Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Remember how the blood pounded in your ears? They’ll ring later, in the calm. It’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.”

“Or a cry for help.” Aloy had been washing her spear clean of blood while the Carja spoke, her attention focused away from him. The look on his face is always enough to make her… What? Frustrated? Disturbed? There is something stuck to a groove in the spear and she frowns, scrubbing just a little harder, trying not to think of what it might be.

“I wouldn’t fight it,” he says, all too calm.

“I can tell,” she replies, tone sharp. Trying not to think about what he is saying, and what she is feeling, her focus is entirely on the care of her weapon. Because, as always, it’s hard for her to accept whatever it is that clearing bandits out of their little camps makes her feel, and Nil bringing attention to it makes her tense.

So when his hand is suddenly on her wrist, she isn’t prepared for it. Normally the hunter, never the hunted, she is taken by surprise and yelps before she realizes what he’s doing. His fingers are at her pulse, feeling the quickening patter of it, the staccato, and it isn’t just her wrist where they are touching. Proximity means his skin brushes hers, and fire blooms in those places, blossoms across her face. She jerks her hand; he lets her go, but his face is close, his pale eyes studying her.

Too close, too close, he’ll see it – see the thrill she’d felt, that she does feel, but she knows it’s too late. Nil’s already seen it, already felt it betrayed by her fluttering pulse.

Aloy tries to look away, but freezes at the smile on his face, flashing teeth as much a challenge as anything.

So she meets his gaze head-on. To back down is unthinkable. She twists so she’s facing him fully, and places her hand on his chest. She can feel his heart, the pulse infuriatingly steady. He is calm, where she is flustered.

It makes her angry. That must show in her face.

“I’m not like you, Nil,” she hisses, the hand on his chest balling into a fist. She feels her nails scrape his skin, and that’s when she gets a reaction from him, his eyes narrowing, breath hitching for a half an instant. She should feel satisfaction at that, and maybe she does, but it’s tangled in something else, something that’s settled deep in her. She needs something more. It isn’t enough, and she feels herself shake just a little with the frustration of it. She’s bluffing with her words as if she’s trying to put distance between them, and he knows it. He’s always known it, hasn’t he?

God, she hates that about him.

Nil calls her bluff, just like she’s been hoping he will. “You are, though.” he says, voice soft and more serious than she’s ever heard him before. He’s moved closer, by such increments that she almost hasn’t noticed him shifting at all until she’s found his body is between hers and the sun. “I can practically smell the excitement on you, you’re—"

It’s a step too far, especially with the way he’s closed the distance between them and the hot frustrated arousal that’s filling her. She shouldn’t let it get to her, shouldn’t escalate. But Aloy doesn’t think, instead lunging forward and covering his mouth with hers, forcing his silence.

The world holds its breath, and she breaks the contact almost as quickly as she's instigated it. Nil is blessedly quiet except for a long, measured exhalation, almost a hiss. He shifts away from her, his expression quiet and thoughtful, his eyes searching hers. Then, he licks his lips and smiles, satisfaction all too obvious in the way he shows his teeth. Always press when you have the advantage, she’s been told again and again until it’s instinct, and if you don’t have the advantage, press until you do.

She closes the distance again, but this time he's ready for it, catching her as soon as her lips find his. He maneuvers with her, bites her lower lip so that hard she gasps into his mouth, tasting copper, and he’s grabbed her wrist again – this time, twisting it so one of her arms is behind her and her body is forced forward against his. Aloy’s got her free hand up beneath the crest of red feathers where they fall over his neck. His headpiece is first set askew, then knocked entirely free and she’s able to grip his hair and pull back hard enough that he’s wrenched back, a frustrated hiss on his breath. Her mouth is on his throat, her teeth grazing his skin– not quite a bite, but the message is clear. In this, their duel, she’s killed him.

But the thing about an enemy like Nil, the thing she’s failed to take into account, is that he’s every bit the hunter she is. It doesn’t matter if he’s taken a mortal blow, he won’t stop fighting until all the strength is gone from him.

This is no different. Aloy isn’t aware that she’s eased up until she realizes that Nil doesn’t retreat from her teeth, that the thrum she feels under her lips isn’t a frustrated growl but a satisfied hum. He’s careless even when she bites down harder, hard enough for a bruise to bloom beneath her teeth. Instead of pulling back he’s pushing down onto her, using their combined body weight and the awkward position of her pinned arm to wrest her to the ground beneath him. She has to release her hold on his hair so that she can catch herself and keep her arm from being crushed between her body and the sandstone. Finally, she has to let go of his throat but does so with a willingness that surprises her, and in response, he eases his grip on her arm.

