Goddd the way you wrote the quiet tav x halsin….im utterly broken on the floor sobbing!!!!! You wrote and described him so well???? I can’t deal 😭❤️ your writing is incredible.
Could you write more halsin x tav? Maybe a shy touch starved tav that wants to be held by him. Wants to kiss but is overwhelmed by the thought of it.
A/n: thank you!!! I had an absolute blast writing this one, so much so that I already have a part 2 in the works (may or may not finally be working on some smut 👀). Hope you enjoy this tooth-achingly sweet yearning <3
Honeysuckle Breeze ~ Halsin x GN Shy Touch Starved Tav PT1/2
{~Masterlist~}
Word Count: 10.3k
Summary: Halsin has fallen hopelessly in love with you over his journey but has struggled to find the right way to tell you, too worried he might scare away your skittish heart. It's one sweet night on the road to Baldur's gate that finally allows him the perfect moment.
-
A boisterous laugh fills the air, a sound that cuts through camp with a levity that instantly brings a smile to your face. You notice how his eyes catch against the starlight and dance in ways beyond any beauty you’d known; loose hair dripping water onto an already damp shirt after his afternoon trip to the lake. His voice carried a melodic lilt you’d somehow always known, yet remained so distant. Hands so far from yours, far, too far-
“Staring is considered rude, you know,” a voice smooth as velvet snaps you quickly out of your distracted gaze, heat creeping through you at the realization of being caught. Your head whips in the direction of the well-known blood-sucker, a loathsome smirk on his face.
“Or at least that’s what the others keep telling me,” he continues, embarrassment sinking its way to your core. You swiftly turn away from him too and bring your attention back to the stew you were tasked with watching while Gale went to grab whatever ingredient he’d missed. You stay silent, like you so routinely tend to. A safe place to return when you knew all that would come from your mouth was a bumbling string of mortifying excuses.
“I do have to point out that your taste in viewing material is certainly…lacking,” he murmurs the last part, though it’s loud enough for you to hear – it always is. It pulls at frustration that had already been stretched thin.
“Do you need something?” You manage the words through gritted teeth, though they don’t contain the harshness you so wished they did. Astarion tsks, hands coddling a cup of what you very well knew wasn’t wine, a satisfied glint in his eyes.
“No. I just figured you looked like the most fun at the moment,” he answers with the aloofness of someone with nothing to lose from his up-front nature. He had no problem making you squirm. In fact you’re pretty sure he enjoyed it. Your lip upturns at the thought, a wave of irritation spreading through you. But alas, you were never really good at navigating his strange way with words, nor how quickly they dug under your skin.
“Now, back to the subject at hand. The bear? Really?” He speaks in utter disbelief, though it is the dramatic kind two posh women would have gossiping over tea and dainty cups. All accusations that felt like they held the weight of the world, no matter how petty they truly were. All the same it makes you shift where you stand, mouth suddenly too dry to even attempt a response. Not that you planned to. His heavy sigh almost makes you, though.
“He smells like dirt and creek water- He talks to trees for fun! What about that is so appealing to you?” He goads, prodding for more information, always prodding. At least he doesn’t wake people up by biting them, you thought, almost smirking as the idea passed. But you’re quick to hide the expression, lest Astarion be tempted to try and find the meaning of it. You settle on something a little less pointed to say.
“I enjoy his quiet” you humor him, giving him an inch so he’d be less interested in trying to rip the mile out of you. Like feeding a mouse a piece of cheese so it wouldn’t put its grubby hands on the wheel. He groans at your answer, eyes rolling so dramatically you hope he might actually get them stuck.
“Gods you people are so boring,” he whines, finally returning to the drink in his hand and minding his damn business. When you’re sure that he’s found some other form of entertainment, you turn to look at the sky for some reprieve from the swirl of emotions that plague you. Dark clouds part over a star-filled night again and you contemplate their shapes, watching as they continue their slow crawl over the moon, though they never quite cover it entirely. A welcome sight after your time in the shadow lands where such light was a privilege. It’s a sky that allows you to breathe again. A slow and peaceful night.
-
Halsin sat amongst a few of his newly made friends – Karlach and Wyll namely – as they spoke about their many misadventures before their journey here. It was certainly strange to hear that word echo in his mind again, friends. Decades had passed since the last time he genuinely meant it. A very welcome old feeling. But he must admit, even as fond as he was with their very entertaining speeches on the latest of the fiends they’d slain, he wasn't quite paying attention.
His eyes tended to wander back to a familiar place, moving of their own accord until they found what they kept seeking. The sight they catch on is always one to behold, though he thinks the one he captured tonight might just be his favorite. Illuminated by flame, your features mix with warm colors and soft shadows, relaxing in the comfort of the moment. Your head tilted to the heavens, eyes gleaming with the night sky, expression holding an admiration he always enjoyed. He found that you quite enjoyed the stars, or at least you seemed to with how often he’d catch you looking up on nights like this.
That is when you weren’t looking at him. A habit of yours that he’d made note of, though not one he’d pestered you about just yet. Your timid nature left him hesitant to be so brazen. He thought little of the staring at first – had even convinced himself for a while that you were just lost in thought; that it could have been anybody else your stare could have found and there wouldn’t have been a difference. But then he had caught you one night staring at him like you did the stars, a memory he couldn’t help but smile at. The slight panic that had reached your face then, how you had waved, laughed like you were trying to cover up a fumbled word, quickly distracting yourself with something else. Timid indeed.
“You two should really just get it going already,” Karlach nudges him, her words only registering after he blinks back to reality, realizing then that he had been the one staring this time. He feels the warmth of his body burn him as it floods to his face but he laughs lightheartedly anyway, smiling all the while.
