I asked for prompts, and I received a bunch from @last-night-is-a-blur including Will and Robin talking about being gay. I love that idea so I, characteristically, went way overboard and wrote over 2000 words. I hope you all enjoy it!
Robin knew something was up with Steve. He had been looking furtively around the store all day, peering around corners to check if any customers were hidden in corners. That, along with the disappointed glances toward Robin when he found that the store wasn’t empty, told her that he wanted to talk.
Unfortunately, the store didn’t empty out during their shift, which left Robin wondering what he needed to talk about so badly. It could be something as simple as asking for dating advice—which he did despite Robin’s insistence that she had no idea how dating worked—but his obvious need for secrecy made Robin nervous.
By the time they were done with work, Robin was practically vibrating with anxiety. The moment the doors of Steve’s BMW were shut, Robin turned to him.
“Alright, Steve,” she said. “Out with it.”
“What?” Steve looked bewildered.
“Whatever you’ve been wanting to talk to me about all day!” Robin said, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. “You’ve been totally stressing me out, so just say it already!”
“Okay, okay,” Steve said, holding up his hands defensively. “You didn’t have to stress about it. It’s nothing bad.”
“What is it?” Robin glared at him.
Steve took a deep breath before he began. “So, hypothetically, if I found out someone else we knew was gay–” He paused. “I know I shouldn’t tell anyone. I promised I wouldn’t. But I really want to tell you, because, well, you know. But I shouldn’t, right?”
Robin’s eyes widened. Part of her wanted to say yes, tell me, please, I need to know. She felt almost desperate in her need to make a connection with someone like her. But she knew how she would feel if Steve told someone about her without her permission. She sighed. “Probably not,” she said. “Definitely not,” she corrected. “You promised.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, deflated. “That’s what I figured.” He was quiet for a moment, then looked at Robin again. “Can I tell the person about you?”
Robin considered. The prospect of talking with this person was exciting, but she wasn’t sure. “It depends who it is,” she said finally.
Steve threw up his hands, exasperated. “You just said I can’t tell you that.”
“I know,” Robin said. “I just– it’s hard.”
Steve’s face softened. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Robin shrugged. “It’s okay.”
They were silent as Steve started the car and started the drive toward Robin’s house. Her brain was going a mile a minute, but she managed to keep her mouth from doing the same. Finally, she had a thought she felt was worth sharing.
“What if you went to this person,” she said, speaking slowly, deliberately, considering her words carefully. “And told them you have a gay friend, but don’t say who. And tell them that I want to meet, and you can set up a time, and then we both have the chance to chicken out if we decide we don’t want to do it.”
Steve tilted his head from side to side, considering. “That could work.” He stopped the car in front of Robin’s house. “Oh,” he said. “I should say, this person’s not like a dating prospect for you or anything. If that makes a difference.”
Robin hadn’t even allowed herself to consider that, but it did narrow it down. So it was a guy, or someone who wasn’t around her age. Maybe both, considering the group Steve spent a lot of his time with. “Doesn’t make a difference,” she said as she got out of the car. “Just let me know when.” They said their goodbyes, and Robin walked into her house. She knew she would be thinking about this constantly until Steve got back to her.
It didn’t take long, though. Less than a week later, Steve told Robin that it was all set. They would meet at Steve’s house, which was going to be empty that weekend as it often was these days. Neutral territory, a chance to back out if they needed to. Robin knew now that she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, not now.
That Saturday, Robin got to Steve’s house early. She sat on the couch with him, jiggling her foot and rambling about nothing in particular. Steve just nodded along. He probably wasn’t paying any attention, but she appreciated the fact that he didn’t tell her to sit still and shut up. There was no way that was going to happen anyway.
Robin heard a car pull up and jumped to her feet. Steve held her back.
“Give him a second,” Steve said.
Robin sat down again. Him. So it was a guy. She squinted, trying to see through the window despite the distance and sun shining directly in her eyes. She saw a glimpse of a face through the front windshield of the car that was now parked in front of the house. She craned her neck, trying to get a better view.
