it's still my heart to sell; dovev

[leliana]

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

The air between them was thick with tension, the air buzzing with electricity, and she closed her eyes on a low hum, the sound dark in her throat and deep. This was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she did not have the words to describe it; she could not wrap her mind around the way she at once felt as slow, sensuous as honey, as alive as raging rivers, as uncertain as a candle’s flame. She moved between the sensations, but mostly felt herself made very small—everything centered on his breath, his touch.

When he shook his head at her question, she paused, uncertainty clear in her eyes, lifting from where she had pressed her mouth to his skin. “Oh,” she whispered, suspended in the air between them and unsure about how to proceed. She had not considered the fact that he may not want to touch him as he was to her;  she had not stopped to think that he may not be interested in having her turn that around on him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before she felt silent.

But she could barely comprehend the situation, wrap her mind around it, because he was over her and she was being pressed down. It was a sensation akin to being pushed under the water, and she didn’t fight the pressure of him. Instead she let her weight fall to the cool ground below them, the crimson of her mane fanning around her, she not making any noise except for the sound of her steady, shallow breaths.

Her wings responded to the moment, turning black once more, but losing feathers to become something different entirely. The appendages became more flexible, thinner, the ebony edges of them turning silky and soft as they draped around her mahogany belly, cascading over her curves. She felt their cool edges as they fell over her, and she sighed, focusing on the space that continued to dissolve between them.

He was on fire, his lips traveling the length of her—lingering on areas and then raging over the other angles of her. She wanted to reach out for him, but she lay still, her pulse jumping slightly. Again, the waters churned beneath her, dangerous and tempting and unknown, and she knew—one more step, just one more and she would be utterly engulfed in it. She would be lost to him; she would be lost.

“Dovev,” she said his name like a prayer, urgent and needy. “Dovev, wait.” She pushed herself up again and into him, ignoring the shake of his head to enter his personal space. “Shh,” she soothed, her voice water between them, rushing through her. “Wait.” As if she had to remind herself too. As if she could say the word and cling to it like a lifejacket; remind herself of gravity. She pressed her forehead into him to center herself, to remind himself of the security of him, the realness of this moment, the truth of it.

“I didn’t come here for this,” because it was important that he know that. She did not come here for the fire of his touch, the steady, experienced caresses—the heat of him. “I came here for you,” she put extra weigh to the syllable, punctuating it with a lingering kiss to his temple. “I need you to know that.” She pulled back so she could look him in the eye, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath still unsteady, pulse fluttering. “We have time,” she laughed quietly, convincing herself. “We have time to savor.”

They didn’t have to consume it all right now; they didn’t have to leave behind scorched earth.

She would be there come morning.

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow