verbrannt | you don't talk to no one, don't you look at nothin'

It's been weeks by now. By now, she should have returned. Though it had taken longer than usual to regain the use of her magic (a terrifying realization, one that lingers unsettlingly in her mind still), she could have easily transported herself home even after three days of being in Lark's care. But Astrid had lingered, deciding to allow herself more time to heal before she considered returning home again, to at least not reveal just precisely how weakened she had become.

A week stretched to two. Then three. Then six.

Now, two months later, they've formed a routine around one another. It surprises her how good the long days of manual labor feel afterward. At first her injuries had prevented her from lifting the heavy water bucket to haul to trough for Larke's single oxen, bruising her pride somewhat. But as she recovered and gained further strength, it became easier and easier. Gathering vegetables, scything wheat - much of it was not entirely unfamiliar, digging back into memories she'd long ago meant to abandon. Lark both reminded and instructed her with gentle patience, and Astrid listened and learned with the rapt attention of a lifelong student.

They orbited one another carefully at first; Astrid had been prickly and especially reticent in those early days, but soon found Lark's presence a balm of a different sort. Her cleverness manifested in a multitude of ways that had nothing to do with magic or spells, but fascinated Astrid just the same. She knew every facet and feature of her home and the land it sat on, every creature's manner and needs, and how to care for all of it. She faced problems and frustrations with focused determination, sinking her hands and her teeth into their solutions.

Astrid often found herself watching her at a distance when she could, just tracking her movements, the soft falls of her hair, her expressions of concentration. She once tried to ignore the way the bare slope of her neck made her heart beat a little faster. She doesn't try anymore.

She pauses in her own work, basket full and threatening to spill, and watches the way the wind picks up Lark's dark hair, tossing it gently about her shoulders. It's soft, she knows from the handful of times she's offered to braid it for her. Another skill she'd once left behind in another life.

Astrid glances to the horizon, watching the approaching dark clouds heralding a storm, before closing the distance between them.

"A storm is coming," she cautions quietly. "We should move the animals in before it hits."

At first, Lark had been utterly preoccupied with Astrid's health. But it was also very difficult not to notice her bright eyes, her beautiful hands. There's something--intense about her. Intense in a way that leaves Lark a bit flustered if she thinks about it too long. And it makes her wonder where this woman came from and who she was before she turned up here.

She turns her attention toward the horizon with a concerned look.

"It's been threatening all day, I didn't want to put them in too soon. But you're right. Let's get them in, then I can get started on dinner. We can put the baskets at the kitchen door."

Lark smiles as she tucks her hair back. She peers at Astrid and immediately feels ridiculous for the blush that threatens. She makes herself turn away toward the house to put the basket down. If they get rained on, there's no harm done. As she heads toward the field, she starts hiking up her skirts, tucking the hem into her apron as she goes. Between the two of them, it shouldn't take long.

Astrid follows Lark's lead - as she usually has. This is her home, after all. But for as much of her life as she's taken orders, been under someone else's direction, this feels different. Lark doesn't hold her here, out of obligation or a sense of duty or the drive of her own ambition. Astrid is here, simply, because this is where she chooses to be.

The reason behind why is still something she avoids considering.

They manage to corral the animals just before the downpour hits. They run the short distance from barn to kitchen, rain dappling their clothing and making their skin slick. Astrid looks down at their clasped hands, wondering when it had happened, as they catch their breath just over the threshold.

"It seems we made it just in time," she quips lightly, a hint of a smile working to her lips. She lifts her other hand to carefully move a lock of damp hair stuck to Lark's brow away from her face, whispering the word of a familiar spell. Prestidigitation thrums warmly over them both, lifting away spots of rain and mud.

She doesn't remember grabbing Astrid's hand as they raced across the yard, but she has it, and she doesn't let go even once they're out of the rain. Lark leans against the archway of the door, breathless and smiling.

"Our timing is impeccable," she agrees. She gets quiet as Astrid strokes back a lock of wet hair. She recognizes the words of the spell, one that Astrid's used before, and she finds herself blushing as it does its work.

