[It won't mean anything once they leave this place. It barely means anything now--at least in this particular moment, when the rest of the planet has been shut out and the tension of being tugged here and there by their tenuous position in Sarano society. There's no one else here to put on a show for. There's no one else here to require them to pretend that the fact that they're married now means something.
Which they are, but it doesn't mean anything.]
Hm. [Maybe that's the thing to focus on. Maybe it's just a positive that they won't have to pretend quite as much--that this one little piece of themselves will be allowed to simply exist rather than being locked in deep.] There's that.
[There's also the fact that the best place to sit and tug off his boots is the bed. Their marriage bed.]
[ for a moment, lara thinks he's going to deny it. that he's going to insist on formality even now, when they're married —even if it doesn't mean anything. it's almost enough to let laughter bubble up in her throat, but she swallows it down and watches him look at the bed, watches him sit there and tug off his boots.
and then she says hm as well and sits next to him and kicks off her own shoes. ]
You're going to have to help me with the dress.
[ just. putting that out there, a hint of haughtiness in the tone that has nothing to do with any actual sense of superiority and more with not quite knowing what to make of this, of the knowledge that sits in her chest of yes, i do, of putting on a show, of there being no one to put on a show for, now. ]
[Responding to the tone is easier than working through the sensation of this particular wrinkle. Having a to do helps as well, even if the sole item currently on the list is helping his new wife out of her dress.
Best not to think of it that way, perhaps.]
How'd you get into it? [Not that it matters. Not that it isn't just something to say as he shifts slightly back on the bed to start the process of gently feeling for the stays to loosen in the intricacies of the the dress's pattern.]
A maid. [ it doesn't matter, does it? she's in it and he'll need to help her out of it and it won't be the first time that they've been naked with one another, not really, but it'll be the first time it'll be like this. deliberate. not some fumbling borne of desperation and need but something that they're choosing, even if the choice is pushed unto them by the customs of sarano.
the thought makes something in lara's stomach swoop. best not to think of that, then. focusing on the gradual undoing of her dress, the sensation of confines loosening, the knowledge of what his fingers look like. ]
[Is this better or worse than falling asleep together in the wake of Archie's disappearance? Is this more or less of a choice? Does it bear examining the ways in which their lives have been tangling together, from the safety of spontaneous desperation to sitting here now?
His fingers move carefully with the rich fabric and delicate clasps. His head ducks slightly over the work, giving him the slightly warm sensation of how close her slowly-bared skin is.
It feels dangerous, but he leans forward for a heartbeat, nose nudging into her hair just lightly before he leans fully back.]
[ if he were to put those questions to lara, if he were to ask them out loud, the answer would-- well, probably it would be lara walking out, because there are things that she's not willing, not able to deal with. examining the ways in which their lives have been tangling is impossible because if she cares too much about anyone, losing them as she inevitably will is only going to ruin her.
she's still grieving her father. she can't be entangled with anyone, so it's a good thing that this is only for convenience's sake, keeping up appearances and avoiding scandal, nothing else.
which doesn't explain why her breath hitches when his nose nudges into her hair and his breath ghosts over the skin of her neck for just a moment. why she moves nearly before he's finished speaking, compliant in a way she very nearly never is.
it doesn't explain it, but if no one is asking questions, she doesn't have to offer explanations, doesn't have to acknowledge anything, does she? ]
[He shifts behind her along the edge of the bed, fingers briefly tugging at her hips to find the proper angle and get at the last stays low along her spine. This isn't a terribly natural thing, but there's a logic to knots and lengths that keeps his mind fully occupied.
If he focuses on the work, it's all very simple. If his thoughts stray (the way his fingers ever so slightly do, barely grazing against the ever-growing exposure of her skin, thoughtless; familiar), it all falls to pieces.]
...hm.
[Once the bindings are undone, he's at more of a loss. The fabric of her dress might all fall away easily enough on its own, but it's far removed from his wheelhouse to know what else goes into removing fine trappings.
One hand forgets itself at rest on her hip, almost without his conscious thought.]
[ knot by knot, bit by bit, he unravels and undoes the fastenings that keep her trapped in this dress. in equal increments, her stomach tightens, caught halfway between anticipation and something more fearful than that. (it would be so easy to say that she isn't afraid of anything-- of course she's not, she'll jump off cliffs to prove it. but the things lara is afraid of have never been physical.)
his fingers stray, barely-there brushes against her skin. something about the unthinking nature of it, that it's just so, ghosting over skin more than grasping, makes her all the more aware of the touches. of him. makes her skin pebble and anticipation win over the other thing, curl tight in her stomach, low between her legs.
the bindings are done. his hand is at her hip. she could turn around and kiss him. she could straddle him or push him down into the sheets. instead, after a shivering breath, ] The rest, too.
