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"Whatever our souls are made of, [hers] and mine are the same."
- Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
They drove in silence.
It wasn't that each didn’t have a million things to say to the other. But words lacked the clarity and depth they needed. There were no words yet invented for what hung between them right now.
So they drove in silence, up the moonlit mountain road, the rustle of the forest and the crunch of tires on stone the only sounds accompanying them as the car climbed higher.
Only Fina's hand draped warmly on Marta's thigh anchored them together. Wordlessly, they agreed anything more would be too much right now. So just her hand sat gently, jostled occasionally by Marta shifting gears.
When they reached the house, they walked hand-in-hand to the front door, Marta sliding in the key and pushing it open with a soft click. She helped Fina off with her coat, hung it up, and hung her own neatly alongside. Shoes were toed off.
Fina accepted Marta's hand once more as she led her down the darkened hallway. They didn't need any light - they knew the way. And even if she had no idea where they were going, the fact that Marta was leading her was enough. She would follow her down to Charon's ferry and across the River Styx if Marta asked her to. Even before tonight, her trust in this woman was something she could not even begin to explain.
When they entered their room, Marta untangled her fingers from Fina's and walked to each of the two large windows, drawing the curtains aside and letting moonlight spill across the carpet and over a corner of their bed.
Marta secured the last drape and turned to Fina.
"Ven aquí, por favor."
Those were the first words Marta had spoken since they'd left the store, and the husk of her voice curled into Fina's body to coil lazily in her belly. She did as she was bidden.
When Marta reached for her hands, their fingers laced together once more and they simply stood, breathing as one, foreheads leaned together. Fina smiled when Marta inhaled deeply, a habit she had developed almost since the beginning.
Fina asked what she always asked. "What do you smell?"
"Sweet lemons," Marta replied.
"Mmm. Lemons aren't sweet."
"But you are." It was Marta’s answer every time.
"Marta..." Fina whispered and finally slid her hands up to touch her wife’s face, traced the small lines etched around her mouth. "¿Estás bien?"
Marta nodded, her own hands rising to play with Fina’s hair, pulling a long strand gently through her fingers.
"Fina, estoy contigo. Así que estoy bien."
Fina swallowed, touched the tips of her fingers to Marta's mouth. "And you're sure that’s enough?"
Marta's hands found Fina's face, the pads of her fingers delicately tracing her features. When she got to the small mole above her lip, she leaned forward just enough to brush it with her mouth.
"Not only am I sure is it enough, it is more than I ever thought possible."
Fina let out a shuddering breath and looked straight into Marta’s eyes.
"Can you forgive me?" she asked.
Marta's fingers still were moving across her face. "Forgive you for what, amor?"
"For all of it," Fina whispered. "For everything we've been through."
"Amor," Marta breathed, her mouth brushing over Fina's, sending fractals of sensation skittering over her skin. "There is nothing to forgive. And if there was, it would be I begging for forgiveness. For trying to force our love into some sort of mold dictated by society. I almost forgot – there is no mold for us."
Fina pressed the softest of kisses to the corner of Marta's mouth. "You're wrong there, Marta. There is a mold. We are the mold, mi amor."
Marta's entire body seemed to relax at those words and she hummed ever so softly.
"Sí, amor. Tienes razón."
She leaned forward and for several moments, they hovered just outside of a kiss, breath puffing against cheeks, taking in the small miracle that they were here together, with time and space around them.
It felt utterly peaceful.
But that changed when Marta leaned in and pressed her mouth against Fina’s at last. Fina was quite sure that the room suddenly began to spin. The taste of her made the floor tilt. The gentle way Marta pulled at her bottom lip made every painting on the wall hang askew. The way Marta's thumbs caressed the line of her jaw turned the furniture upside down.
It had been so long since they'd shared more than stolen touches and hasty kisses. So long since they'd been allowed to simply be without worry or time flashing its claws at them from every angle that even the simplest kiss felt overwhelming.
It was a gift.
Tonight, there was no need to hurry. Tonight was theirs, wholly and completely.
