Entry tags:
closed 🪶 i'm in the end, just what you made me.
Who: Benedikta Harman & others.
Status: Closed.
Where: Around.
What: Catch-all log for November.
Warnings: FFXVI spoilers. Definitely lots of foul language.
[If you would like a closed starter, please feel free to poke me over at my plotting post and we can plot something! 💚]
Status: Closed.
Where: Around.
What: Catch-all log for November.
Warnings: FFXVI spoilers. Definitely lots of foul language.
no subject
That...
[The word just falls weakly from his lips, as if she had hit him over the head with something so large, so heavy, that he has no comeback. No answer.
...Because that is what he does, isn't it? He never thought of it, but—she's right. Whether it was subconsciously or deliberately out of not wanting anyone to be hurt by his own actions, he puts himself out there first. He shoulders all those burdens so no one else has to. He's heard of others say he takes on too much, but he never thinks anything of it. Interprets it completely differently.
It's only now, seeing Benedikta in tears, that it finally really strikes him.
He can't even argue that he has other people around him. That he does use others, rely on them to fill the places he can't. Because...in the end, he still takes the worst of it. Hell, he went to try and take Drake's Head once on his own, and was preparing to do so again before Clive and Jill showed back up on his doorstep.
And so, he can't answer. He can only remain silent, as if stunned, with only his expression revealing those cracks she's managed to form as it all starts to sink in.]
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She can't. She can't anymore because she has come to care for him all over again. She is falling for him all over again despite this damning side of himself.
But that doesn't mean she ever has to like it.]
Well!?
[It's barked out like a demand after a too-long stretch of silence.]
Who, Cidolfus? If you would not have me...
[Someone he thinks better than her? More capable? No one was there when she tore apart the gallows. No one was there when he was possessed. No one.
She didn't care back then and she has no idea when that shift happened, but now, the thought of losing him to his own recklessness when he would harp on her for her own...
It fucking kills her.]
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Who, she asks.
Again names spin through his mind, how Otto takes care of the Hideaway while he focuses on the larger missions, for the many excursions he makes. Charon with her constant supply of goods. Blackthorne to provide their armor, weaponry, and other needs. Gav for his scouting, pivotal for everything they do. Tomes for his knowledge. Even now he had Clive who took on his role, his successor. And all the rest in the Hideaway who do their part to help better everyone else, to prove they could survive. Could live.
Live without him.
Yet even with Otto who was basically his second in command, that still has a disconnect because that's not what she means and he knows it. Because even then, everyone lets him do as he pleases; sigh and protest little but otherwise do not stop him, nor would he really let them. It was his choice to take on this mission to change the world, his mission to try and save them all. And even if it was their choice to follow, it was his decision to bear the burden of protecting and ensuring their safety. To not let them do more than they should. Of course lives were still lost, but if he can prevent and save even one more by taking on the more difficult challenges, then he would.
He did.
He appreciated, treasured, loved them all too much to lose them because they chose to follow his own path. They were more than just "helpers" to aid in his cause, more than just his "charges"—they were friends. Family.
...Just like his troops used to be when he once served as Lord Commander. Of the fellow soldiers and commanders he served with but had to watch to fall one by one in the wars planned and waged by Barnabas. Hearing their voices declaring how they would cover his back, ready to throw their lives to protect him. The times when someone sacrificed themselves saying he had to be the one to live. As long as he was alive, they could keep moving, that there was hope for victory. Over and over until he no longer had anyone left—except Benedikta.
Until he lost her, too.
Until he literally had nothing left for him in Waleod.
One would have thought he wouldn't fall into that pitfall again, that he would harden his heart, close himself off...
But he couldn't. He had Mid. He had Otto. He had someone who still needed him, and he had an axe to grind, so he forced himself forward. But what did change, whether subconsciously or deliberate, was that he would no longer allow anyone else to do his bidding if he could help it. He would not let anyone take the hits for him, try and shield him. Would not let anyone expose their necks farther than needed while he would run out and face the swords instead.
And in the end, it ended with his death.
A death he had chosen.
A death with a path he chose perhaps in some way to atone for all the lives and sacrifices made in his name. For the lives he failed to saved. Whether he consciously chose it is a different matter, but looking back maybe he did to some degree. He wasn't necessarily aiming to die, but whenever he inevitably did, he should at least do so in a form of his own sacrifice, to give back to those who were gone and those who still remained. Perhaps then he could find some penance for his own wrongs and ignorance. His failings.
