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A Heart at My Command

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It's late, thought Amy, and woke up.

It was unusual for her to oversleep, and the bed felt warmer than it should. She heard breathing nearby, and in that moment, she remembered everything.

She rolled over to look at him. He was still asleep. She lost herself for a moment just studying his face. His features were regular, a little too blunt for conventional good looks, but she didn't mind at all. His hair was clipped so short that it was nothing but blond bristles – softer than they looked, she remembered, and she shivered with pleasure deep inside as she remembered the touch of that hair on her skin.

If he were not azi, she thought then, there was no way he would have given her a second glance. She knew her own face was nothing special: at best, people might describe her as aristocratic or maybe just dignified. She had hardly any curves, and she'd needed tape intervention to stop slouching because she was so tall. In fact, he was only a few centimeters taller than she was.

She sat up slowly and wrapped her arms around herself. She had on an old nightshirt, soft with age and wear, because she'd felt cold after they had snuggled together for a while. Now it occurred to her that there was hardly a less romantic garment in the world than her old blue nightshirt. He'd decided he had to put his briefs back on, since she was wearing something, but with only his head and shoulder showing, you couldn't tell, if you didn't know. She was plain, gawky Amy Carnath, and here in her bed was a man with a body like that of an ancient marble statue from Earth.

She wished he would wake up, so she would have some company besides her own doubts.

He stirred, just as though he could hear her thought. Logic said coincidence, or maybe her breathing had changed. Had she sighed, maybe? Shifted?

His eyes opened. The room was so dim that she couldn't see their color, but she knew they were clear grey, with a darker grey ring around the edge of the iris. She could see his expression, though, and hear his breathing. He looked confused, and she wondered whether he felt a little lost.

He was azi, and she was his Supervisor.

"It's all right, Quentin," she said, quietly and calmly as she could manage. "You're with me: it's all right."

He focused on her instantly, and just like that, his breathing calmed. He looked at her like she was the most wonderful thing in the world. "Sera."

"Good morning, Quentin. How do you feel?"

He blinked, and she could see that he was remembering last night too. "Good, sera," he said. He moved his hand close to her, almost but not quite touching her hip. He was looking at her intently, and she suddenly wondered whether her face had been like that, when she was looking at him as he slept.

She lay down again, next to him, and slid her hand under his. "Do you want to eat breakfast? Are you hungry?"

"A little."

So was she, she realized, but not for breakfast. "Can you wait?"

"Yes, sera."

"Good," she said, and she pulled his hand to her mouth. He touched her lips, then trailed his fingers along the edge of her jaw and down her neck.

"Is this good, sera?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Is it OK for you?"

A portion of a man's face with a woman's hand stroking it

"Yes, sera," he said, firmly, and kissed her mouth. She ran her fingers over his cropped head, down to where the strong cords of muscle flexed on the back of his neck as he rolled up and leaned over her, pressing her gently into the mattress. She could feel his heart beating against her breastbone.

"I think we can stay in this morning," she said breathlessly, when their lips parted.

He bent his head and nuzzled her neck. "As sera wishes," he said.

 

Image cropped and edited from a photo by situnek34 on Flickr

Prompts: *het* the morning after + a sense of shyness + wish.