Imagine Araminta’s surprise come the first chirp of morning birds, her typical alarm clock when she’d not been under some curse or spell, to find that Theon was still right there dozing away peacefully. She couldn’t help but stay there as long as she could, putting this peaceful state of rest to memory. Afraid that if she moved at all she’d accidentally wake him and ruin this one rare chance of getting him to rest until he couldn’t sleep anymore. How often did he ever give himself a chance to actually sleep as much as he actually needed? Never, she could bet!
No man could live on cat naps alone! Not even one born fae!
So Araminta stayed nestled close, giving him a soft soothing pet here and there until she finally had to force herself to oh-so-carefully try to untangle herself from arms. With the idea of making him a morning tea for once!
If one ever needed confirmation that he, of all people, felt safe? It was liable to be this moment. For the whole reason he didn’t sleep in either a bed or properly was due to having to always be on guard. Always aware. Present. In case something was determined to cause harm, he could be ready to combat it.
Save, now.
There had been security for once. A sense of peace and understanding that allowed him to accept the full welcome of rest. Knowing the only present person was in fact the singular being that had earned his trust. Allowing himself to succumb deeply to the alien slumber that was needed in a very particular way.
Potentially liable to even press the boundaries of sleep further, if the shifting movement was attempting to disengage from the wind of grasp. Mutely stirring awareness to pull at lids, till the sliver of gray was pulled to show recognition.
Subtle adjustments of iris that pulled a growing strength to eventually be at least half lidden.
Breath pulling heavier with a sigh. But a lack of retraction of limbs. Merely encouraging to temporary tense to bid a not so willing allowance to let her escape from the place she’d negotiated him to sleep time and time before.
Soundless bidding a suggestion of stay rather than go. Even if it wasn’t too far.
Araminta was effectively trapped and it might’ve been the sweetest most adorable thing to have ever happened in the world. Her soft quiet giggle under her breath came immediately. The shifting to bury her face at his neck and abandon all thoughts of leaving bed were also thrown out the window. If she could purr, she’d certainly be doing so. Instead there was just the soft, contented hum.
Who needed to get up, anyway? For there was nowhere they needed to be just yet.
She might’ve even accidentally fallen back to sleep, at least for a few brief moments. Her second act of waking up was still to morning birds so she couldn’t have dozed off longer than a minute or two.
“I was going to make us some tea?” she finally dug up the will to break the sweet silence, and didn’t sound so sure about herself either, as the wasn’t even making a pretend show of trying to leave this time. Even roosting into this bed of warmth, for she did intend to take advantage of every moment Theon wanted to stay in bed.
Morning seeped in with a soft, honeyed touch, light slipping through the uneven weave of the shutters to dapple across the hut’s interior. The sea spoke low and constant just beyond the walls, and the breeze carried with it the salt-sweet breath of a shoreline still waking—warm hibiscus, damp earth, sun-warmed wood.
There was no sharp return to consciousness, no jolt—just the gradual easing upward from sleep, like surf peeling back from sand. His breath deepened, then steadied, muscles reluctant to stretch or shift just yet. The linen blanket lay tangled around his waist, too warm to pull up again, too soft to truly escape.
His eyes opened halfway, lashes heavy with the cling of sleep, and all he saw for a moment was her. The shape of her face in the soft light. The subtle rise and fall of her breath. Her nearness—not just warmth, but presence—anchored him in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. He didn’t move at first. Didn’t need to. His gaze traced her face in quiet stillness, absorbing the way the light met her features, the way her breath ghosted faintly against his collarbone. Eventually, his hand lifted. Barely a movement—just enough to bring his fingers to her side, where the blanket had slipped low. His touch was featherlight, an idle brush at best, like the passing of wind through tall grass.
A kiss came next. Thoughtless, easy. He leaned forward, lips finding a place just beneath the hollow of her throat—where breath lingered and skin was warm and familiar. Not possessive. Just… a quiet thing. A small ritual. A note of affection set gently into the moment, unasked for and unspoken.
Her presence filled the air between them in the way fire did a hearth—subtle, constant, unignorable. Having no reason to retreat from her, either. His body eased slightly inward, shifting just enough to soften the spaces where they did not yet touch. Not molding. Just existing near, close enough to listen to the rhythm of her breath and the lull of the ocean.
Sleep lingered at the edge of him, tempting in its patience. It waited in the wings like something that knew it couldn’t be trusted quite yet. He didn’t welcome it back.
A sound—her voice, perhaps—broke the quiet. Something about tea. He didn’t catch it all, not clearly. Still shaking off the weight of slumber. Theon hummed in response. A sound that barely made it past his throat. Low and noncommittal. Not an answer, but an acknowledgment. A simple I hear you. And then he stayed still. There was no reason to rush the day.
It should’ve been too warm to be wrapped up like this. Out here in the humid tropic air compared to the crisp coolness of the mountains that remained even in the summer months. The salty sea breeze gave a refreshing relief to the warmth, making the air something pleasant to breath in instead of a thick struggle. Allowing her to soak in this closeness of body and skin without it threatening to make this special moment uncomfortable.
There surely was no complaint from her about the silent physical touch by means of soft brush of lips and touch of hand. Another faint giggle maybe, even when he didn’t at all answer her statement with words, but rather a vibrating hum she could feel deep in his chest.
“So no tea, then,” she whispered with amusement. Taking this as a cue that bedtime was not yet over – perfectly fine with Araminta! They could spend the entire day there if he wished, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist. Until she finished swallowing down all of those vials, their time was theirs and no one else’s.
And since they were not intending to move, it was the perfect chance for Araminta to start his day off well. Shifting only just enough to sneak a hand up to caress that of bearded jawline. A soft scritch or two before she brushed her thumb over his cheek, then softly over his eyes to help sweep those last signs of sleep away. Knowing he’d not want to laze about here forever, and taking her opportunity to give these gentle affections while she could.
A reciprocal kiss too was in order, as how could she really resist? Scooting just enough to press softly at the corner of his mouth with a brightly cheerful hum of her own.
A breath of a near suggestion of a smile ghosted across Theon’s lips, small and not fully formed, but there all the same. That soft kiss to the corner of his mouth had left something quieter than words stirring in his chest—something he didn’t quite know how to name, only that he hoped it wouldn’t leave just yet. He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he let his gaze settle on her face, half-lidded and still heavy with sleep, but focused now. The way she looked in the morning light—close and content—had a way of making everything around her blur into insignificance. It wasn’t just her warmth against him, or the hum that had nestled into his ribs from her laughter. It was all of her.
Hand moving with the same thoughtless care as before, brushing along the edge of her arm in a slow, absent rhythm. Nothing insistent. Nothing bold. Just contact. Just there. When he did speak, it came quiet and careful—like the words were not used to being spoken aloud and had to be coaxed from the back of his throat. “…Wouldn’t mind forgetting about the tea a while longer,” he murmured, voice hushed, almost unsure of itself, but sincere.
A small pause. The weight of her touch still lingered on his cheek, and his eyes softened, a flicker of something else settling in them—shy, yes, but open. It was not bold in the way others might be bold. But for Theon, it was a quiet act of courage. He leaned in, hesitating for only a breath, then pressed a kiss to the dip of her collarbone—slow, warm, almost reverential. Another followed, just beneath where fabric met skin, and a third near the edge of her neck, where the light pooled softly in the hollow there.
Not rushed. Not possessive. Just careful, as though each kiss was a way to say something he didn’t know how to put into words. When he pulled back, his breath caught slightly—not from shame, nor regret, but from the weight of having touched something that mattered. There was a hum beneath his ribs, unfamiliar and full.
His gaze lifted, cautious, searching—not for permission, but to know if the moment still held. But something shifted behind his eyes, subtle and quiet, like a warmth stirring behind stone. A glint of something unspoken, almost tender. It flickered there in the stillness, brief and inward, as if smiling was something that didn’t quite know how to rise to the surface—only that he felt it, somewhere deep and private, and it was meant for her.
But of course he was prone to start moving eventually. Withdrawing to consider their surroundings and a listening hear to the world outside.
A glorious lazy morning, Araminta did not mind at all if he wanted to forget about tea altogether. Maybe it was the golden glow of the morning light, but he had a certain softness to him this morning. All sweetened looks of cool silver, calm and unhurried. No fear or tension, none of that usual wariness and alertness that came from him always being so on edge and ready for danger to spring up at any moment.