[ once eased open, it can be pulled over her head. pushed down her hip. ]
[He's seen her so much more of her before. He's ripped clothes from her so much more quickly. But it's... something, having to move carefully like this, to slowly reveal inch by inch of her skin.
It pulls a thoughtless 'hm' to his lips to think about helping with the rest. His fingers hesitate for a moment, hand still settled on her hip, in contemplation of what should be a comfortably natural task by now.
It doesn't mean anything different now that they're married, because the marriage doesn't mean anything.
A shift brings him to his feet, too close behind her, the warmth of her skin practically radiating through his own clothes. His fingers move with infinite care to push at the fabric, sliding carefully under the fabric to help work it down from her arms and hips.]
[ he's seen so much more of her before. they've been more naked with one another than this and the marriage doesn't mean anything, so it can't change anything-- and still, it feels infinitely more intimate to have him shift behind her, getting to his feet, close enough that she can feel the warmth of him as much as he can feel hers. to have his fingers move so carefully, sliding beneath the lace and silk of her dress to slide the fabric over her shoulders, her arms, her hips.
lara can't help it; she shivers. unlike the shiver under the gazebo out in the storm, it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. he's so close. her dress falls away and she could lean back against him or he could move his hands to other places on her body, touch her--
she takes a breath and that, too, is a shuddering, shivering thing, tension coiled low in her stomach and keeping her still, keeping her tightly controlled. ]
[There's a certain fascination in her beauty, a combination of soft curves and hard muscles, of strangely smooth skin and intimately familiar scars. With nothing to do but study her, the sight is completely captivating.
Then she shivers, breath shuddering, and for some reason it's almost too much to bear.
His fingers ghost back to her hips, barely touching. It's strange, how uncertain a body can feel after saying a few words to someone else. This would, surely, be the first time touching her hadn't been some sort of affront to exactly the sort of highly regulated civility he thrives on, and yet it feels almost impossible to move any closer.]
[ the way he says her name, barely more than a breath, feels like a physical touch-- feels like the way his fingers ghost over her hips, barely there and felt all the more intensely for it. ]
Yeah-. [ her own voice is pitched low, breaking a little. it feels wrong, somehow, to disturb the relative silence between them.
she turns, then. lifts a hand to find his shoulder, trail down her fingers over his chest. he's still dressed and something about that imbalance makes want clench all the harder in her stomach.
two hands, then, to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt. ]
[Maybe the thing to do is to break apart. Maybe the only way to stop feeling this something welling in his chest is to gently brush away her hands, to insist that he can manage, to build some physical space back in while they sort out why the emotional space seems so intent on breaking down.
Maybe it would help, but Horatio finds himself staying exactly where he is.
His fingers, somehow useless to help with his own buttons, finally come to rest properly on her hips. His forehead ducks, barely pressing against hers in the overwhelming warmth of standing together.
Maybe it's already far too late to stop whatever's happening.]
[ his hands come to rest at her hips, the touch light and still solid enough, firm enough that it feels like it's holding her together, holding her in place-- or maybe that's the breathless thing that sits in her chest, that is growing between them, undeniably for all that it shouldn't be there because this means nothing, marriage on this planet doesn't actually bind them to each other, it doesn't.
she focuses on undoing button after button, barely faltering when his forehead comes to rest against hers, both of them breathing the same air. another button, then one more, and she can push his jacket open and repeat the process with his shirt. ]
[The trick, it seems, is simply not to think. As with so much else in life, the best course is to reduce the universe to simply barreling through all the confusion and doubt.
If he doesn't think, he can enjoy the sensation of being warm and close. If he doesn't overanalyze, he can shrug free from his jacket, hands leaving her hips one at a time and settling back into place with more certainty.
They know pieces of this. They know at least enough that shedding his shirt can end with his head ducking the rest of the way to a kiss--and they absolutely know that.]
[ not thinking really is a time-honoured tradition with both of them, individually and jointly, isn't it? a certain degree of recklessness, pushing through because before they know it, they're already in the middle of something--
he shrugs free from his jacket and then sets his hands more firmly on her hips again, dipping down to kiss her once his shirt's off and they're in the middle of something here, too, aren't they? in the middle of something they know, if they don't stop to think about it.
lara has no intention of letting her mind intrude on this. instead, she kisses him back-- a tad more slowly than they know, maybe. ]
[Focus on the warmth of her lips. Focus on the familiar feel of her skin under his hands. Focus on the half-step backward toward the bed, toward the proper plunge away from the edge of wherever they are to the mess of what they already are.