Shaking, she starts to shift. “Nil –"

Whatever she was about to say, she doesn’t have a chance to. In another rush of movement he’s grasped her wrist again, trapping the other as well, and pinned her hands above her head. One of his hands is enough to grasp both her wrists, his grip secure but not at all uncomfortable beyond the simple unfamiliar sensation of captivity. He leans over her, framing her face with his braced arms. His body covers hers the way a hawk fans its wings to cover its kill. Aloy’s breath catches in her throat when she meets his gaze, at the way his pupils have dilated and darkened his eyes. “Nil,” she says again, pulling against his grasp. She wants his mouth again, and he doesn’t disappoint her.

This time he doesn’t bite her, just kisses her with a hunger that makes her head spin long before she needs to push him aside to catch a quick, gasping breath. She returns to his lips desperate and eager, but this time her hips also arch toward him. He’s quick to shift accordingly, using his knee to push her legs apart so that he can move his hips to meet hers, his body pressing hard against hers – and god, the friction against her is so close to what she’s needing that without thought she’s wrapped her legs around his to keep him close.

He breaks the kiss with a breathy little laugh, like all they’ve been doing is sharing a drink and it’s started to go to his head. “Aloy,” he says, but where she’s not sure what she’s trying to say, his tone is all but certain. He shifts atop her, rolling his weight fluidly to rest only on the side he’s using to hold her wrists. She’s almost frustrated with how little this has affected his ability to hold her down, but she doesn’t have long to think about that before his hand is questing over her body, first to cup one of her breasts, to squeeze through her hide armor and then slide down between her legs, breaking the contact of their bodies and limiting her ability to grind against him.

She lets out a whine of frustration, knowing all too well that he could be rubbing against her through the armor with his hand, but he’s only giving her enough touch to keep her eager, keep her needy. “Take this off.” He says, and she’s aware that even if it sounds like he isn’t, he is really asking her, because this is the last opportunity to take her leave of him. His grip on her hands eases, giving her the ability to undo the clasps and laces that keep her armor in place.

Aloy doesn’t hesitate to do exactly that, and as she moves, his mouth is on her jaw, on the curve of her throat. The touch, almost gentle, makes her shiver – this is Nil as she’s come to expect, a study in opposites: calm and brutal, soft and dangerous. He’s tasting her skin, and she feels the heat of his satisfied sigh when she’s shrugged free from the heavier treated leathers and metal plates. Now his mouth is at the hollow of her throat, and he’s nipping her collarbone – she yelps, not caring how breathy it sounds.

His hand slides down her belly, under her leggings, and she feels his calloused fingers questing between her legs so that his palm is flat against her body, his fingertips lower still. From the way they slide over her skin and the heat of his touch, she can tell how wet she is. He noses just below her ear, letting her feel his grin. Aloy gasps, lifting her hips into his touch, so that his palm is rubbing her clit and his fingertips rest against her like he’s going to push one into her. He holds it there, makes her sit with the feeling of his touch.

At the same time, shameless, he’s pushed his groin against her thigh. Through the loose-fitting cloth of his trousers, she can feel his cock. She likes the feeling, likes knowing that she’s the reason he’s as hard as he is. Her hand shakes a little, but she reaches for his belt all the same. “Little hunter, is that really what you want?” He shifts so that he can look at her, a dangerous little glimmer in his eyes. Mouth suddenly dry, she nods, but at her angle she’s struggling a little to unclasp his belt.

That seems to suit him, though, because he makes no move to help her – instead, he pushes his finger into her, so suddenly that she cries out at the abruptness of it. His fingers are so much bigger than her own, the only touch she’s familiar with – he quiets her with his mouth, withdraws his finger, pushes it in again. Deeper this time, deep enough that his palm is flat against her. Slowly, almost lazily, he breaks the kiss, but she can feel his eyes on her. “I want to hear you say it.”

There’s just a hint of desperation in his voice, which has gone quiet and a little hoarse. It’s hard for her to focus on what he’s saying when he’s curling his finger in her, working his palm in little circles over her clit. “Mnnh,” she gasps, because he’s moving so that it’s impossible for her to get his belt undone. He's used his leg to push her onto her side so he’s almost behind her, using the position as leverage to better drive his finger into her. Head swimming, grasping his forearm and pushing herself down onto his hand, Aloy tries again to speak. “I – ahhh -- want you.”

