[ Familiar fingers linked through his get his own to part to be able to curl them around hers to tangle them that much further. The same goes for adjusting the ankle he has hooked through hers while a chuckle's muffled against her shoulder. ]
It's not? Maybe we're competing each other to see who can think louder then and you happen to be winning right now.
[ Something equally familiar would be joking about what's supposedly occupying them both to vault right into teasing. Like the diet they might need to put their collection of animals on after a helpful neighbor fed all of them rather generously in their absence, or whether they should really start lizard racing, or if when Nocwich opens if they could try the old arm wrestling scheme again. All things which he knows aren't on her mind and aren't really on his either but would lighten things momentarily.
Even Claude of all people finds no appeal in doing so. When he finishes that meandering path of kisses, he rests the side of his face against her shoulder with a small sigh to look out at the room around them without really seeing it. ]
Honestly, I don't even know where to start if what's on your mind is anything like what's on mine. 'Anything and everything' probably summarizes it enough when it feels like I can't settle on any one thing in particular.
[ Which - sounds a bit like any given day when his thoughts won't settle, as Hilda might be quick to point out. After a pause when there's a leathery rustle of wings from wherever Khurshid's settled himself for tonight on his rotation through rooms since their return, he finds a better answer than leaving it at just that. ]
Maybe this isn't what you're thinking about right now, but what I am is that even though there's much about all those centuries I hope doesn't happen, and that if we have to be here that long, I'm glad we were together. You and me, and all three of us, too.
[ When he frames their loud thoughts and lack of sleep as some sort of silly competition she lets out an amused hum - but even he'd be able to tell that it's lacking in any real mirth thanks to the thoughts weighing it down. There's always the possibility that Claude's mind isn't laden with what plagues her. If that were the case, it would almost make it easier for her to decide her next course of action even if it would result in taking several steps backwards. Unfortunately most, if not all of the Summoned seem caught in the same cycle of trying to make sense of how they feel about what happened. Soon enough her silly hope that they aren't thinking along the same lines are dashed.
He's right to assume that she'd offer back a silly quip or something of a similar nature. But like the way her amused sound is a little more hollow than usual so too is the desire to tease him.
Hearing him admit that he's glad of her presence there for most of their eight hundred years together dispels the nerves that she denied having. So much of her worried that just because he hadn't been sick of her in some imaginary future didn't mean that it would translate accordingly outside of it. In fact, it might do the opposite which is exactly what she feared. She lets out a quiet breath that he'd be able to feel with their hands intertwined against her stomach. ]
I guess I was thinking pretty loudly. [ After a moment she shifts, turning around to face him. One arm snakes around his waist to pull him close, legs tangling once more with his. ] I'm glad that we were together too. I don't know what it says that we could all tolerate each other for that long [ Or rather, most of it. ] but it's reassuring in some ways.
[ If only that had been all she had worried about though. ]
Maybe the nine hundredth year would've been the one to really do us all in.
[ There's a lack of humor behind those words considering that joke falls flat for so many reasons. That Hilda moves to turn over is a good distraction; it gives him time to contemplate her answer, to peer beneath it for what isn't being said even if it's agreement being offered. Agreement that's a relief to him when it settles something he hadn't known he was looking to hear as she entwines the two of them together again. Claude slides an arm beneath her pillow to cradle her head and let that hand rest against her shoulder in one more way to keep them folded together as his other arm returns to her waist.
It's after some careful consideration of her expression, taking in each and every detail of that so cherished face he'd memorized so long ago while absently running some loose strands of pink hair through his fingertips in another familiar pattern on their late nights before - in every before and after, Claude thinks, like all of those lives were meant to lead here - and finds what to ask first. ]
What's on your mind?
[ My love, he would've added once in those times which had both happened and were mere imagination though they've not been uttered in the present before. But the sentiment - that part has never changed, never wavered. Not now, not before when they'd rent each other's hearts over a misunderstanding or in the possible future where it'd happened again at his hands. Two words meant to fall into place at the end of that question and so much so Claude nearly adds them anyway before catching himself with only the smallest breath to hint the space where they belonged.
He doesn't add them even if they continue to sit behind his teeth. The question is left as it is with ten thousand answers he could supply if it was asked to him, but he waits to hear what Hilda will tell him in her own time. ]
[ His weak attempt at a joke is met with a faint smile. ]
I guess we'll never know.
[ But she can say now with certainty that she hopes that will never be the case.
An instinctive deflection is on the tip of her tongue when he asks her that. 'Nothing.' 'Everything is fine.' 'I'm not thinking about anything' - all of those phrases paired with a feigned yawn would have been enough to put the matter to rest at least for one more day. But they die on her lips when she sees the way he looks at her with such tender concern.
She should know by now that putting things off isn't the answer. There had been so many hard lessons learned that way. That doesn't stop the instinct to run in the other direction to rear its head. Her fingers curl against his warm skin, drawing faint meandering shapes as she allows silence to be the first thing to answer his question. It doesn't take long for her to steel her resolve. Even if it was second nature to dance around difficult conversations, she couldn't avoid everything they'd been through together real or imaginary anymore. Not when it was important and when it involved people that mattered more to her than her life. ]
Too many things - I don't even know where to start. I know I don't want to become a god, and I definitely don't want to live forever either. Sure, I'd have time to try a bunch of different hobbies and make things I'd never be able to do otherwise but I also didn't get to experience other parts of life that I think I want.
[ She quiets again. ]
But if it was a life where I could stay with you and Sylvain then maybe those other things wouldn't matter.
[ Because if they returned home to Fodlan, to their timelines, there was no guarantee of them. Nor was there a guarantee of anything really. But all her achievements and accomplishments that she had done on her own as a god paled in comparison to the companionship she had with them - at least she thought they did. She had only ever wanted love because what else would she be able to accomplish on her own otherwise? ]
[ 'Too many things' as for what they're thinking about at any moment separately or together really does sum it up. So does what follows of those parts they'd lived now disqualified as wants at any point when the experience of all of this was enough, and the same for Claude in that it satisfies any idle curiosity he might've once wondered about. Divinity could cause plenty of pain, as he'd always believed about any gods and the steadfast beliefs in them he'd always scoffed at.
But it would be unfair - so very unfair to write this off as merely an extension of that; though the less flattering parts of who he is coming to light in extreme magnification was part of that he could have easily lived without, there was also so much good in discovering that, despite his terrible joke and things which took their own time to be smoothed over, the three of them stayed together. Had built upon everything to turn it into something far beyond his dreams could've reached for in that it was even better, and that part he'll never regret.
Some part of Claude understands, then, when Hilda says but and names them as the reason. It's the very same thought which hasn't left his mind since the fight with the dragon: that here they're whole, and for that he would stay. Even still, it takes him a second before he nods slowly in acknowledgement after thinking through all she's said. ]
Something you want always matters, Hilda. Even if you think it's something that could be set aside, that doesn't change that it's important no matter what and you shouldn't set it aside forever, no matter what it is.
[ It's a truth he's lived by himself and something he means with all sincerity. Certainly, some of his goals have changed over time. As he'd written in that letter, there are many things he no longer wants to do alone as he'd always assumed he would before Fodlan, before Garreg Mach, before Hilda, before Sylvain - before those wants had shifted and adapted to encompass far more than alone. His gaze stays on her all the while as he keeps running his fingers slowly through her hair, then adds, ] And more than that, you also shouldn't hold back from it for anything or anyone.
[ Claude's encouragement shouldn't be met with an odd pang of sadness mingled with nerves. The things she wanted hadn't happened during the course of their eight hundred years, nor could she recall having conversations about what those things were with either of her partners. Her divine self had simply gone and taken whatever it was she wanted anyways; it only occurs to her now that maybe that version of herself hadn't cared for what she wanted, at some point, some day.