“I have no clue what you are talking about,” he answers her, though he knows he’s far from convincing. Even Wyll shoots him a knowing stare, surely having fun with the playful teasing.
“Ah, c’mon ya big softy! You know exactly what I’m talking about! Why not just go for it? Never pinned you as a nervous type,” Karlach pushes a bit further. Right about now is when he’d wave away the gentle prodding with a dismissive hand, poorly explaining that there was nothing more to talk about or excusing himself to finish a task he had already completed hours ago. But tonight felt a little different. His mind wasn’t so fogged; in fact it was the clearest it had ever been and so the idea of entertaining their questions didn’t leave such a pit of guilt in his chest. The shadows had been freed and he traveled amongst nature with great company. He felt…weirdly free. And so he allows himself to at the very least think over her words.
She was right. He wasn’t normally a nervous type. Excitable, sure, perhaps even cautious at times, rarely nervous. But this was somewhat different. It had been a very long time since he’d held any kind of romantic affections, but even longer still since they weighed so heavily on him. There was nothing casual or easy about the feelings you bloomed within him and while he was sure he could handle them just fine it did nothing to wash away the worry that he might have misjudged your stares, or worse that you didn’t hold the same care for him that he had grown for you. A worry not made any easier by how quickly you often scurried away from him. He swears sometimes the rabbits are less jumpy than you.
Soon enough he clears his throat, shifting in his seat as he tosses the question in his mind. Then finally he decided he might as well give the two their long awaited answer.
“I am not nervous, only…taking my time,” he allows the words to leave, deeply amused by how their faces light up. It was the first time he’d ever allowed them to talk this far about it and they were even more elated than he’d thought they’d be. Quite a nosey bunch of companions you surrounded yourself with, it seems.
“So he finally admits it!” Karlach’s words come quickly, her grin plastered widely across her face. Wyll laughs, just as delighted.
“Time is a valuable thing, my friend! You would do well to use more of it,” Wyll encourages, a sweetness there that Halsin appreciates. He takes the words to heart, despite them having little effect on his approach. Instead, it only serves as a reminder of the precious little time left before you all would reach the city, once more thrown to the chaos of duty. These few days on the road had been a welcome reprieve before the storm and you all only had a few days more.
Before anything else can be said Gales yell sounds the dinner bell, the day coming to its inevitable close. The two across from him pass knowing looks, but he decides it best to end the talk for now. There would still be plenty more time to talk.
At least he hoped so.
-
The murmur of conversation flowed just as bountifully as the wine, most of them electing to eat by the fire tonight. They split off into their little groups, trading members every now and again, one conversation dying to help bloom another. It was a rare night indeed when they were all able to remain civil enough to eat in peace. It’s nice to see, though you don’t participate in their conversations. You elect instead to eat silently with them, listening to bits and pieces of their random babblings. For the most part it’s entirely uninteresting. Gale explains some niche magic theory mostly to himself, Shadowheart and Astarion argue over who they believe has the best fashion taste, Wyll and Karlach are unusually quiet, murmuring to each other about bets for something you can’t quite make out, Jaheria and Lae’zel discuss the advantages of different blades and their uses, and Halsin…
Well he sits just across from you, engaging in the same observation. You try your best not to glance too often at him, instead distracting yourself with the banter the others offer. But you almost can’t help yourself. It’s the first time you’d ever seen him with his hair fully down and it seemed like something even he wasn’t quite used to, the stray pieces falling in his face every now and again, a slight frustration building in the furrow of his brow. Your fingertips trace the edges of your bowl, imagining the slightly damp strands between them, of easing them behind his ear. But you blink and the moment passes, your eyes quickly turning to look at anything else as heat floods your face, burning you from the inside with the sheer embarrassment of letting those thoughts roam to you.
The group was growing rowdier, though that was to be expected. You would have to find your own peace before it got out of hand as you were never really one to stick around when they began their bickering. Though the sound of heading to bed while the others created such a racket wasn’t really all that appealing either. It's then you remember a clearing just up the way by the river; a place you imagined was beautiful this time of night. And what’s more, it was far enough away that you wouldn’t have to worry about the noise. Yes, that sounded perfect.
You had hoped to sneak just under their noses. They’d ask where you’d gone, surely, but they knew by now that you were keen on making silent exits and enjoying your own company, so you can be sure that they wouldn’t come looking. However, as quiet as you were you never did seem to make it past Halsin’s eyes as of late. You had even tried to slip away right behind him, yet still he somehow knew. Like he could sense you. Or more likely because he hadn’t taken his attention off of you. A strange thought.
“A little late to be sneaking off,” he spoke to you, though was sure to be as inconspicuous about it as possible, the others too distracted by their own conversations to care. You freeze like you always do; a deer caught in lamplight. But you calmed soon enough knowing he wouldn’t keep you.
“Just want to do some reading. There's a spot up the river I wanted to see,” you answer his unspoken question and he hums in acknowledgement. There is a noticeable pause before he speaks again.
“Would you mind if I joined you? I have been meaning to grab a few herbs I saw along the water earlier,” His offer should have been expected, he was never a man to let anyone stray too far from the pack alone. Though it still somehow surprises you each time he wishes to be in your presence. Ever since leaving the shadow-cursed lands he hadn’t ever left you on your own. It’s nice to enjoy good company among the wilderness, he had told you when you had gained enough courage to ask. After that you didn’t much question it, less so out of nervousness this time and more so because you liked his company enough to not need more explanation than that. Most nights he would help collect wood for the fire long after the others went to bed while you poked and prodded to keep the dying flames from smothering. A fine balance, one you adored the unspoken simplicity of.