“Yeah,” he sighs against her cheek, and now he’s shaking too, and she can tell he’s gotten his pants undone because a half a heartbeat later she feels the hot-smooth of his cock between her legs. He rolls on top of her, the movements of his hand a little less measured. “Out in the Sun? I like your style.”

Then his fingers are no longer in her, and he’s grasping her hips with one hand. The other he’s brought to his mouth, an appreciative sigh on his breath as he licks his fingers, tasting her. “That’s a rare treat,” he murmurs, nuzzling against her neck. “Being the first to explore new territory.” She feels him shift, adjust himself, and then –

And then—

Aloy cries out when Nil’s cock pushes into her, his grip on her hips firm, holding her in place even when her legs shake so much she’s worried she’ll slide to the ground. The sand beneath her should be uncomfortable, but all she can focus on is him, his body inside of hers, hot and full and – he’s still pushing forward, and he moans his satisfaction without shame when his hips are against hers. Then he’s got his hand back on her, back to her clit. “The real treat, though, would be feeling you come on me.”

And god, the truth of it is that she thinks she’s going to, the combination of the unusual fullness and stretch of him along with his fingers rubbing her. All of it is so much to take – especially the way his breaths are quick, his voice hoarse. She can feel his pulse as much as her own, feel the way he wants to move in the little jerks of his hips when she arches against him. “Keep going,” she gasps, because she’s adjusted to it and now there’s just the intoxicating way he’s rubbing her. “Nil, if you stop I’ll kill you.” He laughs.

But he doesn’t stop, instead biting her throat and grinding his hips against hers. She grips his arm where it’s wrapping around her body, since it’s all of him she can really hold onto, and she knows her nails are biting into his skin but there's a satisfaction in that, in his pleased growl on her skin. She’s bucking against him – need too urgent to ignore. She tries to keep quiet, but she’s suddenly there, her orgasm ripping through her so that her body tightens around him and a keening cry escaping her despite her efforts to contain it.

Nil cuts it short with a hand over her mouth and a satisfied groan against her shoulder, bucking into her to ride out the waves of contraction that are making her shake so hard she feels she's coming undone. His patience, limited as it was, is gone from him, and he’s pulling out – just to thrust in again, hard. He’s holding her in place, with one hand pressed against her and rubbing his own shaft where she’s stretched open around him. It makes her even more acutely aware of the girth of him, of the way he fills her.

Aloy had been expecting this from the beginning, this rough eagerness, but experiencing it is something else entirely. There’s the sound of skin on skin when his hips meet hers, his rhythm quickening but controlled. The surprise is how much she’s enjoying it, the seeming release of whatever sharp little desperation had brought her to this point fading to let her really focus on the sharp pleasure of each thrust.

Because, god, she’s been desperate for touch. She can feel herself working back to another orgasm, and she’s sure that he can tell by the enthusiastic way he’s rubbing her clit.

When he leans forward she lets him guide her down, lets the ground hold her body in place so that he can thrust more forcefully into her. She uses that change in position to twist around – Nil doesn’t kiss her, not now, but bites at her jaw and she has just a second to see the intensity in his expression before she’s overwhelmed by the movement of him inside her, hard enough that when her eyes close she focuses on the sensation of it. Nil’s thrusting a little irregularly, his arms shaking, driving into her with a new desperation. She can tell he’s wanting to ask her something without words, and she responds in kind – gasping, breath shallow and fast, moving her body to match the tempo he’s setting.

Then he’s pushed himself in hard, arching his hips against hers like he’s wanting to somehow be even deeper in her. There it is, that peak she’s been building towards – and that intensity, the enthusiasm in his movements, puts her into a sudden freefall when she comes again.

This time he doesn’t quiet her, lets her cry ring out out long and loud. He sinks his teeth in her shoulder and she can feel his cock swell and twitch, the movements of his hips suddenly jerky. He comes with a gasping moan that makes him release her shoulder, still buried deep in her. The little thrusts he's making and the grinding of his body against her are enough to prolong her orgasm. She almost wants to beg him to pause, to give her just a second to catch up with herself – but by then he’s slowed, then finally stilled. His breath warms her skin, his quiet panting, his hand on her thigh gripping her just a bit more firmly and holding her in place. She feels the heat of him in her, the gradual softening of him, the way he twitches in time with his pulse as it slows.