But the things she wanted feels like inviting an imbalance in the strength and stability they had found. She knows enough about the both of them, knows enough about their circumstances, their wandering affections here and life in Fodlan, that to do so would be selfish. Selfishness is something she'd long since come to terms with about herself, but this feels like the one thing she can't bring herself to breach the topic of because it's asking for too much. And in some ways, she knows in her heart of hearts what their answers would be.
So she doesn't ask, too worried about causing a fuss after everything they'd gone through. For a moment the tracing of faint lines on his skin stops before she starts again. ]
I never understood why you encouraged me to be selfish. [ Her eyes close as she lets out an exasperated breath. ] It's not like it's attractive to anyone - and don't try to convince me otherwise.
[ Even without the exhale, her words do plenty to make the feeling behind them clear. Something he understands or mostly does from their past conversations in where it comes from, and something which he understands why she feels that way even if it's a mismatch to his own thoughts. But this is also a topic that requires more thought than simply responding to say as much; that'd be dismissing what she's trying to tell him as he looks at her and waits to meet her gaze when her eyes open. It can wait. ]
My parents.
[ The answer doesn't take longer than a second for him to find considering it's true. There's much about his parents he's considered lately while trying (and failing) to avoid the ache of homesickness very much there when there's only so much sporadic letters can do over the years. But most of all, Claude finds himself considering their relationship more and more with the sort of contemplation distance and no longer being a child brings about.
And more than that - it ties into this, too, when he can loop it back to what it probably seems he's let go of for now. ]
They aren't perfect, but I've always thought they were perfect together. My mother has a temper which earned her the nickname 'demon queen' and it can be turned on anyone at any time. My grandfather told me once she'd been headstrong since she was a kid. And my father, he's always been tough. He had to be since he grew up with the same competition for the throne I'll face someday and had to prove himself. They both taught me to solve things myself or more accurately, to lean on only myself.
[ While speaking Claude lets his hand on her back trail up and down it slowly, sketching a pattern here or there with a fingertip while setting out all of those memories. They must feel like non sequiturs for them as gods, but the more he's thought about it, the more he's pulled apart some of what he'd done, the more similarities he'd seen beneath the distortions and even more so in where they'd led. ]
They frustrate each other all the time and sometimes my father's divided attention makes it worse. But they also love each other like something out of a book, [ maybe one book in particular he's not going to mention, ] and it's something I've always wanted, too, even if I spent years being afraid of it and more so when I realized it was in front of me instead of doing what I should have years ago.
[ Claude's admission has her gaze softening while stirring up a pang of homesickness for her own parents and Holst. ]
They sound like a lot of fun. [ And she means that, sincerely without a trace of sarcasm. ] ...I've always admired my parents' love too even if they drive me up the wall sometimes.
[ Their love story had been one she'd always pestered them to tell her growing up and they had always indulged her as they did with everything else in her life. ]
It was arranged but I think they were the lucky ones because they loved each other before that and still do. Despite the betrothal my father still courted her like they weren't and they still look at each other with so much affection like how I remember them when I was younger. But it's more than that. Father is the head of the House but he's always taken my mother's opinions and thoughts into consideration. Always.
[ It would be a stretch to say that they were largely why she believed in the things she did so strongly: Love, respect and trust in a marriage whether it was arranged or not. A happy household with children that are loved and would know that without a shadow of a doubt. Her parents had never neglected or rejected her even when it was clear that her Crest made her unremarkable. A part of her suspects that it's thanks to them and because of Holst's kind heart, that her brother had never treated her with anything but (smothering) love.
Caught her in her thoughts of home and her family it almost doesn't dawn on her what Claude says. She pushes back slightly, eyes searching his face. The moment on the rooftop of Cyprian's workshop suddenly comes to mind where she had completely misinterpreted what he'd said then. Hilda's mind seems to stutter. ]
[ What she shares about her own parents in return gets a smile from him as he listens. It sounds like a fairy tale in its own way - especially so in Fodlan where arranged marriages that are far less happier are common as he'd observed in the nobility. Almyra wasn't exempt from that either with its own court forever angling to find any way ahead. That not being the case for their parents meant them the lucky ones - and the two of them by extension for getting to have that.
And the truth of that, in what he's both said and hasn't yet, is what makes him all the more certain now after so much uncertainty. Years is the true measurement to be used for that truth he long attempted to bury as if that could somehow ever put it out of mind. As if doing so would help him find the right moment for it to be said, but instead all it did was make him believe he should keep waiting.
The time was those afternoons where they'd skipped class to find sunny spots to nap in or at meals where he'd taken a dessert just to place it quietly on her own meal tray while she was distracted. It was on nights when lost in endless plans and strategies she'd roused him from whatever desk he was hunched over to make sure he'd gotten something resembling rest, and the other nights where he'd scattered kisses across her skin just like tonight. When he'd opened his eyes to find her still there at the side of a hospital bed in Nocwich, and when fear of saying too much might push her away in the wake of their broken hearts kept him silent though now he realizes it risked only breaking them even more.
If waiting taught him any lesson it was this and everything else Claude thinks of now: that there would be no perfect moment to speak them, but that speaking them would make the moment so. ]
I should have told you sooner that I loved you. [ And then but a second later, since he remembers well the trouble past tense caused before when it seemed so clear to him as it was, ] That I love you, Hilda. That when I fell in love with you it never ended, no matter what words I find to say it at any other time. I meant what I told you before, except that let me tell you the complete version of it now. I love you for who you are and that'll never change.
[ For so long she could only hope that she'd have a love as true as her parents. As a young girl she believed that if she wished it hard enough maybe it could happen. Maybe she could have her own earth-shaking love that she so envied when she saw it in those around her. And if that fell short, which was becoming more of a reality than she'd like to admit as of late, maybe she'd end up with someone kind that she could grow to adore in a different way.
Isn't that what had made the dream that much sweeter and so unbelievably out of reach for her? Godhood and powers beyond her wildest imagination had paled in comparison to finding a love that had become the root of her. That imagined future had been a taste of something beyond what she could have hoped and still wanted to hold onto here – except there hadn't been a guarantee that Claude would want it here or in Fodlan if it came to pass that their timelines did align. And that fear had been what had been ruminating in her mind since they'd crawled out of that stupid crater. What would happen if the heart that hers resonated with, the heart that she called home, the heart whose heart had grown alongside hers didn't want her anymore? Because she'd read somewhere once that the reasons people fall in love with one another can sometimes be the very reasons they fall out of it. What would happen if he stopped choosing her?
Faintly - ]
You what?
[ It's a stupid question, all things considered. He'd left little room for interpretation this time. Not fell. Fallen and still is. Not loved. Love. Embarrassment floods her, heat flaring in her cheeks as the realization dawns on her that this isn't some bizarre dream of hers from before or during their fake future. Suddenly she can't bear to be looked at so earnestly when it becomes apparent to her that he'd looked at her that way for a very, very long time.
Quickly she grabs the nearest pillow, jamming it between their faces. ]
[ For all the anxiety he'd kept to himself over what this moment might look like, how it might feel to outright say what he's hidden in actions as a whisper of three important words, it all disappears now. What's left is peace even as Hilda looks at him with something in her face he can't quite interpret. There's the feeling that he should know given he's learned so many of her expressions by now, but - what it is eludes him until suddenly a pillow meets his face.
At that he has to laugh even if it's muffled to let her protest ring out loud and clear, but it doesn't dissuade him as much as she might've hoped it would. ]
Are you saying I shouldn't look at you while saying them?
[ That makeshift barrier's swatted away playfully to let the words not get lost while it's pushed up somewhere over their heads against the headboard as Claude links his fingers through hers after. A familiar grasp for more than just here, though it's certainly very familiar to now when he uses their hands to very loosely pin hers back against the pillow beneath her head. All the better to swing a leg over her hips to hover above her with an entirely shameless grin. Shameless especially since they both know she could move him aside with one hand quicker than he can blink, but useful until that happens. ]
That's fair enough. I can think up plenty of other ways to get my point across.