And oooh, cozy kisses in places that were a little too intimate to be considered friendly. Eliciting the quiet sound of more giggling and a breathless whisper of his name. Not at all a means to stop him, only full of tender fondness and delight that he felt safe and bold enough to bestow on her such a gift at all!
Only he could not get away with these feather light touches and deeply warm looks, then think he was going to finally escape to start the day! For Araminta was a greedy, monstrous thing, and now that he’d started something, she was not going to leave it with just that.
Snaking her arms around his neck quickly before he even dared to think about shifting away from her. Bunting forehead against his temple and nuzzling into his cheek with that protesting hum. Soon to steal a kiss with the fervent fearlessness of some mountain devil, still giggling in the back of her throat for the intent most definitely was to kiss him fierce enough to leave the thought lingering in his mind for the rest of the day!
The sound of her giggles spilling warm against his cheek, arms looped around him like a tether he hadn’t known he needed—and he didn’t pull away. Not even the thought of it crossed his mind. Suddenly once more distracted from the intention of properly getting up and out of the bed. Less it and Ara started to believe he had been thwarted in his vigilance not to rest in its comfort like anyone else.
Her kiss, bold and fearless, crashed against him like the sea against stone—meant to leave a mark. And it did. Perhaps it stirred something too wild to name. He didn’t chase her lips with his own, but a flicker of something darker and tender burned low behind his still expression. He matched her fire with heat of another kind—simmering and patient, but no less consuming.
Hands slid across her back, slow and assured, one splaying against the dip of her spine as though she were something sacred to be held with care. He drew her closer—not forcefully, not with claim, but like he needed her warmth to settle the growing hum beneath his skin.
Without speaking, dipping his crown, brushing his lips to the slope of her neck—light, almost testing. Another kiss followed at the curve of her jaw, deliberate and slow. And then one pressed just beneath her ear, where the skin was softest and her breath could catch if she let it. Each one lingered longer than the last, like he was letting himself indulge only in fragments, afraid to take too much all at once. But even with all his restraint, there was intent in the way he moved—low and bristling and awake.
When he drew back, it was only just. His forehead pressed to hers, breath mingling in the small hush between them. His gaze didn’t roam, didn’t flick away, but held hers with that silver-quiet steadiness that always said more than he could voice aloud.
There was no smirk, no smile. Only the slow, storm-still way he looked at her—eyes darkened with something deeper, quieter, a pull he made no effort to hide. He stayed there, barely a whisper apart, his hands still resting on her as though the day could wait just a little longer. And then, after all the quiet restraint—Theon moved.
With a shift as natural as breathing, he tilted his head and closed the distance between them. No hesitation this time. Stealing lips to kiss her fully, unguarded, and deeply—heat curling from the center of his chest and pouring into her like it had nowhere else to go.
It wasn’t desperate, but it was bold in a way only Theon could be—careful hands anchoring her close, lips pressed firm with a veneration that smoldered. And in that kiss, he gave her everything he wouldn’t say aloud: the want, the awe, the slow-burning ache that had been there long before the morning light.
All of Araminta’s tittering giggles were soon to die off in the wake of something so much more precious, and genuinely surprising. Though not the first time they’d found themselves like this, Araminta couldn’t help but feel there’d been a subtle shift somewhere. Soon to realize that it might just be the lack of second guessing, an absence of feeling as if he needed to seek her permission for every single small touch. That all of this was not just allowed, it was welcomed whole heartedly as if he were the very air she needed to breathe.
There was no helping the way she shivered with his breath falling warm against her neck, or that hitch of her own that came with such a soft pleased squeak along with it. Running her fingers through the red strands of his hair that gave that gorgeous coppery golden gleam with the few rays of morning sun. Filled with loving encouragement and adoration with every gentle touch.
Araminta could not be sure what that look was in his eyes when he paused, other than knowing it was something special meant just for her. Somehow all fiery fae and as quiet as quietly serene as a snowy day. For him, though, her own green eyed gaze was all sweet, loyal devotion. None of it really needing to be said with her voice, in that same way she never needed him to say so.
For he surely didn’t need to tell her with words when he was dipping to kiss her in a way that left her hushed and flushing. Never one to simply accept without meeting him measure for measure, a conversation of profound sentiment done with naught but a fevered kiss and an open sigh.
There was a moment where time seemed to slow entirely. Theon hovered in that in-between space—half curled around her warmth, the golden hush of morning light painting her skin in a way that made her seem untouchable and entirely his at once. His fingers, resting at the dip of her side, flexed slowly, like he was grounding himself in the shape of her. The edges of his body found hers without hesitation now—no longer an accidental brush, but deliberate, seeking contact as if his skin knew the map of her already.
Her responding in the quiet way, not with words but with warmth, with a tilt of her chin, with the whisper of breath that passed her lips when he kissed just beneath her jaw. Her touch in his hair was light but meaningful, and it pulled something from him—a soft sound in the back of his throat, half sigh, half need. Something unspoken, but felt.
Still, even in that hush, Theon hesitated. Not because he didn’t want. No, his body was already betraying him in that way—pulling her close, fingers dragging slowly, almost absently, along the small of her back. His legs shifted just enough to invite her in, guiding her knee between his as if it belonged there. And it did.
It all felt instinctual, magnetic, like the world had narrowed to the space between them and everything in it was slowly being undone.
His forehead found hers, a quiet touch, a pause. He breathed her in. Her scent, the heat rolling off her skin, the softness of her breath mingled with his—it pulled him under. He nuzzled there gently, and then his voice came at last, low and threaded with something tender and near breaking.
“Is this alright…?” he whispered. It was hardly more than a breath against her mouth, a hush of vulnerability woven into the tension that hung around them like heat. He didn’t pull back—no. Everything in him leaned in, wanting. Waiting. But he needed to know. Needed to feel her want it too.
“We can stop. If you want.” Even as he said it, he was guiding her—gently, slowly—closer. A hand at her hip now, firm but not forceful, drawing her flush against him with a breath that shivered at the closeness. There was nothing rushed in it. Just want, deep and burning, quiet and sure. “I want you,” he murmured finally, the words rough, but bashful—no less true.
Then came the motion, unspoken and certain. His lips returned to her skin with more confidence, trailing slowly from her cheek to the hollow of her neck again, and lower still. Kisses that burned in their patience, in the way he savored the feel of her under his mouth, as if writing some silent poem into her skin. He let his hand smooth over the curve of her back, a slow drag that said more than any confession could.
There was reverence in every inch of him, yes—but the heat was no longer buried. It lived in his breath, in the way his body coaxed hers closer with every measured, magnetic movement. A question asked in the arch of his spine, in the parting of his lips when he found her mouth again.
And when he kissed her, it wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t bold either—but it was deep. Intentional. Like he had thought about this more times than he’d ever admit, and now that he had it—he wouldn’t take it for granted. Stilling and rolling lip through teeth, being mindful but certainly proving that she did effortlessly have an effect on him. If she needed any affirmation of that.
Here they were in this warm tropical place and Araminta had goosebumps just about everywhere that skin met skin. Hearing his first whisper of asking if this was alright, only to reply with an emphatic nodding. More than alright, what a thrilling, intoxicating way to start off the morning. Gentle waking flowing smoothly into gratuitous touch that even made her skin hum and sing everywhere he pulled her close.
And with his next statement, to even ask if she wanted to stop… Araminta might’ve laughed again if she were not in such a deep state of being smittenly awestruck. This time shaking her head, a no! She did not ever want to stop! Melting so easily into him she may as well been molded out of clay just for Theon. Find that husky voicing of want like some sort of heady elixir of pure, scorching sunlight. Certainly more effective than the potions Phita had brewed together!
Want didn’t feel like a strong enough word. Desire was far better, where Araminta desired nothing more than to stretch out this moment into forever. Letting her own hands to explore freely with feather light touch to whatever means of bare skin she could graze. And when he kissed her, so slow, so intentional, it was met with a plaintiff greedy sort of hum. Daring to chase him when he pulled away even a fraction of a hair’s breadth.