Those still moments, that respite, doesn’t last. Nil takes a deep breath, and almost as quickly as he’d entered her, he’s pulled out. There’s a second where she’s aware that he’s looking at her, hand resting on her thigh. “Time is short, and death waits for no one,” he says, cheerful, and she rolls over as he stands. Aloy looks up at him, noticing for the first time that he hadn’t even bothered to take his breeches off fully, and there’s blood staining them – her blood, she knows, because she’s aware of the sting and ache that’s been left behind now that he’s no longer filling her. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell – and anyone else who could know you’ve already killed. I’m sure they won’t be the last we help to keep your secret.”

That’s all he says, before he picks up his helmet and slings his bow over his shoulders, leaving her to the aftermath of the brief union. Aloy’s cheeks burn with a blush, and once he’s really gone, she sits up. What she’d been expecting, she wasn’t sure, but she doesn’t know whether the secret she wants to keep is that she’s just fucked a Carja madman, or that she’s done it in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush of hunting and killing humans.

It’s not really something she wants to think too much about. There’s a little creek nearby and she walks to it on shaking legs, feeling Nil’s come drip down her thigh. She manages to pull her leggings off completely before she wades into the cool water. She sits heavily once she’s submerged, closing her eyes. In her head, the blood has finally stopped racing.

He was right. In the calm, with only the sound of the creek flowing to keep her company, her ears do ring.

Chapter Text

The next time she sees black smoke on the horizon, her pulse quickens.

Aloy creeps through the grass, taking care not to disturb even the smallest stone. She can hear voices from over the ridge, harsh sounds in the quiet forest. Trees, hacked to form crude spikes and smeared with red paint, rise around her like signposts as she inches closer.

Quick, quick, the tempo in her throat, the slightest tremor in her limbs.

She has to be quiet. If she isn’t, the hunt will be over before it even begins. She picks her way up the hillside so that she has a vantage and activates her Focus over the camp below. Bodies light up in harsh orange, blooming across the landscape like mold spots on bread. Rot, he’d called them. That isn’t quite right, she thinks. Rot is life – a recycling of nutrients back into the world. The jeering laughs, the whimpers of prisoners chained like livestock, make her think that this is something far more virulent.

But the orange figures aren’t what she’s looking for. She’s scanning the landscape for something else. Someone else.

In the cool, damp quiet of the camp, she’s alone apart from the captives. Her disappointment knots her guts.

Being alone doesn’t mean she’s going to turn away. The people below need her to help them – it’s just going to be more challenging without a partner. That’s the uncomplicated reason for the frustrated feeling tugging at her. She pushes the thought aside, marks the orange figures so that she’ll be warned if any are too close. Closing her Focus array, Aloy pushes through blades of grass that leave little cuts on her exposed skin, prickles that hone her alertness to a razor edge. 

In her ear, a little warning pings – Aloy ducks low, hardly breathing as a man carrying a crude cannon walks within ten feet of her, heavy footsteps muffled in the hazy air.

The guard passes, and a moment later, she inches forward again, keeping to the outer perimeter.

The blood pounds in her ears – don’t think of him, focus, focus – to her right, fifty yards away, there's a building with a single guard dozing against the doorframe. Inside, there is a stockade of weapons she’ll be able to use to arm the prisoners after she frees them. Quickly, she darts past an open area, slipping back into the shadows of trees that haven’t yet been hacked down for wood. Five minutes pass. She doesn’t rush, keeps her breathing measured and slow even if her heart is pounding so loudly in her ears she can barely think.

The sky has closed down around her in a drizzle that’s like a burial shroud. The thought irritates her in how much it makes her think of something he’d say. 

Aloy darts into another wild tangle of grass, picking her way forward so low to the ground that she’s using her hands to keep her balance. She’s a breeze, a fox in the brush, a part of the wilds that’s found itself in their camp – not a hunter, certainly nothing worth noting. Finally, her field of view opens. Through the heavy mist she notes two marked figures ahead. The guard is scolded for his inattention, and the second figure turns away again. A few mumbled curses mask any sound that she makes as she draws her bow from her back, pulling a machine-steel arrow from her quiver. If she takes out this sentry, she’ll have an easier time slipping into the main body of the camp and a better shot at reaching the weapons stockpile. With her full attention narrowing to the place she knows the man’s head will be, she nocks the arrow.

“Don’t scream.”

Before she even has the chance, a hand covers her mouth. Another hand catches her arm, keeping it steady through her surprise.