Jonathan. Oh god, it was Jonathan? Robin’s thoughts started spiraling out of control immediately. She was friends with Nancy now, she knew they hadn’t broken up, knew that Nancy was happy, that she thought Jonathan was too. But he was lying to her, not that she blamed him, she knew how hard it was to tell anyone, and she was sure he loved Nancy on some level, but it really wasn’t fair to string her along like that, to tell Steve for some reason but not talk to Nancy. How was Robin supposed to talk to him? How could she know this and then talk to Nancy, act like nothing was different, like nothing was wrong? How could–
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming shut. The passenger side. With the glare of the sun, she hadn’t noticed that anyone was in the passenger seat. Jonathan gave the other person a smile and a wave, then drove off.
“Oh,” Robin said with a sigh of relief.
“Oh what?” Steve asked.
“I thought–”
There was a knock on the door, but Steve waited, looking at her expectantly.
She waved a hand at him, waving away all those nervous thoughts about Jonathan. “Don’t worry about it. Answer the door.”
Steve stood, walked to the front door, and opened it. Standing on the front step, looking even more nervous than Robin felt, was Will Byers.
Will looked past Steve, spotting her on the couch. She smiled gently.
“Hi,” she said.
Will smiled back, and Robin thought she could see some relief break through his anxious expression. “Hi,” he said.
“I’m gonna go upstairs,” Steve said, pointing. “Let you two talk. I’m here if you need me.” He walked quickly, giving a final glance to Robin and Will before he got to the stairs. He gave them a thumbs up. Robin rolled her eyes.
Will sat, not next to Robin but in an armchair that was angled toward her. It was good, Robin thought, it would be easier to talk if they could see each other. But Will didn’t look at her. He sat hunched over, staring at his hands which were folded in his lap.
“Um,” Robin said. She wasn’t good with words, but apparently she was going to have to lead this conversation. “How are you doing?”
Will shrugged. “Okay.” He glanced up at Robin for a second, then looked back down.
Robin had only seen Will a few times since he moved back from California, and his appearance still surprised her. Her mental picture of Will was still the scared boy at the mall, so small and fragile-looking. But now he was so tall, maybe taller than Robin, and his voice was changing, and he wasn’t a little boy anymore.
But he still looked scared. He still looked fragile.
Robin wanted to say something to put Will at ease, but she wasn’t even sure how to put herself at ease right now. “I guess Steve’s the cool person to come out to,” she said after a moment, hoping a joke would break the tension.
Will laughed. It was barely a laugh, but Robin saw the corners of his mouth turn up and heard his short exhale. “I guess so. I didn’t really plan to tell him. He said I seemed down lately and asked if I wanted to talk about it. He’s easy to talk to. It just came out.”
Robin raised a finger. “Ha. Came out.”
Will raised a skeptical eyebrow. Okay, wordplay wasn’t the tactic with him. But at least they were talking.
“I know what you mean,” Robin said. “Well, probably part of the reason I told him was because of the truth serum or whatever that the Russians injected us with, but he is easy to talk to.”
Will looked at her quizzically, and she wondered if he hadn’t heard that part of the story. But that wasn’t what she was here to talk about.
“So did you just figure it out?” Robin asked. “Is that why you’ve been down about it?”
“No,” Will said. “Well, kind of. It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
Will sighed, then looked back down at his hands as he began to speak. “People have been calling me gay basically my whole life. And– and other words.” He curled in on himself, like he wanted to shrink away, to make himself too small for anyone to notice. Robin knew the feeling. “The kids at school. My dad.”
Robin’s chest hurt. She couldn’t imagine how that would feel, coming from her own parents. Actually, she had imagined it many times, and had resolved never to tell them because even the imagining was too painful.
