"Leo, stop..." her voice was heavy and hasty. Because if she didn't voice it, maybe his hands that now simply traced her waist could push through the clothes. And scarier was her heart that anticipated his touch, yet a mind that refused from shame.
But he cared less, it seemed. His hand now rested on her waist, head finding a home on her shoulder. Lips touching them, the cloth felt like nothing more than a hindrance. His other hand didn't wish to be left unattended, so it sought the small of her back.
He spoke nothing, but the brush of his breath on her shoulder voiced his heart. When his breath rubbed off her shoulder, the rhythm was melodic. Uneven but in sync with the rain.
His heart that beat faster every moving second told a tale of his desperation. The warmth she felt from his hand on her back proposed his desires.
"You are making another mistake-ah!" Her body tensed, hands resting on his chest now. She could really feel his heartbeat now, but that concerned her little. Because of what her neck felt, she could not ignore it.
Even in the shower, in this proximity, the emotions hovering between whatever space he spared, his nibble on her neck felt distant. It was a gentle reminder of their mistake last night, yet a threatening alarm for what was happening. Her hands pulled his shirt, when her mind really wished to push.
The liminality of her heart, stuck between logic and desire, was causing the instability to act. To act willingly, at least.
Leo didn't voice out his emotions now. Nor his thoughts. All of it was being shared with his body. With the way his chest rubbed against her when she pulled. When it stayed there, syncing with the heaving of her chest with each breath. How his lips now found their place on her neck, the teeth still grazing her skin. When his hand on her back pressed further, heavier now and pulling her in.
The rain did not help either. No, it was worsening the situation. If she had still been irritated by it, still heard the screams, she could remain sane. But now it was soothing. It was affectionate. It made her want to give in, to both the situation and his lips. And she did, when his lips left her neck lonely, searching for their rightful owner.
He did not taste like honey anymore. He tasted—and she felt her mind mourning the irrationality—like Leo.
When his hand on her waist cupped her left cheek, she held his elbow. Whether it was to support or reject him, she knew nothing. It was a reflex to be tethered to the moment and not get lost in the heat, in that pouring cold shower.
The kiss deepened, always reminding her of his presence. As if he was stating - 'This is me. This is how I taste.'
Her feet lifted when his did. Every time he stepped forward, the pressure made her step back. Soon, her legs halted at the rock.
However, the edge of the hill was less of a concern. The havoc in her mind was dangerous enough.
Because from the moment their lips met, her mind felt unreliable. It did not understand her, or itself. Or the situation. Or why and how this all felt the only way for her to exist. It tried to grasp at any possible reason. A reason to justify her heart needing more. A reason to justify her reluctance to be harsher with this boy.
But her mind had little time to worry for a reason when the foreignty crawled into her consciousness.
When Leo's hand rubbed behind her ear, a touch so light and tender that she felt it shiver towards her stomach. And with it came a voice, a name, a feeling...and a memory carrying it all. Her vision remained on his eyes before the lids closed.
For what seemed like eternity, she had been absorbed into another world. She could not feel his kiss, his hand on her neck or waist. Not his waist supporting her trembling stature.
She could see with her eyes closed the bleeding wound on the wolf in front of her. A beast so massive, it put the tigers she had seen in forest parks to shame. It lay there, whimpering from pain. A brutal, rugged stab oozing blood on the muddy ground below them. And she could feel her legs struggle to run away, even though this beast voiced between its whimpers, 'Run. Faster, braver. Do not let them catch you...'
Despite that urgency in its voice, the lights were getting closer from a distance. Even the clanking metal couldn't steer her legs to escape. She could not let her kin die. Could not let her love be dragged and cut.
The water beneath her feet displayed her tired features, her face of the same structure as the beast. But her fur was a mix of white and grey, unlike her mate, clad in grey and black—a pride of only the hunter beasts. Her mind should have been freaked out, trying to wake up from this weirdness. But it felt serene, calm,...anything but what it should be.
She got closer to him, her tongue reaching for the wound. His pleas for her to run away became quieter. Her walk, her eyes, her intent, none responded with affirmation of his request. She was damned with him, to remain and cease.
He felt the cold of her tongue land on the burning of his wound. Whenever she licked it, the burning did not reduce, but he felt braver. Stronger. Healed. Even with the stab letting in air and blood out in equal proportions, he could still take on a dozen more scavengers. Or whatever these bipedals called themselves.
But he knew the battlefield's intentions, its emotions. He knew when the ground would be decorated for the end, for demise. And when for victory it would cheer. That had been his life since birth. He had been readied to meet his end on the fields he roamed, in the brawls he fought.
Resolve often gets weaker when you have a face to admire, words to transpire. Feelings to be returned and a mate to conquer. Because now he wished anything but the battlefield's lullaby. He wished revenge; he wished victory. He wished for a farse to attain happiness.