But tonight…why did it feel so different? Was it the aroma of honeysuckle that gave it a soothing effect? Or maybe the stars aligned to make the gentle night all the more beautiful. Whatever it was it carried calm with it, relief found in the slight breeze that kisses your skin. Though his presence caused your every nerve to thrum and your throat to tighten with a delicious ache, you somehow found yourself finally relaxing.
“If you wish,” you allow, and he wastes no time in joining. He grabs a bag of his own and a nearby lantern, following you into the dark. You feel the stares of a few of the others, Halsin’s colossal figure having fully blown your cover. But they remain strangely to themselves as the two of you walk off, not a stray comment made. You would have questioned such an uncharacteristic silence if you had the will left to care. Whatever it was wasn’t for you to question, only for you to be thankful for.
Along the way he does what he said he came to do, collecting plants of all kinds along the path like he’d memorized each of them. Words never pass between either of you, only the familiar sounds of night taking its claim of the land with every cricket’s chirp and resting animal. It doesn’t take too long before the two of you arrive at the alcove you had been looking for and you are quick to make your spot on a tree stump, setting your bag at your side to search through it. He sets down his lantern nearby before sitting amongst the grass and rummaging through his own bag. It's clear then that he intends to stay in your company.
You try to focus on things other than him as you get comfortable, hoping to distract yourself. You busy your hands with the old book Gale had lent you, your lantern set close by to light up the pages. It was a rare day indeed you allowed yourself the luxury of a good book in the presence of another, too afraid prying eyes would ruin what precious little comforts you had, but you don’t think you’d mind too much if he bothered you.
He stayed a safe distance away for a while, busy with mixing herbs and keeping his lantern. His blending had become as routine as your late nights; the smell of fragrant crushed plants bringing a peace even complete isolation couldn’t beat, each smell invoking memories new and old; like the breeze of spring does after a long winter.
Once more your mind betrays this tentative peace, eyes flicking up to him between pages. You almost couldn’t resist, drawn in like moth to flame. A tired analogy, but true nonetheless. Still you sought him, still you longed for him. Pained to be in his presence yet somehow suffering without. There was no winning for you, only yearning for something you would likely never have.
That thought was the one that stung the most. You could imagine a dozen different futures with him in it, but you had trouble imagining that he felt the same. His kindness spread to everyone, his smiles generously given – you were hardly special. He cared for you just as much as he cared for the rest of the world.
Yet sometimes, on these quiet nights shared between the two of you, something in you believed otherwise. You could convince yourself for the briefest moments that the way he looked at you was different. That the sudden gleam in his eye was anything other than a trick of the light. For just a moment he held your heart in his hands, knowing or not. And never did he have so much grace as when he did, voice always a quiet mumble, careful with the gentle treasure.
But only for a moment. Just before you would realize that your eyes had wandered and your smile laid too sweet on your lips. You would dart away, coil back in on yourself and curse how you’d let someone hold such sway over you. How you’d let someone back into your reclusive heart, how you allowed yourself to want for what could never truly be. And like a dreadful dance it would continue on, his mere presence a sweet melody, a siren song to your wandering soul. Calling you deeper to the ocean only to drown in the empty feeling the air between you brought. Always too far, never enough.
A silent waltz must be in the air tonight with how the dance didn’t seem to end. Usually you would have control over yourself by now, or at least have found a task engrossing enough to ignore the call of him. But his pull seems stronger than ever before among the nature he so loved, your mind incapable of thinking of much else. Your eyes fall on the same lines over and over again, but the words never reach you before you glance away. It’s frustrating, a cruel trick of the mind.
His hands work dutifully, his eyes holding the quiet focus of a job needing done. He chooses from the many laid out, crushing and pulling with a harsh gentleness that has always captivated you. There is a slight irritation that underlies his movements tonight and again you see him struggle with his hair. Though now instead of sticking wetly to his skin the dry strands whisp out, tickling his nose and blocking his view. The sight is amusing, if you were being honest. Seeing the big man struggle against something so small and losing was enough to earn a small laugh from you.
You regret it immediately when his eyes snap upwards, locking onto you with a quickness that threatens your very existence. There is confusion on his features that mixes quickly with a curious smile. Almost instantly he is pulled from his work, the full weight of his attention placed squarely on you. And what’s worse is you hadn’t even thought about turning back to your book to cover your tracks, instead foolishly staring back, assuring him that it was him you were so entertained by and not the words you’d hardly begun to read.
“Something amusing?” His voice cuts through the quiet like thunder even despite him lowering it to just above a whisper. Your body tenses, panic shocking through you as if it had been the lighting strike just before he spoke. You bite your tongue in guilty dread, almost sure your response would be even more embarrassing.
“Your hair,” you blurt out with an unstoppable grin when yet another piece falls and his hand goes to push it back with very apparent frustration. Your words seem to hit him a moment after he does, the curiosity of his lips melting into something fond, a short laugh passing to match your own.
“I haven’t worn it freely in quite some time,” he answers flippantly at first, but you catch the way he shifts just before his next words, how his eyes train just a bit sharper onto you.
“Do you like it?” He questions with a tone somehow softer than he’d ever spoken before. You feel yourself warm further at the question, the answer so immediate in your mind that it almost frightens you. Of course, you thought, you look like the gods sculpted you themselves just to torture me.
“I do,” you admit with a confidence you aren’t sure the origin of, somehow pulling yourself together for the split second that the words slip your tongue. It takes your backbone with it, eyes finally pulling away from his, fingertips fiddling with the edge of a page. You don’t catch the way he looks at you then, smile widening in a grin and his straightened posture relaxing into something much calmer. A truly agonizing second of silence passes, tension pulling at a taut string inside you, beckoning sound forth, begging to be rid of this horrid heavy want that laid stagnant in your chest. A rare feeling for you. After all you were used to erasing yourself from the gaze of others and you happily dwelled in the long quiet. But gods, he just never let you disappear, did he? Even in the silence you still heard his breath, still felt the sting of his gaze. You never felt so seen by someone before. Your heart thumped with just as much elation as it did fear at being so exposed.