[ Like first by leaning down to kiss her cheek made all the warmer by the flush bright enough to be seen even in the dimly lit room, for a start. More follow from there in an unplanned constellation across her face. Next is down her neck to complete the path he'd began along one shoulder earlier but now on the opposite one while he continues on with words between each bit of affection imprinted along her collarbone and lower where he'll continue on his meandering path until interrupted. ]
The same ways from before still meaning all the same things. Even if I'm not looking at you, I still love you.
[ When her foolproof pillow plan (okay, not foolproof but it was the best plan she’d had at the time short of just bolting from the bed into the night) is quickly dismantled by the Master Tactician she can’t help but stare in abject, embarrassed horror as he flips her onto her back. His grip is light, all pretense that she could easily break from if she so wished. But she finds her body sluggish as her mind continues to reel from the words that she knows pour from her very being every time she was near him.
For a moment her breath is lodged in her throat, pulsing under the places where his lips meet her skin. Why did those words have such a chokehold on her when she knows she’s said as much in other ways? Every fleeting touch, every pester and bicker, every prank and joke, every adoring look that she gave him when she didn’t think he was looking all add up to one resounding truth: she is awash in her love of him.
The look on her face says it all.
It shouldn't be embarrassing - but it is for some bizarre, strange reason. For some reason she feels laid bare. Her eyes shut as she groans in what would sound like mock despair to someone who didn't know her as well as Claude. Except it is real. Her words drip in embarrassment as she casts her gaze heavenwards as if that would somehow make it less so. ]
You're trying to kill me! The least you could have done was give me a little warning.
[ Hilda's protest or start of one is ignored as he continues on but not without lightly squeezing her fingers in his first. A closeness he still marvels at after all this time, and the same for touch and that she's here. The skin he moves across with each spot chosen deliberately for each kiss left behind is all that he'd mapped on nights light this long ago and revisited and relearned every night since.
Each would have once served to substitute for those all important words as if they could ever be a proper stand in though he'd convinced himself it could be the same. That every bit of affection could replace the deeper meaning behind it all or that it'd somehow translate into something she would know without it needing to be voiced. A silly hope for which he can't entirely blame his past self but something to which Claude knows he won't return to again - though the words have been said, there's far too much else to add. To pretend it all away would be a task even he wouldn't set himself to.
Absorbed in his task of quiet adoration as he is, her visual embarrassment is mostly lost on him despite that flash of it after he'd demolished the great pillow divide. But - her continued insistence there should've been some sort of warning gets laughter pressed into and against her skin when it finally breaks his concentration enough to not continue on. ]
Uh huh. [ One last kiss to the top of her chest before he's sitting up again, albeit a little reluctantly for having not continued his advance any lower in the name of taking his time, and enough to look down at her with a smile and no shortage of amusement. ] And tell me, how exactly does one warn for that sort of thing?
[ Claude releases her hands, shifting to lean his weight on his elbows then arches an eyebrow as though he's actually waiting for an answer as he runs his fingers through some of her hair scattered across the pillow. ]
[ Of course she finds herself at a loss at how to answer Claude's question. She really walked herself into that one and they both know it - Hilda, because it's her, and Cladue because of the way her mouth gapes open for a moment before promptly shutting as her cheeks puff up. ]
I don't know! But you just - I just -
[ With her hands free the rest of her blundering is thankfully able to be covered up, or at the very least muffled as she buries her face into them. Despite appearances and how much she loved to croon over the love stories of her friends, Hilda had a fairly realistic outlook on love when it came to her. While she had been raised on a diet of romance novels and fairytales she knew what was expected of her and what she was likely destined for. Those stories were stories that would never be hers.
This feels so much like she's still in the dream where, if she were being honest, the god she had become had taken those words for granted after all those years of being together. Time had jaded that version of her, or rather had developed an arrogance that, even if love failed at the end of the world, the bond between them would be what ultimately tethered them together. And now that they were putting space and time between those eight hundred years without that bond, without godly hubris, the confidence she'd had had burned away leaving her with insecurities abound.
Whatever desirability she knew she had was merely skin deep. In their godhood she had been powerful. Talented. And while all of those things had terrified her, they had made her feel deserving of the love she had received. What did she have now? Just a title and Crest that didn't matter here. She didn't need someone to save her with love or affection. She just wanted to feel worthy of it.
Her admission is quiet. ]
I wasn't sure if you still would. Or did. Love me that is.
[ When Hilda's hands go to her face after the sputtered start of one sentence and then another, Claude reaches for them to pull them away after giving her a few seconds of composure. But nothing else from him follows since it feels important to wait for what she'll say without influencing it one way or another; it's not difficult to tell she's wavering between different thoughts as he traces his thumbs across the back of her hands and watches her expression.
What she admits in that soft voice hurts at first in an instinctive reaction and one Claude knows isn't rational. It's the same fear, in some ways, which kept him holding onto this and keeping it to himself. His expression softens as he looks at her. Though he doesn't respond right away, Claude doesn't have to question what to say. ]
How could I ever stop?
[ Rhetorical. It's a question to which Claude believes there's no answer when there is no question behind it; rather, it's an immutable statement. It's true that last year he had spent some time trying to bury it and force himself to forget, but all that had done was make the roots of it that'd formed years ago take hold that much more. There is no future in which he can imagine it not being there, not even in the years in which he'd become what he wants to believe was someone else entirely. Even then, that love never once wavered.
It's what Hilda deserves to hear. What's already been said was to open the door to it, and what waits is nothing but more honesty she should have heard long ago. ]
Fear made me selfish and kept me from telling you what I should have far too long before now, but I won't let that be the case any longer. When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time looking up at the stars every night. I felt less alone then, and everything that felt so big and insurmountable no longer felt impossible when they were there. The stars made it feel like everything was in reach if I only waited for them to appear.
You're the stars of my life, Hilda. Maybe that was just a silly nickname once upon a time when we were younger, but it became more than to me. It's still more than that to me now. It's a truth for how much you mean to me and for how much that'll never change. Not now, not ever, no matter what. You'll always be the stars to me.
[ When Claude tugs at her hands they fall away without any resistance despite knowing that her cheeks are probably flush in a way she doesn't like. In hindsight it shouldn’t matter what she looks like and she knows that. He’s seen her in so many states at this point — primped and proper, barely coherent with last night’s sleep in her eyes and dried drool on her cheek, bloodied and broken — that this probably doesn’t even make the notable mentions list. What she’s more acutely aware of is the fact that she feels laid bare before him, not just in this moment, but in all the moments before this. For there is the unmistakable look of love on her face that he must know without a shadow of a doubt is how she’s been looking at him for so many years now.
When he compared her to the stars, she had never given it much weight. Why would she when playfulness and freedom was all she ever wanted? Claude believing in her, seeing her as more than just Holst’s little sister and as someone of worth barely crossed her mind. To be loved by Claude had been a daydream that had blossomed unbeknownst to her. A daydream that she could keep close to her heart because she never thought she could have him in that way. Even before knowing he was a prince she had known better than to let it go further than that.
And yet here he is, bathed in the light of the moon that she so affectionately calls him looking at her in the way she’s always hoped. For a moment she lies there in silence, overwhelmed and overrun with tenderness, foolishness, and embarrassment.
But in the next breath her hands are cradling his face, closing the distance between them in this bedframe to kiss him. That alone could say so many things because she’s never thought she’s had a talent for meaningful words: he is like the moon; he illuminates, he makes everything more. But he deserves more than that. When she breaks apart from him it’s only for a moment and only to hover inches from his lips as she peppers words between more kisses. ]
I love you. [ A laugh splutters from her lips, the words sounding strange and yet so familiar on her lips because she had said it in so many ways except those three words. ] And it’s so stupid because no matter what I try to compare you to, nothing will ever describe how I feel. I love you. I love you even though I don't feel deserving of your love, but for you I'll try.