So after another stretch of silence that lasted long enough where she would be ready to shout more at him, he finally answers quietly.]
No one.
[There was no one.
Because he chose for there to be no one.
He could have had Clive, but even then he doesn't. He already forced the young man into his role, and now he has a chance to live as he should with Jill and his brother. A life that he fears may have been cut far too short. How could he ask more of him when he already gave five of his own to pursue a cause he started?
He could not.
And even now, with Benedikta willingly throwing herself at him...
...
He cannot bring himself to accept. Not if it would put herself in danger. Not if it would have her killed again. Not only that, but she had that chance once. A chance she stepped away from on her own, when perhaps he had needed her most.
Yes.
He was truly a goddamn hypocrite.]
no subject
So that silence becomes even more deafening when she says nothing, waits with the breath held in her lungs, ready to shout and scream at him when it finally comes...
And when it does...
...
It, once again, brings her no satisfaction. No pride in knowing that she was right. That urge to shout at him that she told him so has all but dwindled away, leaving nothing in its wake but rage.
Because here she is handing another piece of her broken heart to him, pressing it into his palms and begging for him to take it, and should he put that at risk again, she would never forgive him. He should know that, he should know better, but here he is, accepting it only to turn his back and run off with it. She is putting herself on the line, trying to step across that one that she keeps drawn between them, but it is him who pushes her back this time.
....
Without even thinking, her palm comes up to strike him against his cheek, hard and fast and with the strength of a thousand winds.]
no subject
He did deserve it.
Here he is, asking her to let him in and he knows very well that she has been trying, has been making so many steps towards him. Yet what does he do?
Shut her out.
He didn't even realize it until she called him out and made him think. Made him really think about what he had been doing. How he lived his life and how he had fallen into those same ways.
Close himself off in the name of protecting others, but really, he's no better than her. He was protecting himself.
So he just remains silent, still unable to say anything. Or perhaps he knows anything he says will just make things worse.]
no subject
Take care, Cidolfus!
[Or she will do it again.
She wishes she could scream louder, but her own voice is broken by the sobs she's held in her chest through that long spell of silence that she falters slightly.]
You... You do not get to ask for any part of me if you are just going to walk off the fucking plank with it.
[She trusted him to protect that piece of her heart that she gave to him that night on the terrace, and then another when she flew to that overlook to meet him the very next night. Another piece when she opened that window for him when he was stuck out in the rain...
Too many, if she's frank, but she gave them anyway. She gave them because he had managed to convince some small part of her—the part of her that she has kept dead and buried that he has managed to revive—that she could try again. That they could try again...]
You speak to me of second chances, but where are they!?
no subject
His first thought was to defend and counter against her in some capacity, that he was just doing the same things he always did. That the risks and such he takes are no less than the ones he's taken for the past six years, ten years, twenty, thirty, forty—his whole life.
Except he realized, they aren't the same. Because the path he walked in the past six years was one towards death.
For so long he had lived finding a way to die on his own terms—
—he had forgotten.
Life.
He had forgotten what it was like to live for a better life, a life for himself. He gave himself up and instead worked for everyone else, because at least they deserved their own chances, their own lives. Mid especially. How could he let his own daughter continue to live in such a messed up world? How could he not want to give her better opportunities when he had the power to make a change?
But himself?
When did he really ever consider it?
And as his gaze slowly lifts to meet hers—]
...You're right.
[—he remembers why, when, and who made him stop. Or at the very least was the last thread he had until it finally snapped. The last piece that closed that wall. It's not even really her fault, he knows that now. Knows that Barnabas played them both like fools and he was just the one who was able to break out it. The hurt still remains, but it lessens when he remembers that.
And even then, it didn't change the fact that even after, even when he failed to save her, he still tried. Tried to at least build that world for her fly in so that maybe, one day, she could see it. That maybe he would be able to get to her.
But he didn't.
And now, he was running that same risk despite all his talk.]
For too long I preached to others, I forgot to listen to my own words. ...And forgot what this second chance with you really means.
[He clenches his fist briefly before he lets out a breath.]
But I get it now. You showed me that—well, smacked it into me. And I needed that.
[He already paid his price with his death once.
Now he really should follow his words and seize this second chance—
To live by his own terms.]
no subject
When did he manage to slither his way into her heart and change her so much? When did he find the opportunity to strike that she would not simply scoff at him for having nothing? That she would not take all of his feelings, chew them up, and spit them right back out at him?