“But it seems it’s causing you a great deal of trouble,” you manage the words with a babbling messiness, murmured in some places as you halfheartedly move your gaze back to your book, hoping that somehow the written words would shrink you into nothing.
If you had been looking at Halsin you might have seen the shattered look on his face as you do, a man so desperate to feel your stare that he found himself jealous of the pages. A foolish feeling, an old feeling, but there all the same. He can’t help it, can’t hope to stop it. Not when he replays how only moments ago you held such fondness for him; your smile curled into the corners and enjoying him even in his frustration. But now they harden into something distant, somehow falling further than the already impossible distance the air kept between the both of you.
Yet still he catches a tone under your words, some meaning held between the breaths it takes for you to speak them. Slow, almost worried, inviting further comment. Not all is lost, it seems. Perhaps he still might yet earn your attention again. He imagined many a man had failed in such an endeavor before, their brazen attempts like howling wolves to a flighty bird. Chasing, jaws clamping only on the loose feathers left behind after flight. But he had often met with the part of nature that had molded you. A lone doe in a field, a flower waiting for only the sweetest air to bloom. Careful creatures instilled with the understandable fear of opening themselves to a harsh world. And now, sitting across from you, he sees them. And he wonders for a time if it had been you all along, pieces of your being left to guide him here. He just needed to be gentle, careful, patient. Luckily for him he held such things in spades. The only obstacle now is himself, selfish thoughts urging him to finally know your hand in his, your eyes on him, your lips-
He shakes the thought away, knowing better than to indulge. Perhaps when he was alone, but certainly not when temptation sat just across from him.
“I will admit, it does tug at my patience. I was planning to fix it in the morning, though I scarcely believe I will be free of slumber early enough at this rate,” he speaks aimlessly, not seeking purpose or meaning in it. Mostly thinking out loud.
“But I think I will deal with the inconvenience, if only to stay here a little longer,” he allows the words to hang in the air, an invitation instead of a demand to speak. He lets them sound like nothing, as mundane as his rambling. But even as he decides to turn back to the prior task at hand he still watches you from the corner of his eye. And what he sees is a delight to his senses. Your eyes slowly peek over, hands resting on the hard-backed edge of the book, teasing the thought of setting it aside. It held the magnificence of being chosen by a sacred creature. Then finally you dare words, this time not out of obligation or a stumble to fill the air, but because you choose to.
“Wouldn’t you only need a few hours of trance?” You ask tentatively, as if awaiting the backlash of something harsh. Your words avoid the implication he had set at your feet but do little to hide the way your tone shifts to recognize it. You don’t scramble or hide from it, but instead sit in disbelief, as if trying to convince yourself that you’d heard him wrong.
“One would think. However I live with a bear under my skin, and unfortunately that bear requires much needed rest, lest it grows restless and I grow irritable. A trance is usually enough, though not with so much traveling,” he answers the mundane question with little fanfare, making idle conversation and nothing more. He sees you creep ever further from behind the shield of pages and he fights a smile.
Once more you fall quiet, though it feels less like retreating this time and more like gathering your bearings, still so unsure of him. Gods what he wouldn’t give to just hold you right now, to whisper much bolder admiration than just wanting to sit with you, to assure you he meant every word. But he knows better than to reach a hand when such skittish things start to make their own way. He risked your retreat when you felt the closest you’d ever been.
“Would you…” the unfinished question hangs in the air, tempting him with the million words that could follow. Would you come closer? Would you sit with me? Would you kiss me? Would you hold me? Yes, gods he’d do it all.
“Nevermind,” the single word guts him, crushing a million dreams all at once. He loses the fight against himself then, gaze returning to yours with a stare he knows must be strange to you, some mix of panic and devastation hardly hiding the dagger you had taken to his anticipation.
“No, please-” he stops suddenly, clearing his throat of the sound he had let escape him. Far too vulnerable, far too risky. It revealed everything he was trying to temper, his patience a distant memory then. Perhaps he was among the foolish who had tried their hand at holding the bird, perhaps he was no better than all who failed before him. Yet he had become so captivated by the flutter of your wings and the sweetness of your song that he could not help but try.
“Ask it of me,” he tried to soften his words, to make the fact that he’s trying to steal answers seem less daunting than it often is with you. Never did you enjoy the action and more than once he had seen you fall into a panicked spiral when asked to explain the thoughts behind your bitten tongue. And yet he tried with a recklessness that threatened to revert every bit of trust he’d built so slowly. When your silence draws out further he believes he’s done just that, almost giving up then and hoping for another chance tomorrow.
…Almost.
Because just when he believes he’s once more forgotten the lesson decades worth of calming careful creatures has taught him, your hands slowly close the book, eyes having yet to turn their gaze. There is still hesitance, worry found in your subtle movements. But then there’s something else. Something that overtakes the skittish parts of you in an uncommon show of will.
“Would you like it if I did your hair? I’d hate to see you suffer just for enjoying the night,” the words are almost a whisper, your hands ringing against each other and your eyes wavering again. The question surprises him, the thought of it alone almost sating his need for you at the fact that you would allow yourself to step so far from your place of comfort for him. The joy must have shown plainly on his face, for he could not stop the way it nearly consumed him.
As for you, getting that question out took every last ounce of your nerve and only made it past your lips because you couldn’t bear the pleading look in his eyes. He had stared like you held the sun and were denying him its warmth, a look that was so unmistakably for you, a twisting in your stomach forming at the thought. It was one thing to see kindness in his gaze, but need was never something it felt like he was capable of, or at least not capable of expressing. But in that moment he needed you, and you could never deny him that.
