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Chapter Text

How unfortunate is it for the both of them that this- whatever this is- has become a daily ritual? To stalk Sjur simmering from the Queen’s court comes as naturally as breathing to Petra, and she follows so closely on the larger woman’s heels that even as she speaks she is sure that Sjur must hear only the incessant yapping of an indignant pup. To bark comes naturally, and so to snarl comes next, always to snarl as she is ignored- To reach out with one hand and yank Sjur’s shoulder backwards, to force the woman to turn and face her as they burst from winding hallways into the residential courtyard that often plays waiting room to city diplomats and awoken alike. Today it is empty insofar as she can tell, and Petra struggles to keep her voice level as she stares daggers up at Sjur with that lone eye, burning bright with anger.

“You will listen! You will not undermine me before the Queen’s Paladins again, Rior least of all-”

Interruption this time comes as Sjur brushes her hand away from her shoulder as easily as if she is brushing away a fly. Petra’s upper lip curls in fury, and Sjur’s eyes blaze with a mix of indignation and shock. “Undermine you!” she exclaims none-too-softly, leading Petra’s gaze away from her, leading it to flick about the courtyard to see if anyone has heard before it returns to Sjur. No one here to bear witness- Good. Petra’s teeth grind, but Sjur presses on, staring down at her with a hard look in her eyes and looming over her without a second thought. “Undermine! Undermine! I have been bickering with Paladin Rior over her inane foreign policy since before you were born, Petra. If you would just listen to what I’m saying rather than loathing it for the crime of having passed my lips-”

There it is again, that incessant reminder: That Sjur is older, wiser, more experienced. The more that Sjur settles down into her as-yet-undefined role in the Reef, the larger Petra feels the Sjur-shaped black hole in her own life grow. All of her hard-won achievement, all of her progress, even her life unravels the larger Sjur’s presence grows, drawn haplessly into Sjur’s gravity and unspun before her eyes- It is maddening, and still, she cannot bring herself to hate the woman. That only serves to make it all so much worse.

“-Don’t you dare think to proselytize to me, Sjur Eido! Find it within that over-inflated head of yours to be silent and listen to me for once in your forsaken-”

Petra watches Sjur’s look shift from one of indignant shock to something far more offensive, and her furious words die in her throat. A bemused grin tugs at Sjur’s handsome expression, and Petra watches her lips curve around the words that come next as if in slow motion. No. No. Anything but this, anything but that fond, rumbling laugh, the one whose timbre shakes Petra’s very bones-

“-Ooh, my last name. Queen’s grace, you’re easily riled up-”

Petra lunges , her hands grasping like claws for the collar of Sjur’s messily tucked dress shirt. They close around empty air, curling into fists so tight that for a moment she worries her palms might bleed. “Fuck you,” she spits breathlessly, feeling her breathing coming more quickly, her heart beginning to race. Her face is flushed with the rage of the fleeting, ineffectual assault on Sjur, flushed with the indignation of being denied even the dignity of hitting her. If she cannot hate Sjur, cannot hit her, then how else is she to be rid of this wild desperation?

Sjur’s nose wrinkles in displeasure. “Petra,” she begins tentatively, holding up her palms in open surrender, “I am not your enemy, no matter what you may think. I know this has been difficult, and perhaps I don’t always do my part to make things less complicated in situations where I easily could. But this comes no more naturally to me than to you- I think we would do well to try to put this behind us and move forward. If you would let me-”

This time, Petra’s blow connects, if only because it comes so quickly and so unexpectedly. The sharp crack of her open palm meeting Sjur’s stern jaw resounds throughout the courtyard, the suddenness of the sound rivaled only by the curse Sjur barks out in kneejerk response, and then Petra is reeling, seething, twisting as Sjur draws her close in one fluid motion, pinning the offending arm behind Petra’s own back at an angle most uncomfortable. 

“Really?” Sjur snaps in the aftermath, reaching up to rub her stinging jaw with the hand that is still free. It’s nothing short of hubris not to secure her opponent with both hands, and a mistake Petra punishes readily by twisting to drive a hard knee up into Sjur’s unarmored crotch. That seems to do the trick where the slap had not: Sjur snarls the last of the breath from her lungs as Petra’s knee forces it from her. “Fine!”

What follows is more one-sided than Petra would like to admit. She is and always has been a wiley, determined fighter- There has seldom in her life since Amethyst been a scuffle she cannot win in a whirlwind of teeth and nails, but Sjur is a tempest , and all of Petra’s cunning shatters against her. The first Queen’s Wrath is bigger, stronger- Perhaps if Petra could use her knife or her pistol, but she has a sneaking suspicion Mara wouldn’t forgive either of them for that outcome. By the time Sjur has wrestled her, snarling and spitting, onto her back and into a chokehold that leaves her seething up at the Divalian sky, Petra barely has the breath left in her lungs to protest. Her nails scrabble like claws against Sjur’s clothed forearms, hapless- And Sjur allows her just enough leeway in the hold for her to drag in a deep, wracking breath, one that fills her desperate lungs so thoroughly that her chest aches by the time she is done. Still, the relief is instantaneous- Despite the fact she is pinned with her back to Sjur Eido’s chest, staring up at the sky in a painfully public place, Petra cannot help but gasp pleasantly.

“...Fuck you,” she manages at last, soft and breathless as her grasp tightens on Sjur’s constricting forearm, and Sjur knows better than to let her go this time.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re trying the only way you know how,” Sjur replies bluntly. Petra goes still and silent for just a moment, and Sjur doesn’t let it pass- She seizes it for what it is, a fleeting moment where she has Petra’s complete and undivided attention for better or worse. “I really would like to let you go, Petra. But I’m not entirely convinced you won’t try to hurt me again. And if I’m honest, I have very little interest in letting you hurt me.”

The silence that stretches on between them stretches on just a little bit too long in the wake of those words. Sjur wonders if she’s said something wrong, but that seems impossible for some reason. There is a brief moment where she worries she may have squeezed Petra too tight, that she might be conversing with an unconscious woman, but that doesn’t track either. Petra is still far too tense against her to be unconscious.

“Well?” Sjur prompts, clearly beginning to feel self-conscious in the silence she has created, and Petra grinds her teeth audibly as the rise and fall of Sjur’s chest presses against her back. She breathes so easily even with Petra’s added weight atop her chest- Maddening .

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sjur,” Petra admits, still irritable but sounding strangely half-hearted. “It isn’t so simple as all of that. You were always my hero.” The words are soft, her voice is soft, but it doesn’t stay soft for long. It hardens into something sharp and pained as she continues, agitated, and her grip on Sjur’s forearm tightens unthinkingly, nails digging uselessly into starched fabric as she seems to change her mind about being completely honest. “You’ve upended everything. I don’t need to justify myself to you- I hardly want to speak to you in the first place.”

The words are hurtful, sure, but they’re unconvincing to boot. Sjur growls softly in discontent, the noise low and so close to Petra’s ear that Petra can feel the warmth of her breath, and Petra shivers, twisting harshly and suddenly to attempt to free herself. It isn't enough. Sjur simply tightens her grip to quell the brief rebellion, and Petra’s lungs burn for air: It is within her nature to struggle until her vision begins to swim before she admits defeat, and the dizzying relief of Sjur easing up in response to her surrender floods her body with heat.

“Upended everything?” Sjur growls in her ear, sounding aggravated but hardly out of breath. That makes Petra flush all the more warmly- Is she really such easy prey? She grinds her teeth as Sjur continues, but Sjur pays her no mind. “You speak as if any of this was my decision, Petra . Your life is not the only life that has been drastically altered. Do you think this is any easier for me? We have this fight every day- Everything has changed! The city, its people, Mara-”

“-Queen Mara,” Petra hisses for the very sake of being contrary, and Sjur barks out a laugh.