When and how the fuck...
And when he lifts his gaze to meet hers...
"... You're right."
She should be doing a victory lap around him. She should be mocking him for being so stupid and blind to not have seen it all along... but instead, seeing him so defeated like this only pulls at her heart, draws out a light, angry sob from her chest, and wraps it around her lungs until she chokes.
She is right. She knows that. He has always been this way, and she has always hated it. Even when he put himself on the line for her—when he used his magic for her, or took a blow for her on a mission, she has always hated it. For as much as she loved everything else, she hated that part of him enough to match it, and now it has all come to a head, here and now, as he squeezes those pieces of her heart that she has given him as he risks his head, his life, again and again.
So, so tight that she can feel it.]
You never saw it.
[She wishes she had the strength to slap him again just for that.]
That it is not your choice to make.
[And this isn't just about her. It's about his daughter, too. And all the other people who depend on him the way that Benedikta had once.
... The way that she needs to now.]
You do not get to draw people in, only to leave them behind, Cidolfus.
[Not Midadol, not even the Rosfields or Shiva.
And especially not Benedikta. He has not earned that right.]
You do not get to offer me second chances, only to...
[She stops herself when she feels another light sob coming, her voice strained as she takes a whole step back from him and whirls around to hide the strain across her expression.]
no subject
[He wishes he could offer more, but what can he when he was clearly in the wrong this time? That he had been going about it the wrong way?
Thinking on it further, maybe he really had been acting selfishly all along. Calls it living for others when it was just a guise for his own needs. Or maybe it was everything all twisted together, both true and not at the same time.
Whatever the case, he can't work like that anymore. Can't walk like he's ready to die and be fine with it.
And now as he stares at her back, unable to see her face but can imagine it from how tense and tight her body posture is, he again is at a loss of what to do. Does he reach out? Stay back? Seeking forgiveness seems pointless as this is not something she would forgive nor does he really want to ask for it. More words of promises? She's clearly tired of hearing them and won't likely believe them right now.
But when she makes those small sobs, trying so hard to hold back, he can't take it anymore and steps forward to strongly embrace her from behind, face burying into her hair.]
I know—now. I know I was wrong and treated you unfairly. I thought I was protecting you, but I only hurt you and everyone else instead.
I know I should do better, but when I see you like this—
[He squeezes her a little tighter.]
What else am I supposed to do?
no subject
Seeing her like this...
Like this, so weak and frail, tears burning her eyes like they had so many years ago when she would cower in the shadows, fearful of his touch and the sadness in his eyes when he looked down at her. She didn't know how to accept his care or his love then, and she doesn't remember how to now. Maybe she never did understand, and that is why she lives with this regret still, and why she thought of him in her final moments...
She doesn't want his protection. She doesn't want his pity. She doesn't want his concern... The only thing that she wants...
The only thing that she has ever wanted...
When she feels him squeeze her tighter...
She finally breaks.
The sobs that she has been holding in come out full-force. Days and days and days of her fighting them off and it is only now that they come pouring out of her, in his arms. How fucking humiliating.
Yet, she can't stop. No matter how hard she presses her eyes into her palms, she can't stop them from boiling over.
And there is Garuda, loud as ever, screaming at her for being like this. Reminding her of what he had done, how she shouldn't forgive or forget what he and all the others have done. There are no such things as second chances... she should simply take what is rightfully hers without a care in the world for whose blood tips her claws.
That scares her, too...]
I don't need your protection, Cidolfus...!
[She needs his hand. His guidance. His strength when she should crumble to her knees. She needs his storm to sweep under her wings so that she may find a way to fly, boundless and free, how he claims he wants her to. She needs his perch to return to when all is said and done...
She needs his light in the dark to guide her there, because she has been flying within the darkness for so long that she is now more lost than she has ever been.]
I just... need you. Here. Somewhere.
[She always has. Whether it was with his hand around hers or their swords clashing, whether it was through love or hate, she just needed him here. There. Anywhere. Maybe not so much then, when her own judgement was poisoned by her anger and hurt, but here and now? In this world where he claims there are second chances? Hesitant though she is to believe it, she wants to... but how is she supposed to when he would so willingly take it away from her to save another?
How is she supposed to believe it when he refuses it for himself?
How is she supposed to accept it if he isn't here?
He, who is that final thread of her existence that has not yet completely unraveled. Damaged, certainly, but he still hangs on so stubbornly tight.