“I would,” something sweeter than honey lined his lips with a voice that sounded from a place deep within his chest, ringing as if he was inviting you towards a welcoming warm reassurance. The anxieties that picked at your being seemed feeble against the force, sending the unwanted feelings away with just how genuine the sound is. Still, you shuffle in your seat, a new horrible emotion now nipping at your mind as you fully realize the reality of what you just signed up for.
Long had you wished to hold him, to feel even the brush of his skin. Your body craved it in ways you found terrifying. Your hands were known for betraying you, searching for him in the smallest ways and sometimes greedily risking a graze against his. A simple shadow of the real thing when he was just that bit too close, something to quell the ache the lack of him left. And worse than that you remember the times when his skin met yours willingly. A steady hand on your shoulder that would fry your nerves with its unintentional heaviness, a gentle grasp when cleaning a particularly nasty wound, those few nights when he had a place beside you at the evening fire, a cramped log allowing his shoulder to bump yours. Each instance brought the echo of its memory, searing across you with a dizzying quickness. Never too intentional, never anything more than accidents or gentle reassuring. But they all burned their way deep into your very being when faced with something so very real.
It had been some time since you allowed yourself the closeness of another. What once began as a slightly annoying wish had spiraled into a gnawing void, desperate for any contact given. It was a mortifying thing to admit, and one you kept locked away as best you could. It became instinct to slip away from the overwhelming feeling, too afraid to lose yourself in the vulnerability of it to realize how desperate you had become. Late nights were spent cold, wanting for a type of comfort you’d never been freely given. A wish to be held, but a heart that was scared of the consequences.
So being here now, having offered such a tender closeness to the man that threatened to rip your heart from its cage was nothing less than your worst nightmare and your most blissful dream. You hardly believed that you’d done it. It was all too overwhelming, all too real. No longer distant fantasy, no longer images left floating absently in your head – it was real. You would have run- you should have.
But then you finally and truly look at him, free from your anxious gaze and now allowing yourself to observe him the way you do when you’re sure he isn’t looking. And what you find is a gentle softness to the way his smile meets his eyes, hands moving to grab a small pouch from his bag with the glee of a man waiting for this moment. Waiting, the thought rings, waiting. The idea feels absurd, yet with the practiced way he moves it’s as if he had played the scene a hundred times before. There was no hesitation, no more time to waste. You are thinking too much of it, you’re almost sure you are. But can you be blamed for hoping? For allowing yourself to believe, against all odds, that the man who longed for just the mere presence of wanted you just the same? An unlikely thing – a dream. But a sweet one, nonetheless.
So for a time, however bitter it might taste when you inevitably return to the absence of him, you allow yourself the comfort. You allow just one piece of you to fall as he takes a seat in front of you, the scent of pine and creek water coating the air with him. You revel in it, the aroma carved into memory right alongside his name. Forever inseparable. You were sure that come winter, when all the other trees fell dormant, you would look into the dead forest and find only him amongst the evergreen; their sap and needles forever tainted by his memory. And never again would you be able to stroll leisurely along a small stream without imagining him there, striding alongside you. A pain you would have to hold on your own, an empty spot where he laid. The victory over your heart would be something he never knew the true extent of, you’re sure. A place he would hold with you forever that he would leave behind the moment he was called to something better. But at the very least you’d remember. At least, for one second in time, he was yours.
You take the pouch with a slightly shaking hand, steadying yourself with a deep breath before retrieving the tools from inside. It’s nothing special; a couple of bands, a brush messy with hair and a few torn bristles, and a few loose ribbons of varying shades of brown, green and yellow, worn at the edges, showing years of use. All of it felt so very much like him, like you held a part of his world at your fingertips. With the tools you need in hand you look up to see he had already made himself comfortable just in front of you. The true realization of how close he is hits you then. The heat of his body radiates in waves – or more likely it is your body betraying you again. Either way you try not to let it get to you as you set your legs on either side of him, steadying your hold but burning his presence even deeper. Carefully, as softly as you could, you begin to brush his hair.
The first touch feels sacrilegious, as if your hands landed upon something meant only for the heavens. The strands float between your fingertips like dreams – almost intangible, whispers held in the way they fell. Slowly, carefully, softly your motions repeated, the rhythm calming your senses, hushing your nerves. Slowly, carefully, softly.
“Any preference?” You don’t feel your usual panic as you speak now, as if the motions had entranced you, soothing your worry. The thoughts of wanting and longing became only a faint hum now that he was under your hands, your usually reserved nature joining that distant chorus with each breath. You had no need in this moment to retreat. You had never felt safer.
“Anything,” he mumbles the sound under his breath. You notice then how his shoulders slumped, tight muscles now loose and relaxed. If you could see his face you would have caught the heaviness of his eyes, the slowing of his breath. But you know enough to recognize just how mailable he felt under your touch, how he had begun to melt.
“Anything you wish,” he manages the few extra words with a bit more volume, his shoulders tightening for a small moment, as if recognizing himself. But they fall just as quickly when you continue the careful pull of the bristles. You draw out the movements even when his hair was thoroughly unknotted, giving yourself the chance to wonder just what you’d do. You decide on something simple, pulling his hair into a familiar half ponytail before beginning to braid it.
There is something to be said about the way you hold him as you work, a closeness you aren’t entirely aware of as your mind focuses on the task. But oh does he. You tilt his head towards you with just the suggestion of a touch, a light tug against his scalp that builds an unfathomable yearning. He almost loses himself to the idea of you being absolutely tangled in even just a small part of him; mind racing as his tongue grows heavy with the familiar emptiness he’d come to loathe. Something missing, his lips trying to find a memory that existed only in thought. An imagined taste, an old dream. He knows he falls too far into himself when your fingertips brush against his jaw, tilting him to where you needed him, a quiet reprimand that faded all too quickly, hands returning to their work and leaving behind only the echo of your touch. So close, yet not enough. Never enough.