“Make the shot,” he breathes against her skin, hot in the chill air. Without meaning to, Aloy sighs into his hand, closing her eyes to steel herself against the frantic hammering of her heart. No thought goes into it, but she leans back against him, his body bracing hers. She thinks she feels him smile.

She looses the arrow. The guard drops with a spray of blood like an exclamation, arrow stuck to the fletching through his eye. 

Nil’s sigh is awed, appreciative. Aroused. She opens her mouth but not to speak, his fingertips brushing across her lower lip. Then, at her barely perceptible nod, he pushes the index finger past lips, past teeth. Against her tongue he tastes of salt and she closes her mouth, trapping him. She feels the way his breath catches, his body pressing forward. She rolls her tongue around him, sucks, bites down hard enough that he gasps.

“Ahhh… ”

“I looked for you,” she whispers through a throat that’s gone tight, releasing him. He’s stroking her cheeks, then his hand is moving down until he’s touching her throat. There’s no pressure beyond the way he seeks out her pulse, that desperate fluttering he’s so entranced by.

“Did you now?” he replies, nuzzling into her neck, his words like kisses. “And why is that?”

“Nil…”

“Tell me, Aloy.” 

A little burst of pleasure-that’s-pain shoots through her when he nips at her throat where a moment before his fingers had been. Her squirming embarrassment is forgotten in an instant, because that bite is enough to stoke her fire.

“I wanted to fuck you.”

For her honesty, Aloy is rewarded with a laugh that’s low and husky, buzzing through her body. “Isn’t that funny.” His hand falls from her throat to quest over her body, slipping beneath the fine silk of the top she’d bought during her last trip to Meridian. He pushes the underclothes aside to cup a breast, calloused fingertips brushing over the nipple. When it stiffens under his touch, he grasps it, pinches. Aloy gasps again – her hand flies to cover her mouth, catching a moan before it can be born. “I thought you were here to kill bandits.”

“I don’t need your help for that,” she replies in a huff, but he’s stroking her nipple again. He lets her lower her bow to the ground, his left hand joining the right beneath her top. She arches against him, relying on his strength to hold her up.

The subtle shift in position puts their hips together, and he pushes against her. There’s fire blooming in her, just at the memory of how it felt to have him inside her. The slow movements of his body are almost a mockery of their previous union.

“But you do for this?”

“No,” she gasps, obstinate. Then she relents, because her head is spinning and she knows he’s not going to make another move without her explicitly saying so. “…but I want it.”

“Mmm, I thought you might.” Nil takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Turn around.”

Why?, she wants to ask. But she doesn’t, instead doing what he says. Without his hands covering her, the cold bites at her exposed breasts. For a moment, she’s on her back, looking directly into eyes the color of winter. Then Nil covers her body with his, his mouth at the curve of her throat – lower, next, until he finds the exposed skin beneath her shirt. His lips close around a nipple, soft – then his teeth, sharp. Aloy chokes back a gasp as he sucks, bites, kisses – first one breast, then the other. His palm is flat against her belly, holding her hips down, the kind of restraint she feels no desire to fight.

Teeth scrape across the rise of her hipbone as he continues making his way across her body, mapping her skin with his mouth. Aloy lifts her hips so that Nil’s able to pull her belt and leggings down unimpeded. Her breathing is fast now, shallow.

“What are you—” The question is cut off by a muffled squeak as he grabs her, pulling her toward him. His mouth is on her inner thigh, then higher. She covers her mouth with her hands, back arching, straining, because his mouth has found its target.

If she’d been asked, she would have been embarrassed at the idea of this. Now, though, she can tell she’d been wrong. Nil’s holding her thighs apart with one hand, the other spreading her lips. First she’s grabbing feathers – red hair, red feathers – then hair, because she’s pulled off his helmet. Nil hums against her, pleased when she pulls hard to force his head against her body. Lazy, his tongue runs from her opening to her clit, tasting the hot flesh. 

Quiet, she has to be quiet, her Focus pings because they aren’t alone in the camp – but he’s making it so hard, because he’s pushed the tip of his tongue into her and then licked deep.

