[What is there to forgive, when she is the one who does not know what she is doing? When even now she isn't sure if she's doing something foolish or not, but has managed to force herself beyond being able to turn back. She can hardly claim to be good at words herself.
Hayame shakes her head to deny the apology, biting into her bottom lip until she forces herself to release it, to look at him properly.
To carefully, shamefully lean forward until she eases out of her seated position, shifts her weight weirdly to her strange human knees to slip forward and bridge the small gap between them. Reaches out, fingers hovering above his.
She hadn't been able to bridge the gap between them, before. But she manages to now, slips her fingers into his palm, curls them, clasps his hand and presses it to her cheek.
[As he has learned more about Hayame, come to respect and enjoy her company as they fought against Zymandia, Odinson had always tried not to touch her unless it was first invited. It had been hard for him- Asgardians weren't guarded with their touch and neither was he.
It feels good to stroke his thumb on her cheek.
He seeks out her other hand with his, to bring it to his face. Instead of mirroring her, he presses his mouth to her palm. It lingers a moment, then he kisses her wrist, just as gently.
If she doesn't pull away, he'll close the distance between them even more and bring his mouth to her neck next.]
[It is the first time since she was taken from her world that she has touched someone of her own volition not in anger. Her lord had been kind, and gentle, and he had reached for her... and she had accepted, but never initiated, too respectful of the boundaries of sworn sword to risk it. She has grabbed, hauled, punched, kicked, corrected, slapped, shoved, thrown...
But not a touch like this. Never like this. Even her own brother's face... she can't recall ever being able to freely run her fingers over skin like this, feel warmth and strength beneath her hand.]
Odinson-
[His name, strangle whispered as she wars with herself not to close her eyes, not to flinch away on instinct despite the pleasant warmth and the twist in her stomach, biting into her lip again, fingers tightening on his hand and half nuzzling against it, any other words she might have planned to say vanishing when his lips reach her neck and she forgets how to breathe.]
[Thor had always preferred loud, strong women who gave as much as they got in bed, making sex as much a fight as actual fighting.
But this- quiet and careful and gentle beginning -this is also good.
When he speaks he does not draw back, his voice a quiet rumble as he speaks against her neck.] Did you feel that? [He sounds almost amused- but happy rather than mocking.]
[Hayame is a strong woman, and many might be surprised to see now how she shirks and flutters, half afraid of feeling what is she desires to feel. But she has been fighting all her life, and the battlefield... rather, the one covered in violence and death, has always been her design.
Not this battlefield. (Not yet.)]
I-
[She has to say something, she ought to apologize for inexperience, for the fact that her fight was with herself, but his mouth at her neck makes her feel altogether...]
Y- yes?
[Ticklish. (She can't laugh, how could she laugh right now, it would be entirely inappropriate-)]
[He smiles, presses his mouth against the beautiful curve of her throat again before he sits back to look at her.
There's something changed about him. There's a warm fondness, a look Odinson has rarely worn since losing Mjolnir. He is more Thor now than he has been, less stern and serious, more at his ease.]
[How terrifying and comforting both that look is to her. Hayame struggles not to laugh, not so smile, (these sorts of things... it wasn't for laughing or smiling, was it?), because actually... the beard was a not helping the strange tickling sensation that made her awful human leg want to... twitch.]
Of course I am-
[If not more red in the face than she's ever been, (though she's sure now that she will do things she has never done, many times), unsure of what to do with the ungainly legs she has come here with, gaze turning shamefully away from his face... and then back, because he is smiling, and assured, and she likes that.]
I just... am not accustomed.
[The most delicate way she can manage to say it, carefully, anxiously letting her hand trace down his face into his beard, curiously.]
You may become as accustomed to my beard as you like. [There's nothing keeping his smile from his face as her fingers explore. He's kept the beard trimmed short while with ALASTAIR, for ease of maintenance.
If any fingers stray too close to his mouth he'll open those smiling lips to catch them in a gentle kiss.]
Her gaze slips away in embarrassment once again until she forces it back, forces herself to look at what was happening, her scarred, calloused hands against the different tint of his skin and hair that fascinated her.]
This is-
[She hadn't intended to ask, but now finds that she must, because this wasn't just only about what she craved, in her loneliness. If it was not him, she could not have mustered the courage to come here, like this.]
I'd have sought you out already, but for what I knew of how jinba were treated in your land. [His hand is still on her cheek, he traces the line of her jaw with his thumb.] For myself, I see no shame in approaching a man or woman, but I did not wish to dishonour you.
[He holds her gaze, even as a new smile dawns on his face.] My brother even tried to jostle me in your path, thinking there might be something between us. [She might recall Loki setting them up with the mead. That's a very Loki thing to do.]
