Falling in Love with the King of Beasts

RETH

His skin prickled with desire as he stared into her wide eyes and she stared back. He let the music move him, move them, sliding step, to sliding step, to a pause. She got the rhythm quickly, but he could tell her mind wasn't on it at all.

He wondered if she felt what he felt—the slide of her dress against the chest of his shirt. The whip of her skirt against his legs. The brush of their legs when they moved—thigh against thigh. Warmth and pressure where they pressed, and cool prickling desire where his skin ached for hers.

Her jaw had slackened, but she didn't say a word, just held onto his neck and let herself move into him, be led, be swayed, be pressed. Putting one hand back up to her wrist at the point where his shoulder met his neck, he trailed his fingers down her arm, raising goosebumps under his touch as he slid down to her side, along the outside of her breast, then around her ribs to put the flat to his hand across her lower back and pull her in.

She didn't blink, but her breath got louder as he rolled his hips into each step. Her eyes glazed.

Then he dropped his chin so his cheek was almost—almost—touching hers, her hair tickling his neck and jaw, but instead of laying his cheek to hers, his skin prickled and tingled waiting for the contact that never came. He felt the electric crackle of her closeness, the flutter of her breath on his collarbone where his shirt was open and, unable to resist, he gave in with a groan and nuzzled her ear and nipped at the side of her neck.

She went loose in his arms and her breath quickened, but he kept leading, swinging her slowly around the floor.

Their eyes locked again when he straightened.

He was in awe. Slack-jawed and speechless at the beauty of her—the beauty she couldn't see in herself, the beauty that lit his world.

For a moment his mind fell back through the years, to those dark days of his childhood when the only sun he saw was her smile. When the only rush in his world was to hear her calling his name. To the warmth and gratitude he'd felt whenever she'd defended his strange ways. The way she'd looked at him like he was the amazing one—and followed him anywhere he would go.

"You always came with me," he whispered.

She blinked then, but didn't stop staring at him. "What? When?" she whispered back.

"When we were little. You never even used to ask. I'd just show up at your door and you'd come out and follow me."

She smiled. "Because I knew I was safe with you," she said, cupping his neck with her hand. "And I knew wherever you were going was where I wanted to be."

He lifted one hand to draw her hair back from her face. "Do you still feel that way?" he asked.

"Even more than back then," she breathed. "Reth… I… thank you. I know it's hard sometimes, but… I feel like you've given me a life. As well as your heart. And I'm just… I'm stunned. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm so, so glad you're here."

A wave of love rolled over him, stealing his breath. How was it possible that she was here, and his? And… grateful? He was the one who was grateful. He didn't have words, so he put his hand to her jaw and drew her up into a kiss that started softly, but quickly flared into a feast of lips and tongues and rushing breath.

He had to force himself to remember where they were, to break it, to not paw her in front of the children and mothers. And men, for that matter. But he yearned. He didn't want to be here anymore. He loved his people. But not as much as he loved her.

"Elia…" how to even tell her?

"I know," she breathed, and pulled him down into another kiss that was little more than her open mouth on his, lips barely moving, tongues only teasing. "I know," she whispered again into his mouth.

He sucked in and pulled her into his chest and she rippled under his hands, her head dropping forward to rest on his collarbone as if it was all just a little bit too much.

He knew the feeling. He really did.

Unable to really show her how he felt, he began to dance with her the way he would an Anima, a slow, but demanding roll and slide that mimicked the kind of roll and slide he really wanted. She gasped when his hips rolled into hers again, then she just… gave up. Eyes bright with desire, and her pupils so big her eyes looked black in the half-light. And even though she didn't know the dance, she was so loose in his arms, she fell into it. They moved as one, as if she were an extension of his body.

And her breath quickened, and her skin pebbled, and she swallowed.  And she never took her eyes off his.

"Reth?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes?" he croaked.

"When can we go home?"

"When… what?"

"When can we go home?" she said quickly, lightly. He was pierced. She had no idea—none—that she'd called his home her own. That she'd accepted him, adopted his world. Taken over his heart.

His childhood dream had literally walked into his world and owned him.

He answered by immediately stepping her backwards, walking her in time to the rhythm, weaving through the couples and groups around them, to the those who gathered at the sides of the market, watching.

Then, when they reached the edge of the crowd, he dropped all pretense at dancing, took her hand and pulled her through, acknowledging the greetings and calls of the people with a wave or a short smile, but never stopping in his path towards the trail home—and never letting his grip on her hand slip even an inch.