tales or mythos. I could instead tell you what the spectral fluctuations mean for the planets’ chemical composition.” She narrows her eyes. “That one, closer to the horizon, with its red hues.”

Braham just raises his eyebrow.

Yanka shrugs. “The combination of iron and oxygen will produce that sort of reaction.”

Braham looks amused. He’s still on one knee. “I didn’t know you dabbled in astronomy.”

“I dabble in everything,” she answers, simple as that. Another shiver, so hard it makes her bones rattle and her ears shudder.

“And cause chaos when doing so,” he adds in a lower whisper. His lashes sweep his cheeks as his gaze drops. He’s unmoving and solid, as if he’s carved from the very earth itself. From mountains of ice, proud yet sharp.

Though she would never dare to call him glacial. Not like this, with warmth and shadow dancing across his face like a beckoning illusion.

Yanka tuts. “We,” she corrects.

“We,” Braham echoes.

“Do you,” she starts, making a decision for herself, “know anything at all about the forces of the universe, Braham?”

She’d expected a chuckle, but his gaze stays serious and dark. “Something tells me you’re about to enlighten me, boss,” he says.

Yanka reaches out her hand, slow but steady, and plants her palm over the center of his chest. His skin is so hot it almost feels like he’s burning up; below her hand, she feels the pitter-patter of his heart increase. The slight inhale of breath as his chest expands under her touch.

“The laws of physics,” Yanka continues, looking up at him, “and gravity.”

Braham lightly clears his throat. “The push and – pull, of things?”

She can feel the rumble of his voice echo through her wrist. “From one heavenly body to another,” she adds.

Braham says nothing, but he looks oddly mesmerized. Eyes darting from Yanka’s own gaze to her mouth, to the hand on his chest, and his heart beats faster still.

“And if such a body is in another’s orbit,” Yanka murmurs, “they’re there to stay.”

Braham swallows, throat working.

Yanka says nothing either. Just stares into his eyes. It’s not often that he’s at the perfect height to do so.

And then he reaches out, slow, until his own hand slides up to cover Yanka’s. Lifts it from his chest, her small hand easily disappearing into his huge one, pronounced knuckles and all. Eyes on her, he draws her hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to her palm.

She can’t help the full-body shudder. If she thought his chest was a furnace, his mouth is even hotter.

“Is this,” Braham starts, lips touching her fingers as he speaks. The claw of her forefinger catches on his bottom lip, and he never really finishes his sentence.

“Stars in the sky, yes,” Yanka says, answering the hidden question.

Wraps her other hand around the back of his neck and pulls him close. Fits his mouth against her own.

Braham trembles with the movement, thumb rubbing a hesitant, shaky circle against her wrist.

Yanka had expected him to taste like something fiery, powerful, headstrong. All that he is – how he carries himself and charges headfirst into battles and danger – translated in how he’d put his mouth to hers.

But it’s entirely different.

Braham is tender and soft and sweet and keens, breath a slow exhale through his nose as his hands come up to cup Yanka’s face. Brush the side of her ears, lips working over and against hers, tongue a gentle touch almost as an afterthought.

“Spirits,” he murmurs when they break apart. “I didn’t – didn’t know.”

Yanka finds herself too distracted by the way his pupils have blown wide and how his fingers are suddenly touching every part of her he can reach; skimming over her jaw, her cheekbones, her shoulders. One palm sliding over the downward curve of her spine.

“Use your words, Braham,” she manages, curling her own claws into the fur of his jacket. Framing the exposed strip of skin from his throat and chest all the way down to where his pants sling low over his hips.

He chuckles, weakly, leaning his forehead against hers. His hand wanders still, settling on the curve of her ass. “Sometimes I don’t even use my head,” he teases, a twinkle to his eye. “I know I said you and I were family, but I didn’t realize – didn’t realize that you wanted…”

She slides her own hand up to let it rest over his collarbones. A necklace of eagerness to frame his throat with. “This?” she asks, letting her gaze drop to his lips. Scratches her nails lightly over his skin.

Braham grins. “Yeah. Are you still cold, Commander?”

Yanka presses closer. “Freezing, chilly, hyperboreal,” she lists offhandedly. “Take your pick.”

“Good to know,” he says, and then he’s scooping her up effortlessly. One strong arm wrapped around her back, the other still cupping her face, and he rises from his kneeling position without a second thought.

Yanka isn’t even startled; everything Braham does is such a slow cascade of gentleness that she could’ve seen the movement coming from miles away. And besides, now she’s got his arm wrapped around her and their bodies pressed together – this is something she wants to cheer on rather than stop.

So she settles for instantly wrapping her legs halfway around his torso, and then they’re kissing again, heat coiling between her legs. Yanka runs her fingers over Braham’s smooth skull, sinking her teeth into his lower lip, and he groans.

The sound is muffled by her own tongue as she boldly licks into him, but it fuels her pleasure like nothing else.

“Commander,” Braham gasps, arm tightening around her. His wide palm covers her thigh easily.

“At times like these, Yanka will suffice,” she replies, stealing another kiss.

Braham’s eyes soften as he trails one hand over the side of her face. “Yanka,” he says, the word rolling off his tongue like silk. Hanging onto that ‘k’ in her name, thickening it like a drip of honey.

A shiver runs through her and she’s already got one hand parting the fur over his chest to the side, sliding over smooth skin dappled with scars – but then Braham catches her wrist.