“So I guess I kind of always knew, or maybe feared, that it was true. I knew I didn’t like girls, but I thought maybe I just didn’t like anyone like that. But there was this moment last summer, before all the stuff at the mall. It was like something broke inside of me, and I suddenly just knew. For sure. I was devastated.”
Robin was afraid if she spoke, she might start crying. She swallowed hard. “I had a moment like that.” She was surprised, and relieved, that her voice still sounded calm. “First day of ninth grade I saw this girl and just thought, oh shit.”
“Yeah,” Will said. “Oh shit is right.” He didn’t elaborate, and Robin didn’t want to push him.
“I’m sorry you’ve been struggling with that,” she said. “I know how hard it can be. How lonely.” Her voice broke on the last word, and Will looked up quickly. There was so much concern in his face, so much care, for Robin. He barely knew her and he was looking at her like he’d forget his own problems in a second to focus on hers instead. It broke her heart to think about how people had treated him. How could anyone see this sweet, shy kid and want to hurt him?
Robin cleared her throat. “That’s why I thought maybe we could be friends. We can talk about this stuff. And– and other stuff! It doesn’t have to be just this kind of stuff, it can be anything–movies or games or whatever you’re interested in.” She was starting to lose control of her sentences. She cleared her throat again, looking around the room as she spoke. “But knowing you’re around, it just makes me feel a little less… alone.”
When Robin looked back at Will, he had tears in his eyes.
“Oh no,” she said. “I didn’t mean to– I’m sorry.”
“No,” Will said, wiping at his eyes. “You didn’t– I’m sorry.”
The sight of Will crying opened the floodgates, and Robin wiped the tears off of her cheeks, then pressed her hands against her eyes. After a few seconds she felt a weight next to her on the couch, and Will’s arms wrapped around her.
“Thanks,” she said, turning to hug him back. It was comforting, but somehow that made her more emotional instead of less. She sobbed.
“Sorry,” Robin said again. She squeezed Will tightly and then released him, wiping her eyes again.
“It’s okay,” Will said. “I understand. I didn’t think I’d ever meet someone like me. Like us.”
“You’ll meet more,” she said. “We both will, when we get out of Hawkins. I’m going to college soon. I’m sure I’ll meet a lot of them. Us.” She had thought about it before, somewhat doubtfully, but it was easier to believe with Will sitting her next to her. “And I’ll introduce you to all of them. You can come visit me.”
There were still tears in Will’s eyes, but he smiled. “That sounds good.”
Suddenly, there was a sound from across the room, and Robin looked up to see Steve rushing down the stairs.
“Sorry,” he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t want to bother you, I just need—” He glanced over at them, slowing down as he took in their tear-stained faces. “Are you guys okay?”
Robin laughed. “Yeah.” She looked at Will, who nodded. “Yeah, I think we’re going to be just fine.”
I love your song fics and you’re ability to draw the essence (?) of the song and put it into words.
BUT (you know I love giving you a challenge) could you draw the essence of 1989 or Reputation (the whole album!) and put it into a fic? Maybe put how the overall album makes you feel or something like that.
Ignore if it does not spark any inspiration, but Id love to see what you’d do!
@lyssarose Lyssa, love, your asks and prompts always make me so excited; you continue to fill my ask box with inspiration. I can't thank you enough. This is such an interesting idea! I love both reputation and 1989, and I ultimately decided to go with reputation for this challenge, since I think the storytelling on that album as a whole is more cohesive than on 1989. Also, reputation as an album really reminds me of Draco, and by extension Drarry.
This was a challenge, but I think I've managed to do it? I've already done a song from reputation for the Drarry/Taylor series, "Call It What You Want," and while I do think this will be similar I'm hopeful it'll be different enough.
If anyone's wondering, I've drawn inspiration from "I Did Something Bad," "Delicate" and "King of My Heart" because I think these three songs in particular really encapsulate the essence/themes of the album.
Rated M for language/reference to smut
So, before we begin, there's only one thing left to say:
1, 2, 3, Let's go bitch!!
