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Shirayuki awakens, per usual, at the first flush of dawn. Reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes, she blinks as she realizes that this is not where she normally sleeps. Turning her head slightly, she squints her eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings.
A sudden shift beside her removes her focus from the room and leads it to the warmth curled against her side. At first, she is confused. Obi’s face is tucked against her shoulder, relaxed in sleep, breath puffing steadily against her skin. She shifts slightly, trying to get a better sense of what is going on when she winces as she feels a slight pull deep inside of her. Furrowing her brows, she lays one hand across the weight on her stomach, hidden beneath the blankets, and feels fingers curl against her skin in response, creating sparks across her skin. It's then that she also notices what must be one of his legs thrown across hers.
She can feel only naked skin against hers.
Synapsis fire behind her eyes as her brain fully activates. Last night comes rushing back to her in full detail and she blushes all the way down to her toes.
Oh, she realizes, as she lifts her trembling hand to see the thin band of gold against her pale skin. OH, she smiles, broadly, as she looks back down at his sleeping face.
Shirayuki bites her lip and she gazes at her husband. She reaches out, gingerly tracing the ridge of his eyebrows, down to his cheeks, his nose, his lips, becoming enthralled by the texture and shade of his skin against her own in the golden light of dawn, mesmerized by how close their bodies are to one another. She brushes his ear and the soft hair at his temples with the pad of her thumb, knuckles resting softly against his cheek.
She feels a soft kiss against the nap of her neck and she knows he is awake. Smiling, filled with joy, she turns her whole body towards his, looking into his eyes which are opened just a crack, and presses her lips to his. He makes a sound akin to a purr, and they brush their lips against each others for long moments, softly, carefully, filled with just the barest amount of heat, savoring in the newness of it all. Obi’s rough hand rubs little circles on her lower back as they pull back and press their foreheads together to breathe each other in. Shirayuki’s hands return to their task, tracing his face, eyes following her fingertips as they curl into his hair, circle his ears and down to his neck before discovering dark mark there in the shape of her mouth.
She blushes.
Obi’s voice, heavy with sleep, makes her forget her embarrassment. “Good morning,” he breathes, and she can feel the vibrations of his words against her fingertips. “How are you feeling?”
“…a little sore,” she answers honestly, her eyes coming back to his. There’s something different in his gaze this morning, she realizes. The tension, so ever-present that she had given up on it ever fading, is gone. It’s as if he is… at peace, the fight temporarily drained out of him.
The thought warms her.
There’s a soft rumble in his chest as he moves his eyes away from her face and towards her neck. His eyes crinkle at the corner and his fingers brush against the nape of her neck, “...I may have been a little too passionate in my duties last night,” he says, fingers moving further down her body, pushing the bedding away from her as he goes. A smug grin suddenly twists his lips. “Sorry about that.”
He doesn’t look very sorry.
She follows his touch with her eyes and notices the small blooms of pink, red, and purple against her chest and stomach. Memories rush into her head, bright and vivid against the dawn’s rays, reminding her of exactly how those marks got there, and what exactly they did last night. Not to mention that she is currently naked in the light of day. She squeaks in sudden embarrassment and buries her face against his chest, hands curling at his shoulders to pull him flush against her.
Another soft rumble echoes through his chest, just the barest echo of laughter, and his hand cards through her hair and down her back.
It’s peaceful for a few moments before she whispers against his chest, “I… I liked it. All of it.” She swallows audibly, “S- so don’t be s- sorry.”
“Oh really, my lady?” She can hear his grin. She doesn’t even have to look up.
“Mm” she sharply nods, smushing her face more firmly against his chest.
“Hmmm…” the hand that’s been tracing languid paths down her back suddenly change course, fanning out across her ribs, his thumb brushing the soft underside of her breast.
Her breath hitches “…Obi…”
There is a soft rap on the door.
Suddenly, Shirayuki’s world is in motion. Sheets and bedding fly around her, wrapping her in a cocoon of white. When it stills, Obi is propped up on one elbow, one knee cocked up as if he intends to fly into motion. Her eyes follow the tense cords of muscle in his neck and chest down to his stomach. His face is intent, eyes zoned in on the sitting room, suddenly wary and face sharp. She feels her body warm looking at him like that, a vague prickle of sensation stirring between her legs.
After a pause, she realizes that he’s not going to say anything, so she yells from her cocoon “Who- who is it?”
There is a brief rattling of the door as a key turns in the lock and then a squeak of wheels against the floorboards. “Good morning, my dears!” an older female voice calls through the rooms.