She feels a fool to be left reacting, to be so like an ignorant filly here now, to be charmed by words. To recall how it was they first met, and how offended she had been by the attitude she now seeks out. What his brother had said to her. To be... flattered. To ask,]
Why?
[In a voice she tries to keep from sounding strangled, even as she finds her spine dipping, awkward two legs shifting to bring her closer, fingers trailing down his beard and to his neck, across his collar.]
[Some might mention beauty or grace, for Hayame has both.] You are a warrior, strong and honourable. I have seen you face down a fight without fear- and I have seen you face down the things which you fear most and overcome them. [Does she truly not see that any man ought be proud to be invited to her bed? Leaning across the space between them he presses his mouth gently to hers. It's a chaste thing from which he pulls back after a heartbeat.
He can't help but grin as he does.] ...and when we first met you threatened to cut my tongue out. I admire a woman who isn't afraid to threaten bodily harm when it's called for.
[They are the things she admires in him. Strength. Honor. Fearlessness. And the things she lacks- confidence in this arena, experience beyond the one little world she had known.
... Ah, yes.
It isn't until after he pulls away that it registers he's kissed her. That she had liked the promise in it. That he says the things that she'd always wanted to be acknowledged for, and not the baser things she had always feared to be wanted for.]
... I do recall that.
[The barest hint of an upturn in her lips at the corners, to do so now of all times. To carefully, anxiously summon up the courage it took her to kiss him in turn, finally letting go of the cradle of his hand in order to transfer her own to his shoulders, hold perhaps a bit too tight.]
Her tight hold on him is fine, it helps give an indication of how she's feeling. When he slides his own hand to her waist it's firm, with the slightest pull that suggests she could come even closer if she wanted.]
[More than anything... Hayame is lonely, aching to see that smile (feel that smile, against her lips). The only one of her kind in this new group she has reluctantly agreed to serve, lacking the lord who had grounded her and encouraged her to interact with the others and protect them. Afraid of the vastness of space so beyond what her own world could imagine, of being alone for a single night more, cold despite the seasonal heat stirring her loins.
So she chases the warmth of it, all too willingly giving in to the desire for closeness in that pull at her waist, clutches tight and presses up against his chest, kisses desperate to make up for the fact that she has never kissed a man before, even touched a man before. Distracts herself from the undercurrent tremble of something like fear of the thing she has shunned all her life, afraid it would make her less.
But it feels too good, to be held. (And maybe, she could admit- it felt good to be held by this man.)]
[There's no need to rush. There's no sun that will rise out there in the darkness of space, no candles to mark the passage of time as they hold each other and Odinson tries to show her that this doesn't need to be something to fear. His good humour is ever present as they explore each other, helpful when things go awry (as they always do- a god bedding a mortal always calls for some adjustments).
It has been a long time since he fell asleep with someone in his arms. He is glad to have Hayame here as he does. When he sleeps, he does not dream of a masked woman taking his name and his place or of crushing failure and hopelessness.
Like the lovers in the stories she had heard as a filly, she had planned to slip from his bed before dawn leaving only a few drops of blood behind, shamefully skulk back to her own quarters before anyone else might be awake and see her exiting his room, under the impression that such things ought be kept secret.
But that was before she'd learned the heavy, sleepy call of the aftermath of pleasure she had never known. How could she, when her only exposure to sex in her own world had been the bestial grunting of the breeding stables and the sick glimpses of humans with their fingers clutched tight in the hair of jinba on their knees in the hay? None of what she'd known ever spoke to actual pleasure on the woman's part, ever promised much of happiness or comfort or satisfaction, let alone... mutual efforts.
It hadn't... been like that at all.
She felt warm even still, body aching in a way she had not anticipated but could not dislike, shifting slightly beneath the sheets, the comforting weight of Odinson's arm, seeking to slip closer to-
Hayame's eyes open in alarm, stiffening up in shock to see that she was not an inch from his chest, breath frozen in her lungs. Where was this- this was... this was still his bed, and she was still in it, and she still had two legs, (one of which, she realizes belatedly, is half slipped over one of his), and they are tangled, and-
Anxiously, she lifts her head to try and catch a glimpse of his face. If he were still sleeping...]
[The memories of the previous night come flooding back all too easily now that she is actually awake, cheeks flushing red in recollection as she looks up at his face, as she finds herself instinctively wanting to reach, to slip even closer before the heat leaves her and touch his cheek again, feel the strange, ticklish sensation of that beard against her skin, of lips against hers, of hands, and breath, and the patient way he'd-
No. No, no, no-
That was foolish, that was... that was womanly weakness, compounded by human weakness, and she...
