fighting_mad | Mirrorverse AU

Mirrorverse AU

Isplourrdacartha is cold.

That's the first thought in her mind.

The second is 'sunlight,' and the third (unrelated to points one or two) is '...ow.'

But it isn't like the movies; she doesn't forget where she is and what has happened until she rolls over and finds herself face-to-face with the man of her dreams. She remembers from the first second that she is awake, and it brings a smile to her face despite thoughts one through three.

She slowly opens her eyes.

She is curled on her side in Rial's enormous bed. The curtains are open and the late afternoon sun streams in; the blankets are down somewhere around her feet and she wears only her bra and the first pair of shorts she'd been able to find, which, judging by the fact that they're falling off of her, don't actually belong to her.

Her eyes flick up at a quiet breath.

She is curled against Rial, her forehead inches from his bare chest. His hair has flopped into his face and he breathes slow, deep and even. He looks his age like this; young and carefree. She wants to reach out and brush his hair back, but she doesn't want to wake him, and she settles for smiling like the sun because she is in Rial's bed and they damn well consumated their marriage this morning.

And Force but it was good.

Slowly, carefully she stretches down to pick up the blankets--and she winces mightily as she does so, because that is painful, but a good sort of pain, a satisfied one--and pull them up over the two of them.

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Rial wakes slowly.

Actually, he wakes quickly, the way he always does. But he doesn't really move and when he opens his eyes thoughtfully to see Isplourr, he smiles. It's kind of faint, and sleepy still, like he's not exactly focusing just yet, but it's a smile all the same.

"Good morning."

Isplourr thinks she won't ever get used to seeing him smile, and especially to seeing him smile at her, and her answering smile is dazzling.

"Good afternoon, you mean," she says, and she finishes pulling the covers up over them. "I'm sorry; I was trying not to wake you."

If she's a little awkward (but happy awkward, as is evidenced by the smile), it's only because she's never woken up with a man before, much less a man she is and has been painfully in love with for months. Is there a protocol to it? Certain things you're supposed to do or say?

Possibly, she is thinking too much.

"...afternoon," he says, and adjusts his mind suitably. "It's fine, I was waking up."

He brings a hand up to scrub thoughtfully at his eyes, blinking at her with something like fascination. He's woken up next to women before, of course, it's just never quiet felt like this. He can't even place the feeling, only knows that it reminds him of getting into his X-wing after a few days of leave, feeling the old seat under him and knowing exactly what he had to do. Or coming back to a familiar bunk, or-

comfortable is the word that finally swims up from his mind, and he knows it's the one that fits. This feels oddly right, like he just sort of belongs here.

So the smile grows a little more, and he stretches, yawning widely. "Did you sleep well?"

After, he means.

Isplourr has this niggling feeling that there's something that she ought to be doing other than watching him stretch, watching the hard muscle ripple and the way that several scars distort themselves and has she mentioned the cords of muscle yet -- but, sleepy and content, she can't be bothered with figuring out what it is.

OH HELL, she has to respond to him.

"Yes," she says, her eyes hurriedly flicking upward, her face stained crimson. "Yes, I did."

He peers at her, smile forgotten in something approaching concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," she says, even more quickly. "I'm fine, I just--" She laughs and, flustered, covers her eyes with her hand. "I don't really know--"

Beat.

"Kiss me, please?"

Stop her mouth, for the love of the Force. Please.

There's a thoughtful pause, and then Rial leans forward to do just that.

When they break apart, he leaves a hand on the side of her cheek, the closest he's really going to get to a tender caress. "It's okay, Isplourr."

Her smile at him is bright and little wobbly, more out of disbelief than nerves. Is she really here? Is this really happening? His hand is on her face and she can still taste him on her lips, and it all feels too good to be true.

But it is true, it is real, and something in her heart stops battering about like a frightened, caged bird and settles.

Her smiles steadies as she calms, and she whispers, "I know," and she leans in to kiss him, gentle and chaste and already a little less clumsy and inexperienced.

It's a long few minutes before he pulls away, this time, although it's with an almost-smug smile on his face.

He can't believe this, still. How weirdly right it feels. How unlike any time before this is, so much so that it creates an almost unsure feeling in his belly. Doubt. Some worry, all new emotions - or at least new in having to deal with relationships.

So he covers by slipping out of bed, stretching again, and turning back to Isplourr.

"Shouldn't stay in bed all day."

"Well," says Isplourr sensibly, rising up on one elbow. She is radiant, long red hair framing her flushed face, her eyes shining and following him. "You did tell your aide that we were in bed with minor cases of Hesken fever, and weren't to be disturbed all day."

"That's true," Rial admits, turning to pad quietly out of the room. "But I'm hungry."

And this, sadly, is not the kind of hunger that can be satisfied by staying in bed longer.

Isplourr blinks a moment at the swift exit, and then she throws off the blankets, gives up on the shorts when they immediately hit the floor, and she scoops up the first robe that she finds.

Again, it happens to be Rial's.

Bundled up in the oversized robe and tying the sash around her waist, trying to roll the sleeves up past her hands, she follows him out into the kitchen and leans in the doorway for a moment, content to watch him.

He's moving around quietly, making caf, glancing at the chrono and raising his eyebrows when he confirms that yes, it is the afternoon. After a moment he turns back to watch her and almost manages to stifle the smile of amusement in seeing her wear his robe.

"I'm not sure that fits, my countess."

"It's all the rage on Imperial Center," she tells him, with a sleepy-eyed smile, and she slips into the kitchen on quiet bare feet. She bumps his side gently with hers as she reaches into a cupboard for a pan, and starts putting together the supplies to cook eggs and nerf-bacon.