If there was any lingering doubts that she herself might not want him, those thoughts were proven foolish in that returned kiss. Saying with long burning kiss what words never felt weighted enough to convey. Needed, starved… still just words that weren’t enough, just as getting her hands all over him still did not feel like enough! Pooling all of that into such a heated kiss that it was a wonder that her flushed skin hadn’t sparked.
His breath came shallow as her body pressed to his, as if even that soft contact was enough to scatter his focus. He didn’t speak but it was in the way his hands moved, slow and purposeful, as though memorizing each inch of her skin that met his. The world narrowed to the heat shared between them, to the bare spaces where her clothing had shifted and he could feel her warmth without barrier.
Guiding her gently, but there was reason in it now—less hesitant than before. His fingers curled around the bend of her thigh and drew it around him, pulling her flush against his hips. The motion was careful, but filled with intent, his breathing growing more uneven the longer she remained there, wrapped around him. His jaw clenched faintly, the flicker of restraint evident in the tension of his frame, as if every part of him were bracing against the rising tide of want. Making an open gesture that he was open for her. To feel, to touch, to explore and he was giving into the means of replying in turn.
Finding her mouth once more. Not rushed. Not clumsy. But aching—each kiss deeper, more drawn out, lips parting to taste her slowly, like a man savoring something he’d hungered for far too long. And when she answered him with the same need, his control faltered. A quiet, guttural sound vibrated low in his chest—half moan, half gasp—as his hand gripped her hip a little tighter, his body pressing just slightly more into hers with unconscious need.
Showcasing he had a fine intrigue to trailing down her jaw and the hollow of her throat, slow and burning. He lingered there, lips brushing the delicate line of her collarbone, and exhaled shakily as her skin warmed beneath his mouth. Touch becoming bolder—not rough, never—but firmer, more certain. One hand swept the side of her ribcage, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of cloth, just enough to feel the curve of her waist bare to his palm.
She’d easily feel him trembling slightly—not with fear, but with restrained urgency, a man unraveling slowly under the weight of wanting. Every sigh he gave against her skin was laced with warmth, the kind of heat that spoke without words. And though he didn’t speak, his body did: in the way he touched her like prayer, in the way his hips shifted to meet hers with aching closeness, in the way his kisses never strayed far from her lips.
He was holding back, yes—but only barely. Letting instinct lead where words failed him. Letting his mouth whisper need into her skin, letting every touch confess what he still didn’t dare say out loud. He wanted her. And now, for the first time, he was letting himself show it.
Could someone get drunk on just touch alone? It was such an amazing dizzying thing, feeling the weight of his hands touching her ways no one but him ever had before. Almost stinging in how it felt electric, terrible, torturous and wonderful. Immediately inspiring for Araminta to want to share that same feeling. Digging fingers into his hair, not tight enough to pull, but certainly a needy intent that ensured she had him captive for every kiss until she was left gasping for breath.
Placing heated palm at the side of his before it was that exploration down to shoulder, finding that even in moments where she was confident and bold, there was this undercurrent of shyness – not hesitation, as she sure didn’t hesitation to take advantage of every moment he openly invited or encouraged. No hesitation in matching those wriggling movements where she just needed to be molded into him in ways she hadn’t quite grasped yet.
For all of her knowledge, what she’d read, been taught, on rare occasion got an unwanted eyeful – none of that knowledge made up for her pure lack of experience. Lending to that quiet shyness where she took her cues from him, shivering when all it took was a few simple touches to elicit sounds from him that were oh so delightful.
Finding her confidence in those sounds to try her hand at drawing out more, mimicking his own actions the very moment he dared to pull far enough away from her to bury her face at the nape of his neck. Nuzzling soft before planting a few firm kisses, grinning against his skin before there was a cheeky testing flick of tongue. If he was to put his mouth all over her, Araminta found it only fair that she could do the same!
Theon’s breath hitched—visibly, audibly—the moment Araminta’s fingers tangled with intent through his hair. There was no pretending calm now, no slow, measured breath to veil the rush that surged through him. She had him. In every sense. And as much as he’d tried to be steady, something about the way she clung, kissed, pressed into him—he was unraveling, and fast.
His hands found her hips with more urgency this time, not rough, but hungry. Pulling her into him, needing to feel every inch of where she molded against him, like he was starved for the contact. That careful patience he always seemed to carry was fraying at the edges, and the look in his eyes—stormy, darkened with a want that surprised even him—left no question that he was losing himself to her.
When her lips kissed at his neck, when her mouth teased and lingered and that daring flick of her tongue met his skin—Theon exhaled a sharp, low moan that he didn’t catch in time. His head tilted back as his grip on her tightened, a tremble rolling through his frame. Not from fear. Not from inexperience. But from how much he felt everything she gave him.
He didn’t know how to pretend to be careful anymore.
Clothes became an obstacle. His hands slid beneath her shirt without hesitation now, palms hot, tracing the shape of her waist and up—slow only because he wanted to feel it, not to hold back. He tugged the fabric slightly upward, rougher than he meant to, lips crashing against hers between breaths. Kissing her like he couldn’t stand not to. Like it was the only thing tethering him.
She’d undone him.
And as she shifted, responsive and daring him, he followed without question—positioning her beneath him, pressing her down into the warmth of the mattress, one leg easing between hers not to pin, but to anchor. His hands at her hips again, thumbs stroking bare skin.
But oh, he didn’t want to stop.
His mouth was back on her—kisses that deepened with each taste, lips that found hers over and over like it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. His breath trembled with every exhale, laced with wordless groans and low, broken hums, the only sounds he could manage when her touch turned searching. She had lit something in him. Something untested and burning.
And now he wasn’t patient.
He was aching.
And every move—every kiss, every grip of his hand at her waist or the sweep of his tongue along her lower lip—spoke the truth of it.
Hands brushed down her thigh, lingering where his fingers could feel the warmth of her. “If you say stop, I’ll stop. No matter what.” Needing to be vocal about it as well, this wasn’t something she had experience with and his own had been poor. But he didn’t move away. He stayed—kissed her again, slower still, with a hunger that had found its voice not in words, but in every deliberate motion of his hands, every press of his scarred body to hers. His control remained, but it trembled now, on the edge of something deeper, bolder, waiting for her to either pull him closer… or draw the line.
His voice came low, almost too quiet to hear beneath the thrum of his breath and the closeness between them, eyes half-lidded and lips just brushing the edge of hers. “If your hands keep wandering like that…” he murmured, a hint of a sheepish, breathless sigh caught in his throat. A pause, his gaze flickering to hers—certain, burning. “I wouldn’t stop you… not even a little.” Giving her open invitation to feel him in whatever way she wanted. To explore and discover!
With a few small actions Araminta had ignited something in him that was so purely irresistible, that the rest of the world may as well no longer exist. She’d seen men before with those hungry, possessive looks of wanting – this was so different. Desire and passion was certainly there in every wonderful near snarly sound he made, but the stormy look in his eyes were laced with such reverence and love that it made her arch twist and ache. It mingled in so seamlessly with the churning in her stomach that made her wriggle and her toes curl simply because a calloused hand had stolen away under her shirt and left her wondering if her own blood was boiling.
Still even that didn’t compared to being gently rolled beneath him, pressed down snug and secure both by body and mouth. With an urgency she could feel radiating off him, helping to put context to her own yearning for so much more than just impassioned kisses and the touch of his hands. The soft sound she made had to be downright pitiful really, sorrow that he’d pulled away to speak at all, raking her teeth over her own bottom lip missing the touch and pressure.
“Oh, I don’t want to stop,” she murmured in an instant. Drawing arms around him to practically hold him captive on top of her, where she could eagerly savor every moment of deepened kiss. Soon to find herself softly giggling in a few breathless gasps, as he’d once again said something so unintentionally funny that there was no way she could resist doing exactly as he invited. First in caressing bearded jaw with such gentle affections.
“I am only a little scared,” she whispered, even showing just how little with a gesture of her fingers with not even air between them. Nor was the fear in her expression because she was already shifting hands to go exploring the lines of firm torso, biting into her lip again where she found every taunt muscle to be just as scorching hot as his hands.
The way his breath caught in his chest due to how she looked up at him, clinging, inviting, glowing with that shy, fierce sort of trust that undid every careful tether he’d tried to hold himself back with. His lips ghosted over her skin, patient and trembling with restraint, but each kiss deepened—more sure, more hungry—as he nuzzled into the soft space below her ear, letting his teeth barely graze, a tiny, shivering nip.