"That still seems like cheating," she says softly. It's actually terribly convenient, but also removes the need for either of them to strip out of wet clothes. Not--not that she was--oh that's a thought that is just running away with her. She lifts her gaze to meet Astrid's again, suddenly shy and not uncertain but this is... new. Lark might have shared passing glances on market days before, but she's never thought about it beyond that.

Her thumb strokes over Astrid's hand. She should let go, shouldn't she?

In her time here, she has only used a handful of spells. Cantrips, mainly, like this one and Mending, and the occasional other. There have been plenty of times when spells could have been more useful, but - Lark's comment brings back a large part of the reason why she hadn't.

Astrid feels a faint flush of her own then, though the feeling that comes with it is tinged with shame. Using magic has only ever made her feel pride before, yet in this place, it almost feels wrong, as though through its connection to the terrible truth that it could somehow taint her.

The soft touch at the back of her hand sends a different kind of prickling over her skin. Astrid drops her grasp then, hiding a shiver that crawls up her back with the movement as she turns to gather her basket once more.

"Sorry," she mutters, moving to bring it into the kitchen to sort through what they've gathered. "I'll help you with dinner."

She misses Astrid's hand the moment she lets go. Lark makes herself grab her own basket but she feels like she's moving through a dream as a thought takes over. She leaves the basket on the nearest table so her hands are free when she catches up to Astrid. She nearly runs into the other woman when she turns and--

Lark kisses her. It's not quite her best work, if only because she hadn't expected Astrid to move again. But she's been wanting this for days... weeks, if she's honest. And then her senses catch up to her. She gasps and steps back, the blush in her cheeks deepening.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, eyes wide. "I--"

She isn't even sure what to say.

The kiss in that moment is wholly unexpected. She nearly loses her balance as Lark seems to half crash into her, pushing her back against the table. It is over before Astrid can recognize it happening, suddenly blinking at Lark's furiously blushing face.

Her pulse is rapid beneath her skin as several sensations and thoughts and memories come crashing into her at once. The choice to stay away hasn't absolved her of the ache in her chest for Eadwulf, and somehow just this one, sweet kiss has now set the pain of Bren's absence alight and bright once again. Never in her life has she been so long without both of them. Not since it started to matter.

She misses them, deeply. And in front of her is this beautiful, gentle woman, who took her in and has asked for nothing in return, truly. Who somehow seems blissfully untouched by so many of the evils the world had to offer, who has bestowed, for what feels like the first time in decades, a sense of peace in her heart.

And oh, gods, has she just craved someone to be close to for these last many weeks.

Astrid is silent as she finally recovers, swallowing hard before her face sets with an unreserved determination. She steps forward, easily taking the ground that Lark had surrendered, and reaches for her. Her dark hair is soft where her fingers thread through, curling one hand at the back of her neck and the other to her cheek to hold her. And kisses her, full, and long, and unwavering.

Lark's eyes nearly close as Astrid's fingers stroke into her hair. The kiss she gives is far more confident, more deliberate, and Lark feels herself melting into it as the tension of her uncertainty fades. Her hand slides up along Astrid's arm to hold her shoulder as the other arm slides around her.

She can feel her heart pounding and this kiss makes her realize just how long it's been since she kissed... anyone. Since anyone held her like this. When they finally part, Lark feels breathless and suddenly shy, aware of everywhere their bodies meet. There's another apology on the tip of her tongue but she manages to hold it back this time. She doesn't think Astrid would have kissed her like that if she were very upset in the first place.

Her fingers curl, lightly holding Astrid's shirt.

They part, and silence hangs thinly in the air between them. They fit together better than Astrid might have imagined it, if she had before (and perhaps she has, once or twice, and dismissed those thoughts immediately). Her lips hover over Lark's wait for her to change her mind. But when nothing further comes, when they just hold each other there and listen to the sound of breath and heartbeats instead, she descends again.