“You are much more gentle than most are with me,” he breaks the sanctity of the quiet, something he only realizes when your hands stutter and your breath catches. But like the waves of a quiet ocean you return all the same, falling back to him after only a moment.
“I figure you do enough hair-pulling trying to keep this group in check. There’s no need for me to add to it,” an uncommon jovial tone reaches you, a true sign of how comfortable you’d become. He cherishes the sound, another smile forming at your words.
“You do keep quite…interesting company,” he plays along, his heart swelling at the tsking laugh you allow. Each small step closer to you felt like a roaring victory, and tonight it seems he was on a winning streak. The air itself seemed laced with something sweet, calming his most flighty love long enough for him to gain even these few steps forward. He thanks Silvanus for allowing him this wonderful night.
“We keep interesting company. You chose this too, you know,” you point out with a teasing accusation. He chuckles at that, though he can’t help the way he swallows the word ‘we’. It was strange the effect the word has, the images it conjures are far from foreign to his mind but are still so distant. Intangible. Out of reach. Yet the way you speak it sounds so natural, as if it had always been the two of you, as if it were so simple.
Suddenly a new thought gripped him, a realization that he’d been too soothed by your touches to notice. You were talking to him, truly talking. Your tone held no worry, your hesitation only a minor footnote in the lull of your voice. Still always there, but now only following behind. An afterthought, habit mostly. This is the first time he’s ever heard you so clearly, that you haven’t hidden behind whispers. He’s glad you’re faced away from him as the dawning thought sends his smile noticeably lopsided, the small discovery blooming something sweet in his chest. After all this time he’d found a place where you felt comfortable, and it was with your hands in his hair. It was you touching him, you close to him, you with him. He felt the giddiness of a lovesick youth creep back in, bubbling with the wickedness of uncovering a secret. He’d never felt so simultaneously empowered and absolutely wrecked.
“And I would choose it again, if just to have this moment with you,” the words slip before he means them to, too swept away to realize the bluntness of the small admission. He surprises even himself with how little thought he put into the words, how they flowed from him as if they had always belonged to you and he had only borrowed them. As if it were only one in a thousand other whispered confessions.
You fall quiet, heartbreakingly so. He bites his tongue almost to the point it bloodies, though it is too little too late. He’d allowed himself the temptation of the moment and was rightly burned. The sweet air is sickly in the absence of you, as if to mock him. He knew well enough to be patient, a virtue he had learned a million times over. Yet again and again he’d found himself lost against the tide of you, pulled in despite knowing the danger and reaping the consequences when he’s left drowning in the silence.
You finish the braid and for the first time in what feels like sweet eternity your hands fully leave him, retreating to once more bring the ache something missing. There is a moment where he thinks he’s once more lost you, that you were coiling back in and going to scurry off soon after. But then just as quickly – and most unexpectedly – you return. Slow at first, wavering and careful. He doesn’t move an inch, afraid that even the smallest breath might send you away. But by some miracle you stay, hesitant hands growing in conviction, familiar motions showing you had moved to braid small pieces into the other parts of his hair like he once had. Unnecessary little things you didn’t have to do, but chose to anyway. Slowly he calms, tense muscles once more giving way to slumped posture with the release of a held breath. He tries not to get too comfortable again, to lose himself in how you move so sweetly through his hair, but it proves an impossible task. Especially as distant thoughts flicker into something real, a quiet simmering joy that creeps from his chest to the tips of his fingers. You didn’t run from the small mention of his affection, didn’t hide from the possibility. You stayed.
You work skillfully, each tiny piece weaving into perfection. But truthfully it is in spite of the swirling thoughts and the sudden tightness of your throat. You can’t believe yourself, at the audacity you had to continue after what his simple words could mean for you. Your entire world was threatened, your anxieties crawling back through you in rushing waves. You had a choice then, another opportunity to leave and flee back to the safety of distance before you allowed yourself the sting. But his words had grabbed you, had claimed their place in the spot you’d made for him. They had fallen from him like they were the most honest thing he'd ever spoken, hardly giving you the chance to deny his truthfulness. He would choose this; he was choosing this. This quiet moment, this small place in time where peace was possible. He was choosing you.
No, no that was far too optimistic a thought, far too clear-cut and simple. It surely can’t be what he meant – of course it wasn’t. His honeyed words always had that effect, always seeming at the precipice of something deeper. But never quite there, never all the way. There could be a million reasons he wished for this. The night was thick with life, the smell of earth lingering all around you; perhaps that is what he was enjoying. Or the warmth of the night after a bath in a cool river. Or maybe just the simplicity of not having to struggle with his own hair in the morning. Mundane things, meaningless things. Not because of you, never because of you.
But your heart, ever the weak thing, continued to betray you. It flipped with elation, clinging to hope. Even as silence stretched on, even as the echo of his voice had long faded and the ringing left your ears. The rhythmic thump couldn’t be ignored, a constant reminder that despite your inability to act on it a part of you wanted him and it was all too willing to tell you so.
Eventually you finished your small excuses to keep touching, tiny braids mixing in with what was left of the loose strands. You pull away in a motion that feels final, your stomach sinking at the idea. But there is only one thing left to do.
“Turn around for me? I just want to make sure it’s all even,” you speak into the quiet. He hesitates, muscles fighting themselves before he nods and shifts around. He looks to you and you make it a point not to meet his gaze. The fact that his didn’t stray was already enough to burn you hotter; you couldn’t imagine what it would do to you to actually see him like this. A hands reach away and between you, close enough to feel his breath. You focus instead on fixing the small strands left out of place, a deeply held breath trying to steady you.