As Marta's mouth moved languidly against hers, they were both aware that there was no rush. No looking over their shoulders or having to jump apart. Instead, there were soft, slow kisses, sweet and tender. Mindful. Fina simply melted into them, gave herself over to the safety of Marta's embrace and the feel of her lips sliding against hers.
When Marta's mouth parted, nudging at Fina's, Fina melted into that, too. She cupped her cheek and held Marta's face and grazed her lower lip with her tongue. Marta smiled and bumped her nose affectionately against Fina's, smiling wider when Fina's lips curled with a smile of her own. She brushed her thumb over the edge of Fina's top lip and then kissed Fina as if it was the only way she could communicate right now, like she was creating a whole new language.
And it was one that was only theirs, that could only be understood in the way Marta’s tongue slid past Fina's teeth, in the way she licked at the roof of her mouth, and in the way she stroked gently across Fina's own tongue.
As Fina returned the kiss, as it deepened little by little, she understood what Marta was saying as clearly as if it was already part of her DNA. Maybe it was.
Te quiero.
Te amo.
Tú eres mi vida.
Eres todo lo que necesito.
Eres todo lo que quiero.
The words settled into her. Sunk into the marrow of her bones. Stitched themselves into the muscles and joints and tendons holding her together.
Fina kissed the same words right back.
They undressed each other in the moonlight, standing in front of the window.
Each item of clothing was removed with care, as if priceless works of art were being unwrapped after years in storage. Each new bit of skin was savored. Given its proper due.
Marta's hands smoothed over Fina's shoulders, dipped into the hollow of her throat. Fina pushed her fingers into golden curls and scratched delicately at Marta's scalp.
Marta parted Fina's blouse, and laid her palms flat across Fina’s belly and sighed, head bowed as if in prayer, before she pushed the garment to the floor. Fina's fingers traced the bumps of each of Marta's ribs before curling her hands around Marta's breasts and lowering her head to kiss the tops of their swells.
The rest of Fina’s clothing followed, Marta taking her time, until she was left in just her simple undergarments. Marta ran a single finger down the strap on her shoulder, and though she licked her lips, she did not stop until her finger hooked under the band of Fina's panties.
"I want these off," she husked, tugging on the offending material.
Fina flicked an eyebrow. "Then taken them off, mi amor," she replied, swaying slightly as Marta's fingers teased along the edge. Marta huffed a small laugh, shook her head, and Fina was bare a moment later.
Her wife stared at her for several long seconds, taking her in, and Fina stood patiently. This was another thing that Marta had done since the beginning – she liked to look. She had been shy about it at first, quick and almost furtive, but as her confidence built so had the time she took to appraise Fina outright, and Fina soon discovered how very intimate it was to be reflected in Marta de la Reina’s fathomless blue eyes.
Fina finally shivered under her gaze and only then did Marta move, skimming her fingers so lightly up Fina's arms and across her collarbones that goosebumps dotted her skin. Marta leaned forward and kissed her.
"I will never get enough of the feel of your skin," Marta murmured. "And how soft it is. How every time I touch you, it's like I'm coming home."
Fina felt tears pricking her eyes and touched Marta's face. "It will always be your home, mi amor."
Marta nodded and nuzzled into Fina's palm, kissing it, and Fina curled her hand around Marta's jaw and pulled her forward until their mouths met once more.
The kiss was still soft, still sweet, but as they pressed together, the energy began to shift, from something deliberate and solemn to a match being struck and put to kindling. The willingness to linger ebbed away with every kiss, lips asked for more, and their grip on each other tightened.
Hands began to roam more freely and Fina divested Marta of the last of her clothes. Her breath seized momentarily as the light from the window caught Marta nude, half in shadow, looking as if she was stepping out of a block of marble, fully formed.
There were still moments when Fina did not believe this woman was real or hers, let alone willing to risk everything time and again to protect their love.
Marta took Fina into her arms and looked at her curiously.
“What’s that look for?”
“For being the luckiest woman in the world, mi amor.”
“No,” Marta shook her head. “You can’t be. Because that woman is me.”
Fina looped her arms around Marta’s shoulders as their bodies molded together, and small crackles of heat popped across her skin.