A low sound escaped him, helpless and broken against her. Hands, rough and careful, slid higher beneath her shirt, exploring with feather-light brushes of fingertips. Every new inch of her he touched felt like a prayer answered, something precious he was terrified to break. Splaying his hand wide against her ribs, feeling the racing of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest that matched his own unsteady breathing.
When she whispered about being only “a little scared,” Theon lifted his head just enough to catch her eyes, his own turbulent and wild with feeling. He gave a tiny, nervous smile, so soft it barely tilted the corners of his mouth, as if promising without words that he would take care, that he would listen. “I’ll go slow,” he murmured—hoarse, honest. Then he kissed her again, deeper, lingering, like he needed her breath to survive. Savoring her, tasting the soft sounds she made like they were the sweetest things he’d ever known.
Theon shifted just enough to press her more firmly beneath him again, his forehead pressing to hers between kisses, their noses brushing in something unbearably intimate. His calloused thumb stroked small, steady circles against her skin, soothing where his touch had been more daring. He kissed her again, open and aching, teeth tugging so very gently at her bottom lip before he released her with a tiny, helpless groan, drowning in her. Grasp shaking where they touched her, trembling with the raw force of everything he felt but didn’t have the words for. His breath warming at her skin in soft, desperate bursts as he kissed a path from her mouth down the side of her throat, lasting, savoring. Each tiny nip of his teeth, each slow drag of his lips, made his nerves fray further, made his control slip in the sweetest, most inevitable way.
He let his hand drift higher now, a reverent slide up her side until his thumb brushed just beneath the curve of her breast beneath the fabric of her shirt. The touch was ginger, almost hesitant, but the groan he muffled against her collarbone spoke volumes about how it unraveled him. He pulled back a fraction, blinking down at her with wide, dark eyes, as if asking silent permission, needing it.
When she didn’t pull away—when instead she arched just a little closer into his touch—Theon exhaled a shuddery breath and finally allowed himself more. His palm cupped her carefully, the way a man might hold something sacred, his thumb sweeping in a lazy, aching circle over the sensitive peak hidden beneath fabric. The sound that tore itself from his throat was soft, broken, needy—like he’d never wanted anything more in his life. It was likely true, as well, she’d been a source for many firsts and real truths for himself.
And gods, he could feel himself reacting to her, every part of him growing hotter, harder, aching with how badly he was yearning for her, but still, he moved with slow, aching tenderness. He shifted slightly against her, trying to hide it at first out of shyness, but there was no real disguising the way his hips instinctively pressed more snugly into hers, how every slow kiss deepened with a barely leashed hunger that made his body tremble.
Theon buried his face against her neck again, breathing her in, his teeth grazing once more along the sweet spot just below her ear. His free hand, restless now, skimmed down her body in a slow, exploring trail, fingertips memorizing the curves of her waist, the dip of her hip, tracing patterns that left heat in their wake.
“You make me…” he whispered brokenly against her skin, unable to finish the thought, unable to even find words big enough for what she was doing to him. Instead, he kissed her again, desperate and adoring, his whole body thrumming with the aching, trembling promise of more, if she’d only let him.
Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that Araminta was a little worried it’d escape right out and fearing he might mistake that thundering beat as her being afraid, instead of the truth that she was so excitedly thrilled that she could barely contain it. Almost scared that voicing what little fear she did have would stop him outright, instead of simply the shyness and uncertainty that came with something so wildly new that she’d never had the chance to experience before.
That admittance, though, earned her the most gentle of subtle smiles. A look that could send any heart into skipping three beats, paired with a barely restrained I’ll go slow in such a tone that could have her ears burning with the promise. Kissing her in such a way that Araminta didn’t think she wanted to go slow at all! Finding it ever harder not to squirm with some unspoken wish, when he dragged his mouth over every inch of skin he could reach. Pulling from her quiet mewling, encouraging, practically begging for more even when he shifted to seek visually permission from her again.
It was a very quiet oh that slipped out in those moments of intimate touch, an immediate natural reaction to arc her back and push her body closer to his to bridge any gaps that dared to form. Something most certainly clenched in a delightful throbbing way that had her shifting a leg to brush against him and this terrible urge to wrap her legs tight around him so he couldn’t get away.
Whatever he’d whispered next was lost in that feeling, in that next kiss. Drinking him in like a fine wine that worked swiftly to make her feverish and just the right amount of fearless. Capturing his head between her hands, at first meaning to break away but not being able to stave herself from savoring every moment of deep kiss with that curious exploratory flicker of her tongue. Until she’d fallen back into a gasp from breath again, brushing thumbs over his cheeks to stare loving gaze into his eyes.
“I- I need you,” she whispered, almost pained with it. “I need you more than I have ever needed anything in my entire life…” He needed to hear it. Theon needed to know that she wanted him here and now, that he was everything and more. Reducing her down to someone starved for him, unfilled and aching for everything he had to give.
Theon’s breath caught as he stared at her, drinking her in like she was the last thing good in the world. That storm behind his eyes cracked wide open, no longer able or willing to hold back the tide she had summoned with her words—her need for him, her trust. It was too much, too beautiful. He shuddered with it.
He hadn’t worn a shirt to begin with, only the rumpled heat of skin against skin, the leftover warmth of sleep clinging to him. His body was already drawn tight with wanting, muscles straining as he fought to keep some fragile hold on himself. But now—now—there was no hiding the way he moved, slow but with the inevitability of the tide pulling back to reveal something deeper, wilder underneath.
Still kissing her with a trembling sort of hunger, Theon began to guide her, hands spanning her hips, coaxing her to move with him. Mouth dropped open against hers, dragging in a breath like he was drowning just from the feel of her.
His hips pressed flush to hers, not grinding, not rushed—but deliberate, claiming the space he longed to fill, finding the natural, perfect way their bodies fit. His hands slipped down, hooked behind one of her knees, lifting it just enough to wrap her leg around him. It was primal in a way, but never rough—every movement was steeped in that overwhelming reverence, as if he was half-afraid she’d vanish if he wasn’t careful enough.
He was losing himself in her, giving over every piece of himself with each slow shift of his body, letting the fire they had built finally burn through him. And gods, the way she moved with him, how perfectly they aligned—it broke something inside him in the most beautiful way.
Theon pulled back just enough to look at her, gaze so raw and open it was almost too much to bear. “Tell me if I need to stop,” he whispered raggedly still unsurprised that he would be this aware and proving that he was not about to do anything she was uncomfortable with. Voice shaking with how badly he didn’t want to, but would. His hands tightened on her hips, grounding himself even as he surrendered completely to her, moving now with a purpose that was equal parts thunder and devotion, fire and worship. His hands were shaking, but it wasn’t fear that made him tremble — it was the wild, unbearable swell of need crashing through him, eroding the last fragile pieces of restraint he’d clung to. Araminta’s whispered confession, the raw, aching way she told him she needed him, shattered the last of his careful patience like glass.
Each breath broke in a ragged gasp against her skin as he moved, hands finding the hem of what clothing she still wore. His touch was groveling but no longer hesitant — fingers slipping beneath fabric, coaxing it away, exposing each inch of her slowly, like he couldn’t bear to rush and miss even a moment of this. To peel it from her with gentle purpose, swallowing every shaky breath given between them, kissing the new skin he revealed as if to soothe the cool air that touched her.
His own clothes, what little he had on, were next — shedding them hurriedly, clumsily even, as if every second he wasn’t touching her bare skin was a second too long. When he pressed back against her, flesh to flesh, it tore a broken sound from deep in his chest, a low, desperate rumble that spoke more than any words ever could.
To desperately pulled her tight against him, arms curling around her as if he could anchor himself in her body. To lavish every kiss upon her again and again, deeper now, almost frantic, and the slow, aching patience he’d carried until now began to crack and crumble beneath the raw storm of feeling she’d set loose inside him. A challenge most did not complete well and yet, she might have been the ultimate winner of such a contest
To grip at her tighter, rougher, fingers pressing into her hips, grounding himself as he tilted his head to nip at her shoulder, her throat — small, claiming bites that left warmth blossoming in reply. Letting mouth traveled lower, suckling at the delicate place where chest rose into gentle volumes, leaving faint marks he licked better with a low, needy sound.