[ She brings his hand to lay over her chest, pressing her forehead to his. The words that come next are clumsy, but no less earnest. Learning Almyran had been a difficult endeavor when there was no one to teach it to her and she had wanted to keep it a surprise. The last thing she had expected was for it to come out like this. ]
My moon. My heart. I adore you with everything that I am.
[ The look on her face reminds him of a kaleidoscope in how it changes each time he looks at it, never quite the same in the emotions shifting through it but each feeling identifiable as they move through her expression. Glimpses of emotions he's seen before, ones he'd pinned hopes upon for what they could mean, and now they fall into place to form that ever changing picture. But the constant is there - the core of it all no longer a hope he'd quietly kindled on his own that's grown into a confirmation of feelings shared.
There is, of course, the ever present desire to banter back about the idea of being deserving and how Hilda is applying it to herself. Claude lets it go. Decides for now it doesn't matter when there's the same words back for each of them to hold onto that makes the long road to get here and all it's taken for both of them to know the other means it as each of those kisses are returned if he doesn't beat her to another one first when happiness is far more distracting.
It takes him a moment to place what she's saying next, if only because it's been so long since he's heard Almyran spoken by anyone other than himself. To hear Hilda speak it now - the words filter through his surprise before they fully register. Surprise which is plain on his face momentarily though once the language he knows so well clicks as does the recognition Hilda's taken the time to learn it to tell him this, it quickly softens. Whatever was there before melts into an expression full of affection and love, unguarded in its entirety as Claude has to take a moment to swallow back the tightness that's formed in the back of his throat. ]
My love, you are already everything I ever wanted.
[ The words are carefully chosen and spoken to make sure they're enunciated and not lost in hoarseness from sentiment he's not entirely successful from keeping out as it slips in anyway. The same for not getting misplaced in between their lips, not until he leans down for another slow kiss with no less intensity behind it as though it'll transfer those words if they weren't understood. To pass on all the rest waiting to be said for the time they still have, to seal them with another promise. Now that they've been said, it feels all the sillier to him that he'd waited years upon years to voice them beyond hiding them in touches, looks, and any number of smaller things he knew she'd love like they could ever be a proper substitute when they should have been a supplement all along.
It's a lot to put into a kiss, but he means to. Until Claude interrupts it to pull back just enough so Hilda can see the amused look on his face. ]
And how long, exactly, have you been planning to drop learning Almyran on me out of nowhere?
[ It takes her a moment to piece together what Claude says to her in Almyran. Having only ever hearing her own (probably very incorrect) pronunciation, she's never heard it properly spoken to her. The snippets that she heard from time to time between merchants who did business in Almyra couldn't be counted either because the moment any of them had seen her curious, bright eyes flitting to them they had switched back to their common tongue.
Worry lingers in the back of her mind - about butchering what she's said or completely saying the wrong thing and misconstruing her feelings - and a part of her waits for laughter at at her to follow the surprise. Instead his expression melts into something akin to the ones that are quickly becoming so familiar and precious to her. It's one that she knows in her heart of hearts that she'll never tire of seeing.
It takes her a moment to piece together what he's saying. Almyran is beautiful on its own when it isn't being absolutely butchered by her attempts. But it's made more so coming from him and the meaning behind the words that she manages to understand which is only further solidified by the intent in his kiss. It is a promise filled with intent, one that she intends to give and keep right back. When they parts it's with no amount of small reluctance on her part. ]
Maybe a couple of months. [ She nuzzles her nose against his, a tender, somewhat shy smile, flitting to her lips as she catches her breath from the kiss. ] Is this the part where you tell me my pronunciation was awful?
[ No hesitation before that answer as if he's really weighing up some sort of supposed consequence here in the wake of knowing not even he'd managed to hide what this had meant to him. A final tearing down of whatever guards he'd had remaining, and ones he's not sorry to see go nor is the desire to put them back into place anywhere near being on his mind. There's nothing about that he wants to criticize even playfully when the meaningfulness behind the gesture could never be forgotten.
It's tempting to continue to stay right here and continue basking in the glow of her smile as warm as any sunlight, but Claude lets a thoughtful expression cross his face like something's just occurred to him. Like it's not going to be recognizable to her as yet another one of his usual ploys from being used so many times before, but he doesn't linger where he is. He'd been interrupted in what he was doing before, after all.
So it's easy, then, to bend again to drag his lips along her jaw as if picking just where to stop before skimming teeth just as lightly along the curve of her throat down to her collarbone as if still deciding. At the same time he shifts the hand on her back down along it, another deliberate trail moving even slower southward to catch the hem of what she's wearing to run it between his fingertips with no particular rush in any of his movements with the words pressed into her skin in between leisurely kisses left behind. ]
Or maybe later. I can think of other things I'd rather do first.
[ Whatever feigned whine that would normally make an appearance in the wake of supposed criticism is swallowed by gentle intake of breath as he journeys south along her warm skin. As his mouth skims her jaw she bares his neck to him, a motion she's done so many times before in the past. There has never been a need for her to be so closely guarded, even physically, or to think twice about baring herself like that. Even if she had, the time for hesitation for that has long since passed because it's always felt so natural and right with him.
The sentiment that had danced across her mind and settled on her heart so many months ago when they had made up in the spa remains ever present and truthful now: so much of her is his. Wholly, and fully, in this timeline or whatever timeline lay before them. Something else makes that thought soar as she feels his fingers tease the hem of her thin slip: she can start to believe that he feels the same too.
Her hands trace long lines down the lines of his neck, fingernails scraping lightly against the planes of his chest. A pleased noise hums from her throat as she feigns innocence. ]
[ A laugh gets pressed into her shoulder at what he recognizes could be the start of a whine as a preface to more. It might've been, if not for that inhale betraying her and it's with a smile his lips meet her skin next. Another time he would've given into it and gladly so to start their round of supposed squabbling back and forth when the fondness of falling into old and beloved routines.
Like this one, also, as Claude nudges the strap of her slip off her shoulder until it falls slack to the side and out of his way. Better for leaving more kisses behind as if he's decided to cover everywhere he can with a kiss as a small shiver of pleased delight runs its way down his spine as her hands move across him with the light scratch of fingernails in turn. All the more reason to switch to open mouth kisses as he shifts down to reach the curve of her breasts without moving her nightgown away.
Claude distracts himself when he lets her hem fall from his fingers to instead run those fingertips along her skin beneath in a lazy pattern winding to nowhere in particular. No rush in taking time to map out what he knows from touch alone or to trade it for sight (yet) all over again with touch varying to featherlight as he moves over her hip. ]
I suppose that depends on whether I should tell you or show you.
[ The way her heart skips a beat as warmth pebbles her skin is hard to go unnoticed. Not that she has half a mind of doing that. The entirety of her is awash in thoughts of him, of the way his fingers trace patterns against her skin and it feels to be underneath his gaze.
Indulgence is something she’s found herself grappling with as their time spent in Abraxas has gone on. Being selfish has proven to be a hurtful thing not necessarily to her, but those around her. And where she had once been able to turn a blind eye to the consequences, time, both during a time of war and then briefly as a god, has taught her that there was a time and place for both. She would always be selfish and she knew that. Digging her claws into those she deemed as hers would always be instinctual because they were hers as much as she was theirs.
But when else would she indulge if not right now?
She settles herself back against the pillows, languidly pushing him down in the process. Her lips curl while still managing to keep that perfectly feigned innocence on her face. ]
[ This time rather than simply let laughter work its way into her skin or the fabric of her slip, Claude leaves one more kiss behind before tilting his head up just enough so Hilda can see the widely present smirk as he shifts to move down the length of her body slowly and with ease. There are some things too permanently etched in his memory to ever forget, there as permanently as ever as they were when they'd spent many a night learning each other.