“Let’s find a nicer place to continue this,” he murmurs.

Yanka frowns, the words barely getting through to her. “Wait,” she says, “what – ”

He jerks his head back to the villa. “Bed, pillows. Comfort by candlelight.” The grin that blooms on his face is roguish, and within the ice of his eyes burns fire. “Do this proper, Commander Yanka.”

He squeezes her thigh.

“The,” Yanka half-stutters, not taking her eyes off of him, “the patrol.”

Braham’s grin stays. “Fuck the patrol. Zalambur has more than enough guards.”

“I think you mean fuck me,” Yanka says then, throwing all caution out the window. She feels her cheeks heat when she says it, regardless. She usually isn’t this crass.

Braham blinks in surprise. And then he laughs, the sound rich and inviting, just like the warm stretch of his throat as he throws his head back. “Yeah,” he snickers, “I will. As long as you do me too.”

“All night,” Yanka promises.

She lets Braham carry her back to the house. Pointedly ignores the people they pass along the way; curls her fingers around the thick muscles of Braham’s neck and steals kiss after kiss after kiss ‘till her lips tingle and Braham almost stumbles over the steps.

The air is heady with incense.

Yanka’s room is on the second floor and Braham half-stumbles over his own feet to get there – skidding against some walls on their way up, air slammed out of Yanka’s lungs when Braham pushes her back against one, arms still holding up her weight. Kisses her senseless, licks stripes down her throat.

She can’t even cross her ankles behind his waist to give herself leverage rock against him. He’s too broadly built.

Somehow, that makes it even worse, and Yanka nips at his chin in retaliation. Braham’s steps increase promptly.

And then the door of her chambers is slammed open with such force that it clatters back against the wall; Braham backs up and shoulders it closed, and then he walks over to the bed.

Something excited prickles up Yanka’s spine; not nervousness but anticipation. Want mixing in with the thrill of something new. Desire mixing in with all the feelings she already had for Braham: affection, fondness, knowing that they belonged.

Family. And now?

Her mouth curls up in a smile. Lover.

Braham deposits her on the center of the almost too-large bed (not with Braham in it, Yanka muses) reverently, and then he’s already shrugging his clothes off. Weapons clattering to the floor. Kicking his boots off and away.

Oh, and his eyes shine so darkly, Yanka shudders without him even touching her.

Braham’s chest heaves with breath and then suddenly, his hands stop.

Resting on his belt.

He waits, saying nothing, as if he’s nervous.

Yanka sits up, leaning on her elbows. Lets her gaze drift from his face downwards – the full breadth of his exposed chest, the curve of his bicepts, the planes of his abdomen. The trail of hair leading lower, to where his hands rest almost hesitantly.

“Braham,” she says, and her voice cracks a little, “by the Eternal Alchemy, you’re gorgeous.”

Color blooms in his cheeks. His chin dips as he smiles at her shyly, fingers moving restlessly over his belt.

Yanka has to clear her throat first before any sound comes out. “Go on,” she says softly.

He preens, biting his lip, and that’s when Yanka fully realizes that she’s going to get a show. A show of Braham Eirsson stripping off his clothes for her, while she’s lounging on silk sheets like a queen.

The very idea of it instantly provokes a bodily reaction; sends blood and heat rushing between her legs. Fanning that inkling of desire in her belly.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath,” Braham remarks, a little cheekily. He’s slowly untying his belt.

Yanka makes a small noise, not trusting herself to say anything else. When his belt clangs open, his pants slip down just the slightest bit, but they still hang off his hips – and from what Yanka knows to be the greatest ass in all of Tyria.

His pants are leather. And tight.

Before, Yanka was up higher against his body so that they could kiss properly; she didn’t feel him straining against her, which definitely counted as a loss. But now, it’s painfully easy to see the heavy outline of his cock pressing against his leg.

He’s at half-mast, and that in and of itself already looks impressive enough to make her body thrum with excitement. Just the idea of trying to make that fit anywhere –

And then Braham’s hooking his thumbs into his pants and sliding them off, and clarity of thought disappears for a while. Because, well, it’s a lot.

Braham’s cheeks are still pink, and he’s smiling shyly. “Boss?” he asks.

Yanka can’t quite help it. Her mouth waters at the sight of him and she has to swallow that down first. “I feel overdressed,” she chokes out, looking him up and down.

His smile grows as he advances, one knee resting on the mattress, and reaches out to touch her ankle. “That’s easy to fix,” he says, voice hot and promising.

“Certainly,” Yanka tries to quip back, though her voice sounds wavers.

Braham just gives her a long, knowing look, fingers still resting on her ankle.

Yanka reaches for the clasps holding her outfit together; fingers shaking with the frenzy of the movement, but she manages to undo them nonetheless. Toes off her shoes and kicks them to the side while she unclasps the cloak with the pauldrons and drops it to the floor.

Braham settles at her feet like a god. Somehow completely unbothered by his own nudity, all easy smiles and heated stares while she sheds her clothing piece-by-piece.

Pants, bracers, top – struggling to pull it off over her horns, the chain between them bright even in the candlelight.

Braham watches with rapt attention until Yanka is down to her underclothes, all bright pink with geometrical patterns. She notices his fingers tightening where they rest on his own leg, and beckons him with one finger.

“Come here,” she asks, and the request is breathy.

Braham moves over until his body is stretched all the way across hers, elbows on either side of her head. The blue of his eyes is a mere flicker of a ring around his pupils, blown wide with arousal.