Everything — it undid him. Every touch, every sound they begun to orchestrate made his skin, feel as though fire burning out of his control.
Theon’s hips pressed against hers, and there was no hiding the hard, aching truth of his arousal now. Groaning helplessly into her, rocking against her in slow, shuddering rolls of his body that only grew harder to temper the longer he tasted her, the longer he felt her skin, hot and bare against him. “Gods, Ara…” he whispered hoarsely against her ear, voice cracking with it, with how much he needed her, with how much he loved her in this trembling, overwhelming way. “I… I can’t— I need—”
He kissed her again, desperate, pleading, dragging his hands down to grip under her thighs, pulling her closer, angling her to him with a raw, undeniable urgency. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged and hot as he moved, until he was poised there, trembling with restraint but guided by something older, deeper than thought. Taking the pause to be sure, that their line was acceptable to cross together. As he didn’t know what to expect. The hold on her was tense and resisting the mere urge of pushing forward to where she might not be ready. Waiting for her to react and bring him to her, rather than taking himself over that line. Merely giving a light brushing of himself to her as if to give her awareness to what was there and what was waiting. “C-can… I?” It wouldn’t matter how close he was to frazzling his very personality, there was always the ask first.
Araminta had not been prepared – no amount of knowledge or even imagination had even come close to the reality she was experiencing with Theon. How the man could be on the brink of something wild and feral, yet still be so careful with her. Where she could feel the restraint in his every muscle underneath her exploring fingertips, how he moved her with his own hands, never forceful, never demanding. Only a charm, beckoning and alluring. Pulling her in by means of hungry kisses and the rolling move of his hips pressing her down into the mattress.
Reminding her that any moment she could tell him to stop – not ask, tell – and what a sweetly wonderful and loving thing to say when this meeting of their bodies felt like a runaway horse that would never be reigned back in. Wanting to laugh, not because the statement was foolish, but because he was amazing in every possible way a man could be. A hidden gem of perfection the world had been cruel to pass over, for Theon was nothing short of perfection. Generous and thoughtful, and even here now where his breath was ragged and it almost seemed like it pained him to take this snail’s pace, he treated her like she was the most delicate and precious thing in the world.
And what a glorious sight he made when we was devoid of all clothing. He’d disappeared her own so quickly there’d not been time for her to be shy or embarrassed about herself, but oh to see him with nothing, every inch of skin, every scar. All intimate parts bared to the world in ways that was actually intimidating, that she did flush a crimson red and found that shyness again.
Never fear, though. Araminta trusted him with every fiber of her being. Finding when he was flush against her again effectively pinning her down with body alone, skin to scorching skin, the plaintiff groaning sound she made was positively carnal. Matching kiss for kiss with her fingers digging tight into his hair. Making the softest sound of agony to feel the brunt of his desire probing, and eliciting such a thrum through her body that the shiver that followed couldn’t be helped. The way she shifted her legs, an instinctual invitation built on ever growing desire.
He’d asked permission and she nodding with an expression that was both tenderly shy and filled with eager excitement. An emphatic yes! punctuated with drawing him down to kiss with impatient wanting and that soft invasion of her tongue.
So easily did he shuddered at her kiss, at the way she pulled him down so insistently, so sweetly — like she already knew he belonged nowhere else but here, tangled up with her. And his answer came back to her kiss with a deep, aching sound caught low in his throat, surrendering to her without shame, without hesitation. His fingers threaded tighter around her, his whole body trembling with how much he felt her — every breath, every desperate, loving touch.
“Araminta,” he whispered against her mouth, so tender it almost hurt. Voice wrecked, low and warm, the syllables of her name cradling all his awe and devotion. This was nothing like the former time he had been involved in such affairs. This was entirely raw, emotional and highlighted in the fact that he knew it was with someone that wanted him, not to use him.
Pressing forward, slow and careful despite the fire rushing through his veins, every nerve ending lit with the need for her. Where hips nudged forward, guiding himself to her with shaky patience, even as his entire body screamed to just take, to lose himself. But he wouldn’t — he couldn’t. Not when she gave herself to him with such fierce trust, not when she looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes that undid him more thoroughly than any kiss or touch could.
The first sensation of her — tight, so soft and new — had Theon gasping against her lips, his forehead collapsing to rest against hers. He groaned, low and raw, the sound more worshipful than anything, like a prayer he couldn’t contain.
Every inch he moved inside her was purposefully slow, drawn out with trembling care, his hands roaming up her sides to cradle her closer as if he could protect her from the very intensity of the act itself.
He nuzzled his nose against hers, unable to stop the little tremble of his body at the way she shifted her legs around him, drawing him in, welcoming him deeper. His control thinned, threadbare against the sheer wonder of her. Theon kissed down her cheek to her jaw, her throat, suckling gently— leaving new marks that were both worship and possession.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured between kisses, voice shaking, but still steady where it mattered. “I’ll go slow… I swear it, love.” Reforming his former statement with due care. Wishing truly not to cause her harm or hurt! But by the gods, the heat of her, the way she clung to him, the way her body accepted him — it was dragging him under, stripping away the last layers of his stoic, careful self until only the man who loved her remained. Until only him, bare and burning for her, remained.
He rocked into her with slow, awed strokes, holding her gaze when he could, kissing away every tiny gasp and shiver, his own breathing growing more ragged with every passing heartbeat. He moved with a tenderness born of deep, desperate affection — and with every trembling, needy motion, he gave himself wholly to her, mind, body, and soul. Testing the limitations of what he had cultivated over years to make a symbol of practiced stoicism and indifference. Unravelling it all so effortlessly that really, it was likely she was the only one who could have succeeded in this removal!
The thick tension in his arms betraying the raging storm of need barely kept at bay beneath the surface. Every inch he slid into her made him groan low against her skin, a sound full of awe and aching reverence, like he couldn’t believe she was real. Couldn’t believe this moment was reached! Even in the thick heat of it, even as he was undone piece by piece by her, Theon’s care never wavered — every stroke, every kiss told her wordlessly that she was safe, that he adored her, that no matter how fiercely he wanted her, his first and greatest instinct would always be to cherish her.
Araminta could’ve died happy right then and there just to hear him say her name in such a beautiful way. All hushed reverence mixed with gravely need. Lost in this moment with her, just as much as she was with him. Where there were no longer sounds of morning birds or the rush of ocean waves, there was just the way he hummed when her hands grazed his shoulders, or how he’d tense and grunt when her fingertips drew trails along his sides. Bless the morning for casting his bare skin in a warm sunkissed glow, and how it gleamed those golden strands through copper red hair. For he was every bit of beautiful himself cast in fire and storm.
He pushed into her at a snail’s pace, hating and loving it all at the same time, for her breath had hitched and she tensed in that moment. At first having a small discomfort, having muscles stretched in a new way that’d not been experienced before. Yet with his slow deliberate care, all discomfort evaporated to be replaced with this throbbing, thrumming ache that had parts of her clenching.
Theon might have promised to take it slow, with that tender sweetness, but her body seemed to have different ideas in mind. Discovering that once that initial tenseness faded, she could not help but meet the rock of his hips with a roll of her own. Finding it was not as easy to wrap her legs around him the way she might’ve like, for he was wide and all drawing both of her legs too tightly around him did was make it harder to pull him closer, deeper. More of Theon was what she wanted, to be burying by him, filled with him. Araminta’s need had to come through instead by her arms coiling around his torso, one arm curling upwards to dig fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. The other hand sliding down his bare back where the most faeish, honeyed smile accompanied her reaching that much further to squeeze toned fleshed of his rear end. Pulling him to her in a way that was so uncharacteristically demanding!
And while she wanted it to last forever these gentle, frenzied affections, something in her was building quickly. Too quickly! Making her skin feel as if lil bolts of lighting was shooting a layer just beneath. Wriggling and squirming, trying her best to match him with every touch until that wave of feeling was too strong for her to even be able to think. It was all fiery heat and waves, holding him tight enough that her nails had to be digging painfully into his skin. Taking staggered breaths until it all seemed to come to a head all at once to catch her off guard. Yelping his name in such a way that sounding surprised but in a way that was so blissfully praising, rather than a pain curse. Discovering with those rolling shudders something purely amazing in how she tightened and shivered, until it passed and left her feeling like a puddle of noodley useless limbs. All warm and tingling. Euphoric. Shocked!
