In Kuroinu

She'd taken her armor off.

That was the first thing I saw when I opened the door. Filia was sitting on the edge of my cot in a loose white shirt that hung off one shoulder and a pair of soft pants and nothing else. Her sword was leaned against the wall by the door. The small bag she'd been carrying was on the floor, open, the armor folded inside it with the same precise arrangement she'd use for a field pack.

And her hair was down.

I'd only ever seen it pulled back. Tied tight, functional, out of her face for fighting. Down, it fell past her shoulders in blonde waves that caught the candlelight, and her face was different. Softer. The angles were still there but the severity wasn't and she looked her age for the first time since I'd met her.

She was staring at the far wall when I came in. Her hands were flat on her knees and her back was straight and she looked like she was waiting for a briefing to start. The room was cool. Stone walls, stone floor, the single candle on the shelf throwing unsteady light across everything. A thin draft came through the gap under the door and moved the flame.

"Hey," I said.

She turned. Her eyes went over me once, fast, and then she stood up.

"Let's just... get this done."

I closed the door. Walked past her. Sat on the cot and leaned back against the stone wall. The mattress was thin and the frame creaked under my weight.

"Sit down," I said.

"I'd rather-"

"Filia. Sit down."

She sat. On the edge of the cot, about a foot of space between us, her hands back on her knees. The shirt had slipped further off her shoulder and the skin there was smooth except for a thin scar running along her collarbone. Training scar, probably. Years old.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"About the procedure? I've been told the power activates through-"

"Not about the power. About you."

She blinked. "What about me?"

"Your sister. The one who practices alchemy. What's she like?"

Her mouth opened. Closed. She looked at me like I'd asked her to solve a math problem during an earthquake.

"Why are you asking me about my sister?"

"Because you've been walking around like you're about to execute a mission, and I thought it might help if we talked for a second. Like people."

She was quiet. Her fingers were curling into the fabric of her pants at the knees and the tendons in her hands were flexing. Outside, the temple was silent. Late enough that even the night birds had quit.

"She's older than me," Filia said. "By three years. She runs an apothecary in the capital. She's... better at talking to people than I am. She thinks I'm too serious."

"Are you?"

"Probably."

"I like serious."

Her eyes came to mine and held there and her cheeks were going pink, the same pink from the conversation that morning when she'd called sex "combat readiness," and I let the silence sit for a second. Her breathing changed. A fraction deeper. She was aware of the space between us on the cot and she was calculating whether to close it.

"Can I kiss you?"

"I-" She swallowed. "Yes. I was actually going to- I should be the one to-"

She kissed me. It was stiff. Her mouth pressed against mine and her body was rigid and her hands were still gripping her own knees and the angle was wrong because she'd lurched forward without adjusting. A collision more than a kiss. Her nose bumped mine and her mouth was tight and she was kissing me like a training exercise. Correct form. No instinct.

I put my hand on the side of her jaw. Tilted her head. Slowed it down.

Her mouth softened. Her lips parted and the tension in her shoulders dropped and the second kiss was different from the first by a distance you could measure. I kissed her again, slower, and her hand came off her knee and landed on my chest. Her fingers spread over my shirt and the calluses on her palm scraped through the linen. Sword-fighter hands. Hard ridges of built-up skin pressing into me. They pressed flat against my chest and I covered them with mine.

"Your hands," I said against her mouth.

She pulled back. "What about them?"

"They're incredible."

She looked at her hand in mine. The calluses, the scars, the blunt nails cut short for sword work. "They're ugly."

"They're not." I turned her hand over and traced the thick ridge of callus at the base of her fingers with my thumb. She shivered. Shoulders to hips, her whole body. Her breath caught and her eyes were on my thumb moving across her palm.

"Nobody's ever..." She stopped.

"Nobody's ever touched your hands?"

"Nobody's ever looked at them and said..." She trailed off. Her chin was down and she was watching my thumb move and her breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster at the edges. The pulse in her wrist was going under my fingers.

