makinglies | The Shadowfell

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faerun

The Shadowfell

Shadowfell

During the early, blue dawn of the morning, a hole opens in the Material Plane. The energy hums no differently than it had in the facility in Duplicity that had brought them here in the first place. This time, however, just before breaching the glowing white surface of light, a chill greets those who pass through. One, two, three, four shadows step through the light before it closes with barely a pop of energy beside the austere white marble of the recently recast temple.

Waiting on the other side of the gate is a land of barren monochrome. Plants like ash, rivers with the consistency of blood, and pools of thick, dripping ichor decorate a land of black and grey stone that connects to an equally grey sky. The life, like the color, seems gone from the land, and where there should have been unearthly silence, there were low murmurs and ominous creaks and noises that didn't quite make sense at the periphery of everything.

The landscape, at least, could not be called flat. Great, black mountains broke the dim, grey sky like blotches of ink on canvas. Even the group of armed visitors stood now upon a tall, but sloping hill marked with a single, gnarled tree. At the foot of the hill, ahead of the group, sat the hazy, black scar of what was once a city.

Spires of buildings stood as broken bones in the place Melvaunt had as its mirror, with the shattered docks even dipping into a charcoal ocean beyond it. Maléfell, once a town inhabited and infested in equal measure with ghosts, gasts, dopplegangers, and malice, now festers with a malevolent haze that visibly shrouds the city. At its edges, just outside the haze, is a pulsating mass. It's upon closer inspection that the mass gains definition: bodies. Undead. Skeletons. Ghosts haunting black ooze and rotted corpses that press at the Darkland's edges, daring to neither venture in nor go too far from their home.

Hundreds of the displaced mill about, gorging on more of the black ichor that fills the waterways into the city. Here they wait, trapped, the sounds of them muffled and nearly silent in the blanketing nothing of the Plane around them.

♥

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She relaxes a little as Wolfe pulls her close. He still feels like himself, and that helps when combined with his words. She hasn't lost him yet, doesn't have to turn and fight the gods or the world to get him back. Tranquility hasn't taken him, nor has the Raven Queen. He's here. He's safe. He's still hers.

Her eyes fall closed as she holds him, fingers pressing into his back gently. Weeks apart and it still feels natural to reach for him like this, even if the only thing she's seeking is reassurance that he's whole and still hers. "I'm glad you're safe," she murmurs into his shoulder. Her worries aren't all gone, but they can be set aside now that she's certain about his state of being.

The question posed to her is difficult to answer. 'Better' is a relative term and while she feels better than she did in the seconds after they returned, the truth is that she feels so much worse after their meeting with the Raven Queen. It's no one's fault but her own, and she doesn't know how to talk about that. She doesn't know if she wants to yet.

"No, but I feel more settled. I don't feel the need to run off into the woods for a time." That's better, at least? She sighs softly and buries her nose against his chest. "I'm not all right after that. I don't know when I will be or when I'll be able to speak about it. I know I need to, but what She said..."

Shadow of shadows of mistresses of loyalty. But who is she?

Her fingertips grip harder at him. "I wish I had the certainty that her name for you gave. You are a man of love." And she's just a copy, a shadow. Nothing.

"What would give you certainty?" Wolfe asks half rhetorically, pausing a moment, then shifting her clothes over his shoulder and scooping her up with a soft grunt in both arms. "The title She gave me, I think it was already mine, in my heart. I've been told many times I'm made of love and it feels right. I'm fond of it. When She said it, it made me feel as if She really saw me, not just what I am, but who."

He takes her through the doors and towards the showers, adjusting only a little as they go. Despite his tiredness from the battle, he feels like he could carry her to the moon and back if she asked. "I think you are a woman of loyalty, as She said. You'll do anything for those you've chosen to keep. Just because it was true of the woman you were made from doesn't make it any less true for you. You proved it time and again in Duplicity."

Reaching the partition that leads towards the showers, Wolfe presses his forehead against Amelia's, loathe to put her down just yet. "So... What would give you certainty? What do you need to know about yourself that will bring you peace?"

It's a question she knew would come eventually, though she has no idea how to answer it. His certainty in himself brings her warmth, but doesn't help her find her own. His offerings about her don't necessarily help either. She's loyal to her people, she knows that, but the way the Raven Queen phrased her name... it makes her wonder what's more important: the loyalty or the shadow?

"I don't know." She curls into him and wraps her arms more tightly around his arms. Hang how wet her clothes will be as a result, she doesn't care. "She called me a shadow of shadows, too, and that's exactly how I feel. Like I'm a shadow who stands in the shadows of those who were supposed to be important to me. A shadow of the past I was told was mine but isn't. It doesn't matter that I'm loyal to all of you because it doesn't change the fact that I don't know who I am beneath all of that. All of us here are loyal to each other - what about that makes me different? Makes me unique?"

Her stomach twists and knots again, and she trembles against him as she tries to curl so tightly that she could disappear. "It's worse than it ever was in Duplicity. There, at least, I thought I had a past and not feeling right because everything about me was too soft made sense. Now I don't even have that. Now I'm just... lost. A shadow of who I thought I was, of a woman who never had her shit figured out." She shakes her head and sighs heavily.

"I'm sorry, Wolfe. You want to help and all I can think right now is that She was wrong in calling me 'enough' if I'm like this. Things should be better now that you're back, and they are, but I've never felt less settled in myself or my body. And I don't know how to fix that."

"No one ever has their shit figured out." It's said a little wistfully as he leans against the wall, content to hold her to him until she feels the need to pull away. At least she won't freeze now that they're inside. "We can think we do, but there's always going to be something that comes up. Figuring shit out is a lifelong process."

Despite feeling like he could carry her indefinitely, his back believes otherwise, and he's forced to shift so they're in a comfortable tangle on the floor. Somehow, he still manages to keep her in his lap. "Would it be easier to think of the memories you have before Duplicity as those of another life? We've sort of been... reincarnated, in a way, but with memories to guide us. You still have the skills of a talented rogue, the ability to slip into the shadow, and those are yours. You may remember her having them, but they've been passed on to you to do with as you see fit. The experiences of her life inform yours but they don't make your decisions for you. You protected many in a messed up world, you took out a myriad of awful SIN guards, and you - only you - fell in love. Learned to be soft. Learned slowly to relax and live, not just work. I don't know if the woman you came from is capable of that, but you've proven you are."

He kisses her forehead gently, wishing she'd look up at him but refusing to force her. "Shadow of shadows sounds to me like the greatest of shadows, exemplary. What all shadows should strive to be."

There's truth in that last bit, but he is clearly trying to make her laugh, even if its just a little. "Besides, its incredibly bold of you to call our patron Goddess wrong when She's as intimately knowledgeable about our souls -all souls - as anyone on this plane. If even Her saying you're enough won't convince you, then there's no help for it."

He leans down over her, bringing his face close enough that his beard tickles her cheek. "I'll just have to spend the rest of my life with you so I can remind you every single day. Amelia Royer, love of my life, you are more than enough."

Edited (typo) 2025-12-06 21:07 (UTC)

It would be easier, but she's not certain she can believe it. At least not yet. 'Amelia Royer of Ragneux' is a completely different person from her and she doesn't know if she's ready to allow herself to believe that those are her memories when she has no reason to connect with them anymore. She's still trying to come to terms with grieving that that past isn't hers; changing how she thinks so suddenly simply isn't possible.

"Maybe, but I don't know yet. What's happened to us is too complicated to think of in such a simple way." Perhaps she's making more of this than she should, but a solution that feels too good to be true is one that can't be trusted without interrogation. She needs the chance to do that interrogating before she's ready to agree to the idea.

She keeps her head down as he continues, not wanting to argue any of his points. She could, dreams she could make such arguments that he'd believe her in the end, but she doesn't. Even if she'd started, her words would've died in her throat when he professes he'll remind her she's enough for the rest of their days. He loves her, and she hears that in his words too, and that would be enough for her. Even if she didn't feel like enough, her life would be filled with more than enough simply for having his love and having him in her life again. Instead he speaks words that mean so much more to her, that place themselves over her self-doubt and urges it to hush so she can hear him over the sounds of her doubts.

