It has been a long time.
And she was so very tired.
Tired of being used, of being beaten over and over, of having her trust betrayed by too many. She was tired of taking care of everyone, neglecting her own self. She was tired of being a shell of the person she was. So she built her fortress, building walls upon walls, each one equipped with detours and trou-de-loup. She hermiticised herself, watching the hordes and legions from the safety afforded by her sacrarium, and may the gods grant mercy upon anyone who dared to try to get too close, who attempted to chip at her walls. She fought them all, winning every war, no matter the cost, until at long last, quiet and silence reigned at her keep. In her impervious sanctuary, she began her long, arduous process to heal herself, to rebuild who she was, and realised that the repairs were imperfect. And so she continuously refused anyone beyond the outer ring of courtyards that surrounded the walls that she carefully, meticulously built around her own self.
She was exhausted; that utmost control, her impenetrable stronghold, was her last fulcrum, her final stand, her sole anchor.
Her tribe--her friends and her family--noticed her distance but they have encountered her carefully cultivated front and have learnt not to press forward. They knew she would tend them, would keep them safe, would never betray them. All she asked in turn was their distance. In her strained mind, she was protecting them from the cracked self that would shatter at the slightest hint of a breach. She offered them strength without taking any in turn. They didn't know.
She had lovers whom she allowed to visit her bed for momentary respites, but she never left her guard, never allowed them in. Those who did not notice her walls often left. Those who felt her distance tried to cross it. They tried to find a door, a simple passageway. Most were fooled in thinking that they were able to tear down her enclosure, but in truth they were permitted to rent the outer mock-wall that she had placed as a diversion before they encountered her diligently placed silk-and-velvet covered impassable facade. Those who stepped back became a part of her tribe. Those who tried to be her hero were soundly beaten, tarred and feathered, and sent whimpering back to their disillusioned camp, where the next one waited to ride in the deluded, futile attempt to be her hero. She didn't need a hero. She slew her own dragons, fought her own battles, and refused to let anyone triumph over her wars. They were hers to fight and to win, and no one else would take that from her. She didn't want a hero and she could no longer afford to be generous with mercy.
This illusion was wearying, but the maintenance of her thick walls was paramount. One more betrayal, one more loss, one more illness, one more death, one more cold, casual dismissal of her would shatter her. Her solitude provided her with the security to survive. She may be fatigued, yet the alternative was considerably worst.
But she was tired. It has been a long time, and she wouldn't know how to lower her perfect, thick, infallible defences even if she wanted to.
That is, until he began to wander around her walls and undeterred, began to explore, wondering at this strange, labyrinthian complexity that he stumbled upon. She let him. He was witty and kind and intelligent and she thought he would fit in nicely with her tribe when they were done being lovers. He could not trespass. He would not know how.
However, that was before he found that tiny, inconspicuous, minuscule crack. It was barely perceptible, an oversight on her part, a lapse in her vigilance. She didn't even know that the infinitesimal fault existed until he had nestled in and began to burrow himself in. He may not have even realised what he had come across. She could only hope that was the case.
Her sole consolation was that she had so many meticulously plotted intricacies, that he would likely be bored and leave, but in the meantime, she would let him range whilst she carefully studied him and his exploration of that microscopic fracture. She would analyse what he would do and when he left, she would take what she had learnt and rebuild and strengthen that tiny, little fissure in her otherwise indestructible walls. After all, he could never breach her walls, never get too close. It was a test, an experiment, and he would leave her fortress alone, as her tribe does, as her past lovers do.
But she had underestimated him and she was idealistic in her calculations, and it was too late when she realised that the experiment would fail spectacularly.
Without either of them knowing how, he suddenly found himself within her inner chambers, where she was. They stood, facing each other, his eyes taking in every detail as the air thickened and dripped with unbridled desire. She waited for him to take in the ugliness of her battle wounds and of her scars, for him to take his pleasure in her, and then leave. She had hoped for that. She didn't want him to pretend to have an interest. It was easier if they just used and took their release in each other, and he left without the conceit of concern.