I brought her hand to my mouth. Kissed the center of her palm. The callus there was the thickest, the spot where the sword hilt pressed every day, and when my lips touched it she made a sound through her nose. Small. Barely there. Her fingers curled against my cheek.

I pulled her shirt off over her head. She lifted her arms and let me, and the cool air hit her skin and goosebumps rose across her stomach, up her ribs, over her breasts. She was lean and toned and there were more scars than I expected, thin white lines across her stomach and ribs from training cuts that had healed clean. Her breasts were firm, a full handful each, and her nipples were already hard from the cool room.

She reached for my shirt. Pulled it off. Her hands landed on my chest and she ran her fingers down over my stomach. Her expression shifted into focused assessment. Her fingers traced the lines between muscles, pressed into the ridge above my hip.

"You're more built than I expected," she said.

"Flattering."

"I meant- for a civilian-"

"Filia."

"What?"

"Stop assessing and come here."

I kissed her again and pulled her down onto the cot. She went rigid for half a second and then her body relaxed against mine, her weight settling along my side, her thigh pressing between my legs. She was warm through the thin pants. My hand slid down her back, over the muscles along her spine, and she arched into my palm.

I was hard. She could feel it against her thigh and her breathing went uneven and she shifted her leg. Not away from it. Adjusting the pressure. The friction made my jaw tighten.

I rolled her onto her back. She let me, and her hair spread across the thin pillow. I kissed her neck and she went quiet. Her head tipped back and her breath hitched and her hand found the back of my head and gripped.

I kissed down her collarbone. Along the scar there, the raised edge of it under my lips. Down the center of her chest, the skin between her breasts warm where the cool room air hadn't reached. I took one nipple into my mouth and her hips bucked off the cot.

"Ah-"

Her hand tightened in my hair. I sucked gently and her whole body tensed under me, her stomach going flat and hard, the muscles in her abs locking. I circled her nipple with my tongue and she was trying to breathe through her nose. Controlled. Measured.

I moved to the other one. Took it between my lips and sucked and her back arched and the sound she made was through her teeth, clenched, a sound she was trying to keep behind her lips.

"You don't have to be quiet," I said against her skin.

"I'm not being-" I sucked harder. "Nn- I'm- there are people in the temple-"

"Stone walls. And the door's a foot thick."

She let out a breath that was half a laugh and I kissed lower. Over her stomach. The muscles flinched under my mouth when I crossed her navel, a ticklish response she'd never admit to. My lips traced the faint line of hair below her belly button and her fingers tightened in my hair again, harder this time.

I pulled her pants off. She lifted her hips to help and I got them over her legs and off and dropped them on the floor. She was naked on my cot, the party leader of the group that had summoned me to save the world, and her chest was rising and falling fast and her thighs pressed together and her face was red. Her hands were at her sides, fingers gripping the sheet, and the candlelight was moving across her skin.

I put my hands on her knees. Pressed them apart. She resisted for a second, her thigh muscles tightening under my palms, and the heat coming off her was there before my hands were anywhere close. Then she let them fall open.

Her jaw tightened. "Don't- stare-"

"I'm going to stare."

She covered her face with one hand. Her other hand was still gripping the sheet. I settled between her thighs and kissed the inside of her knee and she flinched. Kissed higher. The skin on her inner thigh was softer than anywhere else on her, the one place the sword training hadn't reached, and she was trembling under my lips.

I put my mouth on her.

Her back came off the bed.

"Ha- what are you- oh-"

I licked up the center of her pussy, slow, flat tongue, and the taste was warm and clean and she was barely wet yet, the arousal just starting, slick at the edges. Her thighs clamped around my head. My hands slid under her thighs and held them apart and my tongue found her clit and her whole body jolted and a sound punched out of her that she wasn't ready for.

"Ah- that- right there, what is-"

She didn't know what this was. The concept maybe, in theory. But the reality of a mouth on her was breaking every expectation she'd walked in with and her body kept startling. Every new thing my tongue did was information she didn't have a framework for.

I circled her clit. Slow. Steady. Her hands left my hair and gripped the sheets on either side of her hips and her fingers went white-knuckled. Her jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in her neck stood out. She was fighting every sound and losing.

