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You unwrap the bandages with shaking hands. The cloth, pulled taut with clips, comes loose, unravelling torturously slow. Taking one deep, silent breath, you let the white cloth pool in one cupped hand. Leander watches you closely, his gaze encouraging.
Your fingers peek out of the cloth first, followed by the rest of your palm. You pause, allowing the rest of the bandage to hang loosely along the length of your arm. The gold streams snaking along the skin glistens, its light reflecting in the sea-glass green of Leander’s eyes as he takes in the sight.
No matter how many times you do it, it’s still terrifying. Despite seeing the faint shimmer in the air, meaning that Leander has activated his own magical protection from curses and the like, you always brace yourself for the first touch. Half-expecting his expression, so gentle and kind, to contort into something monstrous. Like the countless patrons—victims—that turned mad at the slightest skin contact, back in the temple. You swallow thickly.
Leander offers you both his hands, palms out. He always, always gives you the freedom to touch him on your own terms. It’s both too much and too little at the same time.
“Hey,” Leander whispers. In the privacy of his quarters there's no reason to lower his voice so, but you know he’s trying to preserve the intimacy of the moment. A self-assured smile tugs the corner of his lip up. “C’mon. How many times d’you think we’ve done this?”
Too many times for me not to be scared , You think grimly, but instead you shush him, knitting your brows together absently. You begin to count to ten in your head, summoning your courage.
Ten…
“You really don’t believe in my capability to protect myself?”
Nine…
“Now, now. Whatever shall I do with you? I thought we were close enough by now that you wouldn’t think so poorly of me.”
Eight…
His grin widens. “Truly, o ye of little faith.”
“ Shut up!” You groan, losing count. Without thinking, you strike Leander on the palm with your open hand. Gold sweeps across in a curving arc, shocking you as you realise what you’ve done–but it’s far too late to take it back. Not when Leander smoothly catches your hand in his, chuffing a bark of laughter out loud.
You try to scowl at him, but the miraculousness of his warm hand is far too much to bear the heat of your vexation. Nor is the way his face opens up, jade eyes creasing into half-moons, laugh lines forming around the corners of his eyes and lips. He wipes a stray tear from his eye, the remnants of amusement caught in the quirk of his mouth.
“So easy to tease,” Leander muses. His calloused thumb swipes over a golden streak on your grey hands, before intertwining their fingers.
Ignoring him, you squeeze his hand once. It’s an impossible feat you marvel at, so much so that you reach out to stroke his arm with your other unwrapped hand. Goosebumps lightly dapples his flesh.
There’s a sharp inhale when you trace the rough, war-weathered skin of his forearm with your nails. You startle and peer up into Leander’s face, seeking permission to continue, and checking on his condition. A mild ruddy flush spreads across his cheeks, but it’s nothing unusual. Probably just a symptom of your curse.
Shaking his head, Leander raises a brow, signalling that he’s fine. The smile playing on his lips is a little shaky.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” You ask, starting to withdraw your other hand.
Leander latches onto your hand that is intertwined with his. His voice is low, husky, tinged with a subdued hunger. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m enjoying this as much as you are.”
As he speaks, he leans forward to meet your gaze, hair falling messily into his face. Behind the strands of wood-brown, his luminous green eyes are tender. It makes you shudder imperceptibly under the intensity of his gaze, which he doesn’t miss. In response he grasps your withdrawn hand with his own, raising it to his cheek. You let him guide your hand, still unused to the freedom of touch.
Then, unexpectedly, Leander draws your hand to his lips and chastely kisses the soft skin on the underside of your wrist.
You freeze. Your heart thunders in your ribcage, skin feeling too tight around your frame. His full lips are soft on your skin, warm as the rest of him. The way he watches you so carefully, tracking the raw shock on your face, suggests something vulnerable, something being cracked open behind the usual facade you’re so used to.
This is something of an admission. Not just usual flirtation.
Mouth dry, you just stare and stare.
Quickly as it had come over him, Leander’s state of fugue seems to dissipate. He relinquishes his hold on your hands, putting his palms up, now in a gesture of surrender. The openness in his face is disguised once more with an insouciant expression, a chuckle.
“Sorry, too much?”