Lark is soft and pliable as Astrid easily deepens the next kiss. Her tongue licks past her lips, delving greedily into her mouth. Without realizing she's started to shift them both back, angling Lark toward the wall. Another kiss, and another, as rain hisses against the thatched roof and dampens the world outside. Astrid presses into her, taking as much as she can as the familiar heat of arousal floods into her body. More and more and more, she wants whatever Lark seems willing to offer.

She doesn't ever want to stop kissing this woman. Lark loses herself in it, eyes closed as she focuses far more on the press of Astrid's lips and the thrill of her tongue as it brushes against her own.

Lark lets the other woman maneuver her however she likes, she knows the layout of the cottage well. Still, she makes a soft, startled sound when her back hits the wall. A blush blossoms in her cheeks and she wets her lips like she might still taste Astrid there. She's afraid to say anything, not wanting to break this moment. She wants this too much. She wants to give Astrid everything and the heat sinking through her only makes her certain.

"I--"

I want you or I want this or--anything. But she can't quite put the words together.

"Better than I imagined," she admits softly, and Lark tries not to feel mortified by the confession. She possibly could have said that better.

Even as she corners Lark against the wall, Astrid continues pressing her advance until their bodies are flush. It's been a time longer than she cares to remember since she has done this with another woman; with anyone but Eadwulf, really. Such assignments that might have once required it have been given to others better suited for espionage. Lark's smaller and softer frame is a revelation unto itself, and Astrid finally lets her hands begin their wandering as her lips trail down her lovely neck. How often she had caught herself staring at the slope of it, the graceful curve of her shoulder or soft hollow of collar bones? More than she would admit.

She allows herself a smile against flushed skin, teeth grazing lightly over the pulse.

"I've many more ways to expand your imagination...if you'll allow me."

Lark closes her eyes and she can't help the sigh that escapes her as Astrid traces the line of her neck with her lips. The gentle brush of teeth sends a spark of excitement right through her and her hands tighten briefly where she's holding on to the other woman.

"Yes," she breathes. Lark is intensely aware of all the places their bodies meet, the effort Astrid has put into making sure that there is almost no space between them. Can she fell the way Lark's heart is pounding this close? She turns her head, nose brushing against Astrid's cheek.

"I--I think I'd like that."

"Good." Lips find lips again, and Astrid easily and eagerly takes the lead. Her hands slide over Lark's form, feeling the curves of her body, mapping out the easiest way to remove her clothing. One pauses on one full breast, massaging through the linen in her palm. Ten different options for the things she most wants are considered and sorted and some discarded in a matter of seconds.

Then, seemingly abruptly, she pulls back, with a final nip on a kiss-swollen, lower lip.

"Go sit on the bed."

Lark takes a sharp breath as Astrid's hand grips and caresses her breast, sharply excited by the touch itself and the way the fabric drags against her skin. Her lips are still parted when Astrid breaks the kiss, offering that sharp little nip at the end.

It takes a moment for the words to actually sink in. Right. They are up against a wall and there are probably better places to do... whatever they are about to do. Lark's hands slide over Astrid's arm and her side as she pulls away, reluctant to let the other woman go.

She has just a moment to clear her head as she slips away into the bedroom, and as she sits on the edge of the bed she wonders if she should, maybe, undress a bit. But maybe that would be assuming too much? Lark squirms just a bit, thighs pressing briefly together in an attempt to get a moment of relief. Then she stills and lets herself enjoy the fact that her lips still sort of tingle from the last kiss.

Once her mind catches up with the rest of her, Lark rolls her eyes at herself and at least reaches back to untie the garden apron she's wearing.

A quick, half-dressed tryst has its time and place, but not for the first encounter, so far as Astrid is concerned. They'd only just come in from their chores, clothing half damp, boots muddy, bits of plant material clinging to skirts. No.

As Lark leaves, Astrid closes the front door and locks it, hastily bundling away their baskets before undoing her own apron and unlacing her boots. The socks she stuffs into the boots, her feet settling on the cool stone floor before she finally goes to join Lark in the bedroom. She stops only for a moment over the threshold, taking her in. Long dark hair falling in gentle waves, the swell of her lips, freshly kissed, the bright anticipation in her eyes and the rise and fall of her chest...she's entirely different than anyone she's known intimately, and yet her mind tries picking out bits and pieces that remind her of her beloved Bren and Wulf.