Tomorrow, she will regret ever saying this. Tomorrow, she will hate herself for admitting it aloud. But today, and these past week, she needs that ground to stand on.]
no subject
Yet that very thing js not what she wants.
She wants him to just be there—and she has a point. All this time he wanted to be that perch, that shelter in the wind, yet what good would he be if disappears? What purpose would he serve if he doesn't take care of himself to allow her that place?
Not just Benedikta, either.
Mid is now here in this world, and he had always regretted leaving her. He knew his time was coming and that was part of why he sent her to Kanver. So that should he ever meet his end, she wouldn't be there to see it. And that's exactly what happened.
And yet, seeing her in her grief when they met... It hit different compared to when Clive and Jill met him again. He didn't discard their joy and grief, but it was like small scratches that he moved forward from. Mid, however struck harder, deeper. Made him really regret he left her as he did. He did everything he could to ensure that everyone and everything would be taken care of should something ever happened to him, but...
...Sending Mid for her protection? No. It was for himself. He knew if he continued to see Mid around, his resolve would falter and he would hesitate. And that hesitation would only bring disaster.
Again he tells Benedikta to be okay with her weaknesses, yet he never dealt with his own. Not properly.
If he kept everyone away far enough, then he would be able to do what needs to be done without those hesitations. Just like she is trying to do.
Live. Perhaps this path is a lot harder than the path towards death...]
...All right.
[His voice is quiet, resigned...but also firm with some resolve. It will not be easy, especially towards her. He watched her die before him, failed every single attempt to try and help and save her—that's not something he'll be able to shake so easily, just like she won't be able to shake that sight of him under the guillotine. That doesn't mean he can't try. Still, he's having trouble voicing much more, so it might not sound satisfactory.]
no subject
If anything...]
Is that all you have to say?
[Just "all right"? She is not looking for an apology, nor is she looking for sympathy. She has spent years wishing he would simply stop talking, that he would stop with his speeches and his lectures about good, about wanting to build a different world, but now, when it actually matters, all he has to say is "all right"?
It isn't good enough for her. It's so fucking infuriating, but then again, what even is? He's right—what is he supposed to do and say that will console her? She could tell him to prove himself, that his words are not enough for her to trust that he will not pull something like that again, especially after she had made such grand strides in an effort to move herself a little closer to that line that she draws between them, but what good will that do? Even she knows that it's an empty promise until he actually does something about it.
But it's made her pull back, and now she's stuck again...]
What does that mean?
no subject
[Because he knows anything he says whether his own thoughts or to try and comfort her will just be met with more anger and yelling.
So really, what can he say? And would he even want to right now?]
You were right and all I can do is try and change things. Just know it's not going to be easy for me, just like it's not easy for you. Doesn't mean I won't try, but it's not something that will happen overnight.
[Just like he knows she can't change overnight.]
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She wishes that she didn't.
She wishes that she could spin around in his arms and tell him this was all a ruse—a lie to prove a point, but the thought of him not being here? Not being in this world when nothing else remains that is familiar to her makes her whole world off kilter, everything crooked and messy and utterly terrifying.
She does turn in his arms, though not to slap him or to spit his feelings back out at him. She's silent, her eyes as red and swollen as they have been all week as she searches his expression. Tries to look deep to find the truth, and whether this is it. There is anger there still, and it may never fully disappear, but it is nothing compared to the fear that swirls around in her gaze.
Her lips part to say something, but at first, nothing comes out but a small, stifled sob that rattles in her chest.
What is she supposed to say to that? She doesn't have any answers for him either. In the end, they are both stuck in similar boats. Being pushed back, and needing to take those steps forward, back to that line that they keep themselves at... but not knowing how to do it.
Not knowing what to say, what to do, how to do it. They have been so bruised, so broken by each other for so long that they have forgotten what it means to be there for each other when they need them most.
He has forgotten how to stand on his own, just like she has her own.
And while they couldn't be more different, his for the sake of others and Benedikta for herself, at the end of the day, what is the difference?
At the end of the day, what is it all for?]
You are the last thing...
[He could stand here and call her selfish all he wants for this, but it is the truth.]
no subject
Slowly he lifts his hand, palm cupping her face to brush his thumb over those tear trails. How many times has he done this now? How many times has he made her cry...? Does he even deserve this?
And yet—]
...So are you.
[He has other people. He has Mid. He didn't love them any less didn't treasure or want to protect them any less than her. They were all important to him. Important enough to risk his life so they could live in a better place—with or without him.
