No Stranger to Touch — Neia (Patreon)

The skin is raised around the knuckles, hard to the touch, like leather that was left too long in the sun. Large calluses, of skin made of nothing but scar tissue, grow on the very edge of each knuckle, and even as you press hard into them, you wonder if she can feel it at all. 

It is as if nature made a natural cover, a protection against the damage this hand is faded to make. 

The skin beneath her fingers isn't much softer. Scars and cuts litter almost every inch, making the tips of your fingers slide up and down as if you're touching a landscape made of hills and valleys, sharp cliffs, and plunging abysms. There are calluses too along her palm and each bend of her fingers. You can't imagine how many hours they were closed around the hilt of a sword, but touching them now, you can tell the friction changed their very shape. 

Everywhere your nails graze is rough. Hard. Speaking of a life lived on the edge of a blade. It's hard as you press into the very center of her palm, your thumb sliding until it rests on her wrist, and now you can feel the slow rhythm of her pulse. You smile without meaning to, drinking in the warmth there, the faint vibrations that speak of a beating heart. 

Of conquest, for she is still alive. Hardened, scarred, rough. But alive. 

"What're you doing?"

Her voice, too, sounds like scars. It pierces the air, leaving a cut in it, a shred that bleeds. Neia speaks in intimidation, but it's been a while since it worked on you. So you gently turn her hand over until the palm faces down. Your other hand comes to circle her wrist, fingers not able to close completely, but they don't have to. You're saying you want her to remain still, and you know Neia gets the message. 

She always understands your messages.

"Touching you," you say matter-of-factly. You didn't mean to speak lowly, but the quiet, dark room seems to demand it. The air bleeds from her voice, and you try to mend it with yours. 

Neia grunts. "Having fun?"

Your smile widens. You put her hand on your lap, her arm stretched on the bed beside you, and now both of your hands are free to explore it. You start slow, from the wrist to the center, fingertips soft and carefree. You circle each of her calluses, feel the bumps of her bones, and caress the soft patches of unscarred skin you can find. Rare, but not absent. 

"Are you?" you ask after a while. Silence clings to the walls, and had it been anyone else, you'd think Neia had fallen asleep. You can see her long hair sprawled on the pillow, white as bones, and her chest rising slowly up and down. Her hand in your lap is slack, fingers bet, and the arm that weighs you down feels numb too. But the pale light of the moon shines on two yellow eyes. 

They pierce the black of night to land on you. You can feel her watching you, like a predator, a wolf waiting in the shadows. She watched you the whole time. "Touching my hand doesn't do me much, sweetling," Neia murmurs, her thin lips moving with the scar on her mouth. A scar akin to yours. 

You look back down at your lap. "That's not what I asked," you say, tugging her wrist upwards. Neia reacts for the first time. She resists, arm tightening, but you tug again, not strong enough to move it but to convey yet another message. 

A flash of white shows her canine. You feel her eyes burning the side of your face. Neia holds... and then slackens her arm once more. You bring her hand up until her fingers are near your face. "I asked if you're having fun," you say, stealing a quick glance at her.

Neia's face is guarded. Her brows are pulled down, and her mouth would be closed if it wasn't for the scar that always has her snarling. She watches you quietly, but you can see the slight mistrust in the yellow of her eyes. The unfamiliarity. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling because you know it would ruin it all. Neia doesn't know what to make of you, and right now, perhaps for the first time since you've met her with Aurelius’ body at your feet, you have the upper hand. 

"... What're doing?" Neia asks again. She slightly raises her head from the pillow, brows furrowing even harder. 

"I told you," you whisper, and then close the distance to leave a kiss on her first knuckle. "Touching you."

Neia's arm stiffens. Her hand closes into a fist, and, for a beat, you think she'll snatch it away from you. You instinctively tighten your grasp on her wrist, eyes closing in preparation, but it never comes. Her muscles stay locked tight, but Neia allows you to hold her hand. You exhale, eyes opening, and you don't have to look to the side to feel the weight of her gaze. 

"Sweetling," she rasps. A warning. You ignore it. 

You twist her hand and kiss the next knuckle. Then the other one, and finally, the last one, her pinky finger. "I'm just touching you," you mouth against her skin. You turn her hand over to kiss the center of her palm, lips lingering, mouth slightly opened. Neia's arm flexes again, so you move upwards to kiss a scar that runs across her ring finger. "I love touching you, Neia."

Her skin is harsh, rough, hard. Neia is no stranger to touch. You know it, for she has touched you too. Equally harshly, equally overbearing. And while she can be gentle, while she can be careful, it is always in the throes of passion. 

It is always something she does to you but never allows it for herself. You can never quite touch her, not like you want to. Not before tonight. 

"So, if you don't mind," you continue, lips kissing her hand until they kiss her pulse point. Slowly, purposely. "I'll keep doing it." You kiss her forearm now, traveling along her arm. You kiss the bend of her elbow, kiss her bicep, and then kiss the skin that wraps around her shoulder. Neia is rigid, arm stuck in the air, eyes seeming to burn with a light of their own as they fix on your face. 

You kiss the curve of her clavicle, and then finally, you rest your head on her pillow, right in front of her. "And the answer is yes, by the by," you say in a barely there whisper. You hold her gaze as you push closer, so close, you can tell Neia holds her breath. "I am having fun."

You then lean in... and kiss the side of her mouth. Once. There's a bump there, a ridge you're quick to follow. You drag your lips up the scar that digs her face in half, leaving butterfly kisses across its length. "I—"

Fingers grab your chin. You're cut off as Neia drags your face down, roughly but not bruising. She pushes her nose into yours, a snarl on her lips, her eyes burning like flames. "Shut up," she growls, fingers clenching. It doesn't hurt, however. "Just..."

You hold, staring right back. She's a visage of anger, of fury. But it has been so long since you've feared her. "No," you say, and lift your hand until it closes around her wrist once again. You feel her fingers jerk against your cheeks, see her eyes widen in bewilderment. You smile. "I like talking with you too."

You don't know how long it's been since anyone has touched her like this, without violence or lust. It seems her life has always been to the extremes, but sometimes. Sometimes the mild can be as satisfying. "Neia Dawnseeker," you say, your other hand cupping her cheek. You feel her scar on your palm, feel the pads of her fingers touching your scar too. 

Neia's yellow eyes can't seem to stop moving. They look at your hand, then linger on your lips, and finally, snap to your eyes. Burning still. "Fucking hell," she curses, but her snarling lips open in a chuckle, and her fingers tighten as she pulls you closer, and the way she claims your lips isn't gentle. 

Her kiss is full of teeth and tongue, and hands keeping you in place. But something is different. For when you sink your hands into her hair, pulling her in as close as she can get, Neia allows it. She allows your nails to cup her cheeks, allows them to drag down her neck. And when you pull back to breathe, breasts heaving against hers, she remains still when you rest your forehead on hers. 

"Answer me," you say, twisting a handful of white hair between your fingers. Neia keeps her eyes closed. You pass your thumb over one of her eyelids. "Are you having fun?"

She growls. 

You laugh. "Neia?"

Two strong arms push you down on the bed. You go willingly, opening your arms for her to settle on top of you. Her head rests against your chest. "Yes." Comes her voice, cutting through the air and leaving it bleeding. But it sounds like music to your ears. "Now go the hell to sleep."

You can't see her smile as you laugh again, but you feel it on the skin of your chest, right above your heart.