milliways_bar | (no subject)

"You have me forever," he says, softly, leaning over to kiss her.

She smiles against his mouth and thinks that sounds absolutely perfect.

"Good," softly. "You, and you showing me how to do this. That's all I want."

"Then I'll show you," he says, low, and because they're alone now and even though she's right next to him, it's still too far away--he slides an arm over her stomach and one behind her back and buries his face in her neck, and breathes her in.

"I'm still scared," she whispers, but he's there, and it's right, and makes her breath catch. And it's easy to put a hand in his hair, so she does.

"So am I," he says, laughing a little under his breath.

"But that's alright, I think. I'm terrified, but the last thing I want to do in the world is stop."

And her hand in his hair makes him take a breath.

"And I promise it'll be all right."

And so it will be. There's no doubt.

"No stopping," firmly, with a little smile.

She still doesn't know what to do, but she's not so worried about that anymore.

"No stopping," he agrees, smiling back, and runs his hand up her back, before turning his attention back to her neck, to press kisses on the skin along the collar of her shirt.

Slowly.

Slow is good.

Slow is very good.

Lucy takes a deep breath, shakily, and lets her hand trail down his side. And smiles, a little, again, without realizing it.

It's sad that Caspian, in fact, is ticklish.

Which explains the slight jump he makes at her touch, and the grin against her neck, even while shivers go up his spine.

And then the touch stops being ticklish, and he makes a sound, deep in his throat, and raises his head to kiss her.

She'd protest the moving from her neck, but this is good too, really.

She'll never be tired of kissing him. Because she's had Bacchus' wine, and water from a sweet sea, and food from a Magician's table, and none of it compares.

She does murmur a, "Sorry," at his jump, though, for all she's half laughing.

"You aren't," he says back, a low laugh.

"Now I'll never be safe."

But that's alright, as long as he gets to retaliate. Of course, his hand, moving over her side, is not really light enough to tickle.

"Poor you, so doomed," sounding entirely unsympathetic and entirely out of breath, hand resting on his waist. "You suffer so."

"It's torture," he agrees, sadly.

Sort of like sleeping next to Lucy the past week had been torture.

"You're admirable for putting up with it," solemnly, ducking her head to kiss under his ear, because she knows she thinks that feels rather nice. "Very noble."

It must feel nice, because his hand tightens on her waist and he says something like "Oh," running his hand over her back.

"Well," he says, breathing rather shakily and his voice going rather ragged, "it's the least I could--that I--Lucy--"

It's about all he can get out.

"Feels nice," he adds, helplessly.

"Supposed to," she answers, with a grin, moving her head to do the same to the skin beneath the other ear.

"I am less and less sure," he says, with an effort, "that you need me to show you anything."

She's sitting right next to him, but it isn't quite enough contact, and so he moves an arm to slide it under her legs, and braces his other against her back, and lifts her up and onto his lap as he shifts further back on the bed.

"You're doing just fine on your own."

"Beginner's luck," solemnly, and then she's laughing in his ear because she can't manage solemn. "And this part I know how to do." A little blush, but just a little one, as she drops another kiss.

"Yes," he says, a little breathlessly, "I can see that."

His arm slides back out from beneath her legs, and trails back up to her waist, his thumb moving over the skin where her shirt is rucked up, and he bends his head to drop a line of kisses at the crook of her shoulder and neck.

And it's her turn to say, "Oh," half from surprise and half from something else entirely when thumb touches skin, the hand at his waist tightening.

Because.

Feels nice, really, she thinks, dazedly.

He smiles into her neck.

"All right?" he asks, when thumb on skin becomes really more of warm hand on skin.

And it feels so good that he wonders how he ever managed to hold even this far back before.

"Oh yes," after a moment, eyelids half closed. "You?" Because it is polite to ask in turn.

Her hand is very hesitant and uncertain at the hem of his shirt, fingering it carefully, because it feels good, so good, to have him touch her, but she's still feeling as if she's not sure what's right to do.

"I've never been better," he says, dotting her collarbone with kisses, and his hand smoothes over her side to her back, pressing her closer to him.

Careful is all right. Caspian is patient. So while she hesitates, he lifts his head, and with his free hand brushes back her hair, and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

She licks her lips and looks at him, seriously, before she carefully slips her hand under cloth and rests her palm flat on his skin. "Is that all right?"

There's a moment where Caspian takes a shuddering breath, which escapes him in a small sound.

"Yes," he says, after a swallow. "Yes, that's all right."

Better than, really.