There was another reason he was eager to be rid of her, one that he would never dare confess to Galmar.
For how could he explain that her cries haunted his waking hours like the echoes of his own taunting past?
His mind flickered back to their wedding night, not so many days ago in counting. He’d not seen her since. He’d been busy with preparations and decisions and yet he could admit that some part of him was simply unable to look into her eyes and see, really see, such a well of hatred and resentment that went far beyond his role as enemy to her empire.
More fool he, to think that their union could ever have been anything other than one fraught with strife and fury and hate that burned and claimed and was blind to all else.
He’d been duped by the demands of his idiot cock, his own lust-maddened body, and the betraying response of her own yielding flesh as she moaned beneath him under the cover of dark and the pull of something that scorched even more deeply than the brands of hate.
Their coupling after their shared vows of union had been as heated as the fucking that had preceded them.
Rebellion had glittered in her eyes and stiffened her shoulders against his hands, at first. But how quickly she’d yielded to his touch, lips parting beneath probing tongue, breaths mingling as bodies prepared to do the same, limbs now warm and welcoming and soon enough her own hands had sought his flesh under the cover of clothes.
And then, neither garment nor inhibition had separated them, and not even the name of enemy could have prevented or hindered the heights of pleasure and pressure and release, this sweet escape from the damning bitter draught of life and loss.
She’d moaned his name upon finding her own bliss, and then not another sound had she uttered until sated, exhausted sleep claimed her. He’d remained at her side, awake, unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed in the wake of such union, never having been one to find easy sleep.
But before long her own seeming slumber had been brutally severed, and she’d been taken by the clutch of nightmares he knew all too well.
She’d cried out with sobs of horror and grief, garbled sounds of anguish.
Then, names, two in particular, in a repeated litany of misery.
He’d reached across the expanse of the bed to touch her arm, shake her awake from the horrors her mind brought before her. But instead of waking, she’d curled into his chest, some part of her unconscious, irrational form reaching out to the warmth at her side, seeking comfort from one not known as foe in the deep of night.
And for a brief moment her cries had silenced, until she’d lifted her head and opened her eyes, not struggling against his hold on her, yet the venom of hate had been clear enough in her voice despite the raspy, near drugged tone.
You killed them.
He’d killed many. It was the nature of war. He’d not understood her meaning, had tried to defend himself, but she’d spoken over him as if she had not heard.
My blood. My brothers. You killed them.
A sob of choked words he could barely understand as she dug her nails into the skin of his chest, her arms trapped between them, and their names fell anguished from her lips yet again, on a damning tide of accusation, and he had no further defense to put in her path.
A chill had snaked down his spine.
Had he?
His arms had tightened around her, he’d moved to speak, but then he’d noticed the fog in her eyes, a moment before her lids fluttered down and she fell silent against his chest, and he realized that she had not been fully moved from the deep of sleep.
But she had disarmed him, completely, and without mercy.
And she hadn’t even the grace to have been awake for it.
And so he’d held her, this wife who was his match in all things, who he desired with an intensity that overwhelmed him and confounded him, whose hatred he knew could not be tamed, despite the fact he had gentled her body.
He’d held her, this wife who would never be his, wrapped his arms around her lush, now yielding curves until her shivers subsided and her breathing grew deep and even and he’d buried his nose in her sweet-smelling hair until the soft, muted tones of dawn-woken creatures pulled him from the warmth of her side.
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timeasmymeasure
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 9b/?
Date: 2013-03-10 09:59 pm (UTC)For how could he explain that her cries haunted his waking hours like the echoes of his own taunting past?
His mind flickered back to their wedding night, not so many days ago in counting. He’d not seen her since. He’d been busy with preparations and decisions and yet he could admit that some part of him was simply unable to look into her eyes and see, really see, such a well of hatred and resentment that went far beyond his role as enemy to her empire.
More fool he, to think that their union could ever have been anything other than one fraught with strife and fury and hate that burned and claimed and was blind to all else.
He’d been duped by the demands of his idiot cock, his own lust-maddened body, and the betraying response of her own yielding flesh as she moaned beneath him under the cover of dark and the pull of something that scorched even more deeply than the brands of hate.
Their coupling after their shared vows of union had been as heated as the fucking that had preceded them.
Rebellion had glittered in her eyes and stiffened her shoulders against his hands, at first. But how quickly she’d yielded to his touch, lips parting beneath probing tongue, breaths mingling as bodies prepared to do the same, limbs now warm and welcoming and soon enough her own hands had sought his flesh under the cover of clothes.
And then, neither garment nor inhibition had separated them, and not even the name of enemy could have prevented or hindered the heights of pleasure and pressure and release, this sweet escape from the damning bitter draught of life and loss.
She’d moaned his name upon finding her own bliss, and then not another sound had she uttered until sated, exhausted sleep claimed her. He’d remained at her side, awake, unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed in the wake of such union, never having been one to find easy sleep.
But before long her own seeming slumber had been brutally severed, and she’d been taken by the clutch of nightmares he knew all too well.
She’d cried out with sobs of horror and grief, garbled sounds of anguish.
Then, names, two in particular, in a repeated litany of misery.
He’d reached across the expanse of the bed to touch her arm, shake her awake from the horrors her mind brought before her. But instead of waking, she’d curled into his chest, some part of her unconscious, irrational form reaching out to the warmth at her side, seeking comfort from one not known as foe in the deep of night.
And for a brief moment her cries had silenced, until she’d lifted her head and opened her eyes, not struggling against his hold on her, yet the venom of hate had been clear enough in her voice despite the raspy, near drugged tone.
You killed them.
He’d killed many. It was the nature of war. He’d not understood her meaning, had tried to defend himself, but she’d spoken over him as if she had not heard.
My blood. My brothers. You killed them.
A sob of choked words he could barely understand as she dug her nails into the skin of his chest, her arms trapped between them, and their names fell anguished from her lips yet again, on a damning tide of accusation, and he had no further defense to put in her path.
A chill had snaked down his spine.
Had he?
His arms had tightened around her, he’d moved to speak, but then he’d noticed the fog in her eyes, a moment before her lids fluttered down and she fell silent against his chest, and he realized that she had not been fully moved from the deep of sleep.
But she had disarmed him, completely, and without mercy.
And she hadn’t even the grace to have been awake for it.
And so he’d held her, this wife who was his match in all things, who he desired with an intensity that overwhelmed him and confounded him, whose hatred he knew could not be tamed, despite the fact he had gentled her body.
He’d held her, this wife who would never be his, wrapped his arms around her lush, now yielding curves until her shivers subsided and her breathing grew deep and even and he’d buried his nose in her sweet-smelling hair until the soft, muted tones of dawn-woken creatures pulled him from the warmth of her side.
And he let her go.