What they already are (without this planet, without these promises) is wonderful. What they already are is this pleasant rush in his gut from being here again (not horrifying, not even here; just lovely and known and exactly where he wants to be).
Slow isn't bad. Slow just means dragging out the sense of distraction, surely.]
[ half a step back toward the bed and lara feels the edge of it against the back of her thighs and it's easy enough, physically at least, to let herself fall back, to drag him along with her.
somehow, she knows he'll follow her down. somehow, she knows he trusts her to follow or that she trusts him to, some combination of that, tangled together--
it doesn't matter. (it does, but she's not thinking about it.) what matters is the sensation of his body against hers, his lips against hers, familiar and still exciting despite that. ]
[There are so many places he'd follow her. There are so many foolish, life-threatening things they've asked of one another--that they will ask of each other once they make it off this planet again. Following her here, now, to tumble onto their marriage bed, sets his heart pounding as hard as any other foolish thing they've ever done.
No more thinking. No more worrying about words, or rings, or the uncomfortable familiarity of this place among all the places they've visited (just enough like home that it feels real somewhere deep in his bones).
All there is to do now is to kiss her hard, hands fumbling to get rid of his pants without moving any of himself too far from any of her.]
[ lara isn't sure if it's her own heartbeat she can hear echoed or his, if the bond somehow translates into this as well, into their heartbeats in sync, beating hard and fast even as their tumble onto the bed is gentle, painless.
his kiss serves to wipe her mind clean of further thoughts, his hands between their bodies to undo his trousers. his jacket is gone; lara busies herself with his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside and moving into another kiss with barely a breath between. their chests meet, her fingers digging into his back, his neck, running down his arms. ]
[It's just them. Stripped down like this, there's nothing to distinguish this moment from any other time they've fallen into bed together. This is what they know. This doesn't have to be complicated by anything lingering over them, any words spoken hours before exactly these last few moments.
All they have to do is curl here together. All they have to do is keep their lips locked, bodies pressing together and skin sliding against skin. All they need to consider is whether to stay as they are or pull Lara on top of him.
Once the pants are gone, he'll give an experimental tug in that direction.]
[ his lips are on hers and his hands are on her hips, tugging her on top of him and lara moves to straddle him without thinking, no inch of space between their bodies as she does, the kiss not breaking. she doesn't think she could stand it if it does.
it's just them. it's so much more than that, but in the end, naked, it's just them. it's them in a bed, touching, tangled together. it's somewhere they've been before and if she doesn't think about vows and promises and until death do us part, her heart beating wildly is just a response to physical sensation. if she's lightheaded, it's only because they keep kissing for so long that breathing is secondary.
it's just them. that makes it easy, easier, in the end, to reach between their bodies, to shift the angle just so that she can slide down on him.
the sensation of him inside her, filling her, that is not new.
[They can focus on this. They can sink into the familiarity of lips crashing and bodies fitting together.
There are sounds on his lips as his hips shift under her, urgent for the warmth of her, but they have no form or substance. There don't need to be words here. They don't need to think about words here; about promises. They just need to be.
It's a relief, after a day like this, to fall back into the familiar pleasure of losing himself in the sensation of thrusting up into her. (It's not worth examining the emotional truth of the relief beyond the pure relaxation of stress.)]
[ they don't need words. they don't need anything beyond the physical sensation of this, the push and pull and thrust of it. they can lose themselves in the rhythm and in the familiar rush of this physical kind of joining.
there's just this: rolling her hips just so, taking him deeper, her hands on his shoulder, next to his head, the proximity and synchronicity.
this, they know. this is something they've always been good at, somehow. a language they both know how to speak, of gasps and deep breaths and quiet moans. ]
[She's wonderful like this. She's like another piece of himself--or perhaps he's another piece of her. The lines aren't terribly bright and the tangle doesn't have much of a direction.
Some of the sounds on his lips are her name. Most aren't. Some of the shifts and tugs are to be certain, when their lips aren't crushed together, that he can see her face properly. Most aren't.
It isn't the vows that make this different (more). It's just that it's her.]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-02-28 03:45 am (UTC)Which they are, but it doesn't mean anything.]
Hm. [Maybe that's the thing to focus on. Maybe it's just a positive that they won't have to pretend quite as much--that this one little piece of themselves will be allowed to simply exist rather than being locked in deep.] There's that.