Carefully, slowly, she tips her face to meet his eyes, tears gathered in her own. She presses a palm to his cheek and stares at him, loving him more in this moment than she possibly ever has. Here, curled on the floor of this temple for the goddess who has bound them to this plane and granted them refuge and blessings both. She sits up in his arms, pulling herself closer and barely restraining herself from kissing the life from him in favor of pressing their foreheads together.

"Dreams." She utters the curse in Elven without thinking about it. "I want nothing more than to show you how much I love you without uttering a single word right now. I... I won't, but dreams, Wolfe--" She dips her face to press their lips together in a long, needful kiss. "You're impossible to resist when you speak to my heart like that."

That word he doesn't know but she says it with the same tone as an epithet so he assumes its such. It doesn't matter anyway when she's kissing him full force. He grips her tightly, trying not to bruise but fearing he may anyway for how much he needs her in that moment. Not lustfully (though Matron take him for a liar if he denies that's always there under the surface) but physically. The feeling of her hands against his chest and his face, of her lips on his. The shape of her in his hands. He wants to map her out again, to relearn all the dips and planes so he could shape her perfect image in clay if he were so talented. He's not, but he imagines this is how artists feel when they've found a muse. Someone who speaks to their heart in the way that Amelia speaks to his.

He tries to put that in the kiss, trying to tell her without words the depths of his love for her and belief in her. He knows that won't vanish if or when he falls Tranquil for a time, but it scares him to think he wont be able to express it in this way. It makes him want to rush, to throw out the boundary he's set. Everything feels different now anyway after being in the presence of a God who is tangible and physical and attentive.

But he set the boundary for a reason. They need to talk to Chris. He wants them to talk to Chris first, and right after all of this is not the time.

Pulling back for a breath, he groans for the lack of her lips on his even though he's the one who broke it. He looks at her kneeling in his lap, eyes bright with unshed tears and - he prays - hope. "You should wash up. I'll see to the practical tasks. But I'm nearby if you need me, love. Just call."

He paused then wills himself to take his hands back, yet still unable to look away. He can't get up until she does anyway. "Maybe... Maybe tomorrow we can talk, if you and Chris are of a mood after... everything. I think right now is still too soon despite my desire."

Waiting. They're waiting. It's important they wait until they speak to Chris. They need to wait to be fair to their cleric and to keep to Wolfe's promise not to rush anything after his imprisonment and as they all adjust to their new life here.

She doesn't want to anymore. If she could handle giving up something for a taste of what she's been missing, of the love that was ripped from her so cruelly, she would. She would do so many reckless things for even the briefest moment of knowing her Wolfe again. A deep, aching part of her soul needs to taste him again, to feel the strength of his arms, to know the press of their bodies, the ecstasy of living for nothing but each other - just for a few minutes, a few seconds.

Every part of her trembles as she presses her hands to his shoulders and pushes herself away. She doesn't want to do this. Dreams, she's so terrible at letting herself be selfish and the one time she truly, desperately wants is the one time she can't have what she craves. Her lips are quivering and tears threatening to roll down her cheeks as she gets to her feet, unsteady but not letting that slow her down.

"I can't call you to me," she murmurs, "or I will do something I want and we'll both regret." She has been many things since she met with Chris and Jon to begin their journey here, but the one thing she refuses to be is unfair. Wolfe deserves to have his conversation with Chris and make his offer, and Chris deserves the chance to say yes or no to it. To take that away would be beyond unfair, and as cruel as Amelia can and is wont to be at times, there's no desire to be so with her cleric now. Or to their mage by forcing his hand with her desires. She can't do that to them. She won't.

Her smile is soft and rimmed with pain as she takes a step back to allow them both space to breathe. "I'll be out after I've gotten all the ash out of my skin and hair. I'll... take my time, give us each a chance to cool off." Separately and far apart. "We'll speak to Chris when he's ready, and I will... I'll be all right until then." Pained for how much she wants him, but fine. She made her promise and she is going to keep it even if it means having to sleep alone tonight.