“That’s right. Queen Mara. Regardless of titles-”

“-I want you to stay away from me,” Petra snaps, and Sjur growls again in response to being interrupted- Her arm tightens around Petra’s throat, but not enough to constrict, and the feeling sends a thrill down Petra’s spine that Petra decides instantly not to interrogate.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it, Venj,” Sjur rumbles discontentedly, warm breath still very much against Petra’s ear, and Petra closes her lone eye as if to shut out Sjur’s voice. Little good that does her. “You nip at my heels every chance that you get like a poorly disciplined boarhound! No matter how hard I try to disengage, it’s always you who hunts and harangues me after every council. Nine hells, I’ve almost forgotten the sound of my own footsteps echoing the halls without yours trailing in concert, and-”

Sjur’s words halt abruptly, just as Petra’s anger had been starting to rise again. Petra feels it burn and sputter out in her chest as Sjur’s silence settles over them, and the longer the silence stretches on, the more clearly anger is replaced by something far less familiar and agreeable. “What?” she snaps quizzically, trying her best to sound angry, but she can’t seem to muster even that much as she lays atop Sjur’s chest, the larger woman’s arm still locked around her throat in threat of violence. “What is it?”

“Are you enjoying this?”

The words make Petra’s blood run so hot so quickly that it feels like ice rushing through her veins. How brightly flushed her face must be as she lets out an indignant snarl, mustering every ounce of her limited capability for momentum to drive her elbow hard into Sjur’s ribs. Sjur yelps, and it buys Petra just a moment of space, a moment of peace- As she lunges for freedom, launching onto her stomach and scrabbling to stand, Sjur’s impossible weight comes crashing down on her from behind, driving her back into the grass. Another snarl as she twists around onto her back, but the movement she had intended to allow her to fight back costs her the little distance she had managed to place between them, and Petra feels the air forced from her lungs once more as Sjur straddles her middle. Fuck. Fuck!

The roar of blood in her ears drowns out all else for a precious few moments as she spits and squirms for her freedom beneath Sjur, but the effort is hopeless. The other woman is just too heavy to lever off with a buck of her hips, try as she might, and she is left as breathless as she is furious Sjur finally secures her hands once more, pinning them on either side of her head by the wrist.

“Petra,” Sjur pants imploringly, finally sounding equally winded despite her temporary victory. Good. Let her gasp for breath- Let her see how it feels, just for a little while. Petra jerks one well toned arm, forcing Sjur to force it back to the ground to stay in control, and feels something petty but satisfied stir inside of her. “Petra, enough of this. Tell me now, and tell me honestly- Are you enjoying this?”

What is there to say? Her physical reaction had surely been enough to tell Sjur all she had needed to know, but now, she does not even have the luxury of escape. Petra grinds her teeth, averting her gaze intentionally to a space just beyond Sjur’s right shoulder. “No,” she spits after a moment, and then in the silence that follows, scowls. Wavers. “Yes. But- It isn’t what you think, so don’t let it go to your head.”

Sjur’s eyes alight with something, and Petra grinds her teeth, rolling her lone eye but feeling her face warm further. God damn it all.

“...Get the fuck off of me, Sjur, and I may just humor this with rational conversation.”

And so, they talk. It’s no easy feat, convincing Sjur to let her up, but the promise of level conversation turns out to be just the leverage that Petra needs. Sjur is open, honest, blunt to a fault at times, and Petra listens to her piece as promised before Sjur turns, expecting her to reciprocate.

…As they stroll through the reclaimed gardens of Eleusinia, on their way back to Petra and Mara’s shared quarters in the Keep of Voices, she finds that holding up her side of the bargain is the hardest part.

“Your feelings feel painfully simple by comparison to mine, Sjur,” she begins, voice tentative and halting on strange words, as if she must force the honesty past her lips. “Your honesty in this, it… Well, this would be easier if you were cruel.”

“Well, I am not.” Sjur’s words are resolute. Firm, as she furrows her brows and glances over to Petra. They keep their steady pace. “And if I have made my feelings seem simple to you, then I have done them a disservice. This is complicated for me, Petra. Everything has changed-“

“Simple was not the appropriate word.” Petra cuts her off a bit more firmly than she would like, shooting a wounded glance in her direction as her only apology. “Perhaps… Perhaps certain would be a better descriptor. I have no such certainty. I have little certainty at all.”

“So then explain ,” Sjur replies bluntly, not necessarily sounding impatient, but there is a certain sternness in her tone that Petra is only accustomed to hearing in the voice of Mara Sov. No one else dares take such a tone with her- She grits her teeth, considers doing something foolish, and then recalls that she had promised Sjur Eido honesty when all of this had began. And perhaps most importantly, no more violence.

Petra balls her hands into fists hard enough to feel her nails dig into her palms, and then relaxes them, dragging in a deep and somewhat shuddery breath. “It’s complicated. I would have done anything to bring you back to her, Sjur. I did. For me, there was no doubt, no… No question that you left a void no one else could fill in your absence. For Mara, for the Reef…” she reaches up, pressing her index and middle finger into her eyelid as she closes her eye and rubs. “I was certain that I wanted you back. For Mara, for our people. That certainty hasn’t changed, despite all this.” Her free hand waves a dismissive gesture in Sjur’s direction as she stalks through the gardens, blind for a moment in her frustration. It matters little; She has walked these grounds a thousand times over, and by the time she lowers the hand from her good eye, they are that much closer to the keep.

“Having you back in practice, however, it has given rise to…” she wets her lips, brows furrowing as she searches for the appropriate words, “...well, all manner of complications. If you think things are complicated for you, then please, rest more easily knowing they have been no simpler for me. I was not popular during the Taken War, Sjur.” She holds up a hand as Sjur opens her mouth. To retort? To reassure? It matters little to Petra- Now that she has found the courage required for initial honesty, the words come tumbling out. She dares not interrupt them, lest the courage disappear. “There were accusations of unfair favor from the Queen in the wake of her departure. There was tension, there were threats of desertion rivaling the first fracture. Paladin Rior nearly took her fleet and left- There were attempts on my life, multiple . So…”

She falters, the words dying in her throat. So much for momentum. She halts in her stride as well, dragging in a sharp, shaky breath and grinding her teeth in aggravation as she wrestles with the final truth. She looks to Sjur, to those rather wide moonglow eyes, evidently stunned by the ugly truth of her brief and unanticipated regency. Sjur’s stricken expression does little to soothe her, and she averts her eyes swiftly, gazing at the deep and shimmering amethyst of the keep’s archway that looms before them instead.

“...so, I implore you to forgive my insecurity.” How she hates the word. She does not look at Sjur, the back of her neck burning with shame as she clenches and unclenches her fists, again and again. They itch for blows, for the raking of nails over skin, for something tangible, something real, something she can control. “I cope with it poorly, because you are Sjur Eido. You are the first Queen’s Wrath. You always were my hero, that is true, and I would not begrudge this place, these people- I would not begrudge them for choosing you . I know that I certainly would.”

Petra gazes quietly up at the grand doorway of the keep for a few moments longer before closing her eye. The silence is deafening, and she can feel anger at Sjur’s silence boiling up inside of her again, threatening to overflow into something ugly and dishonest and violent. She had promised Sjur. Promised her. Petra does not break her promises. Discipline is one of her greatest virtues, by her own estimate, when she feels a matter is worthy of said discipline. Still, it takes every ounce of self control to keep her there, motionless, rooted to the crystalline floor as Sjur stands at her heel, presumably taking in all she has said. 

She can’t be sure- She won’t turn to look at her.

“Well fuck .” When the words finally come, they come after a sharp exhale of breath through Sjur’s barely parted lips, a veritable raspberry in the face of Petra’s ineffable dismay that makes every muscle in Petra’s body flinch . Sjur reaches up to rub the back of her own neck, her hand delightfully cool against skin flushed with shock. “I didn’t know, Venj. Well, I knew, but fuck. ” She sounds almost breathless with her shock, head spinning. “Assassination attempts? ”

Petra manages only the most terse of nods before finding her voice a moment later, daring to glance ever so slightly over her shoulder. She doesn’t quite turn around- Doesn’t quite meet Sjur’s gaze, or even look at her. That lone eye remains trained on the amethyst floor, on the endless fractals, spiraling on and on into infinity. “That’s right,” she says, voice uncharacteristically tight, and feels weak for the sound of it. Heartbroken. “I know the responsible parties, of course.” She waves a hand in a vague dismissive gesture, half-hearted. “Ultimately I found them to be beyond public reproach. It was best the matter be settled privately, and it was. Their failure, my response, it served its purpose. Those who would not respect me at least learned an uneasy fear of my reach, and that… Well, it saw me through the most difficult years.” 

She comes closer to looking at Sjur, closer to turning around, but still cannot bring herself to do it. Hesitates . Stills.