He wished it all; the battlefield could offer none. It only honored equality, and he was on the losing end. That realisation could have shattered anyone. But to a warrior of fields, to the mate of blood moon, it was loss against life. Respectful and worthy nonetheless. Yet the fear was real as well, for he wished not to leave behind the reason of his life. One who would even face demise, just to heal his wound with her dry licks.
"Will you remember my taste?" he must sound crazy, idiotic, and utterly unaffectionate. But a warrior used fewer words and spoke through actions. So whenever he needed words, he felt the lack of them. And he would have never regretted it, had she not been the receiver of his voice.
Before she could respond to him with something, the greedy sword of one of the scavengers ripped through him. She felt herself arch and howl at the grey moon hiding behind the clouds in shame. What should have been responded with an ever louder howl, she witnessed silence. The sky was pouring even here, but now consoling the dead.
Maya felt her body jerk when she saw a heavy sword rushing at her face. And the next second, she was facing Leo as he rested her against the rock. Its smooth surface made her relax. Leo's eyes were mellowing, hands resting on her waist and stomach.
"Are you remembering?" he said, his body meeting her on the rock. His pressure should have felt uneasy against her body, but she felt grounded. "Hurry up, I am waiting," he said before kissing her again. This time, his hands found the buttons of her shirt, and she could not protest because her eyes blurred any vision before pulling her into another scenario. With each button off, her mind conjured a new territory.
"Your highness," the commoner bent at ninety, his head in the utmost respect to her. He had his hands on his heart, which she wished to be a part of. Yet she smiled and walked away, because the kingdom would not spare him, even if she loved him. Precisely because she loved him.
Every day, the carriage would pass by his shop, a modest struggle to earn by selling his farm's fruits. She often took as much as she could. As much as possible, to get a smile on his face. To feel included in his happiness. To be part of his world, because her world was untouchable.
And every day, the commoner would greet her with the same weight of respect weighing on his back. Perhaps more, as the princess kept buying fruits from him. And as each day unfolded between them, the queen dared every day, ever so slightly, to communicate.
Love is a complex element. Even when you are fully aware that there is a great cost to pay at the end, the heart doesn't stay far. It wrestles with the reasons with an aching need to get closer to its remnant puzzle.
And such a rebellion had found the commoner too—why else would he hold the princess in his arms and let her claim his lips? Maybe the goddess has cursed him with the inability to think, but he hated no part of his crime.
Yet, what followed was the harrowing reality of his love. A cascading fall of his emotions in lives he did not remember living until the princess left. Worlds experienced, life survived, death hugged, and a love unloved.
And the princess would possibly remember soon. That is how it had derailed previously. Previously, when their love had tried to exist. And the same would follow in this life, or he would have to make life follow that path.
Because the princess had no idea that the next day she would be met with the commoner not bowing, but on his knee, holding a purple Misen flower in his hands—the symbol of eternal love. Her heart responded before her mind could assess the situation. It flipped over, skipped beats, and made her clutch the hem of her clothing, the affection evident in her eyes. The skies blessed them, is what she thought when the rain poured on them. When she could see his bright eyes in the hazy shower and trace the smile on his face.
But what met her affection was his head rolling over to her feet, lips still stretched to a smile. His blood pooled in the puddles rain had formed, evidence of their love,...unloved, yet again.
The knight sheathed his bloodied sword and hurried when the princess fell to her knees, holding on to the commoner's head close to her heart.
The shriek she could muster deafened the heavens, but did not bless them with mercy.
The King returned from his visit to a neighboring empire to greet the body of his beloved daughter, a knife stuck in her throat. The hilt's positioning clearly indicated decision and precision. Beside her lifeless body, fingers dipped in her own blood, were words written that would forever haunt and puzzle the king. A daughters words carved in blood, by his own flesh and blood - 'Your kingdom is built on the pillars of hope, but love cannot play freely. Your Highness, this kingdom shall never know love.
Maya gasped achingly when she returned to Leo's warm finger to her nether. She took gulps of air and water, not caring what she was feeling. The sensations in her body and mind had now decided to work together. Her body shivered when Leo's fingers flexed.
Her eyes watered, and Leo caught the distinction of falling drops from her shed emotions. His free hand cupped her cheek, and he pecked a kiss on it. "It's fine..." he whispered to her, and she could now hear that familiarity of voices throughout her breakdown.
'It's fine'
'Will you remember my taste?'
'Your highness'
Maya tears found an exit when she gasped at his finger finding depth, and her lips parted, giving way to words.
"No,...please stop." Yet what her face held was not horror. It was sadness. And even then, her legs clamped his hands.
"This,..."
"Again..."
Her hands circled around his neck, pulling him closer. "Don't go..."
Maya heard no screams in the rain, because it was waiting to add a new one. And it would wait, forever.