"Haruto- I can't- that's too-"

She was getting wetter. Each pass of my tongue drew more out of her and the taste changed, deeper, and the friction decreased and my tongue moved easier and the sounds were starting. Quiet wet sounds from my mouth on her that she could hear in the silent room. Her thighs tensed.

"That- I can hear-" Her hand shot to her face. Covering her eyes. "Don't- that sound is-"

I pressed my tongue flat against her clit and held it there and her hips rocked up into my mouth. Involuntary. The hand covering her face pressed harder. I did it again and she rocked again, and the rhythm started there, my tongue and her hips, and the wet sounds got louder as she got slicker.

I slid a finger inside her. She clenched around it immediately, tight, the muscle gripping, and the heat was startling. Furnace-hot inside her. I curled the finger forward and found the texture change on the front wall and pressed and her hips came off the cot and the sound that came out of her wasn't through her teeth anymore.

"Nn- nn- there's- I'm-"

She was soaking now. My chin was wet. My finger slid easy and I added a second and the stretch made her gasp and her thighs shook against the sides of my head. I curled both fingers and worked her clit in a slow circle and she was coming apart. Her breathing was ragged, mouth open, through-the-nose control gone. The hand over her face had slipped to the pillow above her head, gripping it, and her eyes were squeezed shut and her jaw was clenched and the tendons in her neck were standing out.

The jaw. The set in her jaw before a decisive strike. It was building, the same tension she carried before a committed swing, everything tightening toward a single point.

Her hand found the back of my head and pushed me down. Hard. Her hips came up off the cot and her legs locked around my shoulders and I sucked her clit gently and curled my fingers deep and she came.

Her back arched off the bed and her mouth opened and the sound ripped out of her chest. She'd been holding it for minutes and it tore loose, broken and loud. Her pussy clenched around my fingers in hard rhythmic waves and her thighs clamped and her hand pressed my face into her and her hips ground against my mouth through the whole thing. Every contraction squeezed my fingers, deep muscle and release, and I kept my tongue moving, slow, gentle, riding it out with her.

She sagged. Her legs loosened. Her grip on my hair slackened. She lay flat on the cot and breathed. Fast, ragged pulls of air that slowed by fractions. Her eyes were glassy on the ceiling and there was sweat at her hairline and on her chest, a sheen that caught the candlelight.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and moved up beside her. My cock was straining against my pants. Had been for a while. The ache was heavy and low and I'd been ignoring it because her face was worth ignoring anything for.

"That," she said. Still looking at the ceiling. "What was that."

"Oral sex."

"Is that..." She swallowed. "Normal? Where you're from?"

"Very."

"Oh." She blinked. Her face was flushed from her cheeks to her chest and she was still breathing hard and her hair was stuck to her neck with sweat. "We should... I want to..."

"We don't have to rush."

"I want to." She rolled onto her side and her hand found the front of my pants and pressed against the hardness there and I sucked in a breath. Her fingers weren't gentle. Sword-fighter grip, firm and sure and callused, and she squeezed and a groan came out of me that I didn't plan.

She looked startled. Then pleased. The corner of her mouth twitched, a quick flash that she suppressed, and she squeezed again, watching my face. The same focused assessment she gave a new technique in training.

"Take these off," she said. Her voice was rough from the sounds she'd been making.

I took my pants off. Her eyes dropped and stayed. She was looking at my cock with the expression of a woman recalculating.

"Oh," she said again. Smaller this time.

"Filia."

"It's- I knew it would be- that's fine." She was talking to herself more than to me. Her eyes were still on it.

She reached out. Her callused fingers wrapped around my cock and the rough skin of her palm dragged along the shaft and my hips pushed forward into her hand. She stroked once, experimental, her grip too tight, and adjusted when she felt me tense. Loosened. Tried again. The callus at the base of her fingers caught the ridge on the upstroke and my vision went white for a second.

"Like that?" she asked. Watching my face.

"Yeah." My voice came out rough. "Like that."

She stroked again. Slower. Learning. Her thumb ran across the head and found the wetness there and she looked at her thumb and then at me and her pupils were wide in the candlelight.