“Well fuck them!” Sjur spits, her frustration sudden enough and loud enough to make Petra startle and nearly turn to face her. While the motion stops short, there is no denying the way Petra cocks an ear, listening with furrowed, wavering brow and tight lips. The truth is no longer avoidable: She fears her expression will betray her should she turn to face Sjur, should she turn to face the righteous fury that blazes in her on Petra’s behalf. Wounded, desperate Petra, who has only ever wounded Sjur in return, only ever lashed out- “You’ve proven yourself ten times over to the people of this city. It’s thanks to you that there’s still a city at all. Anyone who doubted you then is as stupid as anyone who would doubt you now, and besides all of that, you’ve proven yourself to Mara, and you’ve proven yourself to me. You’re only one woman! Look at me, Petra.”

There it is. Unavoidable. What is there to say or do in the face of such a plea, so heartfelt, so full of contrition? Petra lets out a soft exhale as she turns, dragging her gaze up from the floor to fix upon Sjur. She finds just what she had expected, and feels something inside of her break: Sjur, ablaze with indignation upon her behalf. Sjur, handsome face twisted in a wounded, determined mask as she grapples with all she has been told. Sjur. Sjur Eido. Her lone eye wells up with overwhelmed tears, and she clenches her jaw. How could she ever have been so cruel to this woman?

“Don’t,” Sjur pleads as she realizes just what is happening. “Oh, Petra, please don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m an idiot, I’m a jackass!” She reaches out to cup Petra’s jaw with both hands as she begs, but it proves to be too much. It’s the first gentle touch, the first touch Petra welcomes, and Petra crumples beneath its weight. Head lolling in Sjur’s calloused palms, her lone eye squeezes tightly shut as a breathless gasp of a sob wracks her body- Small mercy that she doesn’t have the energy left to cry, not really.

“I’m sorry,” she rasps, throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow the lump making it so difficult to breathe. “ I’m sorry , Sjur. I love Mara. I’ve loved you too, from afar, all my life, and now- now, it takes all the breath from my lungs just to try not to hate you for it.” Petra reaches up, grasping at Sjur’s forearm for support as she tries so desperately to rein herself back in, lone eye flickering open bleary and unfocused. She seems to look past Sjur in that instant, focused on some distant place beyond her, and she shivers miserably, slouching further into Sjur’s grasp.

Sjur huffs, petting Petra’s cheek with her thumb as she looks at her, a deep frown creasing her expression. “Don’t be sorry, Petra. I’ve been an ass. ” It’s easy to gloss over the admission of love in that moment in favor of everything else. It’s surely the only way to preserve what dignity Petra has left, and Sjur finds herself faced with bigger questions anyway. “Mara… I love Mara too. Does Mara know who tried to have you killed?”

Petra gives a noncommittal shrug, reluctant at first, and then gives a small nod, dragging in a deep, shaky breath. Sjur curses . What else had she expected, really? It had been a stupid question.

“Don’t be angry with her,” Petra complains, finally beginning to straighten up. She gently guides Sjur’s hands away from her jaw, furrowing her brow. “I trust her judgment. If she thought they were still any threat…” She trails off, sighing quietly.

“...I know,” Sjur replies, sounding weary. 

They both do.

They pass the rest of the journey to the royal quarters in relative silence. There’s no real reason for Sjur to dwell after their conversation concludes, but she keeps in step anyway, and to her credit, for the first time in her life, Petra doesn’t protest. There’s an understanding between them that simply hadn’t been there before, and they both sit disquieted by its presence: This is unusual, but no more unusual than anything that has befallen the pair of them so far.

When they reach Petra’s shared quarters at last, it is Sjur who breaks the silence as Petra opens the door with a wave of her still-gauntleted hand. “You never answered me you know,” she prompts, clasping her hands behind her back in a relatively at-ease stance, and Petra lifts a brow. She’s half-way through the door, but Sjur’s words give her pause, and she hesitates with her hand on the doorframe.

“...I’m not sure that I follow,” she says after a moment spent in silence, trying to figure out Sjur’s angle: The woman’s expression betrays nothing until after Petra has admitted defeat by voicing her uncertainty aloud, and Petra’s lone eye narrows slightly as a shit-eating grin tugs at Sjur’s expression.

“When all of this started, when I had you pinned- I asked you if you were enjoying yourself.”

Her reward is instant. She reaps it by way of the bright flush of Petra’s cheeks, by the way those full lips, normally pressed into a tight and miserable line, part as her jaw falls slack. Petra’s mouth snaps shut just a moment later with an audible click of her teeth, expression flashing into an embarrassed scowl, but there is something foreign in her tone even as she attempts to shut the door in Sjur’s face:

“Come back with a warrant, Sjur.”

Humor.

“Aht aht!” Sjur exclaims, catching the door by its edge to stop it from closing, but she makes no further motion to intrude on Petra’s space even as Petra lingers in the doorway. Even with only one eye, Petra’s eyeroll is unmissable as Sjur releases the door. She’s free to close it now if she wishes, but… “I believe you promised me honesty, Petra.”

“You were right earlier. You are a jackass,” Petra intones bluntly, but she lingers anyway, studying Sjur’s expression. Then comes a deep breath, exhaled slowly through terse lips as if blowing off steam. She narrows her eye. “But, as we are being honest with each other… Yes, I do enjoy our spats.” She can feel her face warming, and the urge to retreat overwhelms. “Now- that’s all you get, no more. Good afternoon.” 

She moves again to close the door, but Sjur protests, and she finds herself stilling once more in spite of herself, peering out from behind the door with narrowed eye.

“I enjoy them too, Venj.” That’s a surprise, and it must show on her face, because Sjur clears her throat, rocking her weight onto the balls of her feet for a moment as she licks her lips like an anxious hound. The words had been unexpectedly sincere, Sjur’s tone unexpectedly low: She’s managed to embarrass herself, and is quick to attempt correction. “...That’s to say if you ever want a proper spar, you know where to find me. Perhaps we’d both benefit. You get to beat the fuck out of me, and I get, uhm…”

Petra lifts a brow, opening the door just that much more and fixing Sjur with a rather unreadable expression. Sjur blows air between her lips, shaking her head.

“...Well fuck me, you’re not going to make this easy, are you? Guess I deserve that.” She rubs the back of her neck, taking a deep breath, “Well, look, Petra. All I mean to say is: I think we’d do better to get along than to fight. And if getting along looks like me letting you try to knock me on my ass a few times a week for the betterment of Awoken high society, then I’m all in. It wouldn’t exactly be some great personal sacrifice, and we’re doing it anyway, aren’t we?”

The last thing Sjur expects in response to her ineloquence is the way Petra’s shoulders slouch, and the soft breath that escapes her as she opens the door fully. It’s almost a laugh, and there’s an incredulous expression tugging at Petra’s lips the longer she stands there in silence, contemplating. Definitely a laugh then.

“Sjur, I don’t want to beat the fuck out of you.” The way Petra emphasizes the words serves to make clear that she would never have chosen them herself, and she drums her fingers against the open door yet again as she glances to the amethyst floor, then back up to meet Sjur’s gaze. “You’ve already beaten me a hundred times over. Now that we’ve talked it out, I can’t say I feel the same urge anymore.”

Sjur’s expression twists into one of quiet confusion. Brows furrow, and then raise ever so slightly, and she searches Petra’s face, looking for any trace of humor or other indication that she is joking. Nothing. Petra simply shakes her head in response to the scrutiny, and finally, Sjur frowns. “All that bravado before, lunging after me any chance you could get just to move past the frustration, and now you don’t want to fight it out?”

“Call it wisdom, not cowardice,” Petra replies, resisting the urge to roll her eye as she glances away from Sjur. It’s difficult to look her in the eye in the face of such honest confusion. “You’ve already beaten me, time and time again. Not even the element of surprise is enough to pry victory from you, Sjur Eido.”

Sjur seems to think on it. That same handsome, that same maddeningly handsome grin falls across her face as she leans in the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest and drawing just a bit closer. Petra doesn’t back away, despite her every instinct- Sjur is magnetic, and this is, unfortunately, no exception. Is it really so unfortunate, though…?