“Kiss me, Marta.”
“Con mucho gusto.”
When Marta turned her and pressed her up against the window, Fina gasped. The contrast of hard and soft, of the cool glass at her back and the heat of Marta against her was startling.
Her pulse jumped. Her breath shortened. She scratched her nails down Marta's back and cupped her backside and squeezed. Marta made a surprised sound and one of her hands shot out and hit the window, exhaling sharply when her hips collided with Fina’s.
She chuckled and ran her tongue over the tender spot just below Fina’s ear, shamelessly pressing further into Fina. “Why are you always misbehaving?” she murmured.
Fina squeezed the supple flesh in her hands again, felt the coarse hair between Marta’s legs drag briefly against her own. She tried to swallow the indecent sound in her throat. Unsuccessfully. She flexed her fingers again.
“You have no one to blame but yourself. You make me want everything all at once.”
Marta’s hand found its way between them, and cupped her breast. She dragged her thumb back and forth over its peak until Fina’s nails were digging into Marta’s skin.
“Everything?”
Fina’s head fell back against the window pane. How this woman made her ache.
She nodded and her voice was hoarse when she answered. “Everything.”
Fina whimpered when Marta bent to replace her thumb with her mouth, circling with her tongue, and when she straightened, she kissed Fina so thoroughly that Fina braced one hand against the window frame to steady herself.
They parted, panting.
“I want to give you everything,” Marta said, and Fina could hear the need in her voice.
Fina didn’t hesitate in her answer. “Take me to bed.”
The moon was their only companion when they settled side by side, the silvery light illuminating the room just enough to push away the total darkness. Their hands clasped and for a moment, they simply looked at each other – mahogany brown and navy blue – and words, once again, were unnecessary.
I can’t believe we’re here.
I can’t believe how lucky we are.
Siempre estarás a salvo conmigo.
Siempre.
Fina lifted her hand to Marta’s jaw, traced the line of it, and nodded.
Marta reached for her.
In her life, Fina had questioned her faith many times. For many reasons. But here, on this night, in this room, Fina believed in the sacred. The divine. Because Marta touched her like a prayer, like she’d never believed in anything until this moment. Every kiss was a vow. Every breath was hers to take. Breath Fina offered freely. Completely.
The way Marta touched her, it reminded Fina of their first night together, when Marta was awed and full of wonder. Each caress had intention, each slide of her lips on Fina's skin, a purpose. She explored Fina's body as if she didn't already know every centimeter of it, every crevice. Her hands moved across shoulders and throat, ticked down her spine with feather lightness, settled onto her hips like she was laying claim.
And her mouth, oh, her mouth. It made Fina’s eyes roll back in her head. Marta worshipped Fina with her lips and tongue as if she was taking communion. Reverently. Devotedly.
Kisses fell like a summer rain – warm and gentle, touching Fina’s body with the promise of sustenance and renewal.
Fingers swept along curves, a knee pressed against aching flesh.
Heat built in Fina’s veins. Spilled from her belly out along her limbs. Her hands grasped at Marta – at her back, her arms – anything to have more of her, feel more of her. As if she could ever have enough.
When Marta nipped at the inside of Fina’s thigh, Fina knew exactly what she was doing.
Marking her.
Deliberately.
For one sole purpose – so in the days to come, she could whisper in Fina’s ear how she knew it was there. How she imagined it beneath Fina’s skirt. How she remembered putting it there.
Fina had lost count how many times in the store Marta’s eyes had clearly settled on whatever part of her she’d marked the night before, giving Fina a pointed look and then having the nerve to smirk when color creeped into her cheeks. Fina already knew she would be fighting Marta’s suggestive gaze tomorrow over the shoulder of some unsuspecting client. Remembering this moment.
But that, she would savor tomorrow. Not now.
Now there was only here. Only this. Only Marta.
Marta, who placed once last kiss against the small bruise before she was moving again, her lips finding Fina’s hip, her navel, and, as always, the scar on her lower abdomen. She lingered there as was her habit – brushing across the faintly puckered skin, faded pink now, a silent acknowledgement of how close they had come to losing this before it barely began.
