[ He's rewarded when he lifts her into his arms with a soft gasp of surprise, a dusting of pink across her cheeks that she hides by burying her face in his neck, her laugh of embarrassment ghosting over his throat like a promise in response to her needing him to carry her yet again. How funny it is that had someone ever told her she would be maidenly enough to practically swoon into a man's arms, she would have sworn the worst kind of vengeance on their person, and yet here she is not even for the first time, being carried to a bed that they share with increasing regularity.
When he sets her down on the mattress, she reaches for him immediately, not wanting to be apart from him, arms circling his shoulders and meeting his kiss with her own mouth; there's a slowness to it that has her trembling, enhanced only by the taste of the words on his lips, and Eula sighs.
(She needs to thank him, later, is the absent thought that flits across her mind for the barest of moments, for thinking once more of her legs and the chance of them failing her in spectacular fashion.)
Her heart is aching with the words, the ice-cold shock of fear being slowly but surely melted under the bright heat of his fire, the same flame that right from the very start has been warring against the dread and the self-doubt and all the horrible things her brain likes to say about her, the inferno of his heart that has clashed time and time against with the walls of ice she's built over the years. Walls that, even now, resist the words he whispers and murmurs against her mouth, that try to spike that fear back into her heart.
She's better than that. ]
I love you too.
[ It's another whisper, a single reply to countless of his, but there's almost voice behind it now, something stronger in the way she whispers it as her arms lock a little tighter around him. ]
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When he sets her down on the mattress, she reaches for him immediately, not wanting to be apart from him, arms circling his shoulders and meeting his kiss with her own mouth; there's a slowness to it that has her trembling, enhanced only by the taste of the words on his lips, and Eula sighs.
(She needs to thank him, later, is the absent thought that flits across her mind for the barest of moments, for thinking once more of her legs and the chance of them failing her in spectacular fashion.)
Her heart is aching with the words, the ice-cold shock of fear being slowly but surely melted under the bright heat of his fire, the same flame that right from the very start has been warring against the dread and the self-doubt and all the horrible things her brain likes to say about her, the inferno of his heart that has clashed time and time against with the walls of ice she's built over the years. Walls that, even now, resist the words he whispers and murmurs against her mouth, that try to spike that fear back into her heart.
She's better than that. ]
I love you too.
[ It's another whisper, a single reply to countless of his, but there's almost voice behind it now, something stronger in the way she whispers it as her arms lock a little tighter around him. ]