Satisfaction twisted in Draco's chest, hot and sharp; he looked at the man who used to be Father but who would now and forever be Lucius. The man's hair was thinning and becoming more silver than blond. Draco rubbed a hand over his own clean-shaven face, relishing the jealousy the flared in Lucius's eyes. Father had always liked his face free of stubble.
Apparently, there wasn't any shaving cream in Azkaban; or razors, for that matter.
Lucius winced. Draco smirked.
He checked his watch and resisted the urge to tap his foot against the leg of the stool upon which he was perched. He'd been sitting in front of the cell for seven minutes, and neither of them had said a word. And while Draco loved a silent game of chicken as much as the next proud Slytherin, he also had no desire to spend his free time staring at the man he would've been if it wasn't for Harry.
Harry, who was waiting for him at home. Harry, who loved hearing Draco's stories of petty revenge against Lucius; delighted in them, in fact.
Draco stood smoothly from the stool and regarded the other man, enjoying for the second time that afternoon his new height advantage over Lucius. He looked down his aristocratic nose and twisted his face into a perfect imitation of his arrogant sneer from boyhood. Harry would be proud.
"Well, Lucius, as riveting as it's been to catch up, I'm afraid I must depart. My boyfriend awaits."
Lucius's voice was rough from lack of use. "Boyfriend?" He spat, his tone impressively derisive for a man with no reason for pride. "No son of mine is bent."
Draco laughed humorlessly. "I ceased being your son the moment you forced me to join Voldemort." He chuckled again when Lucius flinched. "I suppose I should be more aware of my company. Harry's gotten me in that habit."
Lucius's eyes widened comically, and Draco smirked again.
"Oh, did I not mention my partner's name? How silly of me. I suppose I could bring him here to introduce you--oh, wait. I believe you've met. Surely you remember Harry Potter? A boy in my year? You tried to kill him several times?"
"So did you, as I recall. Or is your memory that selective?"
Draco smirked. "Harry was closer to killing me than I did him. And besides, I've found that sucking cock is a fantastic way to apologize. He and I have a lot of regrets, so we've got plenty of practice,"
Lucius choked, bracing himself on the cell wall.
Draco let out an affected sigh. "Well, I'd better be off. I'm running late to meet Harry. I suppose I'll have to find some way to make it up to him..." He winked at Lucius and walked away, moving through the hallway and past the guards to the exit.
Once on the street, he leaned up against a nearby wall and cast a privacy charm. He took out his mobile, listening to it ring against his ear.
"Hello?" Harry's cheerful voice, even through the phone, was comforting.
"Hey," Draco didn't bother to hide the emotions that formed a lump in his throat.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" It was difficult to stifle the amusement and affection that fluttered in Draco's chest at Harry's immediate concern. "Did he hurt you?"
Draco closed his eyes. "No, he didn't--he couldn't. It was so gratifying and even fun to flaunt my happiness in front of him, but at the same time he's..." Draco swallowed. "He's still my..." He resented the tears the welled up in his eyes, and the way his voice cracked.
"Draco, it's okay. That's normal. It's okay to love and hate him."
"I don't want to! The only people in my life I want to love are Mother, Pansy, Blaise, and you, and he doesn't deserve it!"
"Love, breathe, " Harry's voice was steady, patient. "Come home, alright? I have spaghetti carbonara nearly finished for you. Let's talk about it in person so I can hold you, okay?"
"Are you sure? I don't want to--you shouldn't have to comfort me about this, about him. You, of all people, Merlin, I--"
"Hey! Hey, Draco, I want to. We're a team, babe. Let me be there for you."
Draco let out a shaky breath. "Okay, I'll be there soon. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Draco hung up and canceled the spell. He walked quickly to the Apparition point. While grief still ached in his chest, he still felt the warmth of hope and relief spread throughout his body. He picked up the pace, not wanting to waste another second away from Harry when he pictured a night of pasta, cuddling, and slow, wine-scented kisses on the couch.