He brushes one thumb over the curve of Yanka’s horns, and shudders in surprise. “They feel,” he says, “different, somehow?”

Yanka chuckles. “Mesmer trick. I’ll show you, one day.”

Braham’s fingers tangle in her hair, sliding around until they slide past her ear. “Yanka,” he sighs, “you gotta tell me what you like. I’ve never been – never been with an asura.”

She shrugs lightly beneath him, showing her teeth. “I’d like it if you’d help me out of the rest of my clothes.”

Braham grins. “I can do that.”

He tugs lightly on the point of her left ear before he moves his hands down to cup her waist, and Yanka groans and pushes her head back into the pillows.

“I figured those were a thing,” he says, sounding a little prideful at having it all figured out.

Yanka shoots him another toothy smile. “I figure you would’ve been really popular with my people if your ears would’ve been as big as your dick.”

Braham, who’s been slowly sliding his fingers up to Yanka’s ribs, abruptly stops and just laughs. His shoulders shake with the movement of it, and he squeezes his hands around her. “Wouldn’t that have been a sight.”

He finds the edge of her underclothes just over the curve of her breasts, and grins.

“Quite,” she smiles back, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Go on,” she adds softer.

Braham cranes his head down to kiss her again. It’s messier, slower this time: tangle of tongues, him dipping into her mouth while he eases her underclothes off with just one hand. The other’s curled around the back of her head, tilting her up towards him – and Yanka feels like she’s starting to drown.

There’s just so much of him: hot, strong lines of muscle at her front, mouth wet and desperate, and the way he touches her is… It’s sure. Certain. He has no doubts, and he’s not holding back. His gentleness is for her rather than speaking of insecurities or hesitancy.

Yanka can’t help it when Braham rolls the fabric off her hips, down her legs – she moans up into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip with all the power she can muster.

“Spirits,” Braham curses, fingers reverently digging into Yanka’s waist. “Yanka, you’re beautiful.”

She kisses him again because she has no words. Tugs at his chin and shoulders, encouraging him to press down on her. Spreads her legs around his bulk.

“Braham,” she gasps, feet digging into his spine as she curls herself around him.

He presses his hips into the mattress, slowly grinding, and groans. And then his mouth is leaving hers as he trails kisses down the side of her face, the side of her neck, the dip of her throat – fingers fiddling with the tips of her ears.

Sparks fly across her vision as he does that and she digs her claws into the muscles of his back, making him moan in half-surprise. He meets her eyes, almost accusatory.

“Good to know,” Yanka simply half-grins, suddenly greedy with the knowledge.

Braham flicks the gems on her forehead and then he’s moving lower, mouth a hot press against all the bare skin he can find. His fingers trail over her arm and just as he moves to kiss her clavicle with a burning hot swipe from his tongue, he catches her wrist and tangles their fingers together.

To say that something cheesy like you’re my sun, my moon, all the stars in my sky or perhaps even great spirits above, I hope they’ll memorize us across the night sky as constellations, side-by-side rests on Yanka’s tongue is not an understatement.

But words fail, as do thoughts.

Because Braham is nothing but not dedicated, and he’s reached her breasts. Fondles them with one hand, carefully watching Yanka’s face as he kneads them, thumb passing over a nipple.

Yanka exhales, smiling. “Clever,” she sighs, “and nice. But not – not as much as…”

She closes her eyes, head lolling back again when Braham reaches up and sucks her earlobe into his mouth.

“It’ll be fun figuring you out, boss,” he teases there on a low, lingering whisper, and Yanka digs her nails into the palm of his hand from where their fingers are still entwined.

“Two can play that game,” Yanka manages.

Braham blinks, looking at her with interest.

It’s frighteningly easy to gather the magic under her palms and draw it up to her core. To have it spread beneath her fingertips and crackle across Braham’s body. There’s that little snap of lightning in the air, the ozone she tastes in her mouth whenever she works her magic.

Braham takes a shaky breath, muscles tensing in his arms, and Yanka untangles their hands so she can press both of her own flat against his chest. And she winks, just because.

Pushes the full force of her illusions into him.

“Fuck,” Braham curses, head tipping back as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Yanka sees the pink flush of her spells over his skin – same color as her eyes while they shine with her magic, as always. Curling over his ribs, his nipples, his abdomen, his throat. A thousand airy hands doing the job. And she feels what they feel: hot, shivery skin, tensing and relaxing beneath it.

Braham’s hips thrust up into half little nothings, whispers of a touch, ghosting over his hips. He moans unabashedly, chest heaving with breath.

Push and pull of things, Yanka thinks with a grin.

He sits up slowly, gasping, his own hands sliding over his body to chase the phantom touches she’s giving him. “Yanka,” he groans, “please.”

His cock is curved over his belly, twitching and leaking precum. His eyes are desperate and wanting.

Yanka takes pity, and puts more force behind her spell. “Lie down,” she says, and Braham obeys without a second thought.

Leans back into the touch until he’s flat on his back on the sheets, cheeks flushed, and arms already reaching for her while she settles over his belly. Sits astride him, one hand pressed to his sternum, illusionary hands still reaching across him in curls of pink smoke.

“Are you gonna,” Braham starts, voice cracking, “are you gonna fuck me with those?”

All rational thought instantly leaves her mind. It leaves room for only one thing – deep, toe-curling want. “Do you want me to?” she asks.