“Well if that’s the case, then I’d have to agree with you. No use battering yourself against an immovable object and all that… You make an excellent effort, though.” Now, Petra can’t help but roll her eye- Sjur seems to take offense, or at least pretends to take offense as Petra feigns disinterest and disgust. “Hey! Hey, look. You take some time away from assaulting me, sharpen your skills, maybe next time-”

“Assaulting you!”

“-What else would you call it?” Sjur’s reply is sharp, but lacks teeth- Petra falls silent, regarding her with baleful uncertainty, and Sjur waves the unpleasant expression aside, tone pleading. “Enough, Petra. I’ve no reason to dislike you- I’d much prefer that we get along sooner rather than later. It would certainly make Mara happy to see us comfortable with each other, don’t you think?” Sjur’s expression shifts to something plaintive, something earnest, and Petra feels something flutter in the pit of her stomach that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Of course,” she replies succinctly, chewing her own bottom lip, and the smile that Sjur flashes in return is enough to send a shiver down her spine. Oh, how she loathes how simple Sjur makes all of this seem… “There is nothing stopping us from getting along, Sjur. Not now that we’ve… Well, now that we’ve discussed this.” There is a beat more of silence as Sjur grins at her, and Petra feels her face warm, feels her ears beginning to burn. She hates the silence. How much more difficult it is to mask her already wildly loud thoughts in the thick of it! “I think that it would make Queen Mara happy, of course, to see her Wraths getting along. Hardly a novel concept.”

“Exactly,” Sjur says, taking note of the flush, taking note of the way Petra’s teeth come down on her bottom lip. All so telling, all so unavoidable, and the graceful thing to do would be to leave Petra Venj to her solitude, to back down and pretend she is none the wiser to any of it: Not to the blush settled across Petra’s fair blue cheekbones, not to the way those sharper-than-the-average-human canines pin her plush lower lip as she stands there in the doorway. Sjur considers for a moment, and then draws just a bit closer, lowering her voice: She has never been graceful, and sees no reason to start. “…Of course it would make Mara happy. To see us getting along. To see us comfortable together. There’s nothing stopping us from getting more comfortable together now, you know.”

Sjur can almost hear the warning in her head, though she knows it’s little more than her imagination: Mara’s stern voice, her sharp and guarded expression as Petra’s brows furrow in wake of the veiled suggestion. Careful, Sjur.

Petra’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as Sjur leans in, studying her expression with that lone, narrowed eye and trying to think past the rush of blood in her ears. Surely Sjur cannot be implying what Petra thinks she is, what some part of her hopes she is - That would be outrageous, and bold to a degree bordering on obscenity .

Has she ever known Sjur to be anything less than bold, less than outrageous, less than obscene?

“You’re right, of course,” Petra says, and her voice is tight, though not with discomfort; just with more of that tension, that unbearable tension that had led her to lunge for Sjur and that had gotten both of them into this mess in the first place. “There is nothing stopping us. And I’m sure it would make Queen Mara’s life easier if we stopped strutting about around her like competing stallions.” The words are careful, measured as she takes in Sjur’s response to them: Another, broader grin as Sjur leans in closer, almost as if conspiring.

“Is that what we’ve been doing?”

“Isn’t it?” Petra shoots back, one brow raised, words almost catching in her throat at Sjur’s nearness now. 

Damn it.

“Maybe,” Sjur offers, tilting her head as she leans there in the doorway, studying Petra’s expression. They’re close now- Dangerously close. “Maybe that’s what you’ve been doing, Venj, but not me. I don’t need to impress anybody.”

“No?” Petra replies, just a bit irritably, but she doesn’t back away. That lone eye flicks down to Sjur’s lips, then back up to hold her gaze, unwavering.

“No,” Sjur confirms, letting her mouth hang open around the word for just a moment before she continues, “and you don’t need to either. I’m already plenty impressed with you.”

Sjur watches as Petra’s lone pupil constricts, dilates, scarred jaw visibly working as she clenches and unclenches her back teeth. The flush that settles over those cheekbones now is all the more unavoidable, all the more impossible to ignore, and Petra feels her ears flush with a mix of indignation and embarrassment. Her bluff has been called: The only thing left to do is to respond, and she squares her jaw, brows furrowed as she drags her gaze away from Sjur’s obnoxious mouth and back to her sparkling eyes.

“Well,” she says, voice tight and wavering slightly in her embarrassment, “you could stand to be less of a cunt about it.” 

They’re so close she can feel Sjur’s breath against her lips, but she manages to stand firm, as she always has. It doesn’t matter how Sjur towers over her, doesn’t matter the way that she has to lift her chin in order to stare up at her, a healthy mix of embarrassment, defiance, and irritation informing her stubborn expression, lips pressed into a thin line and bright eye blazing.

They stand like that for a few long moments, each sizing the other up just one more time. 

Then, Sjur barks out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, and Petra sighs in blissful relief just a moment before Sjur leans down. Their lips meet. 

Finally.

Chapter Text

The first kiss is a hungry, wild thing. Both hands lift, trembling, to cup Sjur’s face: To stroke her strong jaw, to feel along its smooth, angular edges, and Sjur purrs as she allows herself to be felt. Petra kisses like she is starving, like she has never known the touch of another, and Sjur certainly doesn’t mind. She would be lying if she were to pretend that this base pleasure wasn’t one she had missed desperately in her prolonged absence, but it isn’t long at all before Petra’s teeth click against Sjur’s, the sound muffled by the heat of their mouths and doing nothing to slow her. Sjur grunts in mild displeasure at the unexpected impact, one hand darting up to scruff Petra and reluctantly drag her away.

Petra, to her credit, seems completely unbothered, lone blue eye unfocused and blown wide and dark with eagerness as they regard each other breathlessly. The feeling of Sjur’s strong hand closing around the nape of her neck so effortlessly has certainly done nothing to calm her; the longer it persists, the longer the silence stretches onward, the stronger the urge to whine that builds so steadily in the back of her throat, but Petra swallows it down.

Barely.

It’s the tremble of her jaw, the bob of her throat as she swallows that drives Sjur to break the silence, and so intense is the relief Petra feels that she loses the battle: The quiet keen that escapes her nearly drowns out the word that follows, only to taper off as she listens raptly.

“Alright,” Sjur says, and feels a pleasant shiver run up her spine as she waits for that sweet noise of Petra’s to be finished. It’s a mercy as well as a pleasure- It gives her time to lick her lips and swallow thickly without losing face, her mouth dry with excitement at the sight of the woman in her grasp. “...Alright, fuck. I guess we’re doing this then.”

“Please,” Petra breathes, her voice an eager whine, her hands smoothing down Sjur’s jaw and neck to splay out over her chest even as Sjur holds her at a respectable distance.

Sjur regards her for a few more long moments, studying Petra’s face, watching it twist and tighten with barely restrained eagerness, and savors the feeling of her own heartbeat hammering away in her throat. She is alive. They are alive, together. Why then, has she allowed Petra to spend so long torturing them both trying to pretend this is anything other than perfectly, beautifully natural? As she draws Petra close, cups her jaw with her free hand, grasps the back of her neck firmly with the other, and kisses her with a centuries-long patience, Sjur Eido reflects: There has never been a Queen’s Wrath capable of saying no to a beautiful woman.

Compared to the monumental task of earning this honesty, this intimacy , the act of guiding Petra backwards through the doorway into her quarters and shutting the door behind them comes as easily as breathing. Something in Sjur’s hindbrain twinges pleasantly at the soft, almost melodic hum of the automated locking system, but Petra draws her wandering attention back to their kisses with a sharp nip to her bottom lip, and Sjur rumbles out a growl. “Easy,” she huffs, voice low and soft as she runs her fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Petra’s neck to ease her- She feels goosebumps rise in response, and interprets them correctly as a sign that the touch is welcome. 

Petra finally pauses in her kisses when she realizes she is being a distraction, lips stilling against Sjur’s as she takes the opportunity to drag in desperately needed air. She rests their foreheads together, breath coming and going unsteadily against Sjur’s cheek as Sjur carefully, gently works to unravel her long hair from its tight bun. It ends up being a two-handed job, and even as Sjur releases her remaining hold on Petra to devote her full attention to the task, Petra remains pleasantly immobilized by the gentle touch until long locks of auburn hair come cascading down over her shoulder. She lets out a soft breath, easing back off the tips of her toes and onto the flats of her feet- How her calves had burned without her noticing, to keep eye level to Sjur for so long without thinking, and she rests her cheek against Sjur’s shoulder as she recovers, enjoying the sensation of those strong fingers threading through her hair far more than she would like to admit.

