Something feral flashes across his expression, and then his hands are on me properly. He works the fastenings of my work tunic with practiced efficiency, stripping it off and tossing it aside without ceremony. The bindings beneath follow quickly, and then his mouth is on my collarbone, my shoulder, the upper curve of my breast with attention that makes my knees weak.
"I love you." He says it against my skin like a vow. "I love you and I'm never letting you go again."
"Good." My own hands find his belt, struggling with the clasp until he reaches down to help. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
He backs me toward the bed, shedding his own clothing between kisses and touches that grow increasingly frantic. By the time the backs of my legs hit the mattress, we're both breathing like we've run across Ikoth, skin flushed and overheated despite the relatively cool air in his quarters.
Malrec guides me down gently, a stark contrast to the urgency vibrating through both our bodies. He hovers above me for a moment, eyes roaming across my face like he's memorizing it. Like he's afraid this is another dream that will dissolve when he wakes.
"I'm real." I reach up to cup his face, feeling the sharp line of his jaw beneath my palm. "I'm here. This is real."
"I know." His voice is wrecked. "I just—" He closes his eyes briefly. "I missed you so fucking much."
"Show me."
His eyes snap open, locking onto mine with intensity that sends heat rushing through my entire body. Then he's kissing down my torso with deliberate slowness, taking his time with each inch of revealed skin. My stomach. My hip. The inside of my thigh.
By the time his mouth finally settles between my legs, I'm already trembling. The first stroke of his tongue pulls a sound from me I don't recognize—desperate and pleading and completely beyond my control. His hands slide beneath my hips, angling me exactly where he wants me, and then he applies himself with focused attention that obliterates any capacity for coherent thought.
He knows exactly what I need. Exactly how I like to be touched. The pressure and rhythm that unravels me completely. Because he's done this before. Because we've had this before, and his body remembers mine just as clearly as mine remembers his.
"Malrec—" His name breaks apart in my throat as sensation builds too quickly, pressure coiling tight in my core. "I can't?—"
He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. Just intensifies his attention, adding his fingers to slide inside me with perfect, devastating precision. The dual sensation pushes me over the edge hard, orgasm crashing through me with force that makes my back arch off the bed. I'm dimly aware of crying out, of my hands fisting in his hair, of the way he works me through it with gentle persistence until I'm boneless and shaking.
He kisses back up my body slowly, giving me time to recover even though I can feel how hard he is against my thigh, how much control he's exerting to go slowly when everything in him is screaming for completion.
"I need you inside me." My voice is rough, thoroughly wrecked already. "Please."
"You sure?" His hand cups my face, thumb stroking across my cheekbone. "If you need more time?—"
"I'm sure." I pull him down into a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue, feeling the way he groans at my boldness. "I need all of you. Now."
He reaches between us, positioning himself, and then slowly—agonizingly slowly—pushes inside. The stretch is perfect, familiar, exactly what my body has been craving. I watch his face as he enters me, watch the way his eyes flutter closed and his jaw clenches with the effort of maintaining control.
"Fuck." The word is barely audible. "You feel—" He doesn't finish, just drops his forehead to mine as he slides deeper. "Perfect. You feel perfect."
"Move." I wrap my legs around his hips, urging him on. "Please move."
He does. Pulls back and thrusts forward with controlled power that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. Again. Deeper. Finding a rhythm that feels like memory, like muscle recall, like our bodies never forgot how to move together even when our minds couldn't remember.
"I love you." I say it against his mouth, needing him to hear it, needing him to know. "I love you. I love you. I?—"
He swallows the rest of my words with a kiss, hips snapping forward with increasing intensity. One hand slides beneath my lower back, angling me so each thrust hits exactly where I need him. The other tangles in my hair, holding me steady as he claims me with single-minded focus.
It builds faster than I expect—pleasure coiling tight again already, sensitized from the first orgasm. Every nerve ending feels alive, hyperaware of exactly where we're connected. The slide of his skin against mine. The flex of muscle beneath my palms. The way he says my name like a prayer, like a curse, like the most important word in any language.
"Len." His rhythm falters slightly, control starting to fracture. "I'm close. I need?—"
"Yes." I dig my nails into his shoulders, holding on as he drives deeper. "Together. Come with me."
His hand slides between us, thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves with unerring accuracy. The added stimulation combined with the angle and intensity pushes me over the edge again, clenching around him as pleasure detonates through my entire system. I feel him follow immediately, body going rigid as he finds his own release, my name torn from his throat in a sound that's half groan, half something too raw to classify.
He collapses against me carefully, keeping most of his weight on his forearms but lowering enough that I can feel his chest heaving against mine. We stay like that for several moments, both breathing hard, skin slick with sweat despite the cool air.
Eventually he pulls back enough to look at me, and the expression on his face makes my throat tighten. So much emotion there—love and relief and residual grief for what we lost and fierce joy at having found each other again.
"Hi," I whisper, because I can't think of anything else to say that captures the enormity of this moment.