Yet...
It would be a lie to say Benedikta didn't play such a large part in what he does. From the moment she told him she wanted to die as a human, to her words that she wanted to be free of it all. Even before their first kiss, he knew what he wanted to do.
He wanted to change things.
For her, for them, for everyone.
She was that starting point and when he failed and failed and failed and failed—he was saving everyone else, yet he couldn't save the one person he wanted most. Had to watch her die before he could show her everything. Before he could even tell her the truth.
And so, with his own time ticking, he became desperate. He was too late for her, he refused to be too late for everyone else. Yet that wasn't the only reason. When she died, he felt it—that last part of him crumbling and disappearing into the aether. He still had his responsibilities, his people, good reasons to keep going for what little time he had left. And he did, he did not think less of them.
But he still lost that core reason. Lost the spark that started everything.]
You are the first... And the last. My last thing.
[So if he lost her again, before he can show her freedom before she has that chance to live, he has no idea what he will do.]
no subject
Memories of his hand reaching for hers, grabbing hold of it even when she flinched away. The days following when she could feel herself losing her grip on her Eikon and being terrified of what that might mean for her... just like she is now.
It was the day that she had told him.....
All the days they spent with their noses in books, or with swords in their hands, Benedikta learning everything from him. Their first kiss, their first night together when she trembled like a leaf, not sure of what she was doing. But it was necessary... for a mission... and she still found herself falling in love.
She remembers their last night together in Waloed. And then... that confused look on his face atop the Caer when Garuda had been taken. That stupid pitiful face of his that she had tried to claw off that night out of pure defeat and rage because fighting him was easier than wishing for him back.
His first...
His last...
She never thought herself as either. She was only a thorn in his side, and she had been proud of that, for a time. She found satisfaction within the frustrated wrinkle of his brow; in the way he looked so hurt when she had said all those things to him...
She doesn't deserve the way that he caresses those tears away, she doesn't deserve the way he touches her, looks at her. She hates that he gives it so freely, and even more that she takes and takes, greedily scrambling for it when he does when she can only give so much in return. Not because she doesn't want to, but because she doesn't know how. She doesn't know how to love him anymore...
So when he says things like this, so broken and so beat, so vulnerable, she doesn't know what to say. What to do except slam her eyes shut and pray that the tears stop.
Except she doesn't do that.
Maybe once, she would have. A week ago, maybe she would have.
But there is something violent that swells in her chest and sends her crashing forward until her tears wet his cheeks and her lips are pressed to his.]
no subject
Yet just as she's the one who throws him into that storm, she's also the one who pulls him out of it when she gives him those signs, be it to tell him he's wrong or if he's right.
And as she throws herself at him and his arms pull her tight around her as he meets her kiss with as much force and desperation, he knows.
It's jagged, it's ugly, it's painful, it's madness—but it's right.]
no subject
But it's theirs. All of it is theirs. Like the wind pushes the storm, and the storm draws it in, Benedikta is drawn right to him, her hands cradling the back of his head as she holds him as fast to her as he does to him. She cannot explain it in words, the things that she feels right now, and the next best thing is this, her lips carrying upon them all of the unspoken things that she is too afraid to say and hoping that he will understand the message she is trying to convey.
How terrified she was that she almost lost him. How angry she is that he was too stubborn to listen. How scared and lost she is.
Most importantly, how much she needs him, now more than ever.
She always has, but never knew just how much until her whole world came crashing down around her, and the only thing that was left standing in the middle of it all...
Was him.]
I need you...
[A soft plea murmured between biting kisses—]
I'm scared, Cidolfus...
[—before she kisses him again, trying to quiet Garuda's screeching in her head.]
no subject
[He returns her pleas with his own low voice of assurances, words he's spoken before...
But now they have a different meaning. Now she'll really have him, where he won't just run off recklessly. It will be hard, it will take time, but it's a start. A very important start to try and change at least some of his old way of thinking.]
I won't let you go again.
[Won't let her suffer anymore, won't let her get hurt, won't die—
It's his turn to have that swell of emotions that pushes back against her, unable to properly word or convey the depths of those feelings, those secret truths he could never tell her for fear of her being crushed under that weight. How his hands grab and feel any part of her, as if afraid she could disappear right then and there.
So she wouldn't let him go.]
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She had nothing. Truly and utterly nothing. Barnabas was gone, her life was taken from her, her men axed by bandits. She could say she had Garuda, but what good is she when the last time that she had taken over, those winds had been Benedikta's death toll, and now that she is back, she is more terrified than ever of her power, of losing that control...
