Only If For A NightFandom:
He isn’t soft, but he’s gentle and it’s different and good; good, because it’s differentNotes:
Written in response to a kink meme prompt that asked for Silhouette as part of an unusual pairing.Only If For A Night
The night’s patrol had been horrid, a mess of blood and fire and innocence lost, but even that seems distant now. Now there’s dim light glinting off the empty bottles on the table and Ursula is lying on warm blankets, staring at the ceiling and smoking something she’s never smoked before. It’s good. Something shifts and when she turns her head, Byron is beside her, his shirt gone, discarded after it had been soaked with red wine.
He smiles at her and she attempts to return the sentiment, but there are traces of red that had soaked through the fabric and now stained his chest. It is wine but it looks like blood and she wants it gone. Ursula reaches out placing one hand gently against the reddened skin and Byron’s comes up to join hers, wrapping around it gently. Their eyes meet and maybe, for a moment, Ursula allows what she is feeling, all the pain and confusion their lives can bring, to bleed into her gaze. She doesn’t want to, but maybe for once it’s alright; she trusts Byron.
He’s handsome. Ursula knows this about Byron but has never truly let it register; she hasn’t thought like this about any man in a long time. But Byron is handsome, all strength hidden in a lithe body and behind brilliant intellect, stubborn, sometimes reckless idealism and a quiet charm.
Now Byron’s hair is dishevelled and his gaze is so open, softened by alcohol; he looks years younger like this and even as Ursula wonders just how much they all pretend sometimes, she is drawn to Byron like in that metaphor he so loves to use: like a moth to the flame.
Closing her eyes, Ursula leans in on impulse and her tongue meets the faint traces of wine staining Byron’s chest. She begins to lap it up, lap at it until it’s all gone and Byron draws in a sharp breath but he doesn’t stop her. When Ursula pulls back she is glad to see clean, glistening skin and she is intrigued by the storm in Byron’s eyes when he looks at her. Ursula subtly raises an eyebrow and Byron reaches up, cups her cheek with one hand and kisses her.
He isn’t soft, but he’s gentle and it’s different and good;
good, because it’s different and it gives her something to think about and feel and get lost in. She finds herself reciprocating, adding some pressure of her own to the kiss and slinging her arms loosely around his neck.
Ursula doesn’t protest when, after a few minutes of heated lip-lock, Byron gently lays her back down on the blankets. They’re both breathing a little harder and Byron is hovering above Ursula as if he isn’t sure what to do. She just grins, firmly wraps a hand around one of his wrists and prompts him closer.
Byron complies and lies down next to her, watching her from his position propped up on one arm. He’s said hardly anything since they came back, but then again, Byron deals differently from her and selfishly, Ursula is glad for it; he’s the one person with whom she doesn’t feel the need to be strong. Not even Dawn has managed to make her feel this secure, though Ursula knows she could very easily fall in love with Dawn.
Ursula isn’t in love with Byron. But maybe tonight she is. Maybe, as she rolls atop him and runs her hand down his smooth chest, across the odd scar that intrigues her, she is in love with what he can give her. Maybe she’s in love with what he willingly gives her when he responds to her grinding hips, meeting her heat with his. Maybe she’s in love with how safe she feels when he wraps his arms around her and softly tells her to go to sleep.