The pain in her expression twists at his heart. It's not just sex they're both craving, but a physical expression of their love for each other, of how much they've deeply missed each other. Hasn't he satisfied his worry that it would simply be a pavlovian reflex? He's held out this long, could still if he wanted to, and Chris wasn't jealous before as it seemed but angry that Amelia hadn't talked to him about what happened while he was captive. Which they have now. Surely he wouldn't begrudge them.

Wolfe stands slowly, watching her turn away and move towards a stall. And then he's moving as if possessed, kicking off his boots, yanking off his shirt as he stumbles, desperate to have her in his arms again just that much sooner. It's been too long, he's missed her too much to think of all the reasons why this is a bad idea. Ultimately, he can't think of any world in which he will ever regret bedding Amelia.

"Fuck it," he growls, pressing her against the wall of the shower with the force of his kiss.

Maybe it is sex too. Just a bit.

The shift in the air happens so quickly that Amelia barely has a chance to breathe before Wolfe's pressed against her. His name is on her lips, a plea for him to leave and save them both, but the wall is cool at her back and being with him like this feels like home. Her heart starts to race and any chance of saying anything, of resisting, dies in her throat as she reaches for his hair to drag him in for another, harder kiss.

Chris can blame her for this later. He can be angry and rage at her for as long as he wants. She needs this and from how he's holding her, she's certain Wolfe does too.

Her lips stay locked with his as she starts to fumble with his pants, the last possible thing to keep them from each other. With only one hand free - she can't let go of his hair, can't not feel the softness of those silver threads between her fingers - it's a struggle and not of the enjoyable sort. The trousers aren't that tight but she can't just push them down and out of the way, and she can't figure out how to unfasten them when she refuses to pull her mouth from his to look at what she's doing. It doesn't help that having her hand between them allows her to touch his abs and shape her hands over his cock through the fabric separating them. The distractions will be welcome another day, but right now they're not helping.

"Be with me," she whispers between frantic kisses, finally releasing his hair so she can grab hold of his pants and tug. They rip in the process, but as he said... fuck it. She can fix them later when her head is clear and the aching need for him has been slaked. A few shoves later and she hooks a thumb into her smalls to pull them down enough to shimmy out of. Her undershirt is still in the way, but there's no dreamsforsaken time to rip it off when she's trying to position herself so they can come together. "Love, please, take me."

It's been too long and it's going to hurt, and she doesn't give a single fuck about any of that when she's finally, finally going to recapture the connection she's missed more than anything else on any plane of existence.

They're a glorious tangled of limbs under the spray of the shower. This is what he wanted to do from the beginning only he didn't trust it then. All his wanton need and burning desire denied is now an overwhelming force and he's not sure he could stop unless she said so. That's the only thing, her word, and she's saying something else entirely.

If he were paying attention, the thought that she ripped the pants they'd just gotten yesterday would send him into a fit of laughter. Instead he just grunts, tongue warring with hers as he teaches up to yank her undershirt from her, pulling her hair down in the same motion of tossing the sodden garment to the floor with a plop. Breasts freed, Wolfe takes a breath and buries his face between them, hiking her up against the wall to where he can slide into her. He can't help the groan that comes from deep inside him, a primal cathartic sound of pleasure and need fulfilled. She's tight and needy, just for him, and he knows he'll suffer some embarrassment to himself later for being so very pleased that she hasn't been with anyone since being with him last. But right now? Right now it just serves to urge him on, to give Amelia what she's been craving of him, and prove he's been craving it too.

"Flames, you feel so damned good..." he groans, raising his mouth from her breasts to her neck and sucking a scarlet bruise there just to hear her cry out his name. "I've missed you so much."

Everything is so fast and frenetic and right that all thoughts outside of the pleasure don't linger in her mind. What matters is his weight against her, his hands forming over curves, his mouth on her skin, the pulse of him deep inside her. It's all perfect, far cry from the slow moment they'd promised one another that it is, and it's everything she could possibly want from him.