“Better?” Sjur rumbles, a grin tugging at her lips, and Petra hums in approval, lifting her chin to press a soft kiss to her partner’s throat.

“Yes,” she replies honestly, still sounding just a bit out of breath. The hands that had smoothed out over the flat plane of Sjur’s upper chest start to wander, but Sjur puts a quick stop to that, much to Petra’s surprise- A hand around each wrist guides Petra’s hands back to Sjur’s shoulders, and Sjur gazes down at her with a soft grin .

“Where’s your bedroom, Venj? Entryway doesn’t cut it for me, I’m afraid.”

Petra snorts, trailing her fingertips along the seams on the shoulders of Sjur’s tunic as her gaze drifts lower. “Would you object to the floor?” she asks with an unmistakably playful lilt, lifting a scarred brow, and it is Sjur’s turn to laugh as she tilts Petra’s chin for another brief kiss. Petra obliges- A little longer, a little hungrier than either of them had intended, before Sjur draws away with a quiet pant and that same handsome, breathless smile.

“I’m being serious, Petra.”

“So am I.” 

There’s a brief pause as they linger, sizing each other up again before Sjur realizes with a start that Petra really does mean it . The slight parting of her lips, the widening of her eyes is victory enough for the younger Wrath, and all she needs to know that Sjur is being dead serious as well. With a roll of her lone eye, Petra’s expression shifts from playful smile to patient bemusement, and she takes Sjur gently by the hands, leading her backwards towards yet another closed door that opens upon their approach.

“You’re not very adventurous for an eons old warrior,” she says, and then it is Sjur’s turn to blush. She would rub the back of her neck to ease the sensation, if Petra didn’t have both of her hands- So she just exhales sharply through pursed lips instead, rolling her eyes and barking out an anxious laugh.

“Please, Petra. Do you really think my poor back could survive fucking you on an amethyst floor? We aren’t teenagers. Maybe if you wanted to light up some Queensfoil first-”

Petra shakes her head as she leads Sjur through the door to her bedroom, cutting her off:

  “- Excellent try, but no. I’ve seen you supplex a Hive Swordbearer- You’ll have to do better. Do you know what I think?”

“I think you have a mouth on you,” Sjur huffs almost sheepishly, trying to get a word in, but Petra pays no heed, not halting in her stride until the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed. 

“-I think you’re a romantic, Sjur . ”

Sjur laughs, a soft, incredulous sound that isn’t denial as Petra sits down on the edge of her bed and releases her hands. She lifts them immediately to grasp Petra’s jaw, tilting the smaller woman’s chin and relishing in the way she towers over her as she presses a soft, hungry kiss to those scarred lips. She can’t help but rumble her satisfaction as Petra reaches up to thread slender fingers through her hair; When Petra’s grasp twists inexorably tighter, when she feels Petra start to tremble with each kiss, Sjur finally breaks away, feeling no further need to defend herself from Petra’s needling. She has won this round.

“Bed,” she rumbles softly in amusement instead as she draws back to peer down at her, swiping the calloused pad of a thumb gently along Petra’s damp bottom lip before releasing her jaw. Then, a bit more firmly, “Now, Petra.”

There is that tone again, the one no one but Mara ever dares take with her, and it sends a jolt between her thighs that makes Petra’s head spin pleasantly. Sjur isn’t young, nor is she inexperienced, but that does nothing to diminish the thrill she feels as she watches Petra eagerly follow her softly growled command. Petra backs up onto the plush comforter of that perfectly made bed until her back hits the pillows, and Sjur follows after her on her hands and knees with all the effortless grace of a wildcat until she is looming happily over Petra- She reaches down with one hand to gently brush a few stray hairs from Petra’s forehead, away from that brightly glowing eye, and finally, when Petra’s jaw starts to tremble again with the restraint it takes not to surge up and kiss her, Sjur leans down to press a hungry kiss to those barely parted lips instead.

 Sjur threads her fingers into that bright auburn hair before long, pulling gently to tug Petra’s head back. It breaks the kiss, but she’s quick to make up for it. Her lips find other places to kiss, softer places, along Petra’s scarred jaw and warm throat as her fingers tighten their grasp on the younger Wrath’s hair until it aches. Petra whines, the sound tight and pitched, and while Sjur doesn’t quite mark her yet, her too-sharp teeth threaten constantly. Her throat, where the world would see, the court if she didn’t take care to cover up- And as Sjur’s kisses grow hungrier, as her hands wander, the threat moves to Petra’s shoulders, where Mara would see. Petra isn’t sure which would be worse. 

Both are delectable.

There is only so far that Sjur’s hands can tug her royal vestments aside, only so much skin she can expose without threatening to tear fabric. Petra allows, acquiesces happily to Sjur’s manhandling until she feels Sjur reach that limit: A sharp growl escapes her, sharp enough to make Sjur draw back to look at her, and Petra reaches up to guide those grasping hands away from her clothing. “If you want it off,” she breathes, lone eye alight with excitement, “then take if off. But absolutely no tearing. Understand?”

Of course she understands. Sjur rolls her eyes, taking the opportunity to catch her breath as she reaches for familiar buckles and clasps. Petra’s attire really isn’t so different from their Queen’s- If the younger Wrath takes note of Sjur’s expertise, then she does not comment on it. Instead, slender fingers trail along her partner’s forearms, up to her shoulders, brushing along her jaw and simply admiring as Sjur strips away every complex strap and vestment of office until Petra’s assistance is finally needed. Petra is the one who tugs the plain tunic hidden beneath it all up over her head and tosses it aside- Petra is the one who reaches for the front zipper of her sports bra, until Sjur reaches out to stop those practiced hands.

“Aht aht,” she husks, and Petra feels her face begin to warm beneath that eager, curious gaze, wrists still caught in Sjur’s grasp. “No need to rush, don’t you think? Let me look at you. One thing at a time.” Of all things, that is what makes Petra’s cheeks flush. Sjur’s grin broadens, and she releases the younger woman’s wrists with a hum, leaning back down to draw her into another hungry kiss. 

The sound that leaves Petra next is only muffled by Sjur’s lips, something caught between a surprised gasp and a growl. Sjur only draws back from the kiss for a moment to take stock of Petra’s expression and make sure that everything is alright; the sound might have given her more pause some other day, but it’s not the first time today she’s heard the noise from Petra, and she has the feeling it might not be the last. She is vindicated when the dangerous sound melts into a shivering little groan just an instant later, seemingly the natural conclusion of large, strong palms smoothing over Petra’s clothed breasts. The gentle touch turns to a knead, then a slightly rougher one as affection overwhelms Sjur, and Petra sucks in a sharp breath of surprise as she feels the flat of Sjur’s tongue, warm and wet, lave over the scars on her jaw.

Fuck. She’s ruined , isn’t she? This had been over before it even began.

It feels like the easiest thing in the world to reach up and thread her fingers through Sjur’s long ivory hair, gripping by the root and giving a gentle tug. It gets her exactly the reaction she had been hoping for: Teeth. The bite to her throat comes first, then the sharp, unexpected sensation of Sjur plucking both taut nipples none-too-gently between index and thumb through the fabric of her bra; Petra twists, gasps, whines until Sjur lets go, hips twitching up in hopeless, timeless relief when she finally does.

“Fuck,” she whines aloud, voice pitched as she tries to catch her breath, but the harder she tries to think, the more she discovers that her world has seemingly narrowed to the size of one Sjur Eido. Sjur Eido, who is grinning, who has drawn back to look at her and lick her lips appreciatively as she touches and says:

“Fuck yourself, Venj. These are perfect. I think I’d like to see them now, if you’re still alright with that.”

Petra nods, head swimming pleasantly in response to the words. She watches those strong hands drag down the zipper of her bra, feels the instant relief, and drags in a deep, shuddering breath as Sjur works the straps down over her shoulders. She helps, of course- Her mouth is dry with anticipation, thinking of those strong, calloused hands against bare skin, and Sjur doesn’t disappoint.

