The Shadow Island was a rapidly shrinking black speck on the horizon. The dimensional rift was sealed, the cursed labyrinth was broken, and the only sounds were the creak of the oarlocks and the gentle lap of the waves.
Blake and Cana took the boat they had used to get on the island and started rowing towards the mainland of Fiore. The sun was warm, a welcome contrast to the chilling, unnatural air of Veyra'kul's tomb. They were both exhausted, bruised, and covered in grime, yet victorious.
After reaching the mainland port, Cana located the hidden grove where they'd left their ride. She held up one of her magical cards. "Arca Venia." The dark green Urus materialized from the two-dimensional prison, looking pristine and absurdly out of place on the rustic dock.
Then they both got into the vehicle. Blake sank into the driver's seat with a deep, bone-weary sigh. The familiar scent of leather and magic was a profound comfort.
He turned to Cana, who was slumped in the passenger seat, cleaning lich-dust off her face with a rag.
"So," Blake said, his deep voice quiet. "Not exactly the 'driving around and enjoying the scenery' you had in mind."
Cana let out a dry, tired laugh. "What are you talking about? That was the most Blake-and-Cana date imaginable. 70% terror, 20% fighting for our lives, and 10% you being annoyingly quiet."
He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He turned the rune-key, and the magical engine hummed to life. Then Blake asks Cana, "So, where now?"
Cana looked at him, her eyes soft, the drunken, taunting energy from before completely gone, replaced by a warm, genuine affection.
She looks at him and tells, "Let's roam around a little. Just... drive. No fighting, no flying, no ancient undead. And then we will get to the guild."
Hearing that, he started the car and drove at a slow speed. He pulled onto the coastal highway, the sun setting over the ocean, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. They didn't talk about the quest, or the guild, or the monsters. They just enjoyed the scenery, the comfortable silence, and the simple fact that they were alive and together.
They drove for hours, the powerful car a silent, moving sanctuary. They drove towards the capital city of Crocus. By the time they arrived, it was well past midnight, the city of flowers asleep and glittering with lacrima lights.
"We'll stop here," Blake said. "I don't know about you, but I need a real bed."
They booked a hotel—the finest in the city. Blake, with his credentials and Heartfilia-backed bank account, secured the penthouse suite for himself and the adjoining presidential suite for Cana. They needed to freshen themselves up.
After that, they met in the hotel lobby the next day, clean, rested, and dressed in fresh clothes they'd packed.
"Okay," Cana said, stretching, her yellow sundress a sharp contrast to her usual bikini top. "Official Second Date: The Redemption. And you're paying."
Blake just smirked. "Fine. Where to?"
They spent the entire day acting like normal tourists. They went sightseeing around the capital, visiting the Flower-Bloom Palace and the markets. They went shopping, where Blake found himself patiently holding a dozen bags as Cana tried on "an appropriate outfit" for their dinner.
They went to the amusement park, a chaotic, joyful affair. Blake used his Observation Haki to win her a small fortune at the rigged "Magical Wyvern Racing" game, and Cana used her Card Magic to "predict" which ride would be the most fun (it was always the one that spun the fastest).
As evening fell, they ate at a restaurant built on the high cliffs overlooking the city. It was quiet, candle-lit, and utterly romantic. They talked, not as rivals or guildmates, but as two people who had finally, finally figured each other out.
"This was... nice," Cana said softly, sipping her wine. "No near-death experiences. No drunken confessions. Just... nice."
"I told you I was waiting for the right moment," Blake replied, his eyes holding hers over the candlelight.
Finally, they reached their rooms in the hotel. They stood at their adjoining doors, the comfortable, electric silence stretching between them.
"Well," Cana said, her hand on her doorknob. "Goodnight, Blake."
"Goodnight, Cana."
He watched her disappear into her room, then he entered his own. He let out a long breath. It was a perfect day.
Blake was getting ready to sleep. He'd showered and was just in his lounge pants when there was a knock on the door. Not his room door, but the locked, adjoining door that connected to Cana's suite.
He paused. "Cana?"
"Open the door, Blake," her voice was muffled, but it held a familiar, boozy confidence.
He sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. He unlocked and opened the door.
It was Cana. But this wasn't the shy, sweet girl from dinner. This was the Cana he knew best. In her hand, there was a bottle of the hotel's most expensive whiskey, half-empty.
She was clearly drunk, and she was wearing a simple, silk robe that did very little to hide her form.
"Took you long enough," she slurred, a predatory grin on her face.
As soon as the door was open, Cana didn't wait. She jumped on him, her legs wrapping around his waist and her hands around his neck, her liquid courage erasing her last inhibition.
She started to kiss him fiercely, her mouth hot and tasting of whiskey and the day's lingering sweetness.
For a second, Blake was rigid, his instincts shocked. Then, the man who had held back for half a decade finally let go. He grabbed her thighs, holding her up as he also started to kiss her back, his own suppressed longing flooding to the surface.
He kicked the door shut with his heel, the click of the lock echoing in the room. He carried her, their mouths still locked, and they both fell on the bed, landing on their sides.
Cana straddled him, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. Her fingers trembled against his bare chest. "Wanted this," she slurred, "since... since forever."