You open your mouth, trying to say something, but the only sound that escapes is a choppy, choked noise. Slowly you lick your lips, wetting your mouth. You try to speak, but end up stumbling over your words.
“Leander…” Is all you manage.
You’re too shy to finish the rest. It’s not something you’ve ever done before, after all. So instead, you reach up to cup his face again, now with both hands. Better to let your touch do the speaking, as it always has. As he has always let you.
But– you’re so unfamiliar with how to be honest with your fingers.
In the wake of silence, Leander sounds out your name. He’s confused, yet in his face you see his attempt–and failure to disguise his want . For some reason, it inflames the hidden feelings inside that you thought were quelled so long ago.
What a liar , you think, before rising to your tiptoes and kissing him.
It’s a failure, is the short version of the story. Instead of meeting his lips, you end up kissing the corner of his mouth.
But all the same you linger, too embarrassed to pull back and admit the mistake. Leander just blinks at you, gaping. Even like this, he looks handsome. You resist the urge to ruffle his hair, shattering the tension between the both of you so that everything will go back to their usual banter.
“You worry too much,” You murmur the words into the tense air.
His face finally softens, his shoulders drooping in relief. Leander’s hands even find purchase on your hips, his fingers pressing firmly into your sides. The pressure of his grip immediately goes to your head like alcohol, heady and intoxicating.
“I really do, huh?” He agrees, genially. “Pretty uncharacteristic of me.”
“That’s not the worst of it.”
Leander’s fingers dig–pleasantly–into your flesh. He cocks his head. “Is there more?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You wanted to kiss me, didn’t you?” The words whoosh out of you, breathy and shy. You defer from looking at him in the eyes, staring at the scar on his cheek instead. Your voice is soft, thick with naked emotions that you deliberately let him see. “You should have.”
“I should have,” Leander echoes in a murmur, dropping his head between his shoulders.
There’s no pause this time, no moment of watchful silence, no careful treading.
Yet you can pinpoint the exact moment he heedlessly throws all caution to the wind because his grip turns vice-like, seizing you to his body. Even then, his kiss is soft, evocative, yearning. He kisses you slowly, like he’s savouring your taste.
Leander shifts his head, slants his mouth to make it easier when you reciprocate. Uselessly and messily, your hands scrabble behind his head, carding through his hair, pawing at his nape. In the brief moment that you part, it’s all you can do to pant, sucking air in noisily. But insistent, Leander draws you back into the cage of his arms, chuckling into your mouth.
You're practically melted putty in his arms by the time Leander reluctantly stops. Your hands fall to hold onto his lapels helplessly, feeling far too overheated, vision blurry. Vaguely, you notice how kiss-red and puffy Leander’s mouth is–which makes you touch your own lips in a fluster. When you regain your bearings enough to stand on your own, you find Leander looking terribly amused.
“So, have I been able to rectify my mistake?” The easy flirtation is back. Leander waits for your response expectantly, thoughtlessly fingering the edge of your corset in a way that indicates he would like it off .
You pretend to think it over. Leander’s thumb slips between your corset and undershirt.
“Yes!” Yelping, you jump, which prompts Leander to relinquish his grip. For a brief moment, disappointment crosses his face, inadvertently making him look like a kicked puppy. Guilt makes you continue, stuttering. “That’s enough… rectified, for today. I… I need some time to get used to… Touching you more, still.”
“Of course,” Leander says generously, brightening enough to shoot you a wink. “Take your time, sweetheart. We have plenty of it.” Then, his eyes drop to your mouth. “I’ll be looking forward to the next… touching on demand session.”
Despite his flirtations, a healthy flush still covers his face. It’s gratifying to see that you weren't the only one affected by the intimacy of the moment. Gratifying enough, that before you take it back, you drift your hand from his lapels to the firm warmth of his chest. You rest it over his heart for a moment, finding his pulse speeding fast. Sated, you push him away. Leander takes a stumbling step back.
The single moment gives you enough of an opening to flee, banging the door behind you harshly. “Don’t count on it, pretty boy!”
From inside the room, you hear his raucous laughter, mind immediately conjuring up a traitorous image of his handsome visage. You allow yourself a single, small smile at this, leaning against the door to listen to his voice.
Before he can find you again, you scramble back to your room, where you lock the door, rewrap your bandages, lie on your bed, and remember the taste of his mouth on yours.