Rial putters around a little more for a few moments, and then checks the caf. There's a niggling sense that he's doing something wrong in the back of his head.

It takes almost five minutes of staring intently at the machine to figure out what it is.

Slightly sheepishly (not that you'd know it to look at him) he goes to the cupboard and snags another mug and spoon, putting them down on the counter next to his own. It takes time to remember that he's doing things for two, now.

Isplourr has been doing things for the two of them all along. She never makes caf for herself or meals for one. Her instinct is to take out those extra ingredients, the other bowl. Rial doesn't, and she's never begrudged him it.

Eggs cooking merrily away and the bacon happily sizzling (or Isplourr thinks of it as happy, anyway), the countess glances up as she washes bacon grease from her fingers in the sink. Her eyes settle on the two mugs, and she looks at them for a long moment before she's moving to bury her face in his shoulder.

She's never begrudged him it, but that doesn't mean that seeing the two mugs and the two spoons sitting patiently on the countertop beside each other doesn't cause a sudden lump in her throat.

Rial stiffens instinctively as her arms go around him, then relaxes slowly and frees one arm to awkwardly pet her hair.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says into his skin, holding on fiercely. "Everything's right."

"...okay."

So he stands there, and he holds her, and maybe it feels a little more right then he was expecting.

It's perfect, Isplourr thinks; her chin fits just right on his shoulder, if she tilts her head up a little bit, and his arms around her with one hand in her hair and he's warm and tall and --

And the bacon is making warning noises.

Her eyes fly open.

"--Damn!" and she's scrambling out of his arms and back to the cooker, fumbling to shove her borrowed robe's sleeves out of her way. When that takes too long, she just yanks the robe off quickly and sets to work rescuing the bacon, turning down the heat and moving the pan.

If she'd thought about it, she wouldn't have done it, even if he did certainly see her (touch her) in less this morning. But there was no time, and she was only thinking of the bacon to be saved.

Now she's swiftly flipping the omelettes and turning down that burner, too.

Rial lets her go - he doesn't cook really well and the breakfast smells really good, so he'd really rather it not burn. Except then she takes off the robe and his eyebrows go sharply up.

It's. Well, it's not like he hasn't seen her naked (in fact, he's seen her naked most of today already) and it's not even like she's fully naked. It's just when she's not thinking of anything but the task at hand she seems to move more easily, less like she's hindered by her own skin.

And damn but she is one fine-looking lady. He settles back against the wall and crosses his arms in front of his chest, a slow grin settling across his face.

Might as well enjoy the view, eh?

Bacon and eggs saved and now simmering on lower heat, Isplourr realizes, abruptly, that she shrugged off the robe, and that she isn't wearing anymore more than a couple of scraps of cloth and her hair.

Granted, her hair falls to her lower back in a long, thick cascade of deep red and it covers quite a bit, but--

She's flaming red from her face to her chest, and she's busily occupying herself with doing little bits of nothing (wiping the range off, picking an invisible bit of dried grease off a cold burner) that let her keep her back to him as she tries to get the flush under control.

She can feel his eyes on her from behind.

Or is it that she can feel his eyes on her behind?

Either way, it isn't helping.

"That looks suits you." Rial's still watching her thoughtfully, grinning. She's evidentially noticed, now, given that her movements are far more self-conscious, but she's still absolutely beautiful.

"You should wear it more often."

Her eyebrows knit, and she half-turns toward him before she can think about it. "But I'm not--"

Beat.

"Oh. Right." He must be influencing her, because there is a little bit of a loving, very slight roll of the eyes.

She is also still blushing mightily, her face burning.

She resists the stupid urge to cross her arms over her chest, but gives in to the sudden need to check on the food cooking.

The grin just gets wider at the blush, and Rial pushes himself off the wall to come and stand behind her, one hand on her hip and the other tracing a little pattern on her back, one that tugs on the back of the bra lightly.

Not making any noise, smile fading somewhat to a look of almost hesitancy, he continues to trace little loops and whorls on her skin.

"Isplourr," he says finally, but he's not exactly sure what it is he's supposed to say so he just finishes there.

She smiles the second she feels him touch her, her flush beginning to fade into two brushes of pleased color high in her cheeks. With one quick, practiced twirl, she pulls her hair into a long tail over the front of her shoulder, out of the way. Her other hand touches his arm lightly, then slides down his forearm and his wrist to cover the big hand on her hip and carefully slip her fingers through his knuckles.

She leans back against his chest--just a little, not enough to get in the way of the strong fingers causing goosebumps up and down her spine--content to stand with him as she watches over their breakfast-dinner.

He says her name, though, and the tone of his voice -- it fills her with dread immediately, and she doesn't let go of his hand or the hair wound around her other hand, her head still ducked from that movement.

One deep breath, then another.

"Yes?"

He makes a noise in his throat, low and helpless. He doesn't know what to say. He knows what he wants to say, but he doesn't how to say it or even if he should.

I love you.

So he holds her a little tighter, ducking his head down next to her ear and murmuring "Nothing, my countess."

Nothing at all.

She doesn't realize that she had stiffened until she relaxes against him, smiling startled and fit to bust as he slings an arm around her. She rests her arm on top of his, over her stomach, and tilts her head back and turns it enough that she can (sort of) see him. She smiles, silent and guileless and pretty, and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Then she turns back to the serious business of flipping bacon and omelettes, her other arm unmoving from its place with his.

But not without her constant, private (for him) smile, and not without snuggling back more securely into his arms.

Her prince. Always her prince.

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Mirrorverse AU

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