♕: Holding hands and ♡: Accidentally falling asleep together for Squishvir (preferably cannon!Squishvir) if that's alright with you and if you're feeling inspired :D
Technically this is non-canonical (because their lives are not so kind in canon) but takes place in the canon setting rather than an established AU. Also, it came out NSFW, although all the platonic prompts are in there too. I hope that’s alright!
Uthvir’s hands do not invite holding.
Most of the time, they are covered. Scarlet gauntlets with claw-tipped fingers, sharp plating on the backs of their palms, edges that are liable to catch and scrape any unwary hands who do not know how to navigate their points. Even when they are not covered, however, they are still sharp. Narrow, with razor-edged nails, sometimes stained in the blood of their kills, or that of presumptuous rivals.
Uthvir’s hands hold weapons very well. But they do not need them to be dangerous. Their nails can tear through skin and sink into flesh, shred veins and gore eyeballs, rip throats or simply threaten too, as the corded strength of their muscles do the heavy lifting. Their hands can snap necks, catch swift-running prey, and summon up sparks of deadly dangerous magic.
They look as dangerous as they are.
Desire’s hands are plump. Soft flesh on each finger. Calloused from holding weapons of her own, and wider than Uthvir’s, but shorter, too. Her nails are round, more often than not. Her knuckles dimple, and her palms are paler than most of the rest of her. Wrinkling where they bend and curl and close around the stem of her goblet, or rest atop Uthvir’s own.
They can do damage. Ostensibly. Desire is a peacekeeper, after all. But Uthvir has never actually seen that. Only hints of it, in the surety of her hold on the haft of her hammers and axes, and the unwavering grip she can take on the ropes they like to wrap her in. When she wears gloves, they are usually fingerless. Soft and decorative, and sometimes she uses them to seal lotion against her palms, to keep her callouses from hurting.
Her nails are painted white, today.
She reaches for them, and easily laces her fingers through their own. Uthvir is not wearing their gauntlets. Their own dark nails stand out in contrast. Outside, the city is winding down the aftermath of a merchants’ ball. A celebration which lit up the market district, closed but to those influential enough to merit an invitation. Andruil had declined to make an appearance; Uthvir had only gone because they knew the peacekeepers would be there. Knew there would be a chance of finding a decent distraction, and possibly making a few good connections, too.
The daylight has long since fled, though. The revellers retreating to other forms of entertainment, making other kinds of ‘connections’. Though, all sorts can come in handy, especially for the merchants of the city.
Andruil keeps a rest house near the market district, for when her higher-ranking followers - or even she herself - need to do a lot of business there. It is not empty, but Uthvir can acquire a room there with little fuss. They walk with Desire, out of the shaded alleyway that they’d followed her to. Straightening the top of her outfit, a little, and some pins in her hair. Letting her hold their hand until they reach the street, and then they pull their own away again.
The Red Hunter does not hold hands, like a besotted lover taken in by a public bid for courtship.
They offer Desire their arm, instead.
She takes it. Easily navigating the points of their armour, unperturbed by the shift, as they make their way down the streets. Servants hurry to and fro through discreet paths, already working to clean up the aftermath of the celebration. The ball had been outdoors, spilling through the market square and the decorative gardens nearby, and there are discarded glasses and flickering runes, still fading across the streets. Not a well-planned event, Uthvir thought. There had been too little coordination, too much drink and not enough entertainment. Bored revellers had started spilling away from the party well before its end.
Uthvir had watched them. Moving between points of contact. Veering close to the guards set up to ensure that poor planning did not result in vandalism or too much violence.
Desire sighs, and gives up the battle with her hairpins as they walk. She pulls them out, fluffing her hair with one hand, before sliding them into her belt. Her fingers tap against their arm. White nails on red armour.
“That was tedious,” she tells them.
“I am sure we can think of something more interesting to do,” they reply.
Her lips quirk.
“Of course we can,” she agrees. “But I am still dead on my feet. No acrobatics this time, hm? I lost count of how many circuits I had to do around the whole district. The managers came by the barracks to demand security before dawn.”
Uthvir raises their eyebrows.
“What for?” they ask. They have not heard anything particular about insurgents or unrest in the city of late.
“Thieves,” Desire explains, with a sigh. “Or imagined ones, anyway. The festivities got most of the merchants away from their storehouses at a predictable time, and for some mysterious reason, assuring them at all their officially recorded wares could be tracked did not seem to do much to assuage their concerns.”
Uthvir hums in understanding.
“One might imagine that some of them had unrecorded wares they were concerned might disappear without recourse, if they were feeling so bold as to make that accusation,” they muse.