Braham blushes, the flush extending to his chest. “You already overwhelm me in every way,” he says, breathless. “I don’t see how we couldn’t – couldn’t try that as well.”

Yanka’s body thrums with this new nugget of knowledge, and she tucks it away for future reference. “Next time,” she promises, tracing patterns up and down his ribs with one clawed finger. “I want to be better prepared.”

Braham slowly reaches out, cupping her face. “Next time sounds great,” he smiles, and then he’s biting his lip again with pleasure.

“You’re sensitive,” Yanka remarks, leaning over to draw that claw over a nipple. She flicks the little bud, and Braham groans.

“You’re wet,” he says in retaliation, staring pointedly to where the space between her legs is pressed over his abdomen.

Yanka grins. “I guess that’s what I get for stating the obvious,” she says, wriggling her hips over him.

She leans down over his chest, pressing her lips to his throat, and sucks a mark over the skin. Braham presses into the touch, arms trembling, and he just melts. Melts when her lips touch lower while she sucks a nipple into her mouth, sharp teeth nipping, and Yanka feels powerful.

One of Tyria’s biggest heroes wrapped up in bliss in her bed. She could definitely do worse than this.

Admiring her handiwork – Braham, flushed and shaking all over – she reaches lower until his cock bumps into the curve of her ass. He instantly digs his heels into the mattress, groaning.

Yanka reaches back, letting her spell slowly dissipate; for this, she wants him focused just on her. Curls one arm around her back and teases the tips of her claws over his length.

“If you want me to fill you up before the night is over,” Braham manages over a heavy groan, “don’t tease me too much, Yanka.”

“Boldly spoken,” Yanka answers, slipping off of him so she can sit at his side, eyeing his impressive cock. She can’t help but press her thighs together in response; they’re already slick, and there’s a steady pound of desire coursing through her.

“Let’s see how much you can take,” she murmurs, taking him into her hand with a gentle grip.

Braham’s hands clench into fists and he presses one to his mouth, sucking in his breath.

She carefully explores him, fingers trailing up and down – brushes her thumb across the sensitive spot below the head, cups her other hand around his balls. Curls her fingers through the thatch of pubic hair at the base before squeezing his cock softly.

Braham is trying his absolute hardest not to move too much but his hips tremble with the effort, and Yanka takes pity on him. Sticks her tongue out and slowly licks a circle around the tip of his cock. He tastes of salt and the heady musk of arousal, and it’s enough to make her cunt clench a few times in anticipation.

She sucks him in slow, cheeks hollowing – he’s so big that her mouth already feels full when she’s got just the cockhead inside, curling her tongue around it. Two hands at the base, holding him tight, and still there’s so much of his length bare. Uncovered.

“By the Wolf’s tail,” Braham says, wonder coloring his voice as Yanka tries to swallow him deeper.

He stretches her mouth wide, catching against her teeth, but that just makes Braham moan louder. So she continues until he hits the back of her throat – uncomfortable but also good, like a nice stretch and burn, the tired ease in her muscles after she’s been fighting for an entire day.

She starts bobbing her head up and down, loving the feel of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth.

Braham’s hand finds her, cupping the back of her head, fingers resting over the base of her horns. Yanka meets his eyes just as she swallows him down again, and he makes a desperate little noise.

So she slips her mouth off of him, grins, and says: “I like the way you think.”

Braham looks lost in a daze, like he has no idea what she’s saying, but Yanka slings a leg over one of his thick, broad thighs and sits down upon it. Rubs her wetness against him in delicious friction, mouth still resting against his cock, and then she’s reaching out and grasping his hands.

“Not too hard,” she warns, pressing them against her horns.

Braham’s eyes grow wide. “Really?” he chokes out.

“If you want to,” Yanka smiles, and then she closes her eyes and sucks him between her lips again. Stacks her hands on top of each other to cover more of him, stroking in tandem with the way she bobs her head up and down.

Braham’s fingers hesitate before they curl around her horns slow. No pressure just yet, but then Yanka moans around him when his cock hits particularly deep, and his hands tighten around them.

“Shit,” he gasps.

Yanka increases her pace, and then he’s starting to move with it. Not a lot, but his hips rise up to meet her mouth every time she sinks down on him, and likewise his hands pull on her horns at exactly the right time. It feels – it feels fucking fantastic, just like how they fight on the battlefield.

Synergy. Motion. A rhythm between them that they both flawlessly fall into.

Somehow, that’s the most arousing thing that’s struck her so far. So she gets back into it with vigor, sucking him in with as much strength as she can. Reaches down one hand to cup his balls again, rolling them in her palm, sliding the claw of her thumb carefully over the sensitive skin.

And it’s not just that – it’s the sounds he makes, how into it he is, how gentle his hands are on her horns and the base of her skull even though he wants her so badly. So badly that she feels the proof of it on her tongue, cock twitching against her lips.

She can’t resist rubbing herself against him. Widens her stance over his thigh so she can grind her clit into his leg, desperate to ease off some of her own pleasure, and she realizes faintly that she could reach her peak like this.

Just like this. Sucking him off while he makes the prettiest picture she’s never seen stretched out over silk sheets in a pale, purple color. It’s a wonderful contrast against his dark skin.

She groans around him, not bothering to wipe at the corner of her mouth as some saliva escapes her, and suddenly, just before she wants to slide her mouth back around him – he stops her, iron pressure on her horns.