Her hands are as warm as they are strong, and Petra shivers as they palm over her breasts again, skin on skin. She eases back down into the sheets with a soft exhale of relief, lone eye fluttering shut as she chooses to indulge the simplest of animal urges: Her back arches ever so slightly into Sjur’s touch, showing off, and her reward is instant, a satisfied hum so close to her ear that it makes her head spin, and a firm, rough tug on each peak, caught between index and thumb again. How easy Sjur finds it to make her buck and whine. How lovely it is for Sjur to watch her squirm, caught between the perfect ache of her tits in Sjur’s rough hands, and the equally undeniable animal instinct to escape pain. Sjur twists, pinches, squeezes until all Petra can do is beg, soft, wordless sounds that come like ragged breaths, and the younger Wrath’s hands come to close around Sjur’s wrists as she whimpers, grasping tightly but making no effort to dissuade. It’s the motion of her hips that gives her away- Sjur hardly manages to bite back a laugh when she realizes just what Petra is up to, and the sound rushes to Petra’s cunt like an ache.

“Easy, pup,” she rumbles, pinching just a bit tighter, pulling just a bit further, and Petra all but sobs as she grinds more eagerly against Sjur’s thigh, as her nails dig in to her partner’s wrists, as her swollen clit drags against the seam of her own boxers, “easy.”

When Sjur finally lets go, Petra yelps , a sweet, weak sound that accompanies tears of relief in that lone hazy eye- She blinks them away frantically, panting to catch her breath and letting her head fall back against the pillow as her eye flutters shut. 

“…Can I touch you here?”

She feels the warmth of Sjur’s hand between her legs before anything else, not touching, just close, and shudders eagerly, opening her eye to gaze up at her. Sjur means it, she realizes- That handsome face and those earnest eyes search for recognition and consent, and the younger Wrath hums happily, closing her eye again, even as she rolls it:

“Yes please. You don’t have to ask.”

“I do,” Sjur disagrees politely, and touches her.

Allowing Sjur Eido to slowly work her open is the easiest thing Petra has ever done. It comes as naturally as breathing, letting Sjur spread her trembling thighs with calloused palms, letting her ease one finger at first, then eventually two into her aching cunt. Of course Sjur is good at this, excellent at this, really, with her smooth, gentle rhythm that hits deep over and over, with the ease with which she finds the perfect place to crook her fingers each time and make Petra see white. Even here, even now, Petra thinks of Mara- Because she can’t help it, because she knows she isn’t the only one who has felt this way for Sjur. A deep, low rumble of delight from above, Sjur actually laughing at the way Petra’s insides tighten and pull around her fingers so readily.

“Easy, Petra. Just try and relax for me- That’s it.”

Sjur works a new gush of warm, easy wetness out of Petra with the next lazy curl of her fingers, the next draw out, and Petra shudders and whines, the desperate noise catching in her throat as she tries to catch her breath. Blunt fingernails prick all along Sjur’s shoulders, the back of her neck, kneading as Petra clings to her, little crescent moon dents. “This is relaxed,” she contests breathlessly, opening that hazy eye and licking her lips as she gazes up at her partner. “I’m perfectly relaxed.”

“…Mm. I don’t think so.”

Even in a world where she couldn’t see the way Sjur watches her with that easy, self-satisfied grin on her face, Petra thinks she could still probably feel it. Her eye flutters shut, a little shiver racing through her and her legs spreading just a bit more on instinct as Sjur pets her clit with the pad of her thumb- Sjur hums as if in thought as she tests Petra with another finger, sounding almost bored, and Petra keens . Sjur is bigger than her, much bigger, and two had been a stretch: Warm, just a bit stinging, still mind-numbingly pleasant. 

Three is impossible , but with a little bit of time and effort, Sjur takes her there anyway.

“See?” she coos as Petra buckles beneath her, whines, tilts her head back- Sjur holds those twitching hips of hers still quite easily, a firm but gentle hold that speaks to patience and affection both as she almost idly strums her fingers inside without drawing out, “ This is relaxing. Knew you could do it- Easy, easy . Deep breaths, Petra, I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.”

“I know,” Petra gasps quietly, her grasping hands no longer scrabbling. Sjur feels the strength of Petra’s grip as she had in their brief, misguided spar, on her shoulders now- Not pushing her away, but trying desperately to draw her closer. “I know, Sjur, I know.” How could Sjur possibly go anywhere? How could she be anywhere but here, inside of Petra? The younger Wrath’s voice hitches, insides fluttering as Sjur adjusts her weight ever so slightly. How Sjur longs to indulge her pleas for closeness, but how she hesitates to relinquish her grip on Petra’s hips: She doesn’t want her to move suddenly, doesn’t want her to hurt herself. “Sjur, please.”

“...Alright. Alright,” Sjur husks at last, her own voice coming just a bit rougher as she moves to cover Petra. It’s a smooth, fluid motion, the practiced transition of grip-as-balance to the threading of fingers through Petra’s tousled hair, the placement of an elbow beside the younger Wrath’s head to hold Sjur’s weight instead of the grip on her waist. Now, her hips pin Petra instead as her fingers start their work in lazy strokes: Easier, more natural to the both of them, and perhaps best of all, they are in reach of each other again. Petra arches with a breathy, needy little whine, as if trying to press her face into the crook of Sjur’s arm, and succeeds only in pressing her aching tits to Sjur’s clothed front; Sjur, Petra’s scarred neck and jaw on display to her like never before, gives in to a more base and possessive impulse, tugging at the roots of Petra’s hair by the renewed grip she has on her and happily dragging the warm flat of her tongue along the length of marred skin again, neck to cheek.

Petra keens happily, gasping and nuzzling into Sjur’s bicep in that newfound closeness, and how easy it is for her to press closer to Petra like this: Sweet, capable Petra, who starts to really plead in desperate little whines. She’s found purchase, just like Sjur has: Arms looped beneath Sjur’s armpits and nails digging into her lover’s back in a desperate bid to hold her close, those blunt, ineffective claws digging in succeed only in earning a happy hiss from her lover. Sjur could so easily draw away, they both know it, but she doesn’t. She won’t, so long as Petra wants her- So long as this moment, this closeness, slick and drawn out and sticky with sweat, is theirs to keep. 

“Please, what, Petra?” Sjur coaxes, breathy words just above a murmur so close to Petra’s ear. She doesn’t need to speak up, not like this: Much more effective to let her smile tint her words as she presses the occasional warm and closed-lipped kiss to Petra’s cooling, spit-damp cheek, as she savors the time between those kisses to bury her face in the space beneath Petra’s ear, her lips against the noble slope of her neck, all to worry little lovebites into the younger’s skin and savor her whines. She can feel Petra’s closeness just as surely as she can feel the way her tightness winds around her slick fingers, squeezing, fluttering, a steady stream of desperate little whines tumbling from Petra’s lips with every curl of Sjur’s fingers- The damp heat of Petra’s cunt kisses Sjur’s knuckles with ease now every time she presses in. No more worry now that Petra cannot take her, no more worry that she’ll hurt herself. How Sjur loves it- How much Sjur loves this. “Please what? ”

For all of Sjur’s certainty that she knows the answer, Petra herself cannot say the same- Not at first. No desperate plea leaves her as she comes trembling around Sjur Eido’s fingers, with a gasp that almost sounds surprised at first- A sound that melts into something eager and just a little bit wild, blending easily into Sjur’s satisfied purrs but not quite drowning them out.. 

That’s it! Good. Oh, good job, Petra. Look at you, just look, that’s it--

Sjur’s thrusts have slowed to a languid pace by the time she comes down, and when Petra shows even the faintest hint of what could be discomfort, they come to a halt, still buried deep inside of her. Petra, panting, breathless, wild; Sjur smiling fondly, breath hot against her neck, pressing soft kisses to her damp cheek and purring as she thrums her fingers gently inside her lover, barely a twitch, and Petra whines softly, rocking down into Sjur’s waiting palm:

“ Please , Sjur.”

Now, Petra feels her lover purr against her neck before humming out an inquisitive sound; Sjur curls those fingers again just to feel Petra’s hips roll, and gets her wish. Sjur thinks she might know, of course: Please, again. Please, more. Please, don’t stop. They are all words she has heard a thousand times before, and she is ready, so ready to hear them. Her own practiced words, lazy and gentle like the languid, barely there rocking motion of her fingers in Petra’s cunt, tumble from her lips with an easy, knowing grin against the younger Wrath’s neck as she repeats herself: “Please what, pup?”

