Fluff? This is what we call fluff right?
Fluff for friendos.
His hand slides up her back. Isala lets out a soft hum before nestling herself further into the rumpled sheets. His deep rumbling laugh echoes from behind her.
“Come on Boss-”
She kicks blindly in his direction, only meeting air instead of flesh. He catches her ankle, pulling it to his side with another chuckle as her toes press against his ribs.
“I am not your boss.” Her words muffled by pillows and furs. She glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing as she catches sight of his grin. “The Iron Bull… Do not-”
The words barely leave her lips before they’re cut off with a shriek. He yanks her from the bed, scooping her into his arms as she wiggles in his grasp. Laughter wracks her as she tries to break free. Something they both know she could easily achieve if she truly want to.
“Boss.”
His voice gives her pause, the way the title rolls off his tongue. She looks up from beneath thick lashes and tangled hair, just staring at him for a moment. With a calming breath she shakes the hair from her eyes, squaring her shoulders. Pressing closer, she wraps her arms around his neck. Clearing her throat as she mirrors his smirk and with her own.
“The Iron Bull.”
He fixes her with a look, a mixture of amusement and something else.
“I believe one of our rules was that you’d let me care for you afterwards as well.”
“Mmm, yes. I believe I remember something similar.” She murmurs, cupping his jaw as he carries her down the steps of her chambers. “Food, wine, a nice bath, oils. I do think I am getting the better deal out of this arrangement.”
He chuckles at her words, nudging open the door to his left. Isala glances around, humming as she takes in the room.
“Yes, much better deal. Candles, a fresh hot bath. Truly, you spoil me The Iron Bull.”
He doesn’t comment on her use of the article in his name, he never does. It was a token that kept the distance he could feel being eaten away every time he touched her. Only letting out a soft chuckle as he makes his way towards the enormous clawfoot tub. When Bull had first seen the behemoth he almost put an end to their arrangement. Buying furniture for a bed partner spoke of permanency, of commitment. Yet he found himself unable to speak against it when he came to deliver reports one morning. Only to find her and Vivienne discussing said item. Just as he found himself at a loss when she replaced her bed to something that could fit them both. That was almost necessary if they were to continue this arrangement. But this, a bath, it was completely frivolous.
“One word Boss. Dra-gons.”
She laughed, a rich, warm sound that bounced off the walls. She swats at his shoulders as he lowered them both into the tub. Water spills over the edge, flowing towards the drain in the floor. Isala laugh dies down into a throaty hum. She closes her eyes as the water's warmth surrounded her, seeping into her sore muscles, into her bones.
“I hardly see what that has to do with this.”
She gestures airily between the two of them as she trails off with a breathy laugh. They sit there for a moment, in comfortable silence. Until she twists around, straddling his lap. The room echoes with the sounds of water sloshing in the tub. The sharp ‘plop’ of water droplets falling back into the bath.
“However, The Iron Bull, I believe we both agreed you would not call me ‘Boss’.”
There is a lengthy pause, as studies her calm gaze, as if he was struggling to remember. Something she knew was never an occurrence when it came to their arrangement. But he stays silent, “pondering” the question as he leans forward and kisses her forehead. Wordlessly, he drags a rag across her back, following the lines of her vallaslin on her side.
“We did.” He whispers in her ear as he presses a kiss to her jaw. “But if I can’t call you ‘Boss’, Boss. I think then, you can stop saying ‘The Iron Bull’. If we’re going to stop with the work names.”
She frowns at this, studying his gaze as he drags the sudsy rag up her back. It wasn’t that she opposes to the idea. But, he was the one to express desire for people to remember the article in his chosen name. But if, for their time together he wished for something different, who was she to deny him? Especially when she wished for the same thing. She lets out a breath as he drags the rag down her arm, her eyes follow it for a moment before returning her gaze to his.
“I believe that is something I can agree too… Bull.”
He offers her a small smile, Isala barely notes the splash of the rag falling into the water as he cups her face. He kisses her gently, one of his rare kisses without the heat that sent them tumbling into bed. One of those kisses that Isala found herself wishing for more and more. A gentle kiss that was accompanied with a warm look that meant more. A more she had not felt in a long time.