“Yanka,” he says, voice low, “I can’t. I’ll come.”

She pouts. Doesn’t stop riding his thigh, even if she can’t take his cock into her mouth right now.

“Let me give you pleasure first,” he offers. “You can always decide later how you want to end me.”

That sends a spark of lust prickling down her spine, but she plays it off. “Fine,” she says as if she’s the one having to give something up. As if she hasn’t been burning up ever since they started this.

“Come here?” he asks, voice gentle.

She crawls up his body, pointedly ignoring the wet spot she left behind on his thigh, and lets her own leg slide alongside his cock on purpose on her way up. He releases another shaky breath but he doesn’t say anything, instead cupping her face and pulling her down.

She half-expects abandon. But he kisses her softly, sweetly, very carefully running his tongue over her lips and her teeth. His eyes – the desire is there, but they’re also fondly warm. Affectionate.

He squeezes her thighs, sliding his palms over them. Goes back to gently kneading her breasts as he peppers kisses over her chin and her throat. And then his fingers are sliding down her ribs, fitting around the slope of her hips.

He teases his fingertips over the planes of her belly there, and Yanka doesn’t stop the giggle that bubbles up.

A teasing grin forms on Braham’s lips. “So,” he says, “nipples are a no-go. Your sides are ticklish.” He illustrates his point by making her laugh again when he grazes his nails over the inside of her hipbones.

Yanka bites her lip, grinning back at him.

“Only one place left for me to go,” he shrugs, and then he’s grabbing her around the waist. Waits one second before he lifts her up and draws her to his face. “Make yourself comfortable,” he murmurs.

Yanka can only blink in surprise when her thighs land on either side of his head, right next to his ears. Braham looks pleased and mischievous from where he stares up at her, and his hands slide down to grasp her ass. He squeezes, pushing her forward.

“You,” she says, “you’re amazing.”

Because at this point, she has no brain-mouth filter left, and Braham licking his lips between her legs while staring up at her wet, dripping cunt and pulling her over his mouth is a sight she’d never thought she’d see in all its visceral, lust-inducing glory.

“Back at you,” he whispers against her clit, “boss.”

Oh and that shakes her all the way to her core, and he times it wonderfully when he presses that first heated kiss against her. Noses her lips apart and then he’s lapping at her with enthusiasm. Passionately sweeping his tongue up and down, slick stripes over her wet slit, nose pressed against that little bundle of nerves.

Yanka doesn’t have time to scream. A choked moan escapes her throat as she presses one hand against the headboard to steady herself, thighs already trembling around Braham’s head.

“Tastes so good,” he murmurs between his folds, one of his hands leaving her ass to jerk his cock. The rest of his words disappear against her cunt, whispered strings of nonsense while he licks her open with a bold tongue.

She throws her head back, unable to stop herself from rolling her hips against his mouth. It’s too – just too much, the way he dives into the task with such unbridled vigor.

He spears his tongue into her, pushing at her inner walls, and then he’s pulling his head back slightly so he can lap at her clit. Sucks it into his mouth, capturing it between his lips and latching onto it with a rhythm that’s driving her insane.

Her nails dig into the headboard, puncturing the wood. Well, she thinks through the fog of lust, it’s not like Zalambur doesn’t have the money for repairs.

“Want you so bad,” Braham groans, hips shifting below her as he fucks into his own fist – Yanka can hear the wet slide of it.

She doesn’t look back to see it with her own eyes; she can’t look back, not when Braham is sucking on her clit. Not when he lets his teeth graze very gently over it before he goes back to lapping, little kitten licks following up on each other.

Yanka just gives into it and moans. There’s no other sounds left in her.

Build-up slow and rolling, prickling at the base of her spine and flooding low in her gut with every tease of Braham’s tongue against her. Making the muscles of her abdomen jump and tense.

She’s close. By the Eternal Alchemy, she is. And all it took was fucking her throat over his cock and having him below her now while she’s spread wide over his face.

“Braham,” she groans, “fuck.”

Braham answers back with a deep moan of his own, one arm wrapping around her thigh. Hand nestling underneath her ass until she feels the gentle prod of a finger against her entrance.

“Do you want me – ”

Magic spins and sizzles under her fingertips, zapping a resounding crack throughout the headboard, damaging it further. “Yes,” she gasps before Braham can finish his sentence, “Eternal Alchemy above, Braham, yes.”

He pushes the tip of his finger in at the same time he sucks harshly at her clit.

Yanka nearly loses it right there and then, pushing her hips to draw more of him in beyond the first knuckle; she’s so wet and loose with pleasure that it’s easy and she just wants. Wants him deeper, harder, all the way in.

Braham seems to realize it, thrusting his finger gently back and forth until she feels his palm against her clit.

“Two,” she demands, feeling her orgasm rumble in the near distance like rolling thunder.

He obeys. Rubs his index finger through her slick until it’s nice and wet, mouth still latched onto her clit, and then he’s carefully pushing it in aside his middle finger. Taking it slow until they’re both inside and before he can move, Yanka is already riding them.

Pressing herself down on his palm.

“So pretty,” Braham whispers lovingly against her sensitive flesh. “The depths of you are pink, too.”

Swirls his fingers through the wetness and groans while he sucks her clit back into his mouth, and thrusts his fingers up. Scissors them just slightly, curling around in her, broad and filling and good.

Yanka pushes down to meet them, and then Braham curls them just so on the slide out – and she sees stars.