He felt the beginning of a smile curve his lips.
Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).
Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!
Winterhawk, of course.43.) “There’s a naked guy mowing the lawn.”
“There’s a naked guy mowing the lawn,” Bucky flatly stated, dropping an icy bottle of water into Steve’s lap.
He’d been staying with Steve - and, by proxy Sam - ever since Wanda had unfucked his brain, but this was the first time anyone other than Steve or Sam had ever mowed the lawn, and it was definitely the first time anyone had done it naked.
“What?” Steve said, distracted from the Mets game he’d been following avidly, elbows on his knees, watching with an intensity that bordered on obsessive.
“There is a naked man cutting your grass,” Bucky said, enunciating clearly.
“Oh,” Steve said, unconcerned. “That’s Clint.”
Bucky blew out a breath and prayed for patience. “Okay.” he grumbled. “Okay. So Barton is mowing the lawn naked. Is there a reason?”
“Lost a bet,” Steve said, still staring at the television like he could bore holes in it with laser vision.
“Steve,” Bucky began, and then he started looking for the remote.
Bucky had a thing for Barton. Steve knew that. Sam knew that. Barton, hopefully, did not know that, and he was finding the current situation in their front yard hopelessly distracting and little bit arousing, and the least Steve could do was turn off the goddamn baseball game and explain.
Remote located, Bucky took his life into his hands and turned the television off.
“What the hell, Buck, it was just gettin’ to the good part?” Steve complained, his attention now fully on Bucky.
“Why,” Bucky said, through gritted teeth, “is Barton mowing the lawn naked?”
“Oh,” Steve smirked. “’Cos I thought you might appreciate the view.”
“What the fuck,” Bucky muttered.
A knock sounded from the front of the house, and Steve took advantage of the distraction to snatch the remote out of Bucky’s hand and flick the television back on. “Well,” he said, after a second of Bucky not moving, “aren’t you gonna get that?”
A piece of flash fiction. In more ways than one!
***
The security guard looked up from his monitor with a frown. There had been something… The barest flicker of motion. Close enough that had it been out there, he’d have been able to see it through the glass of the lobby. The facility was closed, it being a holiday and all, but there was security round the clock, and there were a few die-hard…
If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning
If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME
If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life
If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply
If I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh…Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW!
My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together
If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life
107. “Your lips are soft.”The mage replied quietly after pulling back, the kiss was impulsive and stupid, but the elf had the same smirk and the same damn laugh as her. It made her feel like she was still a dumb teenager, that the both of them were still on top of the world, a world where that girl could still laugh and look her in the eye. She laughed bitterly before speaking again, “Fasta vass that was stupid of me, let’s just get this job done and we’ll both go our separate ways.”
Summary: (Anon request) Prompt: Mulan and Aurora in the tent.
Words: 1872
Notes: Sorry it took me a while to write this, darling anon! Hope it’s up to your standards!
---
I don't feel weak but I do
Need sometimes for her to protect me
And reconnect me
To the beauty
That I'm missing
(January Wedding by the Avett Brothers)
---
“I do not think I’ve yet seen you truly sleep,” she says, and when you turn, there’s a tired smile in place, born from puzzled curiosity more than anything else.
“That, Princess, is because I am too busy protecting you.”
You don’t mean it harshly or unkindly. It’s meant to come out as a dry fact, even if it isn’t quite, strictly speaking, true. But Aurora’s face pinches in displeasure at the statement, regardless of your intentions.
“I’m not helpless, Mulan.”
“Everyone is when they sleep,” you counter, attempting a soft tone. It’s not something you particularly excel at though, and the princess’ expression does not change.
“It is not even your shift.”
She looks pointedly across the crackling fire; the curls of smoke and sparks of flame popping in the air cannot completely obscure the figure of Emma Swan, fiddling with the sword she now wears strapped to her belt. You want to make a (completely justified) comment about Emma’s limited abilities, but you refrain; Aurora already looks peeved, and she rarely takes kindly to your quips about the blonde. You don’t understand why the simple offering of an ugly jacket led to such loyalty. Not that you’re bitter about it. At all.