It's with that in mind that he's content to take his time. Another part of the game they're playing and one he can play his part in. ]
And what is it you'll be learning tonight?
[ Innocence matched for innocence even as he settles himself between her legs and lets both hands slide down her sides with one at one hip and the other paused at the back of her thigh. At her hip where those hands beneath the fabric have worked it up enough to ride up to expose more skin, he leaves behind another kiss with a bit of teeth before sitting up just enough to look at her with eyes half lidded in contemplation. Only partly feigned this time, since Hilda before him is a sight distracting all in itself. ]
I seem to remember you having a few ideas we never got to.
[ That hand beneath her thigh lifts it to prop her leg against his shoulder, and as he speaks he moves the hand still beneath her slip with fingernails this time dragging against the skin beneath. This time his destination isn't so meandering as he cups her breast. With the pad of his thumb he draws unhurried circles around her nipple in touches deliberately not enough even if she moves into them as he turns his head without breaking their gaze to kiss the inside of her thigh by her knee in another intentional tease. ]
[ Hilda can't help the splutter of laughter as she goes to hook her other leg over his shoulder, letting it rest against his back with the one he'd moved earlier. ]
I thought you could read my mind. And I don't really feel like I'm equipped to come up with a lesson plan.
[ The chiding is a thin veil that barely covers up the slight stutter of her breath as he drags his fingers excruciatingly along her exposed skin made all the warmer by his touch. Whining with Claude usually got her what she wanted (eventually) but she had a distinct feeling that that wasn't going to be enough for him tonight. Her body responds keenly to him just like it always had, just like it always will. At his touch her back arches as a needy sound from the back of her throat is pulled by the way his lips slowly make their way up her leg and decidedly not anywhere near where she wants it to. If he wanted to play that game then she supposed she could oblige. ]
But if you don't have any ideas in mind I could always just...
[ She never completes that sentence, her own hand trailing idly between her thighs to hoist the hem of her slip further up to expose her belly. The only fabric left in his view are her underwear and it wouldn't be difficult for him to imagine where her hands travel to next. Teasingly she drags a finger against the thin fabric, cocking her head to the side as she watches him. ]
[ Hilda's movement gets him to pause with lips still pressed to her skin as she protests having no ideas and them proceeds to demonstrate one. The reveal of skin he'd left untouched as of yet for tonight is effective.
So is the trace of her hand in a suggestion even as she'd moved into the touch he was intentionally keeping light in what certainly isn't enough for either one of them. But his deliberate semi-stalling continues as he moves his gaze back to hers while simultaneously moving his fingers again, first to cup her breast more before no longer teasing alone but teasing her nipple with proper touch in search of more of those sounds. ]
Hmm, I think that's not clear enough. I bet you can be more specific.
[ Like wherever her hand might go next while he plays at patience with her thighs parted around him and the smallest bit of fabric left to be moved. He can wait when it will be well worth whatever her next move is, Claude decides as he moves further up her inner thigh before stopping short of the destination they both know he intends to reach. This time when he pauses again it's to slowly worry a light mark into sensitive skin, something to last until the morning and proof of a smoldering desire.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's not? Maybe we're competing each other to see who can think louder then and you happen to be winning right now.
[ Something equally familiar would be joking about what's supposedly occupying them both to vault right into teasing. Like the diet they might need to put their collection of animals on after a helpful neighbor fed all of them rather generously in their absence, or whether they should really start lizard racing, or if when Nocwich opens if they could try the old arm wrestling scheme again. All things which he knows aren't on her mind and aren't really on his either but would lighten things momentarily.
Even Claude of all people finds no appeal in doing so. When he finishes that meandering path of kisses, he rests the side of his face against her shoulder with a small sigh to look out at the room around them without really seeing it. ]
Honestly, I don't even know where to start if what's on your mind is anything like what's on mine. 'Anything and everything' probably summarizes it enough when it feels like I can't settle on any one thing in particular.
[ Which - sounds a bit like any given day when his thoughts won't settle, as Hilda might be quick to point out. After a pause when there's a leathery rustle of wings from wherever Khurshid's settled himself for tonight on his rotation through rooms since their return, he finds a better answer than leaving it at just that. ]
Maybe this isn't what you're thinking about right now, but what I am is that even though there's much about all those centuries I hope doesn't happen, and that if we have to be here that long, I'm glad we were together. You and me, and all three of us, too.
no subject
He's right to assume that she'd offer back a silly quip or something of a similar nature. But like the way her amused sound is a little more hollow than usual so too is the desire to tease him.
Hearing him admit that he's glad of her presence there for most of their eight hundred years together dispels the nerves that she denied having. So much of her worried that just because he hadn't been sick of her in some imaginary future didn't mean that it would translate accordingly outside of it. In fact, it might do the opposite which is exactly what she feared. She lets out a quiet breath that he'd be able to feel with their hands intertwined against her stomach. ]
I guess I was thinking pretty loudly. [ After a moment she shifts, turning around to face him. One arm snakes around his waist to pull him close, legs tangling once more with his. ] I'm glad that we were together too. I don't know what it says that we could all tolerate each other for that long [ Or rather, most of it. ] but it's reassuring in some ways.
[ If only that had been all she had worried about though. ]
no subject
[ There's a lack of humor behind those words considering that joke falls flat for so many reasons. That Hilda moves to turn over is a good distraction; it gives him time to contemplate her answer, to peer beneath it for what isn't being said even if it's agreement being offered. Agreement that's a relief to him when it settles something he hadn't known he was looking to hear as she entwines the two of them together again. Claude slides an arm beneath her pillow to cradle her head and let that hand rest against her shoulder in one more way to keep them folded together as his other arm returns to her waist.
It's after some careful consideration of her expression, taking in each and every detail of that so cherished face he'd memorized so long ago while absently running some loose strands of pink hair through his fingertips in another familiar pattern on their late nights before - in every before and after, Claude thinks, like all of those lives were meant to lead here - and finds what to ask first. ]
What's on your mind?
[ My love, he would've added once in those times which had both happened and were mere imagination though they've not been uttered in the present before. But the sentiment - that part has never changed, never wavered. Not now, not before when they'd rent each other's hearts over a misunderstanding or in the possible future where it'd happened again at his hands. Two words meant to fall into place at the end of that question and so much so Claude nearly adds them anyway before catching himself with only the smallest breath to hint the space where they belonged.
He doesn't add them even if they continue to sit behind his teeth. The question is left as it is with ten thousand answers he could supply if it was asked to him, but he waits to hear what Hilda will tell him in her own time. ]
no subject
I guess we'll never know.
[ But she can say now with certainty that she hopes that will never be the case.
An instinctive deflection is on the tip of her tongue when he asks her that. 'Nothing.' 'Everything is fine.' 'I'm not thinking about anything' - all of those phrases paired with a feigned yawn would have been enough to put the matter to rest at least for one more day. But they die on her lips when she sees the way he looks at her with such tender concern.
She should know by now that putting things off isn't the answer. There had been so many hard lessons learned that way. That doesn't stop the instinct to run in the other direction to rear its head. Her fingers curl against his warm skin, drawing faint meandering shapes as she allows silence to be the first thing to answer his question. It doesn't take long for her to steel her resolve. Even if it was second nature to dance around difficult conversations, she couldn't avoid everything they'd been through together real or imaginary anymore. Not when it was important and when it involved people that mattered more to her than her life. ]
Too many things - I don't even know where to start. I know I don't want to become a god, and I definitely don't want to live forever either. Sure, I'd have time to try a bunch of different hobbies and make things I'd never be able to do otherwise but I also didn't get to experience other parts of life that I think I want.
[ She quiets again. ]
But if it was a life where I could stay with you and Sylvain then maybe those other things wouldn't matter.