She ought to go. That was... how it was done, wasn't it? Hayame tries to conveniently ignore the voice that tells her she could hardly expect to know anything any longer about how such things were done, considering how much she'd learned the last few hours already, skittishly trying to pull her silly human legs out from the tangle with his, carefully, carefully, trying to-
[Waking is a process. Recognising movement beside him, shifting his shoulders and taking deeper breaths, rubbing his leg along the one tangled with his. The slight soreness in his muscles is a pleasant reminder of the night before.
He's already smiling as he opens his eyes. There's no effort made to move yet, past the stretching.] Morning.
In a sudden, embarrassed surge of strength, Hayame sits up as best she can in the circle of his arm, only to remember that she is naked, that they both are, one arm coming up to attempt and cover her usually bound breasts, struggling to find something to say, some excuse as to why she was still here, mouth opening uselessly a moment before she averts her gaze, shivering slightly as colder air outside the warmth of his sheets and his embrace hits her skin.]
[His arm is unceremoniously shoved away. He's been kicked naked out of many beds, and on one memorable occasion chased out why half an army. A little shove doesn't phase him.]
Did you sleep well? [He reaches over to rub a gentle thumb at her hip.]
[He looks so calm, so normal, and perhaps... that is something she should have expected. He claimed godhood, years of experience beyond her own, both in life and in... beds. (She certainly hadn't had any complaints for that experience last night.)
Whereas she... her flighty gaze flits between his face, his cloak thrown over the chair in the room, and her robe on the floor, shuddering slightly where he touches her bare hip, setting off a twitch in her knee and a press of her thighs she couldn't account for.]
[If anything his smile only grows fonder as she appears to not know what to do with herself. In contrast he remains still. He doesn't want to spook her out of his bed already.]
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Hayame shakes her head to deny the apology, biting into her bottom lip until she forces herself to release it, to look at him properly.
To carefully, shamefully lean forward until she eases out of her seated position, shifts her weight weirdly to her strange human knees to slip forward and bridge the small gap between them. Reaches out, fingers hovering above his.
She hadn't been able to bridge the gap between them, before. But she manages to now, slips her fingers into his palm, curls them, clasps his hand and presses it to her cheek.
It was so warm.]
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It feels good to stroke his thumb on her cheek.
He seeks out her other hand with his, to bring it to his face. Instead of mirroring her, he presses his mouth to her palm. It lingers a moment, then he kisses her wrist, just as gently.
If she doesn't pull away, he'll close the distance between them even more and bring his mouth to her neck next.]
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But not a touch like this. Never like this. Even her own brother's face... she can't recall ever being able to freely run her fingers over skin like this, feel warmth and strength beneath her hand.]
Odinson-
[His name, strangle whispered as she wars with herself not to close her eyes, not to flinch away on instinct despite the pleasant warmth and the twist in her stomach, biting into her lip again, fingers tightening on his hand and half nuzzling against it, any other words she might have planned to say vanishing when his lips reach her neck and she forgets how to breathe.]
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But this- quiet and careful and gentle beginning -this is also good.
When he speaks he does not draw back, his voice a quiet rumble as he speaks against her neck.] Did you feel that? [He sounds almost amused- but happy rather than mocking.]
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Not this battlefield. (Not yet.)]
I-
[She has to say something, she ought to apologize for inexperience, for the fact that her fight was with herself, but his mouth at her neck makes her feel altogether...]
Y- yes?
[Ticklish. (She can't laugh, how could she laugh right now, it would be entirely inappropriate-)]
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There's something changed about him. There's a warm fondness, a look Odinson has rarely worn since losing Mjolnir. He is more Thor now than he has been, less stern and serious, more at his ease.]
You're all right? The beard puts some off.
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Of course I am-
[If not more red in the face than she's ever been, (though she's sure now that she will do things she has never done, many times), unsure of what to do with the ungainly legs she has come here with, gaze turning shamefully away from his face... and then back, because he is smiling, and assured, and she likes that.]
I just... am not accustomed.
[The most delicate way she can manage to say it, carefully, anxiously letting her hand trace down his face into his beard, curiously.]
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If any fingers stray too close to his mouth he'll open those smiling lips to catch them in a gentle kiss.]
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Her gaze slips away in embarrassment once again until she forces it back, forces herself to look at what was happening, her scarred, calloused hands against the different tint of his skin and hair that fascinated her.]
This is-
[She hadn't intended to ask, but now finds that she must, because this wasn't just only about what she craved, in her loneliness. If it was not him, she could not have mustered the courage to come here, like this.]
... not an imposition?
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[He holds her gaze, even as a new smile dawns on his face.] My brother even tried to jostle me in your path, thinking there might be something between us. [She might recall Loki setting them up with the mead. That's a very Loki thing to do.]
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She feels a fool to be left reacting, to be so like an ignorant filly here now, to be charmed by words. To recall how it was they first met, and how offended she had been by the attitude she now seeks out. What his brother had said to her. To be... flattered. To ask,]
Why?
