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She cupped his cheek in her hand, one finger lightly stroking his ear while the other hand rested lightly on his hip, helping him balance. The straps of the pretty glass toy they’d bought were not made for hips the size of hers, but with a little adjustment, they fit just fine around one of her thighs.
His eyes were so beautiful, so wide and hazed in just the right way as he rode, only a trace of his ruby irises to be seen. His hands on her shoulders trembled, and she leaned in to press a soft kiss to his mouth, weirdly chaste compared to what their hips were doing.
“You’re so beautiful, Fangs, you’re doing so well.” Her voice was barely over a whisper but he let out a soft whine anyway. “So proud of you, taking me so good, so deep.”
She broke eye contact for a moment to lay more gentle kisses to his throat, his cheek, his forehead, before bringing his head back to meet her gaze again.
She’d been so proud of him when he’d admitted to her what he needed, even if her throat had closed with weeping for him. He’d looked so small and defeated when he’d suggested taking someone else to her bedroll, and she’d barely managed not to crush him in her hold bringing him near.
“I’ve waited ten years to touch someone, anyone, Fangs. This is enough.”
It took the almost the rest of the Shadow Cursed lands for him to start to believe her.
She became so aware of his muscle tension, loosening her hold the moment he tensed or drew away. Secretly she was so happy that it had been so cold. It was miserable, but it gave her the time to let him become comfortable with just being held, to know that she would never ask more of him.
The first time he had crawled into her bedroll, neither of them had slept well. He’d been so cold that she’d asked to layer both of their cloaks over them, and all he could do was nod stiffly. He’d trembled the whole night, and after she’d kissed the crown of his head, she tilted her own back so that he wouldn’t see her tears.
Knowing that only some of his shivering was from the cold.
The next morning Wyll had taken one look at their sunken puffy eyes and general sluggishness and declared a rest day.
The first time he’d climbed to sit across her lap at the campfire, he’d actually hissed at Gale for staring. Never mind that he’d slid into other laps around camp earlier when it was all teasing. It had been Shadowheart who had distracted the wizard, asking him something Karlach hadn’t heard and setting him into some weird long-ass explanation that had gotten everyone’s mind off what they had just seen.
His eyes grew distant, his movements falling into an almost mechanical rhythm that didn’t seem right, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You still in there, Babe? Come back.” She laid another soft kiss to his earlobe before pulling back, forcing his eyes to meet hers as she slowed him down.
His eyes cleared, narrowing almost in pain before he pulled her in to kiss her messy and desperate. “I want to stay, keep talking to me so I stay.” His voice sounded almost harsh in its pleading against her mouth.
Praises then, how good he was for her, how beautiful he was, how proud she was of him, until tears welled in his eyes, and she kissed them away before they could spill down his cheeks.
Every time he’d told her he needed to stop, she’d been so proud of him, even if a moment ago he’d been touching her fit to drive her mad.
They had tried things that hadn’t required touch, him directing her hands on her own body as he lazily touched himself. Some days it worked well, and other days he’d had to stop and they’d both had a dip in the icy lake.
And every time he’d asked her to stop, every time he had to back away, she waited patiently for him to return and they’d cuddled when he was ready.
His trust grew. He no longer shivered in her hold, even when they lay entwined in nothing but their smallclothes.
If he was hard when they woke, she did not mention it.
Some of those mornings he’d rutted wickedly against her, and others he rose from his trance looking sick, and she waited while he left to take another icy dip, offering him simple warmth when he returned.
And some mornings she woke with him sobbing silently into her skin, and her heart broke.
He leaned in to mouth her neck, changing the angle the glass cock hit him, his own weeping precome. She tented her leg a little to help him hit the angle he wanted and she felt him keen into her skin as he sped up. Her hands slid to his hips to stabilize him as he gave himself to the feeling, his own hands moving to cup her cheeks as he panted into her mouth.
His eyes were wild, his movement erratic, nothing like the polished way he’d moved when he’d lost himself.
It had hurt so bad to watch him sink into himself as they’d fought their way down the mansion. To see the horrors that had been his everything before the tadpole set him free.
It had felt so good to crush Godey into shards.
He’d been hit so hard, seeing the cages full of spawn, that his steps had dragged as they made their final way down.
She’d been too busy grabbing the attention of every zombie and werewolf she could see to catch it when Gale had freed him from where the ritual had him trapped, but by the time her vision had cleared there was silence.
Silence until he’d hauled that fucker out of his coffin, cursing him.
She’d wept as he begged her to help him, to carve his own wounds into that shithead to take his place. She knew that if he did he would be lost to her forever.
Lost to himself.
Somehow, her words had gotten through to him and he’d instead turned the fucker into a pile of unrecognizable meat.
After he’d screamed himself out, she’d gathered him up as gently as she could, hiding him away from the eyes of the other spawn, of the Gur. He felt so light, like he’d been emptied out.
On the walk back to the Elfsong, mostly his eyes had stayed closed, but sometimes she would look down at him in her arms and his stare was blind and hollow.
She’d let the others take care of everything else while she coaxed him into a bath, and gently scrubbed him clean. It was like cleaning one of those fancy patriar dolls, the ones made of porcelain. He never spoke, never looked at her.
But he did follow her to bed, allow himself to be arranged on top of her, allowed her to hold him gently, to try and press warmth into him.
The next morning he was still a little quiet, but better. He was able to read a little, and to waspishly snap at Gale, to everyone’s relief (including Gale’s).
He’d been serious when he’d led her to his grave, and she let him speak, to work out what he wanted. He’d had a little of his old fire as he’d pushed her into the dirt and climbed onto her, kissing her deep.
She could tell he was close, so close he’d stopped pretending to breathe until he gasped for enough air to speak, to beg her to touch him. He shuddered once, twice as she pumped his cock before he howled, spending himself between them.
He shook there in her arms, his head buried in her shoulder.
When he’d calmed she gently lifted him off the glass cock, and he whimpered a little as she settled him lying against her chest, loosening the straps that held the toy to her thigh.
She gently carded her hand through his curls, dragging her claws across his scalp the way she knew he loved.
To make sure he knew he was loved.