A copper tub, filled with steaming water, is pushed into view by one of the senior servants. They recognize her from her trips to the pharmacy for medicine during the beginning of the rainy seasons.
“Mrs. Patchwith! What are you doing?” Shirayuki calls, startled.
She feels Obi relax next to her as he pulls a sheet to wrap around his torso, too.
“Oh, the Head Pharmacist put in an order to have a bath delivered to you at dawn,” she replies, unconcerned with their state of dress as she picks up a stack of towels and sheets from the mobile platform and sets them on the sitting room table. “She insisted that you would be awake, even after the festivities last night.”
“Oh,” Shirayuki replies, touched, “That was thoughtful of her.” Her mind wraps around the implications, though, and she slowly sinks into her burrow of fabric, awareness that everyone knows what they did last night crawling into her consciousness.
Before she can fully hide herself, she sees the housekeeper open a small package that she recognizes as a prescription pack and watches her pour it into the bathwater.
“What’s that?” she hears Obi call from behind her, although from the smell she knows that he knows good and well what it is.
“Oh,” Mrs. Patchwith bubbles, swishing her hand back and forth in the tub until the treatment dissolves, “The young gentleman that works there gave it to me yesterday saying that it was good for sore muscles.”
Shirayuki disappears fully into the sheets, muffling an embarrassed whine. She can feel the bed next to her vibrate and she curbs the urge to throw something.
“Well, then!” the elderly matron announces, “Come now, young lady! I’ll help you get nice and clean while the young lord rests. Must’ve been a taxing night.”
She’s going to die. She is just. going. to. die.
“Ah, that it was!” she hears Obi’s voice call out behind her, taping her exposed foot with his. She pulls away sharply the traitor and hides her last bit of exposed skin inside the blankets. The vibration is getting stronger. She will remember this. “But, you see, I made a promise to my Miss many years ago that I would be of service to her every wish. I couldn’t in good conscience allow someone else to take such good care of her.”
She must be dead. She can’t even handle this anymore, but she hears Mrs. Patchwith chuckle, pleased at his decline on her behalf, “Well, all well and good, young lord. You fulfill your duties to the young lady in whatever ways you deem appropriate.” She can hear the wink that passes between them.
“I’ll be leaving the meals outside your room for the next few days, then. And I’ll be by to fetch the tub later on in the morning. Just scootch it out the door if you don’t want me interrupting you.” With that, Shirayuki hears the muffled steps of the elderly woman as she exits the apartment. Shirayuki’s head suddenly shoots out from the blankets, hair staticy and tangled, and she turns her burning gaze at Obi.
He still doesn’t look sorry, lips quivering and eyes mischievous as the door latches shut. “My lady,” he says before the orientation of her world changes again. She’s lost her sheets, she realizes belatedly. Furthermore, she is naked as the day she was born in the bright light of early morning as her body dangles high above the ground. She looks down, seeing Obi’s arms tucked under her knees and her hands absently grasp around Obi's neck for support, pressing her breast to his scarred chest. He makes a surprised, but not displeased, noise. She can feel the flex of his stomach against her side, the strength of his arms beneath her, and despite her irritation, the warmth churning in her core intensifies.
He swiftly crosses the room, cool with the early autumn air just starting to frost the outside world, and dips her slowly into the water. She hisses as the water laps against more tender areas, slowly relaxing her body, muscle by muscle as it gets used to the heat and the herbal treatment. After a few uncomfortable moments, she breathes out and relaxes, looking gratefully up at her husband to thank him, only to see Obi looking down at her with an unreadable look on his face.
She reaches up suddenly, pulling him down to her by his neck, causing his arms to flail out to the side before he grabs the side of the tub to prevent himself from falling in with her. She kisses him firmly, boldly, pressing her tongue to his lips and slipping inside of his mouth. After a few moments, she pulls back, panting, and pressing her forehead against his. “I’m fine, Obi. Nothing but what’s to be expected.”
He blinks owlishly at her, before his face softens again, and presses a brief kiss to her lips. “Of course, my lady.” He clears his throat, puffing himself up to look like her official guard, suddenly playful. “Now where did she put those soaps?”
Despite her protests that she can do it herself, he insists, gently cleaning between her toes, up her calves and knees, ridding her of the small smear of dried blood still present between her thighs with a flush on both of their cheeks. He moves up her stomach, caressing her breasts with the washcloth, and massaging the warm water into her arms and fingertips. She relaxes fully, tipping her head back to submerge her long hair in the water when he asks. He takes his time, passing his fingers through her hair, gently massaging her scalp as the knots and kinks in her hair are smoothed out once more.