I moved over her. Knees between her thighs, my weight on my arms. She looked up at me and her hands came to my shoulders and she pulled me down and kissed me. Slower than the first time. Deeper. Her tongue moved against mine and she could taste herself on my mouth and her breath caught and her cheeks went hotter against mine. She kissed me harder anyway. Her hips tilted up and the head of my cock brushed against her, just the contact, slick and warm, and we both went still.

Neither of us breathing. The head of my cock resting against her and the wet heat radiating and her eyes were on mine and the room was so quiet I could hear the candle flame.

I reached between us. Lined myself up. Pressed the head against her, just the pressure, not pushing, and she was soaked from the orgasm. Hot and slick and swollen and her pulse was there against me.

I pushed in. Slow.

Her brow creased and her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers dug into my shoulders and her jaw clenched. The first inch was tight. She was still clenching from the orgasm, the muscles not fully relaxed, and the resistance gripped the head of my cock and held.

I stopped. "Filia."

"I'm fine." Through her teeth. "Keep going."

"Look at me."

She turned back. Her eyes were bright and wet and her lip was between her teeth and the flush on her face was spreading down her neck.

"Tell me when," I said.

She held my gaze and breathed. In and out. In and out. Her body adjusted around me. Tight, clenching and releasing, the muscle learning the intrusion. Her fingers on my shoulders loosened by a fraction.

"Now."

I pushed deeper. Slow. The crease in her brow eased as I slid in further and the resistance gave way to slick heat and her mouth fell open. Her hands slid from my shoulders to my back and her nails bit into the skin there. An inch. Another. The heat was tight and wet and her body gripped me deeper with each one.

All the way in. I held there. She was tight around me, tighter than I'd expected, and the heat was enough that I lost my train of thought for a second. She was looking at me with her lips parted and her chest pressing against mine with every breath and our hips were flush and her pulse was hammering where my body pressed against hers.

"Ah-" Quiet. Almost a sigh. The tension in her body was shifting. She was adjusting. Feeling. Her eyes were wide and focused on mine. "That's... a lot."

"Yeah?"

"Mm." She shifted her hips. A small experimental roll and the friction sent a pulse through both of us and I clenched my jaw and she saw that. Her expression opened up. She'd done that to me.

I moved. Slow at first. Out and back in, careful, the drag of her on the outstroke and the slide back in, easier now, slicker. She made a sound into my shoulder when I pushed back in. Small and broken and close to my ear.

"That's- okay, that's-" Muffled against my skin. "That's better. Keep- keep doing that."

I kept doing that. Building the rhythm. A little faster. A little deeper. Her arms wrapped around my back and her face was pressed into my shoulder and her breath was fast and hot against my neck. Each exhale came with a sound she was trying to hide. Soft punched-out noises timed to my thrusts. She thought my shoulder was muffling them. It wasn't.

"You feel incredible," I said. Low. Against her ear.

Her pussy clenched around me. A hard involuntary squeeze that made my rhythm stutter and I groaned and the sound of me groaning made her clench again. My sound triggering her body. Her body triggering mine.

She was getting wetter. Each thrust was smoother, easier, and the sounds were changing. The quiet friction was becoming slicker, louder, and the wet sound of me pushing into her filled the small room. Her nails raked down my back and I hissed and she whispered "sorry" into my neck and then did it again, harder, eight parallel lines of heat from my shoulder blades to my lower back.

I angled my hips. Changed the angle by a fraction and the head of my cock hit different inside her and she gasped and her legs came up and locked behind my back.

"There- right there- don't stop-"

Faster. Her heels dug into my lower back and her hips met mine on every thrust. The cot was creaking under us, steady and rhythmic, and the wet sounds were loud now, filling the room alongside our breathing. She'd stopped hiding in my shoulder. Her head was back on the pillow and her eyes were squeezed shut and her jaw was clenched and the tendons in her neck were taut and her hair was fanned around her head on the pillow, dark-gold in the candlelight.