[There's also the fact that the best place to sit and tug off his boots is the bed. Their marriage bed.]
no subject
Date: 2021-03-12 09:02 pm (UTC)and then she says hm as well and sits next to him and kicks off her own shoes. ]
You're going to have to help me with the dress.
[ just. putting that out there, a hint of haughtiness in the tone that has nothing to do with any actual sense of superiority and more with not quite knowing what to make of this, of the knowledge that sits in her chest of yes, i do, of putting on a show, of there being no one to put on a show for, now. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-03-15 02:49 am (UTC)Best not to think of it that way, perhaps.]
How'd you get into it? [Not that it matters. Not that it isn't just something to say as he shifts slightly back on the bed to start the process of gently feeling for the stays to loosen in the intricacies of the the dress's pattern.]
no subject
Date: 2021-03-21 11:43 am (UTC)the thought makes something in lara's stomach swoop. best not to think of that, then. focusing on the gradual undoing of her dress, the sensation of confines loosening, the knowledge of what his fingers look like. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-03 04:45 pm (UTC)His fingers move carefully with the rich fabric and delicate clasps. His head ducks slightly over the work, giving him the slightly warm sensation of how close her slowly-bared skin is.
It feels dangerous, but he leans forward for a heartbeat, nose nudging into her hair just lightly before he leans fully back.]
Up.
no subject
Date: 2021-04-03 06:00 pm (UTC)she's still grieving her father. she can't be entangled with anyone, so it's a good thing that this is only for convenience's sake, keeping up appearances and avoiding scandal, nothing else.
which doesn't explain why her breath hitches when his nose nudges into her hair and his breath ghosts over the skin of her neck for just a moment. why she moves nearly before he's finished speaking, compliant in a way she very nearly never is.
it doesn't explain it, but if no one is asking questions, she doesn't have to offer explanations, doesn't have to acknowledge anything, does she? ]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-04 01:16 pm (UTC)If he focuses on the work, it's all very simple. If his thoughts stray (the way his fingers ever so slightly do, barely grazing against the ever-growing exposure of her skin, thoughtless; familiar), it all falls to pieces.]
...hm.
[Once the bindings are undone, he's at more of a loss. The fabric of her dress might all fall away easily enough on its own, but it's far removed from his wheelhouse to know what else goes into removing fine trappings.
One hand forgets itself at rest on her hip, almost without his conscious thought.]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-04 01:26 pm (UTC)his fingers stray, barely-there brushes against her skin. something about the unthinking nature of it, that it's just so, ghosting over skin more than grasping, makes her all the more aware of the touches. of him. makes her skin pebble and anticipation win over the other thing, curl tight in her stomach, low between her legs.
the bindings are done. his hand is at her hip. she could turn around and kiss him. she could straddle him or push him down into the sheets. instead, after a shivering breath, ] The rest, too.
[ once eased open, it can be pulled over her head. pushed down her hip. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-10 07:15 pm (UTC)It pulls a thoughtless 'hm' to his lips to think about helping with the rest. His fingers hesitate for a moment, hand still settled on her hip, in contemplation of what should be a comfortably natural task by now.
It doesn't mean anything different now that they're married, because the marriage doesn't mean anything.
A shift brings him to his feet, too close behind her, the warmth of her skin practically radiating through his own clothes. His fingers move with infinite care to push at the fabric, sliding carefully under the fabric to help work it down from her arms and hips.]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-10 07:22 pm (UTC)lara can't help it; she shivers. unlike the shiver under the gazebo out in the storm, it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. he's so close. her dress falls away and she could lean back against him or he could move his hands to other places on her body, touch her--
she takes a breath and that, too, is a shuddering, shivering thing, tension coiled low in her stomach and keeping her still, keeping her tightly controlled. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-24 07:52 pm (UTC)Then she shivers, breath shuddering, and for some reason it's almost too much to bear.
His fingers ghost back to her hips, barely touching. It's strange, how uncertain a body can feel after saying a few words to someone else. This would, surely, be the first time touching her hadn't been some sort of affront to exactly the sort of highly regulated civility he thrives on, and yet it feels almost impossible to move any closer.]
Lara? [Barely a whisper, barely a breath.]
no subject
Date: 2021-04-24 08:26 pm (UTC)Yeah-. [ her own voice is pitched low, breaking a little. it feels wrong, somehow, to disturb the relative silence between them.
she turns, then. lifts a hand to find his shoulder, trail down her fingers over his chest. he's still dressed and something about that imbalance makes want clench all the harder in her stomach.
two hands, then, to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 06:01 pm (UTC)Maybe it would help, but Horatio finds himself staying exactly where he is.