Desire chuckles.
“Imagine being so bold as to ask peacekeepers to guard your illegal merchandise,” she agrees, lightly. “I am sure our merchants would know better. Still, Commander Victory has decided that the celebration was as good a time as any for a surprise inspection on several warehouses. To better guard the contents, you see.”
“Ah. And you were walking your circuits to make certain that the merchants and managers would see where ‘the peacekeepers’ were, I take it?” they surmise. Guards on the outside, and inspectors sneaking in through the back doors, no doubt. Tomorrow will be an interesting day.
Desire inclines her head.
“All down the main roads, in front of the big doors, chasing off would-be vandals and loiterers,” she agrees. “The last time I marched this much I was a foot soldier.”
Uthvir takes a moment to give her a more critical look-over. She does look tired, they concede. Some strain around the eyes, more visible now with her hair down, and her lipstick has faded somewhat - though they bare at least partial responsibility for that - and her steps are heavy. The weapon at her back seems to weigh on her more.
They veer up the path towards the market district’s housing segments, and head for the little stone-lined road that leads to Andruils’ property. Nestled next to a slightly larger building, where Falon’Din’s tradesmen keep their base of operations. Three of Andruil’s own merchants linger by the doorway, in varying states of intoxication.
“Hunter,” the least sauced of them greets Uthvir, with a nod.
“Try not to let anyone fall asleep on the lawn,” they advise. “I have a peacekeeper with me, and she will write up citations for public indecency.”
Desire snorts, and waves her free hand.
“Not if I do not see it,” she counters, and the merchants sag a little in visible relief. “Though if any of you feel like groping one another, at least take it to the bushes. Discretion is paramount to the city’s image, and so on and so forth.”
The merchant sighs.
“Mostly trying to work up the coordination to get in through the door,” he admits. “I doubt more misadventures are on the docket for today. Though, our lady should be pleased. We negotiated a new trade deal for iron from Lord Dirthamen’s lands. Much cheaper than what we had before, in exchange for first refusal of dragonbone from the northern hunting grounds. Heh.”
The merchant snickers, pleased, and one of his compatriots decides this is the height of humour, and keels over laughing. Uthvir recollects the distinct lack of dragons in the northern hunting grounds for the past three hundred years or so.
“Well done,” they permit, before at last drawing their soft, squishy peacekeeper inside with them.
Desire looks bemused.
“Merchants are bizarre,” she asserts.
“I take it you do not want to play a game of Bedroom Trade Negotiations?” they reply, heading down the carved halls, and checking the house’s records for an unoccupied room. Fortunately, there are some, which means they will not have to chase anyone else out tonight.
Desire snorts at them.
“What? ‘Eat me out and I will pour hot wax on you’? That kind of a thing?”
“Hmm. Let me have at you, tied up, for an hour, and you can hold my hand again,” they counter, smirking.
“Oho,” Desire replies. Her grip shifts, sneaking down towards their wrist, as they make their way through the halls. They pause. The halls are not empty. Several doorways are still open, voices drifting up from occupied rooms, and there are a few merchants emulating their fellows over at the front door, only in the communal sitting areas instead. Desire’s hand moves to their wrist, and they wonder whether it would be more conspicuous to withdraw, or to simply let her have her way, and keep their countenance aloof enough to refute the image.
But they need not have worried, it seems. Because after a moment, she only drags her touch back up towards their elbow.
“I like holding your hand,” she whispers to them, with a wink.
“Easily pleased, aren’t you?” they drawl.
“Mm. In some respects,” she agrees, with a certain glint in her gaze that promises a little more challenge in the bedroom.
By the time they actually get there, however, she is leaning against Uthvir in a way that speaks more of exhaustion than arousal. They close and ward the door behind them, and let Desire rest her hammer at the door beside it, before moving to take stock of the chambers, and their supplies. The servants seem to have put everything in order. There is a bed, and a small resting couch. A carved hearth, and supplies in the supply cabinets, and water flowing from the small wash basin in an alcove by the door.
Desire eases off her armour, undoing the ties and sighing in relief as she frees herself from them. She strips without hesitation. Peeling off her boots and breastplate, shin and wrist guards, rounded pauldrons and shining thigh plates, belt, and then breeches, and tunic, until she is left in only a few small scraps of silvery cloth.
The sigh she makes is so profound in its relief, Uthvir can feel their own armour pressing a little uncomfortable against them in turn.
Not enough to strip naked, by any means. But after a moment, they take off some of the heavier pieces, and lay them next to Desire’s. Watching out of the corner of their eye as she heads for the bed, and flops onto it.
“I am not sure I can actually move again,” she admits.