She feels… cherished. Loved. Complete. And as he again leans her back to rinse the rest of the soap from her hair, she can feel his fingers once again sliding down her body, washrag in hand, murmuring against her throat about how he hasn’t washed everywhere yet.
Her eyes snap back open as embarrassment floods through her. She shoots up, grabbing his wrist, face flushed and voice tight, “I can handle that…”
He grins, all teeth, and presses the washrag into her hand, watching her intently as a predator. “Of course, my lady,” he says, resting his elbows against the rim of the tub, open palms cupping his cheeks, his eyes indecently low.
She can’t handle it. “T- turn away!” she stammers, embarrassed by the possibility that he would watch her wash herself… there.
His lips quiver, eyes filled with mirth and… something else, before he politely leans back, turning his head, one hand propping his face to the side, and affixing his gaze it to a place on the other side of the room. This is the best she’ll get, she realizes. She lets go of the towel, letting it float away in the water, knowing already that it is too rough for the job. Double checking to make sure Obi is still turned away, she reaches down with fingers alone, parting herself, feeling the soft tenderness of her swollen lips and she delicately, delicately, cleans herself. Something warm and familiar starts to curl inside her stomach as her fingertips rest outside of her entrance. Her eyes flicker to Obi once more, he can’t know, embarrassed but curious about the changes to her body after last night. She slips a slim finger inside herself, feeling the subtle differences as the muscles open easily to accommodate her.
Suddenly there is a splash and a change in the water-level. She looks up, red-faced, caught, as Obi looms over her, lower body submerged in the overflowing bathwater while his upper body hovers over hers. Her eyes slide down his chest and arms, noticing how they are stretched tight, unyielding. She suddenly struck by the overwhelming desire to bite him.
Her eyes slide back up to his face and all other thoughts fizzle out. She may want to bite him, but he looks like he wants to eat her alive.
Maybe she wouldn’t mind that so much.
“My lady,” he breathes, voice rough and wicked, “It seems you are having some trouble.”
Her mouth hangs open for a moment, stupidly, before she snaps her jaw shut and licks her suddenly dry lips. His eyes, so intent, zeros in on the motion, and that makes her take the next step. “I- I am, my lord,” she breathes. She can’t believe she is doing this. “Would you be willing to provide some assistance?”
His eyes look like the sun during an eclipse as he descends on her, mouth sealing over hers, tongue sliding past her teeth to find its partner. She moves to remove her finger from her body, but Obi’s hand is suddenly wrapped around her wrist, keeping it in place. She whines against his mouth, squirming, feeling far too warm. His large hand releases her wrist, rotating his fingers to dwarf hers, and then one of his long tapered fingers is there, inside her, alongside her own.
Her free hand shoots out, grasping the side of the bathtub, knuckles white as she holds on for dear life as he makes their hands move together. She breaks free of his mouth, gasping for air, keening as she pushes her legs as far apart as space allows. His lips slide over her cheek and jaw, nipping, until he latches on to her neck. Shifting onto his knees for balance, he slides them just slightly under hers, forcing her legs up until her calves emerge from the water and are pushed out so that they are dangling over the edge of the copper rim.
This new angle feels so different. Their fingers are touching something so deep inside her that each time they brush it, it feels like she might lose her mind. “Obi!” she cries out, helpless, unable to reach for him and keep her head above water at the same time. But then his other hand is there, threading through her hair, holding her above water, and her hand which had been clutching the side of the bathtub reaches out to pull his face more firmly to her neck and she manages to cry out “Please… please…”
His hand is suddenly moving in the wrong direction and he gently pulls himself from her body. She sobs in frustration at the loss. “Patience, love,” she hears against her ear, and that somehow makes it worse. She wants to say something, anything, that will make him understand, but he simply takes her hand from between her legs, extracting her from herself, and places it on one side of the tub. Reaching out for her other hand, he untangles it from his hair and presses it firmly to the other side of the bathtub, curling around her fingers and squeezing with the unspoken instructions to hold on.
Shirayuki opens her eyes then, looking up at him, beseeching him, trying to express how she is dying, she is literally dying.
And then he slides his legs under her, his back pressed fully against the other end of the bathtub and he lifts her hips up, her knees hooking over his shoulders. She can't even process what he is doing, but she watches, enraptured, as he leans forward so the last thing she sees before her entire vision goes white is his eyes, honed in on hers.
His mouth locks over that secret place between her legs and she is gone.
Her body buckles, before stretching tight as a bow, stars flashing behind her eyes and she screams. She can feel his tongue slide to fill the space where their fingers had just been, and oh god… Oh God… “Obi…!”