[ Because if they returned home to Fodlan, to their timelines, there was no guarantee of them. Nor was there a guarantee of anything really. But all her achievements and accomplishments that she had done on her own as a god paled in comparison to the companionship she had with them - at least she thought they did. She had only ever wanted love because what else would she be able to accomplish on her own otherwise? ]
no subject
But it would be unfair - so very unfair to write this off as merely an extension of that; though the less flattering parts of who he is coming to light in extreme magnification was part of that he could have easily lived without, there was also so much good in discovering that, despite his terrible joke and things which took their own time to be smoothed over, the three of them stayed together. Had built upon everything to turn it into something far beyond his dreams could've reached for in that it was even better, and that part he'll never regret.
Some part of Claude understands, then, when Hilda says but and names them as the reason. It's the very same thought which hasn't left his mind since the fight with the dragon: that here they're whole, and for that he would stay. Even still, it takes him a second before he nods slowly in acknowledgement after thinking through all she's said. ]
Something you want always matters, Hilda. Even if you think it's something that could be set aside, that doesn't change that it's important no matter what and you shouldn't set it aside forever, no matter what it is.
[ It's a truth he's lived by himself and something he means with all sincerity. Certainly, some of his goals have changed over time. As he'd written in that letter, there are many things he no longer wants to do alone as he'd always assumed he would before Fodlan, before Garreg Mach, before Hilda, before Sylvain - before those wants had shifted and adapted to encompass far more than alone. His gaze stays on her all the while as he keeps running his fingers slowly through her hair, then adds, ] And more than that, you also shouldn't hold back from it for anything or anyone.
no subject
But the things she wanted feels like inviting an imbalance in the strength and stability they had found. She knows enough about the both of them, knows enough about their circumstances, their wandering affections here and life in Fodlan, that to do so would be selfish. Selfishness is something she'd long since come to terms with about herself, but this feels like the one thing she can't bring herself to breach the topic of because it's asking for too much. And in some ways, she knows in her heart of hearts what their answers would be.
So she doesn't ask, too worried about causing a fuss after everything they'd gone through. For a moment the tracing of faint lines on his skin stops before she starts again. ]
I never understood why you encouraged me to be selfish. [ Her eyes close as she lets out an exasperated breath. ] It's not like it's attractive to anyone - and don't try to convince me otherwise.
[ Her eyes open again to regard him. ]
What else were you thinking about?
no subject
My parents.
[ The answer doesn't take longer than a second for him to find considering it's true. There's much about his parents he's considered lately while trying (and failing) to avoid the ache of homesickness very much there when there's only so much sporadic letters can do over the years. But most of all, Claude finds himself considering their relationship more and more with the sort of contemplation distance and no longer being a child brings about.
And more than that - it ties into this, too, when he can loop it back to what it probably seems he's let go of for now. ]
They aren't perfect, but I've always thought they were perfect together. My mother has a temper which earned her the nickname 'demon queen' and it can be turned on anyone at any time. My grandfather told me once she'd been headstrong since she was a kid. And my father, he's always been tough. He had to be since he grew up with the same competition for the throne I'll face someday and had to prove himself. They both taught me to solve things myself or more accurately, to lean on only myself.
[ While speaking Claude lets his hand on her back trail up and down it slowly, sketching a pattern here or there with a fingertip while setting out all of those memories. They must feel like non sequiturs for them as gods, but the more he's thought about it, the more he's pulled apart some of what he'd done, the more similarities he'd seen beneath the distortions and even more so in where they'd led. ]
They frustrate each other all the time and sometimes my father's divided attention makes it worse. But they also love each other like something out of a book, [ maybe one book in particular he's not going to mention, ] and it's something I've always wanted, too, even if I spent years being afraid of it and more so when I realized it was in front of me instead of doing what I should have years ago.
no subject
They sound like a lot of fun. [ And she means that, sincerely without a trace of sarcasm. ] ...I've always admired my parents' love too even if they drive me up the wall sometimes.
[ Their love story had been one she'd always pestered them to tell her growing up and they had always indulged her as they did with everything else in her life. ]
It was arranged but I think they were the lucky ones because they loved each other before that and still do. Despite the betrothal my father still courted her like they weren't and they still look at each other with so much affection like how I remember them when I was younger. But it's more than that. Father is the head of the House but he's always taken my mother's opinions and thoughts into consideration. Always.
[ It would be a stretch to say that they were largely why she believed in the things she did so strongly: Love, respect and trust in a marriage whether it was arranged or not. A happy household with children that are loved and would know that without a shadow of a doubt. Her parents had never neglected or rejected her even when it was clear that her Crest made her unremarkable. A part of her suspects that it's thanks to them and because of Holst's kind heart, that her brother had never treated her with anything but (smothering) love.
Caught her in her thoughts of home and her family it almost doesn't dawn on her what Claude says. She pushes back slightly, eyes searching his face. The moment on the rooftop of Cyprian's workshop suddenly comes to mind where she had completely misinterpreted what he'd said then. Hilda's mind seems to stutter. ]
What should you have done?
no subject
And the truth of that, in what he's both said and hasn't yet, is what makes him all the more certain now after so much uncertainty. Years is the true measurement to be used for that truth he long attempted to bury as if that could somehow ever put it out of mind. As if doing so would help him find the right moment for it to be said, but instead all it did was make him believe he should keep waiting.
The time was those afternoons where they'd skipped class to find sunny spots to nap in or at meals where he'd taken a dessert just to place it quietly on her own meal tray while she was distracted. It was on nights when lost in endless plans and strategies she'd roused him from whatever desk he was hunched over to make sure he'd gotten something resembling rest, and the other nights where he'd scattered kisses across her skin just like tonight. When he'd opened his eyes to find her still there at the side of a hospital bed in Nocwich, and when fear of saying too much might push her away in the wake of their broken hearts kept him silent though now he realizes it risked only breaking them even more.
If waiting taught him any lesson it was this and everything else Claude thinks of now: that there would be no perfect moment to speak them, but that speaking them would make the moment so. ]
I should have told you sooner that I loved you. [ And then but a second later, since he remembers well the trouble past tense caused before when it seemed so clear to him as it was, ] That I love you, Hilda. That when I fell in love with you it never ended, no matter what words I find to say it at any other time. I meant what I told you before, except that let me tell you the complete version of it now. I love you for who you are and that'll never change.
no subject
Isn't that what had made the dream that much sweeter and so unbelievably out of reach for her? Godhood and powers beyond her wildest imagination had paled in comparison to finding a love that had become the root of her. That imagined future had been a taste of something beyond what she could have hoped and still wanted to hold onto here – except there hadn't been a guarantee that Claude would want it here or in Fodlan if it came to pass that their timelines did align. And that fear had been what had been ruminating in her mind since they'd crawled out of that stupid crater. What would happen if the heart that hers resonated with, the heart that she called home, the heart whose heart had grown alongside hers didn't want her anymore? Because she'd read somewhere once that the reasons people fall in love with one another can sometimes be the very reasons they fall out of it. What would happen if he stopped choosing her?
Faintly - ]
You what?
[ It's a stupid question, all things considered. He'd left little room for interpretation this time. Not fell. Fallen and still is. Not loved. Love. Embarrassment floods her, heat flaring in her cheeks as the realization dawns on her that this isn't some bizarre dream of hers from before or during their fake future. Suddenly she can't bear to be looked at so earnestly when it becomes apparent to her that he'd looked at her that way for a very, very long time.
Quickly she grabs the nearest pillow, jamming it between their faces. ]
Claude - you can't just say things like that!
no subject
At that he has to laugh even if it's muffled to let her protest ring out loud and clear, but it doesn't dissuade him as much as she might've hoped it would. ]
Are you saying I shouldn't look at you while saying them?
[ That makeshift barrier's swatted away playfully to let the words not get lost while it's pushed up somewhere over their heads against the headboard as Claude links his fingers through hers after. A familiar grasp for more than just here, though it's certainly very familiar to now when he uses their hands to very loosely pin hers back against the pillow beneath her head. All the better to swing a leg over her hips to hover above her with an entirely shameless grin. Shameless especially since they both know she could move him aside with one hand quicker than he can blink, but useful until that happens. ]
That's fair enough. I can think up plenty of other ways to get my point across.