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing...
Except him.
The only one who would hold her hand when she couldn't walk on her own. The one who would tell her to step foot outside of that cage and spread her wings. Who would quiet the screaming even for a little while. Who would hold her when she became that small, scared girl again rather than shy away, rather than pity her, rather than lecture her...
And, as if to answer his own silent wish, Benedikta's arms wrap around him tighter, clinging to him like he is her lifeline in the middle of a raging storm trying to drown her beneath. He always has been her lightning rod, but now...
Now, she just wants him to be the flashes of levin that will light her way and guide her to safety.
It will be a long flight for her, just like it will be for him, but if they can pick up the pieces that have long laid scattered across that shore, then she could not weather that storm without him.
She breaks from the kiss, needing air, and rests her forehead on his.]
...I don't know what to do...
[Where to go. How to navigate this new life that has been thrust upon her.]
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[For himself, for her—he thought he knew, but can he really say for certain he does anymore?]
But we'll figure it out.
[He kisses her gently over the lips.]
Together.
[No sidelining from his end. No trying to make those decisions for either of them alone. They've done that to each other and to themselves for too long, and right now they really need to work together to figure each other out.]
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No more, Cidolfus...
[Her fingers tighten, nails digging into the leather of his shirt as if she means to tear his heart out herself as she kisses him fiercely again. If only so that she could fold her wings around it and protect it in the only way that she knows how, clutching it in her claws, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.
She is done losing things. That regret from their years past is so very real now, gripping her tighter and tighter until she's out of air. She is done letting things go. And more than that, she is done being tossed aside for another, for morals, for the good of others. If he wants her to survive, then he needs to do the same for her.]
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And so, with her in his arms like this, he makes their way to her room, where they will both collapse onto her bed...]
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Finally, she is in his arms, and he in hers as they wrap around his shoulders when he lifts her, her legs doing the same, locking at his waist for support. Her lips never break from his, not even for air, while he carries her to her room, meeting his passion with her own.
Words always fail her. They get tangled on her tongue, her heart finding a way to pull them back down into her throat where they get caught and eventually die. No one ever taught her how to convey her feelings, no one ever taught her that it was okay to do it. That it was okay to feel anything other than fear or anger, and that she could speak her mind and her heart freely because there would always be a consequence...
There had been a spark of something brighter in her life once, but it was always suffocated by the desert sands and the darkness that would eventually come for it to snuff it out completely.
So, she had no choice but to steel herself against it.
But there is one thing that Benedikta can do. One language that she can speak, and that is in the way that she pulls at his clothes until they fall away from his shoulders. It's in the way that she touches him and reacts to his touch in turn. It's in the way her body moves over and under his and together with his, so naturally, so easily, as if they were not desperate to relearn every little thing about each other in the time that they have.
Her prayers and her promises, all wrapped up into the way that she sobs his name, quietly at first, as she hides her face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent until it is all she knows. Her wishes voiced beneath the loud cries as he brings them closer and closer to that edge, that peak that is higher than any they have reached together thus far, until their feverish, brutal pitch sends them crashing to the ground, their fall broken only by each other's arms, Benedikta trembling in the aftershocks of it all.
A language that she knows only because it was him who she learned it from. Him who had taught her, and every word of it committed to memory even long after he was out of her bed. Him, who would be the only one who knew how to make her ascend high enough to see the stars and the levin dancing together.
A language that only he understands from her.
And when all is said and done, loudly and clearly and several times, Benedikta lays collapsed in his arms, the sweat clinging to her skin and her lungs scrambling for air. She find a moment to breathe out with a sigh before she buries her face into his neck, pressing kisses and loving the way his scruff brushes and scrapes against her cheek.]
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Today is not that point.
There were still things they needed to discuss and figure out, but Benedikta had been pulled through the wringer too many times. He could feel it in the way she clung desperately to him, hear it in her sobs and cries.
And now as he once again holds her with her warmth melding into his, he just closes his eyes and keeps that arm close around her as he focuses on those kisses at first, resisting that temptation to once more capture her lips. Because if he did...
...
He should let her rest.
He will, however, turn his head slightly so that he could brush his lips against the top of her head like he always loved to do. Let her scent fill him and just let himself be content for a little while.
At least this time he doesn't have to worry about her running away.
This time he knows she will stay with him.]
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