She loses time. How long, she doesn’t know. But when she does regain awareness of the world, she can feel him lapping up the dampness between her legs, moving down to kiss the sides of her thighs, and slowly lowering her hips back down into the water. Shirayuki melts, boneless, unable to turn her head from the fixtures on the ceiling, chest expanding and contracting as her brain tries to clear the fog from her eyes, but fails. What remaining water still resides in the bathtub ripples as he leaves her momentarily, murmuring something about the way she is getting goosebumps.
She feels herself being lifted, a towel awkwardly wrapped around her, and she curls herself against Obi’s chest, finding solid ground there.
She’s still trembling as he lays her on their bed, pulling the covers up to her chin to keep the cold at bay. A dip on the bed signals he has returned to his place next to her, and she exhaustedly rolls towards him, arms wrapping around his torso, seeking to find the only thing in this world that has been steady these last several years. And she can feel his chest hum as he gently runs his hands down her hair and back, waiting for her to calm.
Long moments later, she inhales deep into her lungs and slowly releases her breath, her eyes finally coming into focus. Still shaky, she turns her face to look up at his from her place resting against his bicep. He’s looking back down at her with this unknowing, unfathomable look that he gets, and she pulls herself up him to press her lips against his, tasting a slight saltiness to his lips and realizing with some embarrassment that it is herself that she is tasting.
She feels his lips curve into a smile, so smug…, and she releases them with a pop. Looking at him through her lashes, she props herself on one elbow next to him, looking down at his self-satisfied grin before smoothing her palm down and over his chest like he’s a great big cat. He makes a rumbling noise, stretching his arms up over his head, extending his whole body as his eyes sliding shut, content and safe. She leans against his side, happy at the simple contact. Slowly expanding her circles larger and larger to encompass his whole torso, she skips when the soft underside of her arm brushes against something hard hidden beneath the bedding. Blinking, she lifts the sheets with her free hand, only to squeak and press them back down when she realizes his… condition.
He opens his eyes and smiles, gentle and patient. Her hand has stopped its gentle petting, so he brings it up to his lips and brushes them across her knuckles, before settling her palm back down above his heart and giving it a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry. It’ll go away in a few minutes.”
“B- but… you…”
“Shirayuki,” he says, and whatever she was going to say abruptly dissolves on her tongue. She still isn’t used to him saying… that.
His eyes are fond, “You’re far too sore, and I don’t want to cause you any more discomfort.”
She feels a protest bubble up inside her. “B- but maybe? I could do what you…”
“Absolutely not,” he replies, eyes and voice suddenly firm. She noisily exhaled out of her nose, annoyed, but relents once she sees the steel in his demeanor. His eyes were set in a way that she had seen rarely, but she knows well nonetheless. This, she knew, would be an issue that he wouldn’t budge on without some… persuasion.
“Okay,” she replies, slowly, her hand running up his chest to cup his face, thumb brushing against his cheek. His eyes flutter shut yet again, grateful that she seems to not want to argue the point. She adds, “But I don’t want you to be, um… u- uncomfortable, either.”
His lips stretch, eyes still closed, and he turns his head slightly to press his lips to her palm as he breathes her in. “Don’t worry, my lady. It’s no great burden. I’ve suffered it before.”
And that’s what makes her eyes snap back to his face, determination welling up in her chest. She was so tired of him doing this. So tired of him thinking that he should suffer for her best interest. Her gaze tears from his face back to the bedding that has crumpled against their waists, and she kicks it down with enough force that it disappears somewhere beneath the foot of the bed.
“Wha…?” his voice stutters, eyes fluttering open, as her warmth leaves his side and she rises up over him.
And he will never, for as long as he lives, forget the way that the morning sunlight frames her body in that moment as she unwraps the towel from her body, casting a halo around her as if she were some terrifying fae coming to steal him away. Never before has seen something as magnificent as her pale silken leg swinging over his torso to straddle his body, eyes as clear as the forest green after a storm, her damp hair clinging to her breasts and arms. His awe must show on his face because her smile turns sly, and she takes him boldly in her hand, guiding him to the rose colored patch between her thighs.
His whole body arches up into hers, eyes rolling back, fingers fisting in the sheets as she sinks down fully on top of him in one smooth movement. And he was right, although she hates to admit it, she is still sore. Maybe too sore for this particular position, but she carefully keeps the discomfort off her face until the heat that has been curled at the base of her spine and around her heart since he asked for her hand so many months ago spreads like a molten river through her body and to the furthest limbs. She’s hot, flushed from her neck all the way down to her stomach, but she doesn’t move, relishing the fire that consumes her whole being while her heart paradoxically settles, a strange sense of peace grabbing ahold of her soul as the rest of her burns.