[In a voice she tries to keep from sounding strangled, even as she finds her spine dipping, awkward two legs shifting to bring her closer, fingers trailing down his beard and to his neck, across his collar.]
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He can't help but grin as he does.] ...and when we first met you threatened to cut my tongue out. I admire a woman who isn't afraid to threaten bodily harm when it's called for.
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... Ah, yes.
It isn't until after he pulls away that it registers he's kissed her. That she had liked the promise in it. That he says the things that she'd always wanted to be acknowledged for, and not the baser things she had always feared to be wanted for.]
... I do recall that.
[The barest hint of an upturn in her lips at the corners, to do so now of all times. To carefully, anxiously summon up the courage it took her to kiss him in turn, finally letting go of the cradle of his hand in order to transfer her own to his shoulders, hold perhaps a bit too tight.]
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Her tight hold on him is fine, it helps give an indication of how she's feeling. When he slides his own hand to her waist it's firm, with the slightest pull that suggests she could come even closer if she wanted.]
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So she chases the warmth of it, all too willingly giving in to the desire for closeness in that pull at her waist, clutches tight and presses up against his chest, kisses desperate to make up for the fact that she has never kissed a man before, even touched a man before. Distracts herself from the undercurrent tremble of something like fear of the thing she has shunned all her life, afraid it would make her less.
But it feels too good, to be held. (And maybe, she could admit- it felt good to be held by this man.)]
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It has been a long time since he fell asleep with someone in his arms. He is glad to have Hayame here as he does. When he sleeps, he does not dream of a masked woman taking his name and his place or of crushing failure and hopelessness.
He dreams of long black hair caught in the wind.]
1/2 DAWN OF THE NEXT DAY..............
Like the lovers in the stories she had heard as a filly, she had planned to slip from his bed before dawn leaving only a few drops of blood behind, shamefully skulk back to her own quarters before anyone else might be awake and see her exiting his room, under the impression that such things ought be kept secret.
But that was before she'd learned the heavy, sleepy call of the aftermath of pleasure she had never known. How could she, when her only exposure to sex in her own world had been the bestial grunting of the breeding stables and the sick glimpses of humans with their fingers clutched tight in the hair of jinba on their knees in the hay? None of what she'd known ever spoke to actual pleasure on the woman's part, ever promised much of happiness or comfort or satisfaction, let alone... mutual efforts.
It hadn't... been like that at all.
She felt warm even still, body aching in a way she had not anticipated but could not dislike, shifting slightly beneath the sheets, the comforting weight of Odinson's arm, seeking to slip closer to-
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Hayame's eyes open in alarm, stiffening up in shock to see that she was not an inch from his chest, breath frozen in her lungs. Where was this- this was... this was still his bed, and she was still in it, and she still had two legs, (one of which, she realizes belatedly, is half slipped over one of his), and they are tangled, and-
Anxiously, she lifts her head to try and catch a glimpse of his face. If he were still sleeping...]
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While he doesn't actually need sleep, the dreamless state he's fallen into is comfortable and he won't wake 'til he's needed... or someone stirs him.]
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No. No, no, no-
That was foolish, that was... that was womanly weakness, compounded by human weakness, and she...
She ought to go. That was... how it was done, wasn't it? Hayame tries to conveniently ignore the voice that tells her she could hardly expect to know anything any longer about how such things were done, considering how much she'd learned the last few hours already, skittishly trying to pull her silly human legs out from the tangle with his, carefully, carefully, trying to-
Ah.
His arm.]
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He's already smiling as he opens his eyes. There's no effort made to move yet, past the stretching.] Morning.
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He's awake.
In a sudden, embarrassed surge of strength, Hayame sits up as best she can in the circle of his arm, only to remember that she is naked, that they both are, one arm coming up to attempt and cover her usually bound breasts, struggling to find something to say, some excuse as to why she was still here, mouth opening uselessly a moment before she averts her gaze, shivering slightly as colder air outside the warmth of his sheets and his embrace hits her skin.]
M... orning...
[That couldn't be what you're supposed say-]
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Did you sleep well? [He reaches over to rub a gentle thumb at her hip.]
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[He looks so calm, so normal, and perhaps... that is something she should have expected. He claimed godhood, years of experience beyond her own, both in life and in... beds. (She certainly hadn't had any complaints for that experience last night.)
Whereas she... her flighty gaze flits between his face, his cloak thrown over the chair in the room, and her robe on the floor, shuddering slightly where he touches her bare hip, setting off a twitch in her knee and a press of her thighs she couldn't account for.]
I did not mean to intrude this long-
[Too well. She had never slept so soundly.]
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I'm glad you did.
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