I was close. The pressure was building at the base of my spine, heavy, and my rhythm was getting harder to control. Each thrust drove deeper and the grip of her was tighter and my arms were shaking where they held my weight.

Her face. The crease between her brows, the flush across her cheeks, her lips parted, her jaw working. The tendons in her neck pulling tight. There it was again. The set. The same tension she carried before a committed swing.

"Haruto- I'm- I think I'm going to-"

"Yeah." My voice was wrecked. Her pussy was clenching around me in pulses, tightening with each thrust, and the squeeze was pulling me toward the edge. "Me too."

"I can't- it's- ah-"

She grabbed my face with both hands. Pulled me down and kissed me and the kiss was messy and desperate and she was moaning into my mouth and her hips were grinding up to meet me and I drove into her, deep, and her legs locked and her back arched and she came.

Her whole body clamped around me. Legs, arms, the deep rhythmic squeeze of her pussy around my cock in waves that pulled me in and held. The sound she made was into the kiss, raw and sustained, vibrating against my lips. I pushed in as deep as I could go and her body pulled me the rest of the way and I came inside her.

And the power activated.

A pulse of warmth flooded through us. Starting where we were connected and radiating outward through every nerve. My skin buzzed. My muscles hummed. The room was brighter for a second, or my eyes were sharper, and Filia gasped underneath me and her eyes flew open and she stared at me.

"I felt that." Her voice was thin and startled. "What was- I felt that. Through my whole body."

I was still inside her. Still hard, somehow, the power humming through me and keeping me there. My grip on the sheet beside her head was stronger than it had been. My vision was sharper. Everything was clearer.

"The Blessing," I said. "It activated."

Her eyes were wide. Blue and bright and her pupils were blown in the candlelight. She put her hand on her own chest, over her heart, and pressed.

"I'm stronger," she said. "I can feel it. My arms, my core, everything feels-" She flexed her hand on my shoulder. Squeezed. The grip was harder than it had been ten minutes ago. Measurably harder. "You too?"

"Yeah." Her sword-fighter attributes were in me now. The grip in my hands was different. Tighter. Surer.

She stared at me. The flush was still on her face and her hair was stuck to her neck with sweat and she was still breathing hard and I was still inside her and neither of us had moved.

"It worked," she said.

"It worked."

She laughed. A short startled sound, barely a breath. Her head fell back against the pillow and she covered her face with both hands and laughed again, the sound coming through her fingers, and I laughed too because Filia Shiora had just come on my cock and gained a measurable power boost and she was lying under me trying to decide whether the appropriate response was a field report or a second round.

Her hands came down from her face. Her eyes were bright. The sweat was cooling on her skin and the candle on the shelf had melted down to a stub and I didn't remember when that had happened.

She was looking at me. Her hand came up and her callused fingers touched the side of my jaw, light, tracing the line of it. The same hand I'd kissed the palm of.

"That was..." She stopped. Started over. "That wasn't what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

Her cheeks went pink again. "Faster. Less-" She gestured vaguely. "Less of everything you did."

"Less oral."

"We are not calling it that."

"That's what it's called."

"I refuse." She covered her face again. "Goddess Larentia."

I pulled out of her slowly and she sucked in a breath and her thighs pressed together after. The wet sound of me leaving her was loud in the quiet room and she turned her head to the side and her ears went red.

The sheet under her was damp. Her thighs were slick and she could feel it and she pulled the sheet up over her legs with quick efficient hands. Like she was tidying a field camp.

I lay beside her. Our shoulders were touching. The cot was narrow enough that there was no space between us.

"Filia."

"What."

"You can stop organizing the sheet."

Her hands went still. She looked at me. Looked at the ceiling. Looked at me again.

"My body is tingling," she said. "Everything is- I can feel the Blessing. It's still going."

"Mine too."

The candle guttered. The draft from under the door pushed the flame sideways and the shadows in the room shifted. Filia's hair was a mess and her eyes were clear and she was still breathing faster than normal.

She rolled onto her side. Facing me. Her hand found my chest and settled there, palm flat, the calluses warm against my skin. Over my heart.

"Again," she said.