The affectionate nickname earns an eager flutter around her fingers. “Please,” the younger Wrath husks out once she has gathered herself, half gasp, half happy whine, as she licks her lips and closes that lone, hazy eye. She almost sounds relieved. “Please, Sjur. I want your whole hand. Can we?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

Another flutter- Sjur purrs and chases it, curling her fingers a bit more roughly to Petra’s evident delight. No surprise, then, that it takes a moment for Sjur to fully understand what Petra has said to her, caught up in all of this: But when she does, the affectionate hum against the younger woman’s neck comes to an abrupt halt, and Sjur startles nearly bolt upright, gazing down at Petra with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, wait. What did you just- Uhm?”

Surely, she can’t have heard right. Sjur stumbles over the words, frown creasing her brow, and Petra gazes up at her, flushed, still fluttering- It takes a long moment, but the younger Wrath finds the courage to clear her throat and repeat herself. 

Not for the first time or the last, Petra Venj surprises Sjur Eido, and Sjur Eido surprises herself, finding her voice once the shock has faded: Husky, low, still every bit as shocked as she had been when the words had first registered, but-

“...If that’s what you want, then- Then yeah,” she croaks, heart pounding eagerly in her chest. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s been a while, uhm-” 

Before Mara, before Sol, she thinks, and tries not to think on just how long a while really is. 

A deep breath to steady herself, and then Sjur straightens up fully, slipping out of Petra in one easy motion and repositioning herself, “Yeah,” she says, and takes this perfect excuse to slip her own cunt-slick fingers into her mouth almost ponderingly as she considers Petra, considers this :

“...Yeah, absolutely. Relax, pup. Nice and easy. Gonna be a bit, but I’ll get you there.”

Sjur Eido always keeps her word. Add it to Petra’s ever-growing list of her maddening traits: That easy, effortless honesty. Her stubbornness. Her seeming inability to be anything other than completely, utterly herself at all times, even to her own detriment. And the warm, stupid grin she wears now between Petra’s legs, entirely self-satisfied: Interrupted only to lick slick from her chin, the older Wrath reaching up with her free hand to smear the rest of Petra’s mess up to her mouth while the fingers of her other hand carry on their almost lazy work inside the younger. Petra lies panting beneath her, mind a happy blur in the wake of another orgasm, but she isn’t so far gone as to be unable to fix Sjur with a look, and nor is Sjur so self-satisfied as to miss it; she catches the glance from the younger Wrath, almost chastizing, and that maddening smile returns. A gentle curl of the three fingers inside of Petra in response earns a shaky, happy whine, an easy remedy to the nonverbal complaint:

That wasn’t what I asked you for, Sjur. Hurry up.

“You will allow a woman her vices, Petra,” Sjur rumbles in thinly veiled amusement, mouth no longer occupied. “If you’re gonna get what you want, I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me to give it to you.” 

Sjur pulls her closer with a gentle grip on her hips. She feels it then, the apology: Sjur’s fourth finger, tucked close to the others on another slow, shallow press in after almost a complete drag out. She mourns the fullness, but luxuriates in the promise, tilting her head back with a happy sigh and finding that Sjur had been right, of course. A happy detour, one that has made it easier for her to relax: She can feel herself opening up again, slowly but surely, and Sjur pets the calloused palm of her free hand over a trembling thigh as they both ease into the sensation.

“You’re a jackass,” Petra breathes with a grin, petting the forearm of the hand on her thigh and swallowing thickly. It’s hard to speak, hard to focus, but she tries for Sjur: The woman loves her verbal, enthusiastic consent, antithesis to the way Petra normally prefers to be loved. “That feels good, Sjur. I can take-” a sharp little breath, “ -yeah, that’s it. I can take it. Please, keep going.” 

Oh, to be on the receiving end of rough instead, sometimes even cruel; no rules or limits but a set of predetermined ones and the one woman in the universe that she trusts to enforce them.

Sjur isn’t Mara. That’s okay: It just takes some getting used to.

She can feel Sjur’s eyes on her even without looking, can swear she feels the glow of that easy, radiant smile as Sjur hums. “Now you’re getting it,” the first Wrath purrs contentedly, and she sinks in just past the first knuckle of her shortest finger this time, Petra’s cunt finally catching on the widest point of her hand she’s been made to take thus far and bringing their easy, almost lazy grinding together to a halt. Petra whines, soft and breathless, stuck on the sensation of being stuck, and past her own desperate little sound, she hears Sjur suck in a sharp, tremulous breath, fingers twitching eagerly inside of her but otherwise coming to a halt to give her time to adjust. “Easy,” Sjur breathes, sounding ragged- With concern, Petra imagines, that kind, handsome face scrunched up in worry for her as she checks in.

“...I’m alright, Sjur. I can do it. You feel good- It’s okay.”

The words are a monument to all of her self discipline. Petra dregs them up for Sjur and Sjur alone, chivalrous and worried between her thighs- But they’re answered by a low, satisfied groan that goes straight to her cunt, by a tighter grip on Petra’s thigh as Sjur slowly draws out of her once she feels her body begin to relax. Temporary reprieve from the desperate thrill of excitement, and it doesn’t last. Petra lets out a breathy whine as Sjur sinks into her again up to the knuckle, her body giving just a bit more with every carefully practiced thrust. Sjur gently curls her fingers this time, all four of them, buried deep and stretching her lover taut: A sudden flash of warmth coils in Petra’s belly, threatens to overwhelm, and the younger Wrath squirms, gasps, grasps at the forearm of the hand on her thigh and squeezes, blunt nails forming little half-moons upon pale starlight shimmering skin.

Maybe she warns Sjur that she is suddenly so close. Maybe she doesn’t. It’s been building, slowly, quietly, easy to miss in the overwhelming thrill of it all; Either way, Petra opens her eye, expecting amusement or warmth or worry, and she finds Sjur nothing short of ravenous. Unaware that she is being watched, how intently Sjur watches herself disappear to the knuckle, fixed on Petra’s cunt as she holds her steady. She curls those maddening fingers with a breathy sigh of satisfaction and licks her lips at the squeeze that follows, jaw slack with hunger she doesn’t even try to hide as Petra bucks and squirms futilely for more in her grip. How careful she is not to give too much, how careful not to let Petra hurt herself; She rewards good behavior with long, deep, languid strokes, rewards the increasingly frantic scrabble of blunt nails against her forearm with barely there thrums of her fingertips at every apex, and Petra watches her her do it.

Sjur isn’t even looking at her face. 

The delayed realization hits hard . 

Struck pleasantly dizzy by the impact, it’s enough to do her in, suddenly, mind-numbingly: Petra hears Sjur growl happily again as her jaw clicks shut and her head tilts back, a desperate, helpless little sound warbling out of her. 

"Another one! Oh, good job, Venj-"

She doesn't hear the rest. But unmistakable is the way Sjur grins, holding her steady through the brunt of it and cooing praises as she does. She has Petra nearly up to the webbing of her thumb now after all, and Sjur wants to make sure she is conscious of the progress: The younger Wrath shudders and whines as Sjur does something with her hand that sees the muscle of her palm flex and press against her clit, and how Sjur delights in giving her something a bit more substantial. A fitting reward for the mindless, self-abasing rock and press of her hips, and the noise she makes in response to the feeling is finally enough to drag Sjur's satisfied gaze away from her cunt and up to her face instead. She’s discovered what Sjur will allow, and how happy she is to chase it, feeling her ears grow hot as she holds Sjur's gaze and shakily grinds the last of her orgasm out onto Sjur’s slick and waiting palm. 

Fingers twitch longingly inside of her once or twice, even once her hips still. Sjur lets out a sigh, a ragged, satisfied breath, and strokes the pad of her thumb over Petra's clit.

"...One more," Sjur coos with that self-satisfied grin, those hungry eyes, “think you can do it?”

“What kind of question is that?” The words come tumbling out in a ragged gasp, Petra’s thoughts given voice without thinking, and then, “Yes, Sjur, yes, I can do it. Fuck. It’s just a lot-”

“It’s not gonna feel like any less if I keep going, pup.”

