Into My Arms

Beric was beyond thought and reason. Once he felt her head on his chest, her arms slipping around his waist, he found her mouth. She returned his kisses forcefully and pressed her body closer to his. With one swift motion he had kicked the door shut with his foot and pressed her into the bed. He couldn't see a thing. Not her soft face and lips against his rough beard, not the look of her liquid brown eyes. He wanted to see her, all of her.

At the same time, he was grateful she could not see him. People recoiled from his one-eyed gaze and the deep scars that cleft his cheek. Without being able to look in her eyes he could not be certain this is what she wanted. In a hoarse voice he asked, “Is this truly what you desire, Sylvie? Do you know what is going to happen?” She brought her hands to his face, tracing the scars.     

“I know I want you to lie with me tonight. That’s all I know and care about.” With a sort of wonderment in his voice, he asked, “Why? How could you want this? How could you want me?”

“Why?” she asked incredulously. “Because the moment you spoke to me I felt safer than I have since...since they died.” Beric sighed and felt a heavy sadness pressing down upon him.

“Do you think you have to repay me this way? Do you really think I would ask that of you?” He felt a tightening in his throat and a deep shame that he had allowed himself to dare think the girl had truly desired him.

“No! That is not what I meant, not at all.” She made a noise of frustration. “What I meant is that, what I feel is…” again, the sigh of frustration escaped from her lips. “What I mean is that I have prayed for death every night since then. I have felt nothing but fear and heartbreak,” her voice was getting louder and more strained with emotion. “But when you spoke to me in the kitchen...before that, even, I felt the first bit of hope in weeks. I felt alive! And I felt things, desires, that I've never felt before.”

Beric marveled at her words, at how closely her thoughts and feelings mirrored his own. His lips found hers again and slid down to her neck, the skin there impossibly soft and sweet. She groaned and clutched at his back. He sat up on his knees and pulled the shirt over his head before sliding her dress above her thighs. God, how he wished for some candlelight so he could see her. He slipped her smallclothes off, aware that he was moving too quickly, that he needed to get himself under control.

“You know this is going to hurt, don't you?” The memory floated up, unbidden, of the first time Thoros had been inside him. The pain was much worse than he had expected, and afterwards they were both shocked by the blood trickling down his leg. Beric pushed the memory from his mind. “Is this really and truly what you want?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and reached out to pull him back down onto her.  He fumbled clumsily with his trousers, pushing them down and off. He reminded himself again to slow down and resisted the urge to bury himself in her all at once. Instead, he lay to one side of her, propped up on his arm, and kissed her hungrily on the mouth. At the same time, he let his fingers trail down between her legs and felt how warm and wet she was. She trembled at his touch, her legs closing tightly around his hand. “Sorry,” she panted. “I can't stop shaking.”

His lips trailed down to her neck once again. He wished he had removed her dress completely so he could feel and kiss her breasts. But it was too late for that. He pushed two fingers inside her and felt the ring of flesh inside that attested to her virginity. Gently, he spread his fingers inside to loosen her up. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and asked if he should stop. “No. It hurts a little, but don't stop.”

After a few more seconds he removed his hand and grasped hers. Without speaking, he guided her hand to his cock. He moaned involuntarily and felt her hot breath against his face. Her touch was tentative. She seemed afraid to explore. Her hand slipped around to his back, finding the wounds from the arrow, and then the lance. He had no sensation in the scar tissue, but he could feel the pressure of her hand. If she had been surprised by his wounds, she hid it well.

“Sylvie,” he murmured. “Are you ready?” He could feel her nodding against his neck, as he positioned himself between her legs. With a wordless prayer, he felt himself reborn.