Theon couldn’t breathe.
Every thought, every flicker of restraint he’d clung to, shattered the moment he heard her cry out his name like that — broken and breathless and his. The sound alone seared itself deep into him, setting his veins aflame with a ferocity he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. Couldn’t find the strength to move — not when she looked at him like that. Not when her flushed cheeks, her mussed hair, her breathless little grin burned themselves into his soul.
Araminta’s green eyes, wild and shimmering, pinned him in place, and he knew he would never, ever forget this. She was glowing from within, alive and beautiful in a way that stole the last of his breath. The small, delighted curve of her lips… the way her hands clutched at him still, even after she had come apart beneath him… it shattered what little control he had left.
He wanted to tell her a thousand things — how she ruined him, how she made him feel like a man forged anew — but all he managed was a low, desperate groan, hitching as her walls fluttered around him, and his own end was yanked violently from him before he could stop it.
Theon thrust once, twice — slow, deep, as if he could fuse them together — before everything inside him snapped. His hands clutched at her hips like a man drowning, pulling her flush against him as he spilled into her, buried as deeply as he could go. A broken, helpless noise tore from his throat, something rough, almost a guttural groan, muffled where his mouth clung to hers.
He shuddered through the release, trembling, unable to do anything but press kisses across her cheeks, her temple, her lips in frantic, clumsy devotion. His body rocked against hers in tiny aftershocks, the pleasure leaving him raw, aching, and completely, entirely hers.
Pressing his forehead against hers, panting against her skin, shaking with the effort it took to hold on just a few moments longer — to savor her, this moment, her wriggling warmth clutching so tightly around him that he could barely think, could barely stand the way her body had drawn him deeper, tighter. He was drowning in the velvet heat of her, in the pure, breathtaking joy that radiated from her every gasp, every shiver.
Heart thundering against his ribs, matching the frantic, lingering pulse in every vein of his body. Body giving one final shudder, hips twitching against hers as the last of his pleasure echoed through him. He groaned low against her skin, a sound full of wonder and surrender. He was wrecked — and he loved it. Loved her.
Nuzzled her hairline, breathing her name in a soundless, nearly gospel way. His mouth found hers again, tender and lingering, a kiss so full of everything he couldn’t say that it almost hurt. To stayed wrapped around her, inside her, tangled and trembling, as if she were the only thing tethering him to the earth. And in a way — she was.
Araminta had never felt anything like it in her entire life! The time he’d tried to heal her demon wound had come close, mirror in the way her limbs felt like warm butter mush. Like she’d been running and kicking and climbing, left gasping for breath. Only instead of a deep ache of muscle and joints, she was tipsy and euphoric, as if she’d drank an entire jug of wine all on her own. Even that did not come close enough to the pure exhausting joy.
Because of Theon. Because of everything he was, gentle, strong and wonderful. If she hadn’t already wanted to marry him and have a dozen of his children, this surely would have tipped her right over the edge.
They were a tangle and limbs, the right and proper thing might’ve been to disengage, but she couldn’t bring herself to move at all. Maybe a little. Enough to drape her arms around him in such a slow, sloth-like way. To dip her fingers into his hair again, stroking soft and fondly. Breaking a kiss only for the need to breathe and to cradle him close as the most precious thing in her life.
When she did speak, it was with such a reverent softness, catching his eye and brushing her thumb so gently at the corner of his mouth..
“That was good? I did okay?” she asked in all earnest. Araminta knew how she felt, like a rainbow wrapped in a warm fuzzy fur. How Theon felt was an entirely different thing! A man could find release with all sorts of things, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was good for him. His first experience, after all, had not been one he fondly remembered.
Theon’s breath caught when she spoke, low and soft like a prayer.
Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth — and he froze, caught between her touch and the startling, aching innocence of her question.
For a moment, he just stared at her, wide-eyed and almost bewildered, as if she had asked if the sun was warm or if the sea was wet.
Did she really not know?
He shook his head faintly, a disbelieving huff of air escaping him — the closest thing to a laugh she might ever coax from him — before something shifted in his face. Slowly, so slowly it was like the blooming of something rare and precious, Theon’s lips curved into a smile. Not the faint, fleeting smirks he sometimes gave.
No — this was something different.
A real, radiant grin that lit up his whole face, made his mercury silver eyes crinkle at the corners, made him devastatingly, heart-achingly handsome. It wasn’t practiced or polished — it was boyish, a little shy, a little wild, and entirely real.
He caught her hand — the one that had been brushing his mouth — and turned his head just enough to kiss her palm with such unguarded tenderness that it felt like another kind of vow. His thumb stroked along the inside of her wrist, slow and reverent, as he gazed at her like she was something holy. Shifting slightly as to make the motions to pull and uncouple themselves only so he might move. Adjusting his body to lay against her own. Arms bending to welcome her to meld that of back into his front. Laying a far softer whisper of a kiss over the bend of shoulder, “It was with you. So it was perfect, love.” His voice coming out so honey warm. Soft and fuzzy if not entirely dripping with open adoration that been encouraged to grow by her hand rather than forced.
Nestling against the crook of her neck. Brushing slow fingers as arms held tightly, “You’re the first one I’ve wanted in such a way. And only want this way, I hope it was okay for you.”
Oh, oh. Okay. Araminta was going to have her body so thoroughly loved and then also be rewarded with the sort of smile that people wrote songs about. Dazzling and bright. So beautifully handsome – even though he was always handsome, this was just so startlingly brand new that it made her stomach churn in a pleasant way all over again. Every single second proving that yes, yes she could find new reasons to fall in love with him! Even still!
He shifted just enough that she was forced to wriggle and adjust, finding now that her euphoric high was fading that she indeed had used all sorts of new muscles that were now protesting her daring to move too soon. Ignoring them completely in the wake of cradling him to her, to rest her chin on his head so he could nestle in where ever he pleased, for Araminta was never going to let him go. Letting her hands smooth over his back in long soft rubbing, to find that all of that tense restraint that’d had him coiled tight before was now completely gone. Theon too was a puddle of a man.
“I am soaring above the clouds,” she breathed out, tone of voice so full of adoring contentment it was practically a purr. “I want to do it again.”
A bold declaration for someone who currently did not trust her own joints to not turn into mushy oatmeal the moment she dared to sit up. Nor did it help that she was getting a very fine view of his rear end from this angle, which was threatening to spark up all sorts of flushing giggles.
A puddle was apt to describe himself. Mentally checking the stark difference that had been his singular former time of intimacy –although it didn’t properly deserve to be called as such,– to now, with Araminta. It was like comparing hell to an oasis. The tine before was all about being used, nothing beyond being a prop that knew it was being used but so desperate for a mere drop of affection that he had bern willing to overlook and accept. To this? Well it had been vastly different with emotions typically on a low controlled simmer, having been released.
Now merely nesting down in a strong sense of both fond appreciation, affection and acceptance. Lacking even a sense of awareness that usually would have been embarrassed about it all. Although there was a blooming of red to hearing Ara express both being pleased and a desire to do so again.
Tingling something both in his head, chest and down his spine. Likely associated with an immense echo of wanting to do so again.
Settling for decorating the underside of her chin with a light pecking. His way of saying he felt the same. Merely keeping the words for now from spilling out and stating he was willing to test their stamina in mere moments.
Their was a rushing euphoria in acknowledging that he’d been brought to his figurative knees. Unaware that she was apparently eyeballing his backside at all! “It may… be easy to get lost in the idea. And I am certainly wanting to try and do so again. … and again,” Theon flushed at that quieter admission.
“I just do not wish to hurt you. It is not the same for a man compared to a woman for such intimate things.” The crimson grew, “I do not know if… I could be slow or patient a second time.” A shiver ran through him. Hot and smoldering. “It is hard yo keep composure when I’m aroused by you.”
Again and again. They were in agreement, then. Araminta immediately falling into a soft round of giggles, brushing a soft kiss to his temple, until he mentioned that things might be a little rough a second go around as he may not be able to have the same restraint. Prompting her to a deep flush of crimson, letting out a hushed oh when her breath hitched a little too much for a proper reply. Theon at his wildest and most free, what an amazing sight that would be!