It’s then you tuck the final piece behind his ear, slow and careful, almost afraid you might hurt him despite the idea being absurd. What damage could you ever do to the likes of him? A man full of a strength you’d never known, quiet as a midnight forest, calm as morning. He reminded you so very much of what he often mused of, deep-rooted oak with branches stretching out like quiet offerings to all who needed shelter. All of nature’s beauty sat before you and should you dare to meet its gaze you fear you would lose yourself to it.
Your mind wanders further than you’d allow if you had the strength enough left to pay attention, thoughts passing that had become so common you hardly acknowledged them anymore. You imagined your fingertips trailing down his ear, light as a breath – careful, tender, patient – observing the way it twitches ever so slightly. And you would trace slowly down the line of his jaw, hands splaying for a moment to experience just what it might feel like to have him fully under your palm. Then your thumb would find purchase on his bottom lip, slightly chapped and worn. His lips would part ever so slightly in response, the quietest rise of his chest catching, holding for just a moment before the heat of its release would-
Your entire body freezes when the warmth of his breath snaps your mind back into focus. In an instant you realize the thoughts become a horrifying reality, your hand caressing him, your thumb pressed gently on lips that seemed too inviting for you to believe them real. In a panic you do the worst thing you possibly can, your eyes falling into the vast expanse of his in vain hope of escaping reality itself. It only serves to trap you there, unable to move, think, breathe. Terror strikes through your veins at what you had done, even more so when he does nothing but stare back.
How could he do anything else? One moment he had only hoped your gaze would reach his and the next it felt as if you were capturing him to a detailed memory. There was a reverence in your eyes as your hands traveled over his face, adoration painting itself plainly against your features. Your eyes met his lips with a need you’d never shown before, his breath taken as you touched them. Daring him, testing him. So simple a touch that pulls at him so effortlessly. And how you had held there for that long moment. The heavy weight of silence sank its harsh pressure to his chest at his held breath, the trickle of nearby water only offering short bursts of relief. There was something tangible in the air, thick enough to bite into. Something unsaid, something suffocating. Yet still you do not dare, as it isn’t your nature to. You only linger like you always do, temptation in its cruelest form. Like a breeze in summer heat cooling the fire on his skin only to float away to somewhere too far. And finally his breath falls.
When your eyes finally met he knew you were going to flutter away too soon, that you’d leave him with an unbreakable feeling, unlivable knowing just how close to sweet release you’d allowed him. And foolishly, selfishly, he doesn’t allow it. His hand quickly cradles the one you hold to him, not allowing you to run. Not now, not yet. When you twitch at the contact – something that feels like pulling away and falling deeper at the same time – he turns his head to lay a kiss against your palm. Slow, deliberate. His eyes never turn from yours, making sure you understand that this was no mistake, that he meant it, that he wasn’t about to let you crawl away from the blessing you’d just given him.
“Don’t be so cruel as to leave me after such sweet affections,” he mutters, reveling in the way you shutter, in your wide eyes, in you. Every bit of you, everything you gave and everything you kept just out of reach. All of you all at once set right before him. You who had finally reached for him, you who he saw riddled with unspoken need. You. You.
“Halsin…” his name leaves you in a desperate whisper, pleading for mercy. He shivers at the way you speak it, the way the sound just seems so different coming from you. Like it meant more, like you cherished every syllable. His eyes shut for the shortest moment to savor the sound, hoping it would be far from the last time. When they open again he’s all too aware of the look you give. Fear is beating away the care he’d seen in that brief moment your mind allowed you to cherish him, and he wished nothing more than to see it returned.
“You flutter away so often, little bird, but I can see the want in you, I can feel it. Why do you stray?” he dared a question, to seek answers to your nature, to plead with it for just one sweet moment more. It is greedy and a tad bit cruel, but he can’t bring himself to remember virtue at your hands. Patience was for a man who didn’t kneel in front of such a divine being, patience was for a man who hadn’t felt the elation your soft caress could bring, patience was for a man who had time. And he still couldn’t help but replay what Wyll had told him, to wonder if this might be the last moment he had to be held in such a way. He couldn’t bear to see it end so soon. Not yet, gods please not yet.
“Staying isn't what I'm used to,” your voice shakes, trying to find any way to ground yourself in this sudden storm you were the cause of.
“The thought is…terrifying” you manage through a sound so soft he almost doesn’t hear it. But he finds your voice in the wind, plucking it away and holding each admission to his chest. Just the smallest bit of worry creeps into his face, your words so vulnerable it almost makes him melt all over again. He is sure to be careful with the fragile place you let him into, always tender with your skittish heart. He turns your hand to hold it in his, kissing the knuckles as if each placement of his lips against your skin is his deepest honor.
“I will not deny you the emotion. I was quite nervous myself when your presence first began to burn me. But I promise you there is nothing to fear, not with me,” his voice turns into a gentle sound that aims to lull each of your senses, succeeding in the deep rumble it gives. Though his admission sets light to the hollow space you held for him, the idea that he had felt this way for any prolonged amount of time proving each of your worries wrong.
“Whatever you want of me I will give it willingly, you need only say the word. I am here,” he offers himself bare at your feet, eyes pleading, the heat of him found in the warm skin you couldn’t pull away from. He was truthful in every ounce of breath that left – whatever you wish.
You are beautifully suffocated by his presence; the smell, the touch. It was as if each press of his lips was lightning through your skin, striking all the way up your arm before shivering down your spine. Though it is his eyes that strike you most, his half-lidded gaze openly admitting his desire without a hint of shame. There was no longer any denying his feelings as he laid them out plain as day. There was only what you were willing to allow yourself, what you wanted.