"Wolfe..." She moans his name as she digs her nails into his back and his shoulder for purchase, back arched and one leg hooking around his waist to give her a little more purchase. The movement allows him to thrust deeper into her, tearing a cry from her that echoes through the temple. A grin of pure delight follows as she smooths one hand over his neck to his hair once more, allowing her to drag her nails across his scalp and give impassioned tugs with every jolt of pleasure. It gives her enough focus to find the rhythm he sets as well, to match the movement of his hips with her own in a desperate chase of the high that's so close already.

"I've missed you more than words can describe," she whispers in his ear, lips trailing small bites and kisses with them. "Come into me, love. Make me yours again." She inhales a sharp breath and moans out the most desperate plea she used to lock away for fear of hurting them both with it. "Don't ever let me go."

"Melia," he gasps her name sloppily, almost slurred between gasps and groans brought by the feeling of her tight around him and the dig of her nails in his skin. His scalp especially, her nails making him shudder as they slide between his tresses. He bows his head into her shoulder, overwhelmed and shaking with the effort of keeping them both upright, but he can't stop. He won't, not until they're both sated.

"Never. Never," is all he can reply, the word choked enough he feels the need to say it a second time. He trusts into her as if his hips have a mind of their own, only half in control and the other driven by the desire to do her bidding. His arms keep her locked against him, his lips against her ear, and he rumbles in a desperate bassy purr. "You never stopped. You've always been mine."

Another thrust. Twice, thrice, and he cries out with an echo through the hallowed halls of the conjured temple as he spills into her with a mighty quake that leaves him breathless and boneless. Its all he can do to make sure they don't crash to the floor. Instead he lowers her down to her feet with as much care as he can manage despite shaking limbs and braces against the wall with his forearm, leaning over her as he tries to catch his breath. The softness around his belly is readily apparent like this, though his mind is thoroughly off of that at the moment.

His words sink straight into her heart, and she comes with a pleasured sob on his next thrust. The two that follow drive her to cry out again, her voice mingling with his amidst the stone and drowning out the wonderful, aching feeling that can be heard in her softer breaths.

She was always his, just as he always belonged to her. Nothing changed because he was gone. They're as in love and as tied together as they ever were. And now they're far from the city that threatened them, that tore them down and hurt them over and over again, safe in the haven created from faith in their patron god.

Her shoulders shake with quiet laughter as they collapse onto the floor, broken only by a soft grunt as she shifts to release him and better hold herself up over him. Water rushes across her back and shoulders, creating a quiet backdrop to her laughter and happy tears as she smiles down at him through glassy eyes. This moment feels impossible, yet it's real and it's theirs, and nothing can ever take it away from them.

"I love you, Wolfe." She murmurs the words like they're the most sacred words she's ever uttered and seals them with a kiss. She offers one more as she brushes his hair from his face and tilts her head to block the spray of water with her own. "I have missed you every second of every day you were gone, but I feel like I can breathe again now."

Was she really holding her breath for weeks on end, or just these past two days? It doesn't really matter when she's finally with him again and the pieces of her heart are finally back in their proper places.

"I love you, too. Matron's breath, I've missed you so much," he says almost in a whine, desperate despite being sated physically. He pulls her against him again in a fierce hug. "I thought- I saw you every day in my addled state back then. I'm still terrified I'm going to come to in a room alone, strapped to a machine, with you out of reach."

His next breath shudders out harshly, but he manages to master himself, even if his voice is thick when he speaks again. "This feels more real, now. Not that you didn't feel real before, but... You know what I mean."

Its the very same thing he feels that she's said already. He can breathe again. He loosens his grip so he can see her again and presses his palm to her cheek. "I will never leave you again, not while I draw breath."

He pulls her in and she instinctively wraps an arm protectively around his head as she braces herself with her other hand. She couldn't have said it before, but she needed this reassurance, too. Wolfe has always been such a physical person, sharing his deepest thoughts and feelings through touch rather than words. Hearing he feels more settled helps, but that tight hug says it even more loudly.

"Nor will I leave you." She rests her hand over his, leaning into his palm as she smiles down at him. "You have the whole of me, Wolfe, just as you have since the first time I told you I loved you. Just as you will for however long we can be together in this life and whatever the Raven Queen grants us in death."