She must be careful. He was too close. Much too close. She could scarcely breathe and she did not understand why she did not take her shield and armour and sword and dagger to drive him out. She could not understand how she allowed him into her inner chambers. Her heart pounded and she could feel the stirrings of deep, burning, bare desire deep within her pelvis, born not out of lust but out of care. She took a step closer, her eyes intense, her tongue moistening her suddenly dry lips. In a low voice, she invited him.
She needed to be careful--so very careful.
He reached out and cupped her cheek, the touch tender. She stood still. He didn't ask if she trusted him. He knew that she trusted no one. He took his own step, closing the gap between them. He stared deep into her eyes and she braced herself for the battle with his gaze that would attempt to pierce her soul. She was prepared to win--and to reluctantly destroy him if she must.
But he didn't.
Instead, in that look he showed her who he was, his own hurt and scars, his battles, his triumphs and his losses. He asked nothing from her, demanded nothing in return as his eyes shone his epics, hide nothing from her. He threw wide his own doors for her and she walked in.
She slumped, slightly leaning into his hand, feeling his warmth radiating against her skin.
It has been a long time.
But she's treading in a dangerous trench. She must be cautious; she has not only seen his journey, but he has shown them inside of her refuge. She closed her eyes.
For a moment she thought she should take him to her bed, where she brought her past lovers. There, she would distract him--like she did with the others--with gilt and smooth sheets and lust and her body, leaving her depth unplumbed. Like with the others, she would give him the illusion of being her hero until she sends him back so she can remain in the comfort of her keep, untouched, her walls unscathed, her inner sanctum secure. Like the others, he would only discover that he couldn't rescue her until back in his camp or joined her tribe.
His smooth voice filled her chambers, the richness of his timber vibrating. "You've seen me." She nodded and the brief entertainment dissipated.
Maybe she could open a little. Maybe she could lower her guard a little, dropping her heavy shield. She still had her other weapons. It would take more courage than she has strength for, but she might be willing to try. She wants to try, even if she does not know how to.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes did not sing of her battles, of her reasons, of her bastions. She is not there yet. Instead, she showed him her rawness.
She waited for his repugnance, for his pity, for him to leave her in disgust. Nothing. She waited for him to take her, to consider that glimpse into her as a triumph. She began to calculate how she will exact her body's pleasure and usher him out before he would be able to discard her.
What she did not expect is to be gathered into his arms, cradling her head to his chest. The strength of his arms told her that he will not let her go, that whatever indulgences they might find in their bodies and with each other, they were only secondary to him. She sighed and relaxed her shoulders a little.
She must be careful.
He brushed his lips across her forehead and she briefly closed her eyes, allowing herself that brief luxury of calm. They stood long moments in each other's arms, breathing. She begun to feel a rousing deep within her, the uncovering of a longing that she kept hidden even from herself.
She felt alive. Tired but so very alive. It thrilled her and terrified her.
She lightly kissed him, the tip of her tongue teasing the seam of his lips. She pulled back and looked at him hard. It was her guarded offer and invitation and she would see whether or not he would take it.
He was still. She forced herself to hold the gaze, giving him space to decide. She would not, could not, look away. She bit her lower lip, the first hint of the uncertainty betraying the cool, implacable veneer that she presented to him and to her tribe and to the world.
It was only then he released the pent up breath that he was unconsciously holding. It was only then that he bent his head and kissed her deep. It was only then that he accepted her invitation. He had met her on her terms.
His arms crushed her to him, his lips asking for nothing more than the moment. She swayed into him, her tongue sparring with his. Ripping her mouth from his, she threw her head back and brought his lips to her throat, holding him there. His tongue and teeth traced the column, flicking at the pulsing vein that echoed the rapid tattoo of her heart. She groaned.
He licked her neck, tasting her skin, before placing tiny kisses along her jaw and capturing her lips again. His kiss was deeper, aching. Her fingers began to remove his shirt while he tried to unbutton hers. His hands shook and he wasn't able to manoeuvre the tiny buttons. She chuckled and stepped back, helping him. She shrugged out of her blouse and reaching back, unclasped her bra, letting the garment drop. She cupped her breasts, enticing his gaze and his touch. He reached out, lightly tweaking her nipples. She closed her eyes, her breathing quickening.