“Yes, well, two pairs of eyes are always more effective than one,” you say instead.
You think that’s going to be the end of the discussion (or perhaps ‘hoped’ is the more accurate word, as you know very well by now that the princess rarely lets things go, when she’s truly curious about them) but, of course, it’s not. You can feel Aurora’s eyes on you as you scan the surrounding forest, and do your best to ignore it. You’re more patient than the princess, so she cracks first, but not in the way you had wanted. Instead of simply rolling over and going to sleep, she issues a demand in a single word.
“Mulan.”
While it’s impossible to forget that Aurora is a princess (her manners and dress and posture constantly remind you), you do sometimes fail to recall the authority that comes with such a position. Aurora does not possess the egomaniacal desire to always lead, but when she wants to be heard, she has no difficulty; her voice can turn sharp and commanding when need be, and this is the tone she employs now. You can’t help but respond.
“I simply… like to make sure.”
“Of what?”
“That you are… asleep. Comfortably.”
You still don’t turn to look at the princess, but you can sense her deflate—can feel the air change as she starts to become emotional. This is why you stubbornly avoid such topics.
“You wait for me to fall asleep?”
“Yes.”
There’s a short pause—an almost unbearable one, as you feel Aurora’s eyes rake over you, as though attempting to pull the secrets of your character out of you with her gaze alone (and the frightening thing is you think she may, one of these days, succeed).
“Well, then. If you insist on waiting, at least do it over here, Mulan.”
That gets your attention, and your head swivels to find Aurora watching you with an easy smile. “What?”
“You don’t have to sit out there. There’s plenty of room in the tent. And this way you will at least be comfortable during your needless vigil.”
You only hesitate for a moment before joining the princess; you tell yourself it’s simply easier to comply with Aurora’s wishes, but maybe the prospect of sharing a tent with the woman doesn’t exactly repulse you. Not to mention the temperatures have dropped drastically over the past few weeks, and Aurora has created something of a mini palace underneath her makeshift tent flap; the wind is blocked and there are more blankets and pillows than you would have thought possible for the princess to carry.
Aurora looks pleased as you settle in, even as you avoid the plush pillows, and refuse the blanket she offers.
“It’s sweet though,” the princess says, and you shoot her a confused frown. “You. Looking out for me. I’m sure—I’m sure Philip would be glad to know you do it—to know that someone as capable as him has taken his place.” Aurora flushes and then adds hurriedly, “In being protective of me, I mean. Even if it is sometimes over-protective.”
The flush is curious, and it draws you in; you expect it to vanish as quickly as it appeared, but as you watch Aurora, it does not abate. You want to ask about its origin, but fear the answer, so you remain silent.
“Did he ask you?” Aurora continues, her gaze averted. “To look after me? Just in case he…”
You cut her off because you know what she’s getting at, and you also know that talking about Philip causes her pain. And you’ve come to find that you’d do just about anything to keep Aurora from feeling pain of any kind.
“That is why I was recruited, Princess. To always help Philip protect you. Even after we reached you, and you were united with him. I would protect you no matter what.”
That is what you had vowed, anyways. Because you owed Philip, and anyone worthy of his love was more than worthy of the closest thing you had ever come to the emotion; devotion. But curiously, it had ceased being about Philip a while ago, hadn’t it? And that’s the crux of it all—now you protect Aurora because the prospect of a world without her is not something you feel capable of even contemplating.
“But that is not… Do not think I do not want to be here. I do this for you.” It sounds more intimate than you would have wished, but the look on Aurora’s face is…pleasant to look at—it’s soft and pleased and understanding. So you let it go. Your words are the truth, after all.
You think Aurora is about to make some grand declaration of friendship or feelings, but she surprises you with her next words.