No, she thinks. Lark should only ever exist outside of those thoughts.

Astrid steps forward, hooks a finger under that sweet chin and tilts her upward. The kiss this time is less forceful, but never lacking in heat. Another kiss, and another, before she kneels on the floor between Lark's knees, and begins to unlace her boots. she shifts her skirts away, one hand sliding up underneath the curve of her calf before pulling the shoe free, and setting it aside with the stocking. Lips follow again, first to her knee, then just slightly above, at the inside of her thigh, as her hands massage down the leg. After a few moments, she repeats her attentions to the other leg.

Lark smiles when Astrid appears in the doorway, and she takes the momentary pause to admire her. She's different from anyone Lark's known with her short hair and her sharp eyes and the mystery of the tattoos on her arms, and Lark realizes she quite likes that.

She tips her head up more to lean into the kiss, spurred by the heat it sends through her. Lark is also very quickly deciding that she likes the way Astrid touches her, even if they've really only kissed. They'll haunt her dreams, she knows it.

Her blush deepens as Astrid knees, mostly because it's in that moment that Lark realizes she never took off her damned boots. She tries to hold back an apology as Astrid moves her skirts, though. Instead, she watches as nimble fingers pluck the laces free and she cannot help the little hitch of her breath as warm lips press against her skin. Oh. Soft lips part and there is undeniable warmth in her gaze as Astrid repeats herself with the other leg. She tries not to move when she feels the other woman's warm breath against her thigh, but the muscles still jump beneath the kiss Astrid presses there.

"Thank you," she murmurs when she finally finds her voice again. "I really ought to have taken those off sooner."

"You were distracted," Astrid quips lowly. Her lips trail a little farther upward along the soft skin of Lark's thigh. The temptation to bite is strong, as is the desire to just take her entirely with her mouth now. This close, the scent of her arousal is unmistakable, and Astrid feels a responding throbbing between her own legs. Gods, it's been months.

She surfaces again, rising up onto both knees now, bringing her perfectly to chest-height. Swift fingers make quick work of Larke's bodice, her eyes flicking upward to watch her watch. This could be done more quickly if they wished, but Astrid suspects she is not the only one who has gone without for a long time. Laces loosen, and her shirt opens enough for her hands to slide underneath, seeking soft skin and sweet, plump breasts.

"Have you been with a woman?"

"Just a little," she agrees with a laugh that sounds more strained than she means it to. Lark takes a deeper breath as Astrid rises and she keeps her eyes, vivid and green, on the other woman as those wonderfully dexterous hands go after her bodice. There's that faint rush of sensation as it comes loose and she swears the color in her face deepens as a warm hand slips beneath fabric to slide over her breast.

She shrugs out of the bodice, leaving it where it falls as she scoots a little closer to the edge of the bed. It is deliriously thrilling to feel Astrid between her legs.

"No," she admits. "I've been with men, though." She's definitely been with men, she isn't entirely a novice at this. And she's thought of women, but that hardly gives her the same experience beyond knowing her own body.

An almost bemused smile curls on her lips. "Well, as I said: allow me to broaden your imagination, hm?"

Blouse sufficiently loosened, Astrid tugs the wide neckline off one shoulder, and lower, finally, to expose one breast. The sight of this sweet young woman, eager and flushed and willing, sends another heated wave of arousal through her own body. Another flash of memory.

She cups Larke gently in her palm, fingertips rolling and fondling until the dusty pink nipple hardens. With a heated flash of her eyes, her mouth descends, and takes her in to take up the work of her fingers with her tongue and teeth instead.

Her heart is already beating faster and she feels an answering throb between her legs as Astrid strokes and squeezes and pinches until she has what she wants. But it isn't until Astrid's mouth replaces her fingers that Lark reaches for her.

She makes a sweet sound, almost a whimper, and her fingers sink into Astrid's hair, holding it back as her teeth and tongue tease her. Even after living and working like this most of her life, Lark still has soft curves, and more of them are revealed as she lets the wide neck of her blouse slide off the other shoulder.