His fingers, somehow useless to help with his own buttons, finally come to rest properly on her hips. His forehead ducks, barely pressing against hers in the overwhelming warmth of standing together.
Maybe it's already far too late to stop whatever's happening.]
no subject
Date: 2021-05-22 11:35 am (UTC)she focuses on undoing button after button, barely faltering when his forehead comes to rest against hers, both of them breathing the same air. another button, then one more, and she can push his jacket open and repeat the process with his shirt. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-05-23 05:20 pm (UTC)If he doesn't think, he can enjoy the sensation of being warm and close. If he doesn't overanalyze, he can shrug free from his jacket, hands leaving her hips one at a time and settling back into place with more certainty.
They know pieces of this. They know at least enough that shedding his shirt can end with his head ducking the rest of the way to a kiss--and they absolutely know that.]
no subject
Date: 2021-05-24 06:25 pm (UTC)he shrugs free from his jacket and then sets his hands more firmly on her hips again, dipping down to kiss her once his shirt's off and they're in the middle of something here, too, aren't they? in the middle of something they know, if they don't stop to think about it.
lara has no intention of letting her mind intrude on this. instead, she kisses him back-- a tad more slowly than they know, maybe. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-05-27 02:15 am (UTC)What they already are (without this planet, without these promises) is wonderful. What they already are is this pleasant rush in his gut from being here again (not horrifying, not even here; just lovely and known and exactly where he wants to be).
Slow isn't bad. Slow just means dragging out the sense of distraction, surely.]
no subject
Date: 2021-08-22 09:07 am (UTC)somehow, she knows he'll follow her down. somehow, she knows he trusts her to follow or that she trusts him to, some combination of that, tangled together--
it doesn't matter. (it does, but she's not thinking about it.) what matters is the sensation of his body against hers, his lips against hers, familiar and still exciting despite that. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-10-09 08:52 pm (UTC)No more thinking. No more worrying about words, or rings, or the uncomfortable familiarity of this place among all the places they've visited (just enough like home that it feels real somewhere deep in his bones).
All there is to do now is to kiss her hard, hands fumbling to get rid of his pants without moving any of himself too far from any of her.]
no subject
Date: 2021-10-10 09:07 am (UTC)his kiss serves to wipe her mind clean of further thoughts, his hands between their bodies to undo his trousers. his jacket is gone; lara busies herself with his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside and moving into another kiss with barely a breath between. their chests meet, her fingers digging into his back, his neck, running down his arms. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-10-10 09:31 pm (UTC)All they have to do is curl here together. All they have to do is keep their lips locked, bodies pressing together and skin sliding against skin. All they need to consider is whether to stay as they are or pull Lara on top of him.
Once the pants are gone, he'll give an experimental tug in that direction.]
no subject
Date: 2021-10-24 06:16 pm (UTC)it's just them. it's so much more than that, but in the end, naked, it's just them. it's them in a bed, touching, tangled together. it's somewhere they've been before and if she doesn't think about vows and promises and until death do us part, her heart beating wildly is just a response to physical sensation. if she's lightheaded, it's only because they keep kissing for so long that breathing is secondary.
it's just them. that makes it easy, easier, in the end, to reach between their bodies, to shift the angle just so that she can slide down on him.
the sensation of him inside her, filling her, that is not new.
somehow, it still feels monumental. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-10-31 01:48 pm (UTC)There are sounds on his lips as his hips shift under her, urgent for the warmth of her, but they have no form or substance. There don't need to be words here. They don't need to think about words here; about promises. They just need to be.
It's a relief, after a day like this, to fall back into the familiar pleasure of losing himself in the sensation of thrusting up into her. (It's not worth examining the emotional truth of the relief beyond the pure relaxation of stress.)]
no subject
Date: 2021-11-06 07:05 pm (UTC)there's just this: rolling her hips just so, taking him deeper, her hands on his shoulder, next to his head, the proximity and synchronicity.
this, they know. this is something they've always been good at, somehow. a language they both know how to speak, of gasps and deep breaths and quiet moans. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-11-07 04:56 pm (UTC)Some of the sounds on his lips are her name. Most aren't. Some of the shifts and tugs are to be certain, when their lips aren't crushed together, that he can see her face properly. Most aren't.
It isn't the vows that make this different (more). It's just that it's her.]
(no subject)
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