There's an itch in her mind to ask him now, to smooth over her mistake during Tumenalia with a proper question, but she bites her lip to keep it in. This isn't the right time. They're not written into the Weave yet, not free of the risk of Tranquility for him, and they still haven't spoken to Chris about... what they just did without him. It can wait. She can wait at least a little longer for this.

"I'm with you, love. Now and always, no matter what comes."

He nods, still panting a little not just from the exertion but from the resettled weight of their situation. It's better, lighter, in the manner of stress he didn't realize he was carrying until it was lifted from him. Saying he can breathe again is quite literal.

This time when he leans up to kiss her its slow, a meditative gesture of unhurried affection. He barely pulls away when they part, pressing his forehead against hers and holding her head in his, against his heart. "We should get cleaned up, but I'm loathe to let you go."

"You make it difficult to let you go," she chuckles, kissing him once more for good measure. He's right that they should clean up, though, or at least get off the floor. That can't be good for him after a month's confinement.

"I'll cut you a deal: we get up and wash now, and later you can rest an arm around me and read while I fix your pants." Again. She huffs a laugh at herself and cuts off all complaints with another kiss. "And you'll have me at your side all night. I don't want to sleep in any bed that doesn't have you in it for at least another few months."

"Hmm, alright. I do have to wash the clothes and make something to eat, though. You'd best stay close at hand in case I become faint for lack of your lips on mine while I work." He tilts his head back dramatically, trying not to thunk it against the floor and mostly succeeding. Enough that he doesn't wince, anyway.

Another kiss and he's sitting them up, shaking his head to get his wet hair out of his face and only succeeding in messing it up further as it sticks to his forehead. He snorts in amusement then makes a bit of a face when he can smell how ashy they still are. "Alright, washing up now."

He raises a hand as if to magic the soap to it, but stops before actually calling on his mana. "Ah... can you reach the soap?"

"As if that's any kind of hardship," she teases. She can't catch his head before it touches the floor, but she can soothe it with a few gentle strokes as they sit up.

Her fingers move to his when he stops short of pulling the soap to them with his magic. She's proud of him for catching the reflex and not draining himself further for a task she'll happily do for them. Not only because of his use of magic earlier but simply because it affords her a very good opportunity.

"Of course, love. Hold on." She pulls his fingers close to kiss the tips before pressing them to her side and encouraging him to let them slide over her skin as she stretches to grab the soap. She's pleased to find it's her lavender soap again and she eagerly begins to build up suds in her hands before offering the bar to him with a playful smirk.

"Let me know where you need help reaching. I've been told I have very skilled hands for whatever work I put my mind to."

He slides his fingertips over her lips as she pulls away, tracing feather-light from neck to shoulder where he goes from fingers to palm and maps the rest of her side. He's pleased to know he can still tell her curves from any other just by feel. He can't help but run his hand down her side to her stomach and feel the bandy muscle twist pleasantly under his palm as she reaches for the soap.

"Would you believe I've suddenly lost the use of my arms, so everywhere?" He wiggles his eyebrows at her as he says it, sliding his hand a bit down and back towards himself to skate on her thigh. They... probably shouldn't go again, for propriety's sake. Jon and Chris will probably be in soon, if they haven't come in already and he just didn't hear them. Entirely possible.

The thought doesn't make him move his hand away, though.

Fuck. She knew what she was inviting with placing his hand on her, but she didn't think she would be so tempted by any of his touches as to consider pushing him against a wall so she can straddle his legs and ride him. Yet the reaction is instant, heat building deep in chest and between her legs, reflected in her face and the way she's suddenly breathless. Even the soap gives her way with how close she comes to sending it across the stall by gripping one side too hard.

"You're incorrigible," she huffs, laughing at herself as she sets aside the soap and starts to spread the suds over his chest. This is distracting in a way that lends itself to his unspoken idea and it takes her far too long to breathe through the first waves of desire to focus on actually cleaning him rather than simply enjoying the feel of his torso beneath her palms.