The hot of her body, his breath, the wet of his mouth, her arousal – it’s all indistinct in a haze of pleasure. Nil’s licking her slowly, unhurriedly, his fingers caressing inner and outer lips, stroking the length of her. Then, exhaling hot breath against her, he pushes his finger into her. A second finger joins the first, opening her around him. Each movement is slow, measured, in direct contrast with their surroundings. His tongue works around her clit in a wandering circle. It’s enough to set her nerves on fire and she’s shaking hard when he repeats the motion. Finally, when she's not sure she can bear any more teasing, he flicks the tip of his tongue directly across the nub of her clit. When he closes his lips around the sensitive flesh and sucks, Aloy balls her hand into a fist, bites her own knuckles. Quiet, she has to be quiet – but she can’t think over the rush of blood in her ears. Nil’s hand is flush with her body, his fingers curling inside her.

Come, the movement says. And she does. Aloy’s thighs catch Nil and hold his face against her groin, his fingers working her even as her muscles tighten in rhythmic contractions around him.

When her shaking subsides just a little, he withdraws his fingers, pushing his tongue into her again. She can feel his appreciative moan and slowly, she relaxes. Quick as a snake, he moves to capture her lips in a deep kiss that lets her taste her own come. He shrugs his pants down around his narrow hips, and that’s the only warning she gets before he’s pushed himself into her. 

It’s a lucky thing his mouth is on hers, silencing her – instinctively she tightens around his cock. There’s not any chance for her to adjust to his girth before he’s thrusting forward.

“Mmnh...!” Aloy bites at his lip, and he gasps into her open mouth.

“Aa-aahhh!” He’s panting as he drives his hips against hers, pulling out so far that she thinks he’s going to slip out completely but then meeting her hips hard when he pushes in again. His forearm keeps her head from hitting the ground, a palm roughly cradling her cheek. His eyes are ice over a frozen lake, thunderheads rolling across a clear sky. “Fuck, girl, you feel good… ”

The statement is pure lust, hungry, and the core of her drops out. She thinks she’s going to come again, she wants to come again. Without thinking she wraps her legs around his hips, flexes her thighs, tightens around him. 

That gets her another breathy gasp. His thrusting is shorter now, faster – she moves with him, finds the rhythm she needs, and he matches it. When her orgasm hits her she digs her nails into the back of his neck and shoulders, cunt tightening around his shaft with such intensity that stars burst beneath her eyelids. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, just moves into her with short, deep thrusts. She presses her face against his neck, bites down hard, holds him tight.

Beyond the stretch of him, she can feel his pulse inside her, a match to the fast and desperate pace of his movements. Without thought she draws her fingernails across his ribcage, and is rewarded with a sharp hiss of air through his teeth like an arrow passing close to her head. He shifts, captures her lips in a deep, urgent kiss.

“C’mon, one more,” he whispers in a voice that trembles. “Give me one more.” So she lowers her hand between their bodies, trembling fingertips brushing against his shaft as she strokes herself. She's wet, so wet that even with Nil filling her, her fingertips come away slick. “Hh-haaahhh…. By the Sun, yes,” he moans as she bears down on him, so that she’s completely lost in even his smallest movements.

“Keep – nnh – keep going,” she whimpers, voice hoarse with need. “Nil…!”

Which of them comes first, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. All she knows is that he’s grinding his hips to hers, her fingers playing across her clit, and then she’s coming again. Inside her Nil swells, twitches, fills her with heat. His teeth dig into her throat and it’s only that bite that gives her enough clarity to keep from screaming. He’s still riding out the contractions of her orgasm even as she feels him going soft, before finally slipping out of her.

For a few seconds they simply lay in the tall grass, looking at each other. 

Before she can unwrap her legs from around him, his head is between her thighs. Blood rushes hot to her cheeks as she realizes what he’s doing. She can’t find energy to complain, instead leaning back and closing her eyes. He licks her with long, deep strokes of his tongue, and Aloy shivers at the touch. Before she has a chance to settle into the sensation, though, he’s pulled away. He kisses her slowly, deeply, lazily. His lips taste like her, and like a salty-bitterness that must be him. When he breaks the kiss, his grey eyes dance with amusement and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There’s a bruise blooming on his throat that’s a perfect match to her teeth, and she can just see the tracks left by her fingernails beneath his armored vest.

Casually, he picks up her bow from where she’s forgotten it beside them, presses it into her hand. “Give me, oh, three good shots like that last one and I’ll be ready to go again,” he says in a voice that’s barely a whisper and warm with affection. “We’ve dallied long enough.”

The heat in Aloy’s cheeks increases, from embarrassment or desire or a perverse mix of both. For a few heartbeats, she lets herself rest, regaining her composure. Then she pulls her leggings on, adjusts her top, and rolls into a crouch.

He’s right, of course. He’s always right about that kind of thing.