a/n - wow this prompt really hit me hard. short fill, but hopefully what you were looking for
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Her pace has slowed. They can't move too quickly, through the ruins, but though she was always faster, she's started to fall behind. He sees it - he sees all - just as he sees her start to cast a healing spell to keep from being to great a burden.
"We need to stop and rest," he says.
"I can keep going," Cree tells him. "No rest, until we have finished our goal."
"I need you strong," he says, with a tone of voice that leaves no space for questions. "They aren't hot on our trail - we take the time to rest."
She's shaking. Exhausted, afraid of being weak, of being what makes them lose, in the end. He slips the threshold crest off his back, and helps to remove hers as well.
"I'm sorry I have failed you," she says, kneeling on the ground before him, eyes still clouded with the delirium of exhaustion and pain.
"You are my first, my most trusted," he says, hand curled into her fur, pulling her head upwards to meet his eyes. "You are the only one who hasn't failed me."
"Nonagon," her voice is full of reverence, eyes wide, and he presses a kiss to her forehead.
"Rest," he says. "Regain your strength. I will take care of you."
She collapses into his hands, at the order, and he continues to run his fingers through her fur. It is matted with blood and the dirty mix of rubble and ice, lightly singed from the tower, but he is gentle, and the knots come undone, the mats smooth out, hands dipped into the water pull the dirt and blood free.
"Shhh," he whispers, massaging her skin. "You have done so well for me, Cree. I knew you would."
She shakes, at the words, curls tighter into his hands. The doubt comes off her in waves, shed, replaced with the fresh reminder of her devotion, rewarded.
It's warm enough, in this ward, and he's bored enough, and she could use something, to help her sleep, without wasting spells in case the Nine were closer on their trail than they seemed. He laid her down, and pulled her clothes aside, head pressed into the fur that lined her stomach.
"Nonagon," she breathes, eyes pressed tightly shut, as he rests his mouth against her breasts before moving down.
He takes her into his mouth, and she does not writhe with it, only shudders that grow slowly into shakes, body too tired for any resistance or exaltation. He holds her down, hands massaging into her hips and back, working her through three orgasms, with his mouth and hands.
"When we reach the end," he whispers into her fur, "you shall be my right hand, and all that you dream shall be yours."
"Lucien," she responds, voice that breathy whisper of lost consciousness, eyes not pressed shut but simply closed. He pulls back, and she whines at the loss, but then relents, fastening her clothes once more, running his hands gently through her headfur.
When he pulls back, she curls up on herself, ball of cloaks and black fur, eyes pressed tight shut. He leans back, further away, keeping watch for monsters and annoying would-be heroes, but one eye stays trained on her.
Three down. The loss of it stings. But he still has her. She was the one who brought him back, always his most loyal, always his first. He needs her, and he won't let her doubt, won't let her leave. Not until the end.
worship the knife (Lucien/Cree, M, hurt/comfort)
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Her pace has slowed. They can't move too quickly, through the ruins, but though she was always faster, she's started to fall behind. He sees it - he sees all - just as he sees her start to cast a healing spell to keep from being to great a burden.
"We need to stop and rest," he says.
"I can keep going," Cree tells him. "No rest, until we have finished our goal."
"I need you strong," he says, with a tone of voice that leaves no space for questions. "They aren't hot on our trail - we take the time to rest."
She's shaking. Exhausted, afraid of being weak, of being what makes them lose, in the end. He slips the threshold crest off his back, and helps to remove hers as well.
"I'm sorry I have failed you," she says, kneeling on the ground before him, eyes still clouded with the delirium of exhaustion and pain.
"You are my first, my most trusted," he says, hand curled into her fur, pulling her head upwards to meet his eyes. "You are the only one who hasn't failed me."
"Nonagon," her voice is full of reverence, eyes wide, and he presses a kiss to her forehead.
"Rest," he says. "Regain your strength. I will take care of you."
She collapses into his hands, at the order, and he continues to run his fingers through her fur. It is matted with blood and the dirty mix of rubble and ice, lightly singed from the tower, but he is gentle, and the knots come undone, the mats smooth out, hands dipped into the water pull the dirt and blood free.
"Shhh," he whispers, massaging her skin. "You have done so well for me, Cree. I knew you would."
She shakes, at the words, curls tighter into his hands. The doubt comes off her in waves, shed, replaced with the fresh reminder of her devotion, rewarded.
It's warm enough, in this ward, and he's bored enough, and she could use something, to help her sleep, without wasting spells in case the Nine were closer on their trail than they seemed. He laid her down, and pulled her clothes aside, head pressed into the fur that lined her stomach.
"Nonagon," she breathes, eyes pressed tightly shut, as he rests his mouth against her breasts before moving down.
He takes her into his mouth, and she does not writhe with it, only shudders that grow slowly into shakes, body too tired for any resistance or exaltation. He holds her down, hands massaging into her hips and back, working her through three orgasms, with his mouth and hands.
"When we reach the end," he whispers into her fur, "you shall be my right hand, and all that you dream shall be yours."
"Lucien," she responds, voice that breathy whisper of lost consciousness, eyes not pressed shut but simply closed. He pulls back, and she whines at the loss, but then relents, fastening her clothes once more, running his hands gently through her headfur.
When he pulls back, she curls up on herself, ball of cloaks and black fur, eyes pressed tight shut. He leans back, further away, keeping watch for monsters and annoying would-be heroes, but one eye stays trained on her.
Three down. The loss of it stings. But he still has her. She was the one who brought him back, always his most loyal, always his first. He needs her, and he won't let her doubt, won't let her leave. Not until the end.