They snort.
“I will move you, then,” they offer. Heading over, and taking a moment to admire the view, before they snake a hand beneath her and lift her up. She hums appreciatively as they settle her back down against the pillows, in a position more befitting of the bed.
Her fingers trail down the side of their cheek, and she spreads her legs a little further apart.
They accept the offer, and climb onto the bed, and settle between them. Respecting her obvious preference for little fanfare, this time, as they push aside her smallclothes, and tease their nails over her for a moment. They soften them in short order, though, and begin pressing their touch into her, as she stretches her arms up over her head, and sighs.
“Just head on in,” she tells them, wrapping her legs around them. “Go hard as you like, I only want to lie back and get fucked right now.”
She is wet already, at least, and not liable to be done much harm by it. Uthvir inclines their head, and undoes their own belt.
“As you like,” they agree.
She bites her lip, grinning, as they line themselves up and thrust into her. A little more resistance than usual, but the sound she makes is purely appreciative. Her hands move towards their shoulders, gripping their collar as they begin to rock in and out of her.
“Harder,” she tells them.
They slow down, smirking as she curses, and tightens her grip further.
“Contrary ass,” she accuses. And then gasps, as they take their time pulling out, only to thrust back into her hard enough to make the bed legs scrape on the floor. Her breasts sway. A few more thrusts like that, and they start to escape from their bindings altogether. Uthvir lets out a pleased purr, and reaches for the fabric; slicing the middle of it clean open with a flick of their thumbnail. Desire sighs appreciatively, and wriggles her way out of the scraps together. Clenching around them, the next time they thrust into her, and rocking her hips up to meet them.
They keep their pace slow and deliberate, though. Dragging their nails across her skin. Watching her flush and darken with their activities, as a few stray beads of sweat build up, and she breathes encouragements in between her moans. After a while her answering movements start to get less coordinated, though. Too tired. Uthvir takes her by the hips, claiming control over the whole moment, and angles her themselves. She comes not long after that. Tightening around them, pulling them downwards. They oblige her with a biting kiss to her lips, and accidentally slide out of her; and end up coming on the soft skin of her thighs, in turn.
She sags back against the pillows. Arms around their shoulders; and they find that they do not mind it, today. Her fingers trail into their hair, as she pulls them onto the bed beside her.
“Just give me a moment,” she asks. “Then we can really get to it.”
“If you would rather sleep, I can live with that,” they tell her. “There is always the morning, anyway.”
She laughs, breathlessly.
“I would rather never sleep,” she admits, oddly melancholic, for a moment. “I have no idea how so many people do it. Uthenera. Alone with your dreams for all eternity. I would rather just die, to be honest. At least there is a little mystery with that.”
Uthvir frowns, and pulls back a ways. Desire presses a hand over her eyes, and lets out another long breath.
“Death is no mystery,” they tell her. “Just a finish line.”
“Oh, and you are so sure, are you?” she counters, glancing at them from between her fingers.
They let out a breath of their own, and shrug.
“Perhaps not. But I would rather not gamble on it,” they decide. “The dead are gone, either way. The sleeping are not, but, most of them may as well be. Both fates are a kind of defeat.”
“I feel defeated,” Desire tells them. Quietly.
Not the kind of admission they think she means to make. They do not know how to respond. Sleep is more optional for them, but, they have never really known anyone to share their aversion to it. And they are not certain it is for the same reasons, either. Desire’s eyes look old, and she stills seems tired. For a moment, they are thrown by it. Unsure of how to proceed.
But then she runs her hand down her face, and turns towards them. Curling onto her side, as she presses into their chest, and inadvertently buries their nose in her hair.
“Just let me rest a bit,” she asks, again.
They settle a hand onto her back, and nod in easy agreement. She feels soft and warm against them, befitting the easy nickname they once bestowed on her; back before they knew her name. Desire. Like… the one they try not to think of, when they can. Old, stolen memories, of some things they would be glad to never experience firsthand, and one thing they know they never can.
They are not entirely surprised when Desire’s breaths even out, as she rests against them. Muscles going utterly slack, heart beating to an even tempo, as they close their own eyes, and let themselves rest a little, too. Desire smells like sweat and sex, and just faintly of vanilla. They shift, putting more of their back to the wall, and tucking themselves into their pants again. But she doesn’t wake, and after a while they drift a bit. Not quite dreaming. Not quite sleeping. Just listening to the world, and Fear’s whispers, and the living blood pumping through both of their bodies.
Their gaze catches on the golden detail work up at the top of the bedposts.
Owls hunting mice.
Desire sleeps until morning, and they are gone just before sunrise.
