Rest — Hadrian & Alessa (Patreon)

Your limbs are heavy as if stone is growing on the outside of your skin, enveloping your muscles, merging with your blood, making itself a part of your very flesh. You feel... old. Ancient. Cracked and weathered by rain and sun and intrusive hands that do nothing but misshape what once was immaculate marble.

You feel heavy and worn, and your eyelids sting with the effort to keep them from closing. The Church swears that everyone has a soul, but if so, yours wasn't born with you but belongs to someone far older, for you feel the weight of time in your very core.

You're bone-tired, but you cannot rest. You have to keep watch, have to keep tracking the rocky mounds of Navarra. You can feel the heat of the campfire at your back, its quiet flames flickering in the evening air, and above your head, you imagine the faint smoke that rises to the starry sky. There is no moon, but so many stars, endless and quiet and cold and...

Dark.

You blink, shaking your head awake, and for the thousand time, rub your eyes with a punishing hand. You can't fall asleep. Not yet. But even as you square your shoulders and narrow your eyes, watching the night as if it has personally offended you, there's a weight at the back of your head and a heaviness in your temples, and you know that soon you'll be fighting this battle again.

You're so tired. So bone-tired. So terribly-

A sound behind you. You start to turn, but you're sluggish, too slow, and even before you can peek over your shoulder, two arms are hugging your waist and a low timbered voice is speaking by your ear, and you close your eyes, then, because you can feel the vibrations emanating from his chest and resonating against the skin of your earlobe.

"This is the third time you've shaken yourself awake," Hadrian murmurs, his fingers coming to loop on each other against your stomach. "And as funny as it is to see you nodding to the air, that last one was so violent I'm afraid you'll break your spine."

You feel a smile wanting to break from your lips, but you pull them taut instead. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say, lifting your chin with all the dignity you can afford. Which, admittedly, isn't much. Especially as it just makes it easier for Hadrian to rest his own chin on the crown of your head, and now your dignity wavers once more when you find yourself completely surrounded by him.

He feels so soft.

"Hmm," Hadrian hums, sending a shiver down your spine. He turns his head to leave a kiss on your cheek, and you can feel the smile on his lips. "You're falling asleep, love."

Your lips purse even further. "I'm not."

"And now you're pouting."

You would scowl if his cheek wasn't pressing against your own and his fingers weren't massaging your waist, and his palms weren't pressing you flush to his chest and... You would scowl, but now you don't even have the energy to keep your pout because this feels like heaven.

"I'll forgive your terrible taunt if you keep doing that," you say, losing all the strength in your muscles.

You can feel his chuckle on your skin, on your very bones, but every sensation is starting to come from far away. He speaks by your ear again, but somehow, it seems as if Hadrian is shouting from an abyss away. "I won't stop," he promises, fingers drifting past your shirt to warm your skin directly. He moves them up and down your sides in gentle circles, lulling you, pulling you with his tender touch. "You can close your eyes too."

You have them open, even if you barely see. Your head is resting on his collarbone, and all you view are the distant stars. "But I need to keep watch," you argue, the words sounding feeble even to your own ears.

You think Hadrian chuckles once again, but you can't be sure. Darkness is at the edge of your vision, darkness that feels like him, that smells like him, pulling you, keeping you safe...

"I'll do it." Hadrian's voice drifts past you.

And you only have the strength for one more argument. "... you also need to rest."

"I couldn't sleep anyway," he says, and you have to strain your ears to listen. Darkness looms, waiting, and you are so tired. So bone-tired. But no longer heavy, not as Hadrian has you between his arms. You feel like flying, drifting to the starry heavens. "... can go. I'll be your eyes."

You can't argue any longer, so you simply nod and finally close your eyes, and melt against him. You don't know about souls or skin made of stone, but you do know that, right before sleep welcomes you into its matronly arms, you feel his kiss on your temple, and you plunge in with a smile on your lips.

- - -

It seems to be pulsing with the rhythm of your heart.

One, two. Pain. Three, four. More pain.

You clench your teeth, eyes narrowing on the scroll before you, and try your hardest to ignore the headache that wants to split your skull in two. The letters on the old parchment are faded and written in cursive so tight, it seems the writer was either furious or running out of time. Either way, it makes it hard to read when one is rested and content. But as another pulse of hot white pain spreads from the back of your head to seep deep into your eyelids, the text before you is almost impossible to decipher.

Damned.

Your hands clench on the table, nails digging into the wood to resist the urge to tear the bloody scroll in two. You need to translate this, Tarek gave you until the end of the afternoon and through the high windows of the library, you can see that light has shifted from bright and clear to yellow and orange. Twilight isn't far away, the sun seeks its rest on the horizon, and you don't have much time. You don't have-

Pulse.

"By all the demons in Hell," you growl, clutching the parchment now. By God's nails, you want to chuck it out of the window. You want to-

Four fingers on either side of your temples, their touch shockingly cold. You jolt in surprise, but the fingers tighten their hold, and two thumbs at the back of your head prevent it from turning. "'Tis only me." Comes a voice as cold as the fingers that grip you, but just as they are nimble, so is the voice's melody beautiful. "As much a disappointment that may be, for it seems you seek demons instead."

You let out a harsh sigh. "I don't need to seek them, they're already here," you say, but close your eyes as Alessa starts to move her fingers. She makes circles on your temples, firm but gentle. "My..." You stifle a moan when she moves her fingers down towards your neck, her nails dragging along your skin. "My head feels like it'll shatter."

"It is no surprise," Alessa says, tone disapproving and sharp, but her fingers turn even gentler, and now she drags her whole hands up and down your nape. You can't keep from groaning as she warms your skin, fingertips circling each vertebra of your spine. "You have been here all day, it is a wonder your back has not turned into stone."

Alessa speaks near your ear, and you can feel her leaning all the way down to you. Her hair brushes your cheeks and the top of your forehead, and her fingers are back on your temples, digging, massaging, sending warmth into your limbs, and a pool of liquid honey rising from your stomach. "You need rest, darling one."

Rest. How you want it. "I need to finish this," you find yourself saying instead, but the simple thought of opening your eyes sends a wave of nausea through you. "Tarek said I should be done with all the scrolls by tonight, and I'm at the last one."

But you need to see in order to translate it, and you can't open your eyes. Not as her nails drag along your collarbones, and her breath, warm and sweet and perfect, bathes the skin of your cheek. "I shall handle Tarek." You can't open your eyes as her voice rings against you, and now soft lips kiss the side of your mouth. "Worry not, and follow me."

Her hands leave your skin to grab hold of your shirt, and you can do no more but to follow as they tug you upwards. Your head swims, pain still pulsing from the back, but as you crack your eyes open, the fading sunlight bathes the freckles on Alessa's cheeks, and you couldn't open your eyes to an old, ancient parchment, but you can't dream of closing them now as you gaze upon her.

Upon Alessa, smiling.

"Come to bed," she says, hand tugging your shirt once again, blue eyes both deep and shallow. Both firm and shifting. You could lose yourself in those eyes.

Alessa turns then, fingers slipping into yours, and once again, you can do no more than to follow. Follow her into bed, follow her into battle, follow her to the gates of Hell itself, with all its demons waiting. If only her hand stays in yours.