Fucks his fingers harder, biting her lip, and she knows she can’t stop it now.

“Braham,” she moans, “Braham, I’m – ”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. She can’t, because under the sweet cascade and pressure of Braham’s tongue and fingers, she comes undone.

She shatters, thighs quacking, movement in her hips suspended as she rides it out. Wave after crashing wave, enjoying the roil of her orgasm shaking through her.

“Yanka,” Braham moans beneath her, “shit.”

His hand falters inside of her, and then there’s a damping, deafening sound before the air displaces with a pop.

Yanka loses the grip on her magic.

Staring down at herself, she sees the bright crystal shards of energy fizzling out from her, crackling with purple static. Pink smoke, her own ecstatic expression burned into pieces of a mirror, cracking apart. Slices of time and power boring themselves into the bed, the sheets, the headboard.

She feels full and empty at the same time, taking in a ragged breath – and the haze of purple and pink gathers around her like she’s a star gone supernova before it pops, clock striking midnight, and it’s gone.

Braham is staring up at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

His mouth and hands have stopped moving.

“Are you doin’ alright?” he asks. “Yanka?”

“I,” Yanka starts, shoulders shaking, “I think I am.”

He carefully eases his fingers out of her and then he’s sitting up against the busted headboard, lifting her from his face into his lap. Wipes his mouth and chin on his arm. “Your eyes,” he says softly.

Yanka blinks. Touches her hands to her face. She doesn’t need a mirror to see it, but the motion is instinctive.

“They’re like back when we met,” Braham says fondly, and he’s reaching out towards her. Touches his fingers to her cheek, impossibly gently, trailing over the darker marks around her eyes. “Forest meets the sea.”

Yanka turns her head to press a kiss to his palm. “Pink goes better with my image,” she manages to say, still shaky, coming down from her high.

“I don’t know,” he says, smiling, “I think dark brown goes pretty well with your image, too.”

Drapes his arms over her shoulders to illustrate his point, raising one eyebrow.

Yanka chuckles, still a little weakly, and leans her forehead against his chest. “I can’t believe you made me come so hard I dropped all of my illusions,” she murmurs. The horns are gone, too, not getting in the way when she rubs her face against him.

Braham chuckles. “I kinda like it,” he says, sounding proud, ruffling her hair.

And suddenly he turns them around, half-wrestling Yanka into the sheets who feels like all her bones have changed into jelly – so she doesn’t resist. And she finds that she doesn’t even want to.

“Just relax,” he says, leaning over her languidly. “We don’t have to do anything else. Tame the beast some other time.”

Yanka draws his face down for another kiss. Flicks her tongue against his teeth and nips him, embers of desire still flaring in her belly when she tastes herself on his lips. “I want to,” she says decidedly. “Tame that beast, Braham Eirsson.”

Braham winks. He’s never looked as handsome, and Yanka’s heart goes soft. Beats for him entirely, in this moment. He kisses her again. “Alright,” he answers. “Then let me do the rest of the work.”

Yanka snorts. “Like you didn’t already.”

He smiles, reaching down with one arm. “So what, boss,” he says easily. “I like doin’ the work. As long as you keep blasting your time magic.”

Yanka wants to say something back, trade quips with him – but then he’s brushing his knuckles between her legs carefully, and her thighs instantly shake apart.

“Ssh,” he murmurs, “I got you. Just want to prep you a little bit.”

His fingers find her entrance, circling there, pressing the tips in and out. Yanka gasps, pushing her hips back into the movement. “Nothing,” she manages over a heaved breath, “about that is little, Braham.”

There’s no resistance as he slides both of his fingers back in up until the second knuckle. But he laughs, shoulders shaking, and presses his fingers deeper. “Still can’t believe you’re letting me,” he teases.

“I’ve always been a brave sort of person,” Yanka says with a half-smile, leaning back on her elbows.

Braham kisses the grin off her face, tongue pushing deep as he thrusts his fingers almost lazily in and out. Spreads them when he has them inside of her, stretching her out, coated in her wetness.

He chuckles against her throat. “That you are. So that’s the kind of legacy you want to leave behind?”

“Commander Yanka of Dragon’s Watch, split apart by dick?” she asks breathlessly while Braham keeps scissoring his fingers in and out of her.

He laughs again, shaking his head, and his eyes twinkle. “I’m not gonna split you apart,” he promises. “I’ll fuck you gently. Sweetly. Anything you wanna taste of me, I’ll give to you.”

And that’s entirely not fair, Yanka decides, especially not as Braham leans down to kiss her again. Mouth a warm, tender brand against her own. He’s not supposed to turn her own banter against her by being so incredibly sweet.

But she doesn’t have time to ponder it much because he’s pushing a third finger up against her.

“Relax,” he murmurs into her ear again, lips touching the sensitive shell of it, and she involuntarily flicks it against his cheek. But she listens nonetheless, angling herself further upon around his wrist, and he pops his third finger in.

It’s feels so much more filling like this; he has broad, thick digits so unlike her own, and it’s harder to move them in tandem. But he tries nonetheless, settling on a slow, gentle rhythm.

Yanka loses herself in it, curling her arms around his neck. They keep kissing through it, lazily and sloppily, until Braham has worked the full stretch of his three fingers into her. Crooks them slightly, teasing at that sweet spot inside of her, and then he starts to thrust.

It opens her up. It also makes her ridiculously horny for whatever’s going to come next.

“You ready?” he asks.

