The way he tangled his hand in her hair, that was nice. Summer tried to wriggle closer and was stymied by his armour. Instead she settled for deepening the kiss, nipping at his lip.
A soft gasp escaped him as she bit down on his lip, his fingers pulling at her hair. He was caught up between wanting to stop and knowing his boundaries and continuing the whole thing. Instead he ignored everything and continued to kiss her, pushing back all the things his father had told him exactly not to do.
She had to let him go to breathe, though she kept her face pressed to his. She ran one hand over his shoulder, and pushed a little. “Off,” she whispered. “I want — I need to touch you, Mordred, please.”
She nodded, biting at her lower lip. “I like the way you feel. I like to touch.” She touched his mouth again before leaning in to kiss him.
He smiled against her lips, his cheeks reddening at the gesture as his hand moved it’s way up her back, his fingers intertwining in her hair.
The way he tangled his hand in her hair, that was nice. Summer tried to wriggle closer and was stymied by his armour. Instead she settled for deepening the kiss, nipping at his lip.
She giggled a little when his hair brushed her nose, and slid down to perch on his knee so she could see his face. Feeling as though it might be safe, now, she began to run her fingers over the lines of Mordred’s face, as if she was blind and trying to see what he looked like. Gentle fingertips stroked his cheekbones and slipped along his mouth, traced the bridge of his nose and shaped each eyebrow.
The knight watched silently, slightly perplexed as to what she was doing but he made no comment, allowing her to do as she pleased and not arguing. He wouldn’t lie, the feeling of her fingers brushing down his cheek sent a shiver down his spine. “Having fun there?” he asks softly, not taking his eyes off her face.
She nodded, biting at her lower lip. “I like the way you feel. I like to touch.” She touched his mouth again before leaning in to kiss him.
“I will wake you,” she murmured. She wound her fingers in his hair, combing through the curls. “Please don’t sleep in your chain mail.” Rubbing her cheek against the top of his head, she wished this one moment, safe and warm and at least a little wanted, could last forever. She tried to hold on to it, store the memory up for when he would leave.
He shook his head. “I only sleep in my chainmail when I’m out field, not at home,” he tells her. “It makes it colder anyway,” he adds after a few moments, resting his chin against her shoulder.
She giggled a little when his hair brushed her nose, and slid down to perch on his knee so she could see his face. Feeling as though it might be safe, now, she began to run her fingers over the lines of Mordred’s face, as if she was blind and trying to see what he looked like. Gentle fingertips stroked his cheekbones and slipped along his mouth, traced the bridge of his nose and shaped each eyebrow.
Summer curled her fingers against his face, then stepped in closer, putting her arms around his shoulders and leaning her head on his hair. “Stay with me for tonight?”
He smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Of course, but I must be up early in the morning, I have a shift.”
“I will wake you,” she murmured. She wound her fingers in his hair, combing through the curls. “Please don’t sleep in your chain mail.” Rubbing her cheek against the top of his head, she wished this one moment, safe and warm and at least a little wanted, could last forever. She tried to hold on to it, store the memory up for when he would leave.
She sighed. “I don’t think there is a best. There is do the best you can.” Reaching out, she ran a thumb down his cheek. “Will you let me try to be a true wife to you, for this little time? I promise I will let you alone afterward.”
Mordred smiled, resting his head against her hand for a moment. “There is no harm in trying.”
Summer curled her fingers against his face, then stepped in closer, putting her arms around his shoulders and leaning her head on his hair. “Stay with me for tonight?”
She curled her fingers against his cheek. “We keep being here,” she said quietly, “not knowing what to do.” She smeared at the tearstreaks with the other hand, getting up slowly. A few paces sufficed to cover the room, and then Summer stopped in front of Mordred, looking at him, eyelashes still wet. “Should I not have offered it?”
“Does anyone ever know what to do?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t regret accepting your offer, Summer,” he tells her, looking up at her, “but I am certainly not the best person to be wed to. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
She sighed. “I don’t think there is a best. There is do the best you can.” Reaching out, she ran a thumb down his cheek. “Will you let me try to be a true wife to you, for this little time? I promise I will let you alone afterward.”
Summer blinked hard, and a few tears trickled down her face. “Trusting you is easy. I look inside you, and there’s nothing to fear.” She clung to his hand, laying her face against their joined hands. “I’m sorry.”
Mordred looked at her, slightly taken aback. How wrong she was; there was plenty to fear, but perhaps it was better fooling himself into thinking there wasn’t. “Don’t be,” he says, bringing her hand up to kiss it, “don’t be sorry.”
She curled her fingers against his cheek. “We keep being here,” she said quietly, “not knowing what to do.” She smeared at the tearstreaks with the other hand, getting up slowly. A few paces sufficed to cover the room, and then Summer stopped in front of Mordred, looking at him, eyelashes still wet. “Should I not have offered it?”
“They never knew it was magic,” she whispered. “I don’t talk about it much. Mine is so little it’s easy to hide, easy to make it look like I’m not using it, when I always am. I’ve only had to defend myself with it a few times, and nobody looks in the forest for the burned bones of bandits.” She shuddered hard with that memory, of dealing death with her magic while her mind was caught up in theirs. The cup rattled against the table.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you to know this. I didn’t mean you to have to carry this.” It always came to this, to the ache of being different spilling from her lips and driving people away. “I don’t want to be alone any more.”
He leaned forward, placing his hand on the goblet, ceasing the movement for a moment. “Do not apologize,” he tells her, his voice smooth and calm, “do not apologize for feeling, or for remembering, or anything. You have nothing to be sorry for. You have every right to defend yourself.” Mordred smiles, taking her hand. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that.”
Summer blinked hard, and a few tears trickled down her face. “Trusting you is easy. I look inside you, and there’s nothing to fear.” She clung to his hand, laying her face against their joined hands. “I’m sorry.”
“My sister is the only other person I ever knew with magic, and hers isn’t like mine. Anyway no one at home ever wanted to kiss me, or anything else.” Summer turned the cup around and around, staring at the subtle carving around the rim, and not looking at Mordred at all. She couldn’t stop her mind turning down those old, well-worn paths, expression falling into pensive lines. “Not after they realised I could see through their games.”
“I understand,” he said, fingers running over the worn wood of the table. “After my father was taken from me I traveled. I was only a child, naive at best. It took me some time to learn that there were more that thought like Uther than I had cared to believe. People that would exploit me and play games with who I was. The amount of times I’ve almost had my head removed from my shoulders.”
“They never knew it was magic,” she whispered. “I don’t talk about it much. Mine is so little it’s easy to hide, easy to make it look like I’m not using it, when I always am. I’ve only had to defend myself with it a few times, and nobody looks in the forest for the burned bones of bandits.” She shuddered hard with that memory, of dealing death with her magic while her mind was caught up in theirs. The cup rattled against the table.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you to know this. I didn’t mean you to have to carry this.” It always came to this, to the ache of being different spilling from her lips and driving people away. “I don’t want to be alone any more.”