How tempted she was to mention that he could man-handle her as he wished, she was a sturdy mountain girl despite her small stature. She had survived all manner of truly painful things, Araminta would thrive at the hands of a loving man.
Still, Theon would not be at peace to really enjoy it himself if he was worried about harming her, and Araminta could admit that these new aching muscles of hers were going to need a little warming up and practice.
Lots and lots and lots of practice.
Another warm giggle followed where she squeezed him tight in a hug, brushing that kiss to coppery red hair once again.
“Something to look forward to later, then,” she acquiesced with that soft, flushing amusement. It’d be difficult even for Araminta not to be thinking about it all day. To love and be loved so thoroughly, there was nothing that could take her from him now. She was so perfectly his until the end of days.
Of course, that meant they did actually need to get out of bed, for they couldn’t just laze about like this until the sun went down. Well, they could, but unfortunately the rest of the world did in fact still exist, and they were still apart of it. One might just have to force her to let got of him though, at least until she couldn’t ignore a hungry stomach any longer.
He’d never lost composure like that before. Even when he got upset about said giant spiders or at Ry’seth, it wasn’t from overwhelming pleasure and desire. Those emotions had been out of anger? This? It wasn’t even close and he knew. Absolutely knew that if and when Araminta allowed him to do so again, he wasn’t sure how rough he was going to be.
Feeling properly intoxicated by her and the sheer volume of passionate lust that was only encouraged by her. And he worried about it. If there current arrangement was anything to go by, Araminta was greatly smaller than him. And he was absolutely enamored by her. Truly not wishing to hurt her but he also couldn’t deny the way his mind delighted at the idea of her being covered by love bites.
This was new. Exhilarating and terrifying.
He’d have to really treasure her all the more. Doing so now with a soft renewed kiss to the bend of her shoulder. Holding red in his cheeks when she expressed this was something to look forward too, merely nodding bashfully. “I’ll have to learn how to provide after care so you aren’t suffering from it.” Which the idea alone stirred him to look up and out to the hut.
Considering it all. Surprisingly, Theon shifted. Pulling her into his grasp moreso, to allow him to shift in the bed but made no effort to escape its comfortable jaws. “Do you want tea still?” Softly brushing hands down her side, lightly moving till he could knead at her lower back. “Have you taken your medicine as well?”
After care! What in the worlds did this silly man think he was going to put her through to the point of her suffering? Suffering was certainly the last thing she felt in the moment, even despite a few sore muscles and a nip here and there. Araminta would gladly do it all over again and more, welcoming every moment of him being so freely loving with her. For all of it had been so wonderfully loving, she didn’t once had doubts or fears.
Araminta had to hold back the want to laugh, because he was being so endearingly sincere in wanting to care for her. If this was something he needed to feel comfortable and safe, by all means she was going to let him do it! What sort of monster would refuse him the chance to express his love through these small acts! For Araminta understood so well now, that Theon was not a man of words, he was a man of actions. When he was able to choose for himself, this was not servitude, this was an expression of his care.
“I’ve been a bit busy this morning, I’ve not yet taken it,” she expressed with a soft amused laugh. After all, he’d held her tight before she could escape and then…? Oh, if she started replaying it in her mind now, they surely were never going to leave. So she stroked her fingers through his hair and tried to think of anything else, so that they might actually get something done today.
“Tea does sound good as well as breakfast. I could go fetch something for the making, while you prepare a tea?” she asked, not about to be a completely useless pillow princess, spoiled and catered to! Araminta could still do her fair share!
It was likely their shared inexperience — the tentative, half-blind way they fumbled through romance and intimacy — that left each quietly wondering if the other felt differently. Perhaps there was more yet to be uncovered between them, but for now, the quiet comfort was enough.
Theon had maneuvered them with an instinctive gentleness, making no awkward rush to pull away. Outside, the soft sigh of the sea carried up the slope to where their humble hut stood, hidden amongst thick, fragrant brush. The thatched roof above them creaked faintly under the shifting weight of morning winds, heavy with salt and the scent of sun-warmed wood. As if now the reminder of their location had come back to the forefront of perspection.
Araminta, for her part, probably had meant to take her medicine but the thought had been lost the moment Theon had given in to the need that had grown restless inside him. A lesser man might have blamed the night’s full sleep or the intoxicating warmth of the bed. But he knew better. This longing had taken root quietly, stubbornly, and at last, it had blossomed into something raw and aching.
Lying beside him now, Araminta’s hand drifted lazily through his hair, her fingers combing through the crown of unruly red. He made no move to stop her, only letting his silver eyes fall half-lidded in contentment, a low hum escaping him, almost inaudible beneath the shifting creak of the hut’s frame. The moment stretched between them — slow, golden, and still. Theon thought briefly about suggesting she prepare the meal while he saw to the morning tea, but dismissed it almost immediately. She needed rest, not tasks. Especially after everything they had shared.
“I will find something to make,” Theon murmured, his voice soft and rough-edged, shaped by the intimacy of the morning. The wattle-and-daub walls of the hut dappled the space with soft bars of sunlight, where thin seams let in the strengthening light of day. She could tend to the tea, if she wished — but he would handle the food.
Carefully, he shifted away, slow enough that Araminta’s fingers slipped free from his hair without protest. The woven rushes under the bedding brushed cool against his skin as he sat up. Stretching a little, he reached out to reclaim his trousers, half-thrown in the heedless rush of the earlier hours, and tugged them on with a muted grimace at the coarse fabric.
“There’s fresh fruit near the clearing,” he said, casting a glance back at her over his shoulder. The morning light kissed his bare shoulders, tracing the faint, pale scars that marked him — echoes of battles fought long before today. “I’ll find something sweet to go with the tea. It’ll help the medicine settle… and keep the cold from finding you.”
Bending down, Theon gathered Araminta’s discarded clothing, treating the linen with a shy, almost reverent care — a far cry from the desperate way they had been torn away only a bit ago. The wildness had eased, but something just as fierce remained: a tenderness, quieter but no less certain.
It was a shame that they’d have to return back to the world. If she could freeze them both in this quiet morning, Araminta would’ve done so in a heartbeat, at least for a little while longer. Not wishing to ignore her responsibilities or the rest of the world, only wanting to hold onto these precious spaces for as long as she could.
Not unexpected, Theon switched her suggestion so that he would be in charge of the more labor intensive task. Others might’ve assumed he simply didn’t trust her to make them a meal, finding it a personal offense and assumption that he still believed she might poison him. Thankfully Araminta knew better, that it was simply his way of taking care of her. For which she was quite fine with, as she could take care of him in other ways. All of the ways he tended to deny himself, like soft beds and cozy places! Where ever they were, Araminta would be certain he felt safe and comfortable.
When he shifted to sit up and claim his own trousers, Araminta could not help but watch him with curious fondness. Taking in every line of scar and curse of body… realizing very quickly she herself was as bare as could be! That embarrassed, almost bashful flush flooded in quickly, though not so much that she made any sudden silly movements. Reaching delicately to draw up the thin blanket over her chest so she could at least be decent on the off chance someone might decide to come busting through the tiny hut’s little door.
“Then I will make a nice tea,” she agreed, still with that pink in her cheeks and with a smile that never faded. If anything, it had shifted from being soft and blissfully sweet to something wide, bright with energy now. Tilting to reach over to the bedside table where she could pluck out one of the small vials from the case Phita had given them, so she could get the must-do thing out of the way.
When she glanced back to him again, she was practically preening. “I love you,” she stated with that beaming smile, unabashedly wanting to share her feelings, as well… he needed to hear it a thousand times, didn’t he!
Offering her garments back with a quiet reverence, Theon made no comment on the soft pink that had risen to dust Araminta’s cheeks — though he saw it plainly. Instead, he only gave a low hum of agreement, his silver eyes glinting with a warmth that spoke more than words could. Whatever tea she decided upon, he suspected it would be perfect, no matter the choice.
He lingered a breath longer, observing as she reached for the small vial resting near the bedside. With a practiced hand, she tucked away the medicine, saving it for its next necessary dose.