Yanka nods, nails digging into his back. “Wasn’t I ever,” she murmurs.

Braham carefully slides his fingers out of her and it’s just – an instant sense of loss. Wipes them on the already half-ruined sheets while he reaches over to the bedside table, rummaging around in the drawer. There’s a small, corked bottle there – lube.

Yanka raises both of her eyebrows.

“Hey,” Braham says, shrugging, “figured having villas all over Elonia would make Zalambur a practical kinda guy. Seems I was right.”

Yanka watches him like a hawk when he sits back on his heels, caps the bottle open, and warms the liquid on his palms. Coats his cock in it with a firm, steady grip that makes the muscles on his abdomen jump and his chest shake with the next breath he takes.

And then he’s reaching over and rubbing his wet hand over her open cunt, slicking her lips even further. Can’t help a teasing, soft pinch of her clit that has Yanka seeing stars. She’s getting ready to go again, her body having come down from that first earth-shattering explosion.

“Braham,” Yanka manages through clenched teeth, “if you don’t get on with it, I’m going to curse you.”

“Message received,” he grins, taking himself in hand. Cock grasped firmly at the base, he pushes it carefully against her entrance. Nudges, the movement sending sparks across her vision, until the head is slowly slipping inside.

It’s a stretch, but it’s working out. It feels fucking divine after an orgasm and several minutes of lazy fucking.

“Good?” Braham asks, voice husky.

Yanka nods, wrapping her fingers around his forearms. “Yeah,” she says shakily.

He pushes a little deeper, carefully watching her reaction.

The girth – the girth is so good that Yanka squeezes her eyes shut in pleasure, head lolling back into the pillows, her hips sliding forward greedily. Getting split apart by the greatest cock on Tyria is an awfully close description of what’s happening but she’s never been happier to be here.

“Feels good,” she says, breathless. “Braham. Fuck.”

He smiles, lopsided and shaky, slowly pulling out and pushing back again. Every time he does so, he goes a little deeper than before, letting Yanka adjust to his size.

“Can’t you fuck me a little?” Yanka asks, eager for it. “Even if it’s not in all the way, just more of a – ah!”

Braham grins; he’s about halfway into her, snapping his hips in with force. Not going beyond the point where he’s got his hand still wrapped around himself. “Like that?” he asks, all cheek.

Yanka jabs her fist into his arm but she nods. “Yeah,” she mutters, retaliating by squeezing around him, “like that.”

Braham’s turn to groan, thighs straining. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re tight.”

He thrusts a little harder, more of him disappearing into Yanka’s dripping cunt and she already feels so full that it isn’t supposed to fit but somehow it does. Somehow he does, wonderfully erotic and filthily thick, stretching her in all the right places, and his cock is so big that he doesn’t even have to angle it to hit her sweet spot.

Once he’s inside almost all the way, he constantly rubs against it. Her inner walls slowly accommodating to the intrusion, letting him in. Yanka’s legs tremble around his hips.

Accommodating to let him have his way.

“Almost there,” Braham groans.

Yanka scratches claw marks into his arms while he presses all of the way in; she’s never felt this full. Never was stuffed quite this much just with cock and it’s already driving her towards the edge. He’s not even moving, just his pelvis resting against her, pubic hair prickling against her oversensitive folds.

He braces his arms at either side of her head.

Yanka shudders under the look in his eyes. The gaze that sweeps boldly over her face she knows is flushed and already looking half-fucked out. Down over her throat and her breasts, until he’s looking down between their bodies.

Keeps watching while he swivels his hips out, and then back in with a scooping motion.

All the air is slammed out of Yanka’s lungs and she cries out.

Braham captures her mouth, muffling her moans, and starts thrusting. Still gentle, but there’s a rhythm to it now. Filling her up again and again and again, letting her get used to the wide, long curve of his cock.

Yanka feels like she might just come untouched. Her clit throbs between them with each slow grind of him into her, his pubic bone pressing down on it.

She looks up at him, cradling his head in her hands. Pressing their foreheads together.

Braham’s eyes are fire as he rolls his hips into hers with a bit more intent.

He’s good at this, Yanka thinks, by the damned Alchemy, he’s so fucking good at –

Maybe she did say that out loud, because Braham dips his head to suck her earlobe between his teeth. Tugs on it harshly while the cascade of his hips increases. The next time he thrusts inside he goes beyond the shallow eddying of it and lingers so deeply that it goes black before Yanka’s eyes.

“Still doin’ okay, boss?” he says, voice like gravel. There’s a light sheen of sweat over his brow and his shoulders, reflecting the flickering of the candlelight in the room.

Yanka nods, trying not to cry out on his next thrust. “Yeah,” she gasps, “yeah. I’m – I’m used to it now, I think.”

“Want me to do you hard?” he asks, swiveling his hips. It makes his cock press a little to the side inside of her and she wants to fucking scream.

After she manages to gather enough brainpower together to give Braham an answer, she nods again. “Gotta leave that legacy behind somehow,” she half-laughs.

Braham pulls all the way back, grinning as he sits back on his heels again. “Turn around?” he asks.

That sends excitement running through the low pit of Yanka’s belly and she moves, wordlessly, shifting towards him until she’s on her hands and knees.

Once a wolf, always a wolf, apparently.

Braham whistles, his hands landing on her ass. And then he’s crowding against her and over her: one hand moves to press across one of hers, twining them onto the sheets. And the other holds his cock steady against her before he’s pushing back in again, slow.