A miracle in their strange and wonderful story.
Fina reached down and touched the back of Marta’s head.
“Ven aquí, mi amor,” she requested gently, and when Marta shifted up beside her, Fina guided her onto her back, pressed her into the mattress, and smiled when Marta looked up at her with hooded eyes.
Fina straddled Marta’s hips, not missing Marta’s quiet moan when she settled into their cradle.
Marta slid her hands over Fina’s knees and waited.
Even after more than a year, Marta’s trust astonished Fina. That she gave herself so freely, that she had opened a part of herself she never knew existed was a gift Fina would never take for granted.
But perhaps more astonishing was how quickly this woman had become her safe space. Her refuge. The beacon shining bright on what had started to feel to Fina like a desolate shore. She had known who she was most of her life, but being able to share that with someone, openly and completely, was another thing entirely.
Fina looked down at Marta, took her in, her body ethereal in the shifting shadows of the room – defined muscle, sharp jaw, the flex of her fingers against Fina’s thigh. And her alabaster skin, accented with a smattering of freckles, each one calling for Fina’s touch. Her mouth.
They fell like constellations across Marta’s body, speaking of ancient tales and fated love, and as Fina kissed each one, the stories of the gods wove through them. When she found the freckle on Marta’s neck, Orpheus’ lyre sang for Eurydice. Her favorite mole above her breast called forth Orion standing guard over Artemis. When Fina pressed her mouth to the one on Marta’s hip, Perseus was there, pulling Andromeda from the cliff, awed by her beauty. And as Fina followed the curved line of marks down the length of Marta’s arm, the Pleiades scattered across the night sky, forever immortalized.
Each legend spoke of love that was not just chosen, but destined, and as Fina whispered Marta’s name, as she touched her slowly, she swore she heard the ancient and timeless echoes of the stars, keeping watch from above.
It felt like Marta heard them, too. Because her wife moved with her effortlessly, with her body, her breath, her whole being. They moved together like they’d done so for lifetimes, in other ages, other universes. Every touch, every kiss was filled with something greater than simple human desire. It was aching and full-bodied and infinite. Foretold.
And when Fina at last grazed her fingers through Marta’s dewy curls, when she felt her heat against her palm, it took everything she had to find her voice. Desire jumped in her veins. Resounded in her chest.
“Quiero tocarte.”
Marta’s voice was hushed. Wanting. “Sí.”
Fina closed her mouth over Marta’s pulse point. “Y quiero que me toques.”
Marta shuddered. “Sí. Dios, sí.”
When her fingers slid between Marta’s legs, Fina almost dizzied. Marta was smoldering tinder. A spark, a hair’s breadth from bursting into flame. Fina curled her fingers once and Marta’s ragged breath was her answer, trailing off into a plea that bore Fina's name.
Fina kissed her and realized she was trembling.
“Tocarme.”
Marta did.
When her fingers found her, slick and sensitive, tears unexpectedly bloomed at the corners of Fina’s eyes. Marta's touch was a relief. A long-awaited restoration. When she gently stroked her, a half-sob caught in Fina’s throat.
Marta’s kiss caught the moisture on her cheek. “Juntas.”
Fina sighed, the words settling in her soul. “Juntas.”
One word.
One promise.
It was all they needed.
They began to move together once more, an ancient rhythm, set by forces greater than them. Wiser than them. It was not hurried, not lost. They were anchored. To distance stars and to this mountain home. To fires that had burned brightly eons ago and to this night that existed solely for them. To each other. To fragmented breath, to sheened skin, and a love that neither of them thought possible.
Moonlight blessed what was already holy – the curve of one shoulder, the arch of a spine, the tilt of a jaw kissed open. Fina and Marta were cradled in the safety of its shadow, consecrated in the benevolence of its light. Bathed in its incandescence.
And all the while, sacred words floated around them. An oath. A covenant. Reflected in eyes locked on each other and rising with a cresting tide.
Words that were as clear as if they were spoken.
I choose this.
I choose you.
I am home.