[ Like first by leaning down to kiss her cheek made all the warmer by the flush bright enough to be seen even in the dimly lit room, for a start. More follow from there in an unplanned constellation across her face. Next is down her neck to complete the path he'd began along one shoulder earlier but now on the opposite one while he continues on with words between each bit of affection imprinted along her collarbone and lower where he'll continue on his meandering path until interrupted. ]
The same ways from before still meaning all the same things. Even if I'm not looking at you, I still love you.
no subject
[ When her foolproof pillow plan (okay, not foolproof but it was the best plan she’d had at the time short of just bolting from the bed into the night) is quickly dismantled by the Master Tactician she can’t help but stare in abject, embarrassed horror as he flips her onto her back. His grip is light, all pretense that she could easily break from if she so wished. But she finds her body sluggish as her mind continues to reel from the words that she knows pour from her very being every time she was near him.
For a moment her breath is lodged in her throat, pulsing under the places where his lips meet her skin. Why did those words have such a chokehold on her when she knows she’s said as much in other ways? Every fleeting touch, every pester and bicker, every prank and joke, every adoring look that she gave him when she didn’t think he was looking all add up to one resounding truth: she is awash in her love of him.
The look on her face says it all.
It shouldn't be embarrassing - but it is for some bizarre, strange reason. For some reason she feels laid bare. Her eyes shut as she groans in what would sound like mock despair to someone who didn't know her as well as Claude. Except it is real. Her words drip in embarrassment as she casts her gaze heavenwards as if that would somehow make it less so. ]
You're trying to kill me! The least you could have done was give me a little warning.
no subject
Each would have once served to substitute for those all important words as if they could ever be a proper stand in though he'd convinced himself it could be the same. That every bit of affection could replace the deeper meaning behind it all or that it'd somehow translate into something she would know without it needing to be voiced. A silly hope for which he can't entirely blame his past self but something to which Claude knows he won't return to again - though the words have been said, there's far too much else to add. To pretend it all away would be a task even he wouldn't set himself to.
Absorbed in his task of quiet adoration as he is, her visual embarrassment is mostly lost on him despite that flash of it after he'd demolished the great pillow divide. But - her continued insistence there should've been some sort of warning gets laughter pressed into and against her skin when it finally breaks his concentration enough to not continue on. ]
Uh huh. [ One last kiss to the top of her chest before he's sitting up again, albeit a little reluctantly for having not continued his advance any lower in the name of taking his time, and enough to look down at her with a smile and no shortage of amusement. ] And tell me, how exactly does one warn for that sort of thing?
[ Claude releases her hands, shifting to lean his weight on his elbows then arches an eyebrow as though he's actually waiting for an answer as he runs his fingers through some of her hair scattered across the pillow. ]
no subject
I don't know! But you just - I just -
[ With her hands free the rest of her blundering is thankfully able to be covered up, or at the very least muffled as she buries her face into them. Despite appearances and how much she loved to croon over the love stories of her friends, Hilda had a fairly realistic outlook on love when it came to her. While she had been raised on a diet of romance novels and fairytales she knew what was expected of her and what she was likely destined for. Those stories were stories that would never be hers.
This feels so much like she's still in the dream where, if she were being honest, the god she had become had taken those words for granted after all those years of being together. Time had jaded that version of her, or rather had developed an arrogance that, even if love failed at the end of the world, the bond between them would be what ultimately tethered them together. And now that they were putting space and time between those eight hundred years without that bond, without godly hubris, the confidence she'd had had burned away leaving her with insecurities abound.
Whatever desirability she knew she had was merely skin deep. In their godhood she had been powerful. Talented. And while all of those things had terrified her, they had made her feel deserving of the love she had received. What did she have now? Just a title and Crest that didn't matter here. She didn't need someone to save her with love or affection. She just wanted to feel worthy of it.
Her admission is quiet. ]
I wasn't sure if you still would. Or did. Love me that is.
no subject
What she admits in that soft voice hurts at first in an instinctive reaction and one Claude knows isn't rational. It's the same fear, in some ways, which kept him holding onto this and keeping it to himself. His expression softens as he looks at her. Though he doesn't respond right away, Claude doesn't have to question what to say. ]
How could I ever stop?
[ Rhetorical. It's a question to which Claude believes there's no answer when there is no question behind it; rather, it's an immutable statement. It's true that last year he had spent some time trying to bury it and force himself to forget, but all that had done was make the roots of it that'd formed years ago take hold that much more. There is no future in which he can imagine it not being there, not even in the years in which he'd become what he wants to believe was someone else entirely. Even then, that love never once wavered.
It's what Hilda deserves to hear. What's already been said was to open the door to it, and what waits is nothing but more honesty she should have heard long ago. ]
Fear made me selfish and kept me from telling you what I should have far too long before now, but I won't let that be the case any longer. When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time looking up at the stars every night. I felt less alone then, and everything that felt so big and insurmountable no longer felt impossible when they were there. The stars made it feel like everything was in reach if I only waited for them to appear.
You're the stars of my life, Hilda. Maybe that was just a silly nickname once upon a time when we were younger, but it became more than to me. It's still more than that to me now. It's a truth for how much you mean to me and for how much that'll never change. Not now, not ever, no matter what. You'll always be the stars to me.
no subject
When he compared her to the stars, she had never given it much weight. Why would she when playfulness and freedom was all she ever wanted? Claude believing in her, seeing her as more than just Holst’s little sister and as someone of worth barely crossed her mind. To be loved by Claude had been a daydream that had blossomed unbeknownst to her. A daydream that she could keep close to her heart because she never thought she could have him in that way. Even before knowing he was a prince she had known better than to let it go further than that.
And yet here he is, bathed in the light of the moon that she so affectionately calls him looking at her in the way she’s always hoped. For a moment she lies there in silence, overwhelmed and overrun with tenderness, foolishness, and embarrassment.
But in the next breath her hands are cradling his face, closing the distance between them in this bedframe to kiss him. That alone could say so many things because she’s never thought she’s had a talent for meaningful words: he is like the moon; he illuminates, he makes everything more. But he deserves more than that. When she breaks apart from him it’s only for a moment and only to hover inches from his lips as she peppers words between more kisses. ]
I love you. [ A laugh splutters from her lips, the words sounding strange and yet so familiar on her lips because she had said it in so many ways except those three words. ] And it’s so stupid because no matter what I try to compare you to, nothing will ever describe how I feel. I love you. I love you even though I don't feel deserving of your love, but for you I'll try.
[ She brings his hand to lay over her chest, pressing her forehead to his. The words that come next are clumsy, but no less earnest. Learning Almyran had been a difficult endeavor when there was no one to teach it to her and she had wanted to keep it a surprise. The last thing she had expected was for it to come out like this. ]
My moon. My heart. I adore you with everything that I am.
no subject
There is, of course, the ever present desire to banter back about the idea of being deserving and how Hilda is applying it to herself. Claude lets it go. Decides for now it doesn't matter when there's the same words back for each of them to hold onto that makes the long road to get here and all it's taken for both of them to know the other means it as each of those kisses are returned if he doesn't beat her to another one first when happiness is far more distracting.
It takes him a moment to place what she's saying next, if only because it's been so long since he's heard Almyran spoken by anyone other than himself. To hear Hilda speak it now - the words filter through his surprise before they fully register. Surprise which is plain on his face momentarily though once the language he knows so well clicks as does the recognition Hilda's taken the time to learn it to tell him this, it quickly softens. Whatever was there before melts into an expression full of affection and love, unguarded in its entirety as Claude has to take a moment to swallow back the tightness that's formed in the back of his throat. ]
My love, you are already everything I ever wanted.