“I…” your voice trails, words stuck in your throat, that terrified part of you still caught there. His thumb traces lovingly over your hand, allowing you the time to find your words. He does not shy away in the silence, staying steady against the crumbling of your final wall.
“I want to kiss you” the words sear, ripped out of that part you usually kept so hidden. He smiles then, as calming a sight as you’d ever seen. He raises to his knees and you find your eyes falling away, embarrassment creeping in at the edges after allowing yourself to admit such a petty thing. Something that would mean so little to so many, that you were sure he’d experienced a thousand times before, yet to you felt so intangible that the idea had nearly become fantasy.
But he doesn't let you hide, his hand reaching just under your chin to tilt your gaze and return you to him. He left you no place to run as he leaned dangerously close, chasing after his fluttering bird with a fondness that showed just how much he was enjoying himself. He leans closer still, lips ghosting yours, breath mixing, hearts racing in a similar sound.
“And I you, my heart,” he whispers against your lips, stilling your breath as your grip on his hand tightens. Then finally there is nothing left between, the air stolen and replaced entirely by him. His weight, his smell, his breath, his taste. In that moment all of existence was entirely and overwhelmingly him.
You are stiff at first, unmoving, petrified. But he guides with ease, slowly tearing down the fear until there is nothing left. You melt against it, becoming soft putty in his palm. Stiffness gives way to slow careful pulls, each move a subtle testing of the waters that he takes with an almost desperate greed. He tastes you like he hadn’t known anything so sweet, an unabashed need that draws you deeper. You give little bits more and find you are only tossing scraps to the hungry bear, goading him forward, pushing him, teasing him as you so often unintentionally do. But he takes each small bit like he believes it will sate him. That he only needs that little bit more, that he will ever be satisfied by the taste of you.
But then he does something unspeakably cruel, breaking sooner than you’d like and slowly falling away. Not because he was fulfilled, but for your sake. Because you still seem so reluctant despite the pieces you give, and he had hoped that he might encourage you further if he could only say the right words, that he might whisper sweet assurances into the breath of you before falling back for more. Endlessly more if the gods would allow such a thing.
But he doesn’t get the chance, not when it’s you who gives chase. Reluctance gives way at the threat of him leaving and you lean in with the desire you had once been so careful in showing him. As unafraid as him, as needy, as wanting. You give all that you are and all that you have, unable to bear being free of this moment just yet. You don’t even realize you’re falling until his hands catch your waist, pulling you towards him as he’s forced back to his heels to steady the sudden weight. Yet even now you don’t allow him to leave, your hands gripping tightly at his shirt, pawing, begging him to stay. You straddle his hips and he smiles something wild against you, his passion returning hotter than before.
He pulls you impossibly closer, hands steady in their tightened grip as his tongue finally dares a small lick against you, asking for something he would not have dared mere moments ago. But you give now without pretense, without pause. You lose yourself entirely in the intensity and he returns with his own. Your hands crawl up around his neck, one running gently along his scalp as you bury it in the softness of his hair; his smile faltering at the low, almost growling sound he gives at the touch. Yet even through the tight grips and heated breath he is still so unfathomably gentle. Careful in a way you’d never known, taking only what is given, and you reward him plentifully for it.
But inevitably the moment must break. Were it not for the need for breath or a relief from the pounding of your heart against your ears, you would have stayed a part of him for as long as he would have allowed. Alas, the world could not be so kind and you would have to endure his departure. It seems it’s just as painful for him when he remains still so very close, his head resting gently against yours as soft pants fill the air from the unexpectedly heated kiss. His eyes finally fall from you, though it is only to admire the sight before him. Breathless, close, held safely in his arms. A sight he’d imagined before, though thoughts never did compare to the reality of it. He smiled again when he caught enough of the breath you had stolen.
“Sweetest love,” he speaks, eyes warm, utterly lost in you. His lips fall against the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then trailing down until he rested in the crook of your neck, one heavy sighing breath releasing every muscle into a puddle of affection under your touch.
“Even sweeter than I could have imagined,” he mumbles into your neck, grinning wider at the way your entire body shutters. Your hands still play in his hair, fingers loosely twirling strands, perhaps seeking a now familiar comfort from the burning felt across your entire body. Boldness was leaving you rather quickly now, replaced by that familiar nervousness. As reality sets back in you’re left with that terrifying realization of what you had just done. The dam broke, the flood-gates opened. Your most preciously protected heart had been laid bare, and you had never felt so safe in the vulnerability.
Yet still you could do without the fanning of his breath against your neck, goosebumps riddling your skin and nerves alighting with the deeply intimate sensation. It was doing terrible things to your resolve, crumbling you down far enough that words became difficult and your body begged to just melt entirely in his grasp.
“Would you stay with me tonight?” He dares the words, hands caressing the sides of your hips as he leans further into your embrace.
“Under the stars, in the grass. My heart, my sweet bird. Stay with me,” the words come out pleading, hopeful in their sincerity. Words evade you for a long moment more and you feel his grip tighten as if to brace, as if your flight was inevitable.
“I’ll stay,” the words fall from you in that familiar whisper, his body relaxing again, his heavy held breath sent across the skin of your neck in that most torturous of ways. He kisses you again and you feel the smile on his lips.
Day was sure to break and time would inevitably move on. But the night was still young, heavy with that honeysuckle air. It was impossible to fit a lifetime in one moment, to fit the infinities of love into one night. That the both of you knew well…
But there was surely no shame in trying.
{~PT2 AFAB [Explicit]~}
{~PT2 AMAB [Explicit]~}
I think its the most beautiful fic that Iread about Halsin, I swear I almost cried.