Blake's hands settled on her hips as she ripped open his shirt buttons. Fabric tore. She shrugged off her robe, breasts pale in the lamplight. Blake's thumbs traced her nipples—slow, deliberate—and she gasped. "Like?" she demanded. He nodded, voice rough. "Beautiful."
He flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists. His mouth trailed down her throat, teeth grazing her pulse point. Lower still—his tongue swirled around one nipple while his palm kneaded the other.
Cana arched, whimpering. When his fingers hooked into her shorts, he paused. "Sure?" Her eyes burned. "Don't stop." He stripped her bare.
For a breathless moment, he just stared—the curve of her waist, the flush spreading from her chest. She squirmed, covering herself. "Stop looking," she laughed shakily. "Your turn."
Blake stood, shucking his pants. Cana whistled appreciatively. "Damn." He smirked. "Keep talking." She reached for him. He knelt between her thighs, pressing kisses along her inner thigh before his tongue found her. Soft at first—teasing, circling—then deeper.
Cana cried out, fingers twisting in the sheets. Her hips lifted off the mattress as he worked her, slow and relentless. When she shattered—back bowing, a sob catching in her throat—he held her through the tremors.
He kissed her stomach, her ribs, her mouth. Her legs wrapped around him. "Ready?" he murmured against her lips. She nodded, dazed. He pushed in slowly, stretching her, swallowing her gasp with his kiss. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. He paused, buried deep. "Are you alright?" She nodded again, eyes wet. "Move." He began rocking—gentle at first, then harder, deeper.
Cana's moans filled the room, raw and unguarded. She clawed at his back, meeting every thrust. Outside, Crocus glittered, indifferent.
He rolled her onto her knees. Hands braced on the headboard, she arched backward. Blake gripped her hips, driving into her from behind. The slap of skin echoed. Her breasts swayed with each jolt. "Faster," she gasped.
He obeyed, fingers bruising her waist, pace relentless. She cried out, shuddering as another wave crashed through her. Her knees buckled; he caught her waist, pulling her upright against his chest.
His hand slid down her belly, fingers finding her clit. She arched her neck against his shoulder, breath ragged. "Don't stop."
He laid her flat again, dragging her hips to the edge of the bed. Standing, he hooked her legs over his shoulders. Deeper now—angled, ruthless.
Cana screamed, nails raking the sheets. Her thighs trembled. He watched her face—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in silent ecstasy. Sweat dripped from his jaw onto her stomach. She reached for him, fingers brushing his cheek. "Blake," she whispered.
He slowed, bending to kiss her, swallowing her whimper. Her hand slid between them, circling herself as he thrust. She shattered, back lifting off the mattress.
Collapsing beside her, he pulled her close. Her skin stuck to his, slick and hot. They breathed raggedly, tangled in rumpled sheets. Her laugh was breathless. "Not bad," she slurred, eyelids heavy.
Outside, distant bells chimed midnight. Blake kissed her temple, her hair smelling of salt and rum. Her hand drifted lower, fingers curling around him. He groaned. "Again?" She grinned, climbing atop him, straddling his hips. "Round two," she declared, sinking. Outside, Crocus slept. Inside, the night burned on.
He rolled her onto her stomach, pressing her face into the pillow. Her back arched, a pale curve in the lamplight. Blake gripped her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh. He entered her again, deeper this time, a relentless rhythm that rocked the bed frame against the wall.
Cana gasped, muffled cries escaping into cotton. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the headboard, knuckles white. Sweat pooled in the dip of her spine. He leaned over, biting her shoulder blade—a sharp sting that made her jerk against him.
"Harder," she pleaded, voice cracked. He obeyed, slamming into her with bruising force. Her thighs shook. The sounds filled the room: skin slapping, her choked moans, his ragged breaths. He hooked an arm under her waist, lifting her onto her knees.
One hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. The other slid around her ribs, palm rough against her nipple. She whimpered, pushing back against him desperately. "Don't stop," she begged. "Never stop."
He flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. Her legs locked around his waist as he drove into her, relentless. Her eyes glazed over, unfocused. A shudder tore through her—another climax, sharp and violent. She went limp, gasping.
Blake didn't slow. He dragged her hips higher, changing the angle. Her head lolled, dark hair spilling across the pillow. Her moans grew faint, slurred. Her grip on his wrists faltered, fingers slackening.
He kissed her throat, her jaw—wet, messy kisses. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her breath hitched in shallow bursts. Still he moved inside her, pace unyielding. Her body trembled beneath him, unresponsive now but yielding. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
Then silence. Her limbs went utterly loose, heavy against the mattress. Her chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths. Blake finally slowed, watching her. Sleep had claimed her mid-thrust, face slack, lips slightly parted. He brushed damp hair from her forehead.
Carefully, he pulled out. She didn't stir. Gathering her limp form, he lifted her onto clean sheets, wiping sweat from her brow with the corner of the blanket. The room smelled thickly of sex and rum. He covered her nakedness, the blanket rising gently with each slow breath. Moonlight spilled through the window, silvering her skin.
Blake stood watching, the city's distant hum the only sound besides her breathing. He touched a fading bruise on her hip—dark against the pale sheet. Then he crawled in beside her, curling around her warmth.
Outside, Crocus dreamed on. Inside, exhaustion swallowed him whole. The bottle lay forgotten on the floor, dripping its last golden drops onto the carpet.