“Mulan… do you think we might be able to swap roles tonight? Let me be the one to watch over you, for once?”
Your response comes before you even have time to think about the offer itself. “I don’t need protecting, Princess.”
It’s a lie; you need it—you desperately need it. Only, the sort of protection you require is from the slow, seductive beauty of the princess herself, which threatens to ensnare your every sense and make it so that you feel all the things you’ve always thought were weak and crippling. You need protection from that, and that alone. You’re just not sure if you want it.
“I’m not helpless,” you continue, a self-affirmation more than anything.
“Everyone is when they sleep,” Aurora says with a smug grin, throwing your words from earlier back at you. You have an answer ready, but the princess scoots closer, her knees knocking against yours, her face earnest as she leans forward, and you forget it immediately. “Come now, Mulan. Surely you deserve a night of rest without worry?”
“I do not think…”
Aurora’s hands come to rest on your shoulders and you lose your train of thought. Again. You think that this is a problem that you’re going to have to deal with eventually, but you’ve never been much good at battling things that cannot be conquered by sword alone.
“I rather wish you wouldn’t. Think, that is. Just for now.” The princess smiles and her hands slip down to the clasp of your cloak; she hesitates for a moment, her eyes locking with yours, but when you nod (an almost uncontrollable action) her fingers deftly release the catch, letting your cloak fall to the floor of the tent.
Your belt falls next (with palms brushing against your sides), and then your outer armor is peeled away (slid off with some difficulty—Aurora’s tongue sticking out in concentration as she fiddles with the ties). She then moves to your gloves, and you don’t know why the princess suddenly pauses there, when her hands have already brushed against far more intimate places, but she does—for a moment that seems longer than it should. But when you release the breath you had not been aware you’d been holding, she resumes her actions, gripping your left forearm gently with one hand, and pulling your glove off, one finger at a time, with the other, before repeating the process on your right hand. When her task is complete, her fingers delicately trace over your bare palms, mapping the lines she finds there with something akin to reverence.
“Your hands are always covered,” she says, her eyes following the path her fingers make. “I understand the reasoning behind it, but sometimes I wish you were not so practical.”
You do not respond (how can you?) but Aurora is not deterred, her hands leaving yours to move to your knees, where they side down the leather coating your legs to grasp your boots and pull them off, one at a time.
If this is an attempt to get you to relax, it is failing miserably; you haven’t felt this wound up in a very long time.
“Will you try to rest?” Aurora whispers (or maybe it just feels like a whisper, because that’s the only way of speaking that fits this entire experience—intimate (but chaste) in a way that you’ve never faced before.
“I—I will try.”
She does not attempt to remove any more of your clothing, and for that you’re grateful and disappointed all at once. But she does smile and lay a soft hand on your shoulder once again, pushing you back gently until your head rests on one of the pillows littering the floor of the tent. In the next moment, Aurora has settled next to you, her shoulder warm against yours, and pulled a blanket over you both.
“I thought you were going to keep watch?” You say, pleased with the way your voice remains solid and even slightly stern.
“I am. I’ll simply do it from here.”
“Your positioning, not to mention the blanket restricting your movement, will severely hinder your reaction time. I should think you…”
Aurora giggles (giggles!) and the indignity of it all is enough to press you into silence.
“Mulan.” The princess turns onto her side; it presses her further up against you, and when she speaks again, you can feel her breath at your ear. “Relax. We’re safe.”
You want to comment on how safety is a lie—how people tend to feel safest right they die—right before they are attacked by the unknown enemy that has been stalking them for months and it’s only because they let their guard down for that moment in time that they…
“Relax,” Aurora breathes.
And despite yourself, you do—your shoulders losing their tension and eyes slipping closed. The tent is warm and the floor soft, and Aurora’s steady breathing provides more comfort than you would care to admit.
Your last thought before you drift off to sleep is that it will be very difficult to keep this from becoming a habit. But you can think of worse things.
