dejah_thoris | Midnight in the Jeddak's Garden

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Midnight in the Jeddak's Garden

[cont'd from here]

She holds him through the worst of it. Holds him and rocks him gently, her mind racing to come up with some kind of solution, any solution. There isn't one, she knows. She can feel his agony as if it were her own, and in a way, it is now, isn't it? She feels the tears on her cheeks and lets them fall. Grief is the strongest enemy she's ever vanquished.

But she's done it before, and she knows she can do it again.

She doesn't know how long they've been sitting there when she notices a telltale ripple in the air. It's just inches above the wood of her door. It takes a moment to resolve, and before it does, she recognizes the portal and knows where it opens to. She can smell the pimalias and the blessed cool of the moss trees beyond. The night sky above Helium is crystal clear.

Gingerly she urges his gaze up. Her voice is gentle and warm. "Hey. Can you smell that?"

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"Yeah?" He quirks his eyebrows. "Where?"

"You've been out to the lake. You've seen the mountains in the distance?"

"...Yeah."

This time, when he straightens up, it's slower, more thoughtful.

"You'd -- be okay with that? Not having the cabin on Barsoom with everything else?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay with that? I mean, I would still have to return to Helium once in awhile. But it would still be something that was ours. Especially if we built it together?"

So why not just use your room instead? he starts to think, before her last words collide with the thought and drive it aside.

How many times has he looked around her room and felt like he's a visitor? How uncomfortable did he feel when she started changing it to suit him, like he was imposing himself on her space? But another place entirely, a physical match to the relationship space they're building together...yeah.

This is really turning into something big. Shit.

Funny how Curtis seems to be okay with that, though.

"I like that idea," he whispers, and presses another small kiss to her cheek.

She leans into that kiss, humming under her breath. "Then we'll start there. I'd still like you to join me on expedition sometime. It'd be a good way for you to get used to the gravity here, and the culture." She looks down at the center of his chest again, long lashes blinking a few times, a secretive smile ghosting over her lips. "I am not entirely comfortable with keeping our relationship secret from my father."

He snorts a faint laugh. "I'll brace myself for the big 'what are your intentions toward my daughter' lecture."

Though considering he's gonna have to make a formal suit for her hand eventually, what's one more what are your intentions lecture on top of the other thousand he's likely to get?

Dejah laughs, low and rich, shaking her head. "No, my father will more likely warn you off me. Claims I'm too -- overbearing for most men. He still thinks it's unseemly for a woman to be Jeddak, so... My grandmother would have his ears on a cord to hear him say such things, if she was still with us."

"Unseemly? Seriously?"

What the fuck. When was this guy born?

...probably something like eight or nine hundred years ago, actually, considering Dejah's age, but that's no excuse.

Dejah's laugh melts to a chuckle. "He worries, that's all. And yes, he's a traditionalist. Believe me, we've gone round and round on the issue. I cherish his counsel, but yes, what's the saying? I take it with a grain of salt."

After that whole surrender and get married thing? Yeah, Tardos Mors can sit down and keep his mouth shut. Dejah loves her father, but she is very much her own woman.

His smile warms. "Can't say I'm surprised," he says, with all due fondness. "So how many fights a week do I gotta be prepared for?"

"Oh between him and I? Once or twice a month seems to suffice." Her cheeks color a little. "Between you and I? I suppose we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

There's a shimmer of warmth under her words; an open desire. Best part of fighting is the making up, she seems to think.

Oh, really, says the knowing look he slants her way.

Curtis leans to whisper in her ear: "You know we don't always have to fight to get to the part after."

Her eyes flutter closed and she curls one hand under his chin, catching the back of his neck with her palm.

"You don't say..."

"Mm-hm."

He draws in a slow lungful of air as her fingers find the back of his neck, then catches her mouth in an equally slow kiss. When it breaks, he adds, barely a breath across her lips, "Crazy idea, I know."

She doesn't open her eyes, just stays still, close to him, breathing him in. Her fingers return to scribing gentle circles in the short scruff of his hair.

"But what if I like the fighting part, too?"

"Well..."

He draws out the word, lets it fade, and leans his forehead against hers as he closes his eyes.

Serene, "I guess we could arrange for a couple good fights then."

Or more than a couple.

"Just for appearances, of course." She brushes her nose against his, nuzzling just a little. It feels indulgent, but she doesn't care.

She needs this right now. She needs him.

His smile grows. "Oh, yeah. Can't have anybody thinking you're going soft."

Curtis winds his fingers in her hair, pressing a kiss to her jaw.

She tips her head to the side, lifting her chin ever so slightly. His fingertips in her hair elicits the softest moan.

"Can't... have that." Words. Failing.

Quiet as it may be, the sound pushes a shiver down his spine. God, he loves making her do that.

It's just the two of them up here, as far as he knows. She wouldn't have brought him here with so little warning otherwise. Curtis restrains himself anyway, moving back to her mouth, gently running his hand along her hair as he keeps kissing her. It's not a fire; it's more like candlelight, a soft glow kindled to keep back the darkness.

He's being so gentle with her, so perfectly, excruciatingly gentle with her. He kisses her and she can't help but let a little of her hunger slip. She deepens the kiss, unable to contain throaty sighs. She twists in his arms until she can wrap both arms around his neck, her hands curling around his head so she can drink deep and long from his sweet mouth.

They're all alone up here. And she is weak.

His breath's considerably sharper, more swift this time. Curtis tightens his hold on Dejah, unable to keep from responding to her urgency.

And normally he'd welcome it, but abruptly, it's like sandpaper on an open wound -- too much to handle after being so overloaded by what happened with Edgar. He breaks away, tries to catch his breath, wraps his arms around her as he rests his head on her shoulder.

It's harder some days than others, reconnecting with the pieces of himself he tried to discard. The ones that still worry and say too much, too much, because the last time something was too much and Curtis couldn't pull himself back, it ended in blood and death.

She curls around him, her own breath quick and shallow. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head, just a little. "Don't be," he whispers. "It's okay."

He'll be okay in a minute.

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