Lark has to remind herself to stop trying to move closer: she'll run out of bed and she doesn't really want to knock both of them to the floor because she can't manage to sit still.

That little sound is what spurs her on, sucking and tonguing and nibbling at that sweet little nub. Lark is surprisingly reticent thus far otherwise, so Astrid resolves to find more ways to pull noises from her; she has plenty of ideas, yet.

She pauses just enough to push the shirt upward, up and off Lark completely. Dark hair tousles downward over her bared chest, lovely breasts on full display. Astrid wastes no time in resuming giving them her full attention with her hands and her mouth, placing hungry kisses between them, over them, fingertips stroking suggestively low on her stomach. She sucks the other nipple to full attention, moaning greedily to feel it respond against her tongue. More kisses, burying her face amidst the softness there before finally setting her teeth against the sweet curve of one breast, and sucks a dark mark into warm skin.

Lark helps get her blouse off and manages not to get tangled in it. Her legs tighten on either side of Astrid and her fingers stroke back into her shorter hair as she takes her other nipple. Every knead and stroke of her hands makes it feel more impossible to stay still and she can't help the moan that escapes her as Astrid's mouth moves to suck a bruise onto her breast.

"Astrid," she gasps out, but rather than saying anything else, Lark's hands move to try and relieve Astrid of her clothes. She tries not to be impatient with the lace holding Astrid's bodice closed and she manages to get it loose without getting in Astrid's way. Her fingers tug and pluck until the lace is gone completely. Her hands slide beneath the other woman's blouse, over her shoulders and down her back as far as Lark can reach. And in doing so, she pushes herself against Astrid's mouth.

Lark pushes at her clothes, her hands slipping beneath to touch skin, and Astrid nearly arches away on reflex; there are more scars on her body, more than than the ones Lark sees every day, and there's a moment where she nearly stops her.

The desire thrumming through her body quickly overrides any hesitation. It's nothing worse than what she's already seen on her face, or her neck, or the tattoos on her arms. Lark knows better than to ask by now, and the eagerness she feels in her only spurs her forward.

Astrid does pull back, but only enough to get back to her feet and push Lark back onto the bed. She stalks after her, shedding bodice and blouse and even her skirt, pulled hastily up over her head. Lark's dark hair is a beautiful spread across pale sheets, and Astrid curls a hand in it, leans in to capture her lips with her own again.

"You're beautiful," she purrs between kisses, pressing a knee between Lark's legs. "You're so beautiful, and I want to taste your sweet cunt."

Lark doesn't ask about the scars, but neither does she treat them like something to avoid unless Astrid asks her to.

She laughs breathlessly as she's pushed onto the bed. Lark moves higher along the mattress, her eyes still intent on Astrid as the other woman gets out of her clothes. She's still smiling when she's pulled into a kiss. Her hands caress over Astrid's cheeks and down her neck and she breathes in sharply as Astrid's knee pushes between her legs. The promise of pressure makes her ache and she thinks she'd rub herself off against Astrid's leg if that's what she wanted.

"Please," she murmurs, voice warmer and heavier as arousal floods her. Even as Astrid makes that declaration, Lark leans closer to press a kiss between Astrid's breasts as she hovers over her.

For a brief moment, the tender touch flashes another memory to the front of her mind, so strong and visceral that Astrid nearly turns to look for someone else behind her. Her chest clenches for the space of a heartbeat before the pain passes; it's been well over a decade since it's ever been more than one person with her like this.

She fights the memory back once more, grinding her knee against the heat between Lark's legs and tugging a little at her hair just to feel the tension in it. Her other hand is already shifting skirts out of the way, already too impatient to find the ties or clasps to loosen them and instead trailing fingertips along a soft, inner thigh. Gods, when was the last time she had gotten to do this?

Her hand eventually replaces her knee, exploring, rubbing, watching and listening hungrily for the sounds loosed from Lark's pretty lips. She should have done this weeks ago.

you don't talk to no one, don't you look at nothin'

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