[ The words are carefully chosen and spoken to make sure they're enunciated and not lost in hoarseness from sentiment he's not entirely successful from keeping out as it slips in anyway. The same for not getting misplaced in between their lips, not until he leans down for another slow kiss with no less intensity behind it as though it'll transfer those words if they weren't understood. To pass on all the rest waiting to be said for the time they still have, to seal them with another promise. Now that they've been said, it feels all the sillier to him that he'd waited years upon years to voice them beyond hiding them in touches, looks, and any number of smaller things he knew she'd love like they could ever be a proper substitute when they should have been a supplement all along.
It's a lot to put into a kiss, but he means to. Until Claude interrupts it to pull back just enough so Hilda can see the amused look on his face. ]
And how long, exactly, have you been planning to drop learning Almyran on me out of nowhere?
no subject
Worry lingers in the back of her mind - about butchering what she's said or completely saying the wrong thing and misconstruing her feelings - and a part of her waits for laughter at at her to follow the surprise. Instead his expression melts into something akin to the ones that are quickly becoming so familiar and precious to her. It's one that she knows in her heart of hearts that she'll never tire of seeing.
It takes her a moment to piece together what he's saying. Almyran is beautiful on its own when it isn't being absolutely butchered by her attempts. But it's made more so coming from him and the meaning behind the words that she manages to understand which is only further solidified by the intent in his kiss. It is a promise filled with intent, one that she intends to give and keep right back. When they parts it's with no amount of small reluctance on her part. ]
Maybe a couple of months. [ She nuzzles her nose against his, a tender, somewhat shy smile, flitting to her lips as she catches her breath from the kiss. ] Is this the part where you tell me my pronunciation was awful?
no subject
[ No hesitation before that answer as if he's really weighing up some sort of supposed consequence here in the wake of knowing not even he'd managed to hide what this had meant to him. A final tearing down of whatever guards he'd had remaining, and ones he's not sorry to see go nor is the desire to put them back into place anywhere near being on his mind. There's nothing about that he wants to criticize even playfully when the meaningfulness behind the gesture could never be forgotten.
It's tempting to continue to stay right here and continue basking in the glow of her smile as warm as any sunlight, but Claude lets a thoughtful expression cross his face like something's just occurred to him. Like it's not going to be recognizable to her as yet another one of his usual ploys from being used so many times before, but he doesn't linger where he is. He'd been interrupted in what he was doing before, after all.
So it's easy, then, to bend again to drag his lips along her jaw as if picking just where to stop before skimming teeth just as lightly along the curve of her throat down to her collarbone as if still deciding. At the same time he shifts the hand on her back down along it, another deliberate trail moving even slower southward to catch the hem of what she's wearing to run it between his fingertips with no particular rush in any of his movements with the words pressed into her skin in between leisurely kisses left behind. ]
Or maybe later. I can think of other things I'd rather do first.
no subject
[ Whatever feigned whine that would normally make an appearance in the wake of supposed criticism is swallowed by gentle intake of breath as he journeys south along her warm skin. As his mouth skims her jaw she bares his neck to him, a motion she's done so many times before in the past. There has never been a need for her to be so closely guarded, even physically, or to think twice about baring herself like that. Even if she had, the time for hesitation for that has long since passed because it's always felt so natural and right with him.
The sentiment that had danced across her mind and settled on her heart so many months ago when they had made up in the spa remains ever present and truthful now: so much of her is his. Wholly, and fully, in this timeline or whatever timeline lay before them. Something else makes that thought soar as she feels his fingers tease the hem of her thin slip: she can start to believe that he feels the same too.
Her hands trace long lines down the lines of his neck, fingernails scraping lightly against the planes of his chest. A pleased noise hums from her throat as she feigns innocence. ]
Other things like what exactly?
no subject
Like this one, also, as Claude nudges the strap of her slip off her shoulder until it falls slack to the side and out of his way. Better for leaving more kisses behind as if he's decided to cover everywhere he can with a kiss as a small shiver of pleased delight runs its way down his spine as her hands move across him with the light scratch of fingernails in turn. All the more reason to switch to open mouth kisses as he shifts down to reach the curve of her breasts without moving her nightgown away.
Claude distracts himself when he lets her hem fall from his fingers to instead run those fingertips along her skin beneath in a lazy pattern winding to nowhere in particular. No rush in taking time to map out what he knows from touch alone or to trade it for sight (yet) all over again with touch varying to featherlight as he moves over her hip. ]
I suppose that depends on whether I should tell you or show you.
no subject
Indulgence is something she’s found herself grappling with as their time spent in Abraxas has gone on. Being selfish has proven to be a hurtful thing not necessarily to her, but those around her. And where she had once been able to turn a blind eye to the consequences, time, both during a time of war and then briefly as a god, has taught her that there was a time and place for both. She would always be selfish and she knew that. Digging her claws into those she deemed as hers would always be instinctual because they were hers as much as she was theirs.
But when else would she indulge if not right now?
She settles herself back against the pillows, languidly pushing him down in the process. Her lips curl while still managing to keep that perfectly feigned innocence on her face. ]
I’ve always learned better by watching first.
headed to nsfw territory
It's with that in mind that he's content to take his time. Another part of the game they're playing and one he can play his part in. ]
And what is it you'll be learning tonight?
[ Innocence matched for innocence even as he settles himself between her legs and lets both hands slide down her sides with one at one hip and the other paused at the back of her thigh. At her hip where those hands beneath the fabric have worked it up enough to ride up to expose more skin, he leaves behind another kiss with a bit of teeth before sitting up just enough to look at her with eyes half lidded in contemplation. Only partly feigned this time, since Hilda before him is a sight distracting all in itself. ]
I seem to remember you having a few ideas we never got to.
[ That hand beneath her thigh lifts it to prop her leg against his shoulder, and as he speaks he moves the hand still beneath her slip with fingernails this time dragging against the skin beneath. This time his destination isn't so meandering as he cups her breast. With the pad of his thumb he draws unhurried circles around her nipple in touches deliberately not enough even if she moves into them as he turns his head without breaking their gaze to kiss the inside of her thigh by her knee in another intentional tease. ]
no subject
I thought you could read my mind. And I don't really feel like I'm equipped to come up with a lesson plan.
[ The chiding is a thin veil that barely covers up the slight stutter of her breath as he drags his fingers excruciatingly along her exposed skin made all the warmer by his touch. Whining with Claude usually got her what she wanted (eventually) but she had a distinct feeling that that wasn't going to be enough for him tonight. Her body responds keenly to him just like it always had, just like it always will. At his touch her back arches as a needy sound from the back of her throat is pulled by the way his lips slowly make their way up her leg and decidedly not anywhere near where she wants it to. If he wanted to play that game then she supposed she could oblige. ]
But if you don't have any ideas in mind I could always just...
[ She never completes that sentence, her own hand trailing idly between her thighs to hoist the hem of her slip further up to expose her belly. The only fabric left in his view are her underwear and it wouldn't be difficult for him to imagine where her hands travel to next. Teasingly she drags a finger against the thin fabric, cocking her head to the side as she watches him. ]
no subject
So is the trace of her hand in a suggestion even as she'd moved into the touch he was intentionally keeping light in what certainly isn't enough for either one of them. But his deliberate semi-stalling continues as he moves his gaze back to hers while simultaneously moving his fingers again, first to cup her breast more before no longer teasing alone but teasing her nipple with proper touch in search of more of those sounds. ]
Hmm, I think that's not clear enough. I bet you can be more specific.
[ Like wherever her hand might go next while he plays at patience with her thighs parted around him and the smallest bit of fabric left to be moved. He can wait when it will be well worth whatever her next move is, Claude decides as he moves further up her inner thigh before stopping short of the destination they both know he intends to reach. This time when he pauses again it's to slowly worry a light mark into sensitive skin, something to last until the morning and proof of a smoldering desire.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)