Theon might have turned away then, but he stilled — caught by the way she beamed at him, her joy radiant and unguarded. Words followed, sweet and sincere, that made his stomach flip and his chest thrum warmly, fiercely. He still could not fully understand how his body seemed to answer such things so eagerly — still struggled with the foreignness of emotions stirring in a vessel that had, for so long, been honed only for endurance and survival. Not to mention, it was missing. But rather than let the thought sour his mood, he pressed his palm against the rough bedding to steady himself — and leaned in.
With a gentleness that belied his broad frame, Theon stole away her grin in a kiss, soft and lingering. His mouth brushed hers in a lingering warmth, savoring the sweetness she offered so freely. His voice, when he spoke against her lips, was nothing more than a whispered warm murmur, “I love you too.”
He lingered there longer than was necessary — or perhaps exactly as long as his heart needed — before drawing away slowly, reluctant but mindful. Finding his clean shirt, Theon shrugged it on with a few precise tugs, smoothing out the imagined wrinkles of the linen. His gaze grew thoughtful then, the shift in him visible — from tender lover to the careful, pragmatic man he was trained to be.
Quietly, he said, “Once the moment allows, I believe it would be best to speak with the leader of this place. To determine what can be done — and what their plans are moving forward.” He finished adjusting the simple laces of his shirt and met her gaze with steady earnestness. “It would be wise to have you present as well. There is insight you hold that no one else here can offer. If that is agreeable to you?”
A kiss was not the response Araminta had been expecting, yet oh it was a most welcome one! Returned without an ounce of hesitation and her smile bloomed impossibly wider, now full of fond giggles to hear him say those few words back without any hesitation himself. Watching still as he pulled on his shirt and smoothed himself out back to his quiet, knightly self. A silent signal that she indeed need to stop being so silly and to start their day.
“I do want to share what resources and information we have,” she affirmed, scooting to the edge of the bed herself to slide legs off and see about getting herself dressed. First to wriggle back into her undergarments before she pushed herself up to a stand and– Oh! There was a small waver there on her feet where knees had not yet stopped swooning and legs still wanted to be noodles. Prompting her to be very mindful of her movements and every little twinge that came with it… still not having a single spark of regret.
Araminta went over to the mirror and basin to at least brush out her hair to something far less wild and unkept. Pausing with a curious look to press at faint marks on her neck and shoulder, only to cover her mouth with another faint giggle. She could guess how those got there.
“I’d very much like to help them make contact with Sir Reeves and Padma, as I am certain they’re a wonderful center point for all that everyone is working towards.” she told him. Claiming her brush soon after to help sweep her hair up into a messy little twist, pinned in place with the pretty autumnal pin he’d given her.
As easy — surprising to him, really — as it might have been to simply stay holed up within this humble hut, with nothing more than each other and whatever wandering thoughts they chose to share, there were duties that needed attending. It was time to be presentable, to step back into the world beyond these walls, rather than clutching at the sweet illusion of seclusion.
Theon almost immediately found his gaze drawn to Araminta — to the faint waver in her movement as she made to stand. It was slight, but it was there, and without thinking, he was already crossing the small space between them. His hands found the backs of her arms, a light but steady hold meant to offer support without commentary. He said nothing; there was no need. His actions, as ever, spoke more clearly than any words he could summon.
For a moment longer he lingered, silver eyes quietly watching her, ensuring she had her footing before he released her to tend to herself. He remained standing there, the faintest shadow of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as she turned away, reaching for a simple brush to tame her deep locks.
He could not help the way his gaze moved over her — not in hunger now, but in a quiet, aching admiration. A memorization.
The conversation shifted naturally as she spoke, weaving in her hopes to bring the two paladins into proper contact with this wayward band of rogues and rebels who had broken from the mad queen’s grasp. It was a sound plan, one that carried a glimmer of hope he did not want to dampen.
Still, there was one matter that gnawed at him — enough so that the words slipped from his tongue before he could soften them entirely. “And… you will be all right with Talon?” Theon asked, the hesitation in his voice unmissable.
He was not particularly eager for what would be the fifth — or perhaps the twelfth — round of clashing between Araminta and the stubborn dragonborn. Talon had proven himself time and again incapable of keeping his sharp tongue in check where Araminta was concerned, and Theon had no patience left for it to continue again. Still, he hoped — quietly and perhaps foolishly — that Talon might have gained enough sense not to poke, rip, or prod where it was no longer needed. Araminta deserved more than to waste her strength on needless squabbling.
Araminta could’ve just immediately said that she’d be fine with Talon, simply to reassure him and ease his fears as quickly as possible. Yet that did not feel genuine and to be honest, she was not sure if she would be alright with the dragonborn. This time he’d gone just a little too far, enough to wound her feelings and made no so eager to try at being friends. Araminta could handle the bickering over silly things, she grew up with her own siblings, it was not a new experience. Accusing and blaming for cruelties towards Theon was an entirely different matter.
“I am… not sure how I will handle him,” she admitted, “but I will be alright.” Another truth. While she was still trying to decide what course to take next, Araminta knew that whatever it was, she would make sure Talon got to remain in Theon’s life. Even if it meant she’d occasionally have to leave the room simply to not lose her temper and bite the man.
He deserved to be bitten. Pecked at by geese!
Giving Theon a reassuring smile and a brush of her hand to his cheek, she took her chance to swallow down the day’s first vial of medicine. Giving a little shrug of her shoulders from the warmth that immediately starting flowing through her veins as soon as the elixir hit her stomach. Quick to claim her actual clothing so she could be properly dressed before meeting this island leader to be the voice of Caeldalmor, Theon’s shield, and whatever else royal duty was required of her.
Theon knew better than to hope that the two of them — Araminta and Talon — could find true ease with each other. It was asking too much of a wound to heal without tending.
He was more than aptly aware that the fault lay heavily at Talon’s feet. His brother’s arrogance, that sharp-edged pride, was a constant turbulence in every gathering he touched. Theon could see it clearly — the way Talon carried himself, looking down his nose at others with a disdain that was bred into him as much as it was chosen. Both bloodline and upbringing had carved Talon into something brittle and unbending.
As a boy, Theon had simply been grateful that his elder brother didn’t put a blade between his ribs every time they crossed paths. As a man, he felt the ties of blood that should have comforted — but instead found no real peace in them. Family, for all it was meant to bind, did not soften the blows when choice and loyalty were at odds.
He would always choose Araminta.
Even now, as she gave him that gentle look, her words attempting to placate, he already knew where his heart would fall if it came to it. If Talon’s behavior demanded a reckoning, Theon would see to it — without hesitation and without regret. Blood be damned. “Please tell me if it becomes too much,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough with the weight of the promise tucked behind the words. He would not have her endure misery for his sake. Not because his brother could not set aside his spite. Not because Araminta might believe, wrongly, that Theon needed Talon’s presence more than he needed her peace.
For a moment, he bent, pressing his brow lightly to hers in a rare, almost boyish gesture — a soft, wordless exchange of comfort and care before she turned to take her medicine. Reluctantly, he let her go, straightening again with a slow breath. His hands fell to his sides, and after a beat of stillness, he moved to begin the task he had promised: finding them something to eat.
Though he had spoken earlier of simply gathering fruits, his mind was already shifting — determined now to find something more hearty, something that would better strengthen them both for the day ahead.
They would need it.
Theon received a soft nod of her affirmation, that she would indeed tell him if it was getting too much for her. For his peace of mind and perhaps for herself too, she could at least communicate if she was about to say or do something regrettable. Accepting his gentle means of affection with that renewed smile.
For that moment alone, Araminta knew she could get through the day! They needed to stop all of this touching and gentle flirting, however, or else they were never going to leave this hut.
Allow Theon to see about putting together a breakfast for the pair of them, Araminta herself got to work preparing tea. Now having a good grasp of how to light up a wood burning stove, she stepped off to fetch some fresh water to fill the little kettle provided in the offered space. Once set there to start it’s boil she moved back to her bag where many of their supplies were tucked away, sniffing different small jars to find the blend of leaves of herbs that smelled the most refreshing for the morning. Setting that on the table along with a pair of cups.
Soon to rest her hands on her hips, as tea wasn’t exactly a task that required much. Araminta had been bamboozled into doing a bunch of nothing after all! Finding that she could only laugh about it and set herself to tidying up the place instead. To sweep out the sand that’d collected on the wooden floor right out the door and then a few quick sweeps to get it all off the small little risen porch.