Yanka shudders below him.

It’s still a lot and the angle is all different like this – still good but different, and her body has to adjust again.

“You feel amazing,” he murmurs against her ear, shifting slightly.

He’s keeping his weight off of her but the length of his body is pressed against the entire length of hers. His balls slot against her ass as he bottoms out, and he peppers kisses across the back of her neck.

One of his hands come up to palm at her back, sliding over her spine.

Yanka takes a deep breath, hair falling into her face, and braces herself on her arms. Squeezes the hand entwined with her own. “So do you,” she whispers, “Braham.”

Something between them spells love. But Yanka realizes that she knew that all along – they’ve been friends, comrades, brothers-in-arms eons before they were this. It’s a natural sort of conclusion. Something that grew organically between them, and she doesn’t feel the need to name it.

Just the certainty that, from now on, she’s no longer alone. And neither is he.

The next kiss is tender and sweet against the high of her cheekbone.

He feels it too. She knows it.

And then Braham’s grasping her hip, nails digging in, and slowly resumes his thrusts.

Yanka’s entire body shakes with the momentum, especially as he picks up the pace. It’s starting to get difficult to feel where he ends and she begins – all that there is, is the certain movement of his hips and his breath fanning over her ear. Over the back of her neck.

Wet slap of their bodies resounding in the room. The smell of sex, musky and moist, mixing with the heady incense of jasmine. It’s almost too sweet, clogging Yanka’s nose and throat with heat and sweat and want.

She clenches around him, her fingers digging into the sheets, and realizes through the half-daze that she’s not gonna be able to walk properly in the morning. Digs her heels in and starts pushing back to meet his thrusts halfway, because it’s now or never.

Her legs tremble with the effort. Lust spiking every time he hits home and when she helps him to get there.

“By all the stars in the sky,” she groans, pleasure unfurling. “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

Braham moans above her in response, sucking a mark into her shoulder.

Yanka absolutely does not whimper when he makes a scooping motion with his hips, teasing at her sweet spot before he slams all the way home. It nearly pushes her off balance, but then one big arm wraps around her waist to help her stay upright.

His palm is so large that he can spread it over her entire ribcage and still grope at her breasts, fingers twisting her nipples. Little pinpricks of want adding to the flood of desire already threatening to overtake her.

“Me too,” he answers, desperation coloring his voice. He slides his palm up until it covers the front of her throat, and he gently guides her head a little towards him.

Understanding his intent, she cranes back her neck, and then they’re kissing. Uncoordinated and messily because Braham keeps fucking into her at full force and Yanka does her best to meet his thrusts. She accidently tongues his chin and Braham’s teeth clack against hers when he tries to nip at her lips.

But it doesn’t matter. They’re slowly hurling off the edge together.

Their eyes meet, and Braham’s palm slides down. From her throat to her breasts and the slope of her belly, ‘til he’s got it resting between her thighs. Pressed right over where he’s fucking into her.

Yanka falls forward on her elbows again, biting her lip as he rubs circles onto her clit.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks roughly, his rhythm starting to falter.

“Together,” she grits out, biting her lip on a particularly hard upstroke. “All or nothing, Braham.”

She curses again when he leans a little more on her, just a hint of his weight – and teeth gently grazing her nape. His hand moves faster between her legs, plucking at her clit with the deftness of someone playing an instrument.

“Together,” Braham says, and he sounds wrecked. His hips start stuttering.

It’s a promise. It’s a promise never to leave each other’s side from here on in.

Braham finds her mouth again in a last act of desperation and the nail of his thumb skids over her clit – and Yanka comes at that, rhythmically clenching around his cock to a point where it’s almost painful, tongue tangled with Braham’s and her nails digging into his arm.

It’s softer than the first time but still good, bone-deep and breaking her apart, leaving her bereft of tension. Her entire body slow and sluggish and instantly relaxed because of it.

He groans half a sob into her mouth and then he’s spilling over too, warm wetness coating her cunt. Cock pulsing and twitching inside of her, and she can feel very damned minute movement of it.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his face against her spine, slowly moving backwards so he can slide out.

His cum drips down instantly, coating the back of her legs.

Yanka decides pointedly that she doesn’t care, and lets her arms give out. Collapses face-first into the pillows. The mattress dips significantly as Braham does the same, rolling over on one arm until he’s stretched out next to her.

His body is molten gold, wet with perspiration, and his chest is still heaving with breath. He’s also wearing the most stupidly happy grin she’s ever seen on his face; so much so that she can’t resist reaching out to touch his cheek.

He kisses her fingers in response.

“That,” Braham says, chuckling against her hand, “was great, boss.”

She grins back at him. “So do you believe I successfully tamed the beast, hmm?” he asks, gathering a last nugget of strength from her core. It makes her claws light up pink as she wiggles them at him.

“You think so?” Braham teases, eyebrow raised. “Maybe you should try it some more just to be sure.”

Yanka blinks, staring at him. “What, already?”

Braham laughs, head thrown back, and wrestles Yanka back into the sheets.

They end up staying at the villa for two more days. One day and night of lovemaking with some good old-fashioned fucking thrown in, and one day of recovery. There is no way that Yanka is going to be riding a raptor that soon after – well, after riding Braham.

When they finally start their journey, the dawn already warming the horizon, Yanka knows she never has to look back over her shoulder ever again.

Because Braham will be there every step of the way.