She feels him shudder beneath her as her thighs clench and unclench, still unaccustomed to having something in-between them. His hands rise up from the sheets to fan out across her hips and stomach, face twisted as he is lost in some internal battle, but she waits for him. She waits until he drags his eyes open and focuses on hers and then, and only then, does she lift herself up slightly above him, fingers splayed on top of his, and drive him firmly back home.
“Ahhh…” he half cries, half moans, as his eyes snap shut again, fingers grasping her hips so tightly that she knows that they’ll bruise. But she doesn’t care. Never before has she heard such a sound come from him and she wants to hear it again.
Suddenly driven mad by her mission, she rides him, fast and deep, bracing her hands against his stomach, determined to tear every blissful sound from his throat, each whimper and broken syllable skipping across her skin until she feels lightheaded and dizzy. She lets out little breathy moans of her own as she feels two of those long, clever fingers of his roll a nipple between them. The sound of their bodies meeting together start to get wetter, slapping together, and dampness begins to coat her inner thighs.
It is thrilling.
That that pool of desire tightens low in her stomach as his hands slide up to run over her sides, her breast, to every piece of skin he can before he’s suddenly grabbing her thighs above her knees, pushing them backwards and out so that her knees align with her hips and she is forced to hover, still impaled, slightly above him. Her rhythm comes to a halt in this new position and she tips forward, imbalanced, catching herself with her palms against the mattress on either side of him. She eyes him with confusion, still breathless, and he gives her a pained, yet mischievous smile as she feels one of his hands slide up to rest on the small of her back. She blinks rapidly when she feels the other cup the base of her skull and presses the side of her face firmly against his chest.
“Obi?” she asks, her voice muffled against his skin, “What are you…?”
She never does finish her sentence because he moves then, and she has the distinct feeling of what it might be like to be struck by lightning as his cock continuously slides against that place inside her that has all of her senses dissolving except where the two of them connect. He pushes himself upwards into her rapidly, and she can’t find the will to move, the will to even breath, her nails digging into the flesh of his upper arms. She opens her mouth against his chest in a silent scream, swept away by a storm of sensation.
So blinded by his rapid movement, by his hands pressed against her, by the moisture seeping from the corners of her eyes, that she doesn’t notice that one of his hands has slipped between them until it is brushing against her clit. It’s too much. There’s no way that she can hold on.
In the second before her world disappears, she feels his lips against her hair and hears a sighed, “I love you, Shirayuki.”
And she is lost, so lost, but that’s okay. As long as she’s with him.
Vaguely she can feel her throat become raw, her body expand and contract, the blood in her veins become like quicksilver. Her world turns on its axis, body shuddering as she crash lands back on earth just in time to notice that his tempo has suddenly changed, becoming irregular and erratic. She looks up from her place against his chest, eyes still dazed, to see his neck arched back, adams apple bobbing, face scrunched tight as he thrusts in a discordant rhythm up into her. He’s making these sounds are ripped from the back of his throat and go straight to her head. Stretching one of her arms up to brush a sensitive nipple on one side of him, she turns her head to latches her lips over the other and gently sucks.
Obi lets out the most heart wrenching noises, choked and lost, as he releases inside of her. She listens to his softening grunts and harsh exhales, fingers still tight as she is held against him. He makes a few final shallow thrusts, before collapsing back against the bed, arms slack, his heart thudding rapidly against her ear. He shudders, body occasionally twitching, as the aftershocks of his orgasm subside.
She lays for a long time on top of him, unwilling to let him go just yet as he rests just inside her, soft and spent. Shirayuki peppers kisses over his chest, running her hands up and down his arms, keeping him safe as he comes down. Eventually, one of his hands find themselves buried in her hair, softly mussing it, and she looks up into those unfathomable eyes of his.
He looks exhausted. Pleased, exasperated, loved… but exhausted.
She smiles back, gently laughing and she slowly extracts herself from him, both of them softly groaning as their bodies separate. Legs still shaking a little, she crawls down the bed to grab the bedding that she had so hastily thrown away. Covering them both up this time, she snuggles against him, one leg wrapped around his, arm thrown over his chest.
Shirayuki feels the briefest touch of his lips to the crown of her head again. And just before they slip back into blissful oblivion, lulled by the happy songbirds outside their window, she breathes “I love you, too, Obi…”