"There's no way I stay quiet enough that the others won't hear us," she warns, pressing further into him and sliding her bare chest against his soaped one. It does nothing to help with any sort of cleaning, but it's not really meant for that. "And that's assuming they didn't already hear us and walk back out. Dreams know I didn't have a thought in my head but you after you kissed me into that wall."

"No? You couldn't be quiet even if you tried?" He teases, sucking in a breath as she presses herself against him. It's not been quite long enough but he can feel the heat pooling between his own legs all the same. He reaches up to flick one of her nipples teasingly, fingers slipping in the suds. Its fair play after she'd dragged her nails across his chest while sudsing him up, however intentional or not that had been.

Leaning in to murmur in her ear, Wolfe slides his arms around her again, hands sinking low to cup and knead at her ass. "I think you could be quiet if you tried very hard, my heart. Of course, I might make it somewhat difficult."

To make it point, he nips at her earlobe, squeezing with his hands and pulling her into his lap once again so her legs are forced apart around his waist just a little bit further than they were before.

This is a dangerous game to play, but Gods, he's missed this along with everything else. It's alright, isn't it? They're in love, deeply and desperately, so even if this might be brought on by residual influence from his time held captive, its not as though he's throwing himself at a stranger. It's because its her in his arms again after too long apart.

Even so, the creeping doubt does slow his hands a bit.

"I-I could try, but--" But the last time they played this game, in the park in Duplicity, she failed spectacularly. They're lucky the city was playing porn for them all or everyone there would've known the truth of what they were up to. Warmth spreads from her cheeks to her neck at the thought and from the way he spreads her. Dreams, this is a terrible idea with Chris and Jon due to come inside any moment, but maybe...

It's the slowing of his hands that finally recaptures her attention. Something is on his mind that isn't the two of them being together, and that's the kind of distraction that deserves to be addressed. She touches his shoulder, then slides her hand down his arm until she can capture his and twine it with hers between them. If that doesn't bring his full attention back to her, she's certain the way she leans her head back just enough to look at him will.

"You live to make my life difficult with your affections, but that's not all that's on your mind right now, is it?" Her voice is gentle and warm with no hint of teasing or upset. "What is it, love? What's in your mind that's distracting from the pull of your heart?"

The way she takes his hands and leans back, however gentle, is like a splash of cold water and he's grateful for it. He was starting to feel a little off, and somehow she knows without him saying a word. It makes his chest squeeze as he stills to look up at her.

"I'm sorry." He wets his lips with his tongue but hurries to continue before she believes he's apologizing for what they'd just done. That needed no apology. "Not for making love to you, obviously, but I'm not sure- I know I'm the one who's pushing for more, but I can't tell if it's because it's what I really want or because I'm..."

Desperate. Conditioned.

Broken.

None of it is anything he wants to voice. Yet if he doesn't say as much now she's going to think its her fault somehow and that's worse than bearing his damage to her.

"I love you, and I always want you, that's why I want to make sure whatever we do, whenever we do it, that its because of that love and honest desire, not because I'm... trained to want to continue." The word feels dirty in his mouth, but at least he got it out. He remains tense, glancing away from her in shame but still holding her hands in his. "I can't tell right now which it is. I'm sorry."

"Hey." Amelia touches his face with her free hand, catching his attention but not forcing him to look up at her. When she knows he's listening, she turns his face enough to gently press their foreheads together. "If that worry is in your mind now, then we wait. We'll prove to you with time and patience that your wants are your own, and that it's all right to want to be with us as much as you crave. Dreams know if you hadn't slowed us, my 'resistance' would have faded away in seconds."

It's not her fault that his thoughts turned this way and that he's now questioning himself. She knows it's not. Still, she worries her usual soft-willed resistance to his advances triggered some of this. That's something for her to deal with later, though, because her attention needs to stay on him.

She presses a soft kiss to his temple and rests her cheek against the top of his head as she slips her arm around his back. "It's all right, love. We can take things slow when you're ready, like the first time we made love in the shower at Shadows' Rest. I've missed being taken apart completely by your hands and love. No one could ever do the same for me."

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