Petra hisses, insides fluttering pleasantly in response to the nickname, in response to the ongoing gentle attention to her clit, but Sjur is serious of course. She breathes through the sensation, breathes deep, in through her nose and out through her mouth as she tries to gather the wherewithal to reply properly. “I know,” she says at last, the hint of a whine seeping into her voice, “I know. I want that. Don’t you?”

Sjur hums, a little smile tugging at her lips. She does want it. She wants it very badly.

“...Alright,” she says at last with a broader grin, straightening up a bit and cracking her neck as she tilts her head side to side- Adjusting her posture of all things, Petra realizes. Preening. How many can say they have made the great Sjur Eido preen, she wonders? “Alright, you’re almost there. Close your eyes for me, breathe deep… That’s it. Just try to relax.”

The palm of Sjur’s free hand smooths up and down Petra’s inner thigh, calloused and warm. Not a distraction, but a complement as Sjur starts to move again, just barely: A slow, steady rocking sensation, pressing deep and curling oh so gently at the apex of every press. The steady pressure of her thumb is gone from Petra’s clit, but Petra doesn’t mind. It’s easy to get lost in just this, in the fullness that comes with Sjur’s four well-practiced fingers inside of her. Just the thought of it is enough to send a pleasant shiver racing down her spine, straight to her cunt. She must tighten, must squeeze with the feeling, because Sjur actually growls, as if that will help the situation: Already, pleasure coils and builds again between her hips, steady as Sjur’s touch and just as inevitable. Sjur must know, surely she will be able to tell-

“Easy, Petra.” That low rumble again, and she can only keen quietly in response, breath stained with her voice and coming more quickly now as Sjur encourages her. Soft, ragged little breaths: Sjur tucks her thumb carefully against her palm, holding Petra’s hips steady now with her free hand as she gently begins to press forward again. “Easy. That’s it. Breathe with me. You’re doing real well…”

What a sight to watch Petra’s lone eye flutter open, to be the one that desperate gaze seeks out in a haze: Sjur meets her with an easy, satisfied smile, flashing pearly white teeth and a sparkle of mischief as her final set of knuckles start to press. There’s a world where it’s too much, where the ache is unpleasant rather than pleasurable, where Petra gasps out wait, please, I can’t, and Sjur does, ever the gentleman. There, Sjur holds her close and pets her hair and whispers sweet, gentle words in her ear as they lie together: It’s fine, Petra, I shouldn’t have expected so much from you-- 

It isn’t this one.

Her breath hiccups in her throat, a choked little whine as Sjur’s brow furrows faintly in concentration. Gone is the mischief, gone is the play. Sjur is intent, and the shift in attention is dizzying. Good thing, too, that she is holding Petra down: When the widest point of her hand finally crests thanks to that steady, gentle pressure and a little twist of her wrist, the younger Wrath comes with a frantic, scrabbling gasp, scarred jaw snapping shut and head tilting back as her hips try to buck into the sensation. Dimly and with what little capacity for thought she has left, she thinks Sjur might be laughing , a deep and satisfied sound filling her ears just as warmly as Sjur’s hand fills her cunt. Blunt fingernails dig into the hand that holds her hips, and Sjur’s grip twitches, but she is disciplined, always. The hand inside of Petra stills until the younger Wrath comes back to herself, slowly but surely: She relaxes the biting grasp of nails on Sjur’s free hand, little crescents left in her wake, and tries to steady herself with shaky little breaths.

“Sjur,” she gasps quietly, voice soft and tight, loses her train of thought, tries again with a pleasant shiver: “Sjur, stars. Stars, I can feel you everywhere, Sjur-” And she can, she swears she can. Is it any wonder at all? There’s that sound again, that soft, warm chuckle as Sjur gazes down at her in wonder, licking her lips, but she doesn’t move. Not yet.

“I know, Petra. Fuck. You’re perfect, anyone ever tell you that?” Sjur chews her bottom lip intently as she gazes down at Petra, the only interruption to her breathless grin. She is high on the thrill of accomplishment, bright eyes hazy and fixed on the point where her hand disappears, slick at the wrist and buried in warmth. Perfect.

Petra can only whine, shivering happily again. Now it is Sjur’s turn to hiss in startled pleasure at the squeeze that follows, fingers twitching in response: The older Wrath licks her lips again, dragging in a deep, ragged breath to steady herself. “Alright,” she says softly, “Alright, Petra, I’m gonna move. You just let me know if anything doesn’t feel right. We’re done the second you say you’re done-”

“I’m not done, Sjur, I’m not-”  

A frantic little gasp to cut off the words when Sjur moves ever so slightly, Petra’s hand darting down to grasp at her free hand again and squeeze her tightly. Slow is the only way Sjur could ever take this, and it’s still so much. Petra’s limits enforce themselves, a point of natural resistance that Sjur recognizes immediately against the line of her fingertips and knows better than to even think of testing: She begins to draw out, careful and gentle, and Petra cries out, cursing like a Corsair as Sjur’s knuckles drag gently over her sweet spot. The widest point of her hand catches on the rim of Petra’s cunt, tugs gently, briefly, before Sjur presses back in. Heat coils between trembling thighs, every response amplified, and it is Sjur’s turn to growl as Petra flutters and squeezes around her hand, utterly out of space to accommodate her and yet oh so accommodating-

“Fuck, Sjur! Fuck, I think I’m going to- Oh, I’m going to come again-”

“Good,” Sjur groans simply, pressing back in, turning her wrist just so, and Petra does.

The sound that leaves the younger Wrath is close to a sob as she falls to pieces. For Sjur, it is all warm, eager heat, the desperate buck of Petra’s hips and the flex of strong archer’s shoulders to keep the smaller woman still even as she comes undone. It is no easy task: Sjur allows herself to gently sink back in to the wrist as she is squeezed, allows Petra limited control as to better ride her hand with desperate, barely there little twitches of her hips as she shatters, and oh, does she shatter. Were every orgasm so simple as the one she finds now, wrung out on Sjur Eido’s right hand, the gentle flex and barely there spread of her lover’s fingers inside of her cunt as Sjur slings an arm over her hips to hold her still and Petra scrabbles ineffectually at the warm weight of her forearm.

“Please don’t stop, please, Sjur-”

Maybe, between Petra’s whimpers, Sjur hears the door open. Maybe she doesn’t.

“Just tell me when, pup. You’ve earned it, I’m here- Fuck, you look so good-”

Is it possible to come again so soon after the last? It must be, because it’s happening to her now, a full body shudder that draws a frantic whimper tumbling from her lips and makes her see white. The barely-there spread of Sjur’s fingers, the shift of her knuckles had been enough: Sjur purrs shameless satisfaction at the feeling she has earned, the warm, rhythmic pulse around her hand as Petra tightens.

Petra’s ragged pants slow to soft, evening breaths as she slowly comes down from her high. Sjur had stilled inside of her at some point to allow as much, and Petra is grateful, petting the forearm draped over her hips with a shaky hand as she tries to catch her breath and make sense of the world around her. Warm blankets, Sjur’s steady breathing, footsteps down the hall. She still feels so full, still is, but…

“You’re so patient with me,” she breathes softly, and Sjur flashes her that winning smile.

“I’m infinitely patient with you,” she corrects. “Why should fucking you be any different?”

Petra laughs tiredly, closing her eyes. Another gentle roll of her hips, testing, and Sjur sucks in a hiss of breath, a pleasant shiver running up her spine: A third voice breaks the silence.

“Petra, what is- Oh.”

Neither of them are too far gone to parse that voice. 

Both heads turn, Sjur’s snapping up to meet Mara’s incredulous gaze and Petra’s startling to where Sjur is still so deeply seated inside of her: She hasn’t looked until now, and the sight of Sjur disappearing from the wrist down is enough to make her pleasantly dizzy, a desperate sound escaping her instead of an apology as her head falls back heavily onto the pillow in absolute surrender.

Stars, I can’t do this right now. You started it.

“Don’t mind us, my Lady,” Sjur says with a bright and breathless grin, shoulders drawn tense with careful exertion as she works to gently withdraw from Petra. “Just playing nice for once. I think we might actually be friends once this is over-”

Petra growls at the words: Kicks at Sjur’s shoulder irritably with a still trembling leg, is gently and carefully batted away by Sjur’s free hand, allows Sjur to slip free just a moment later with a warm, slick sound that leaves all three of them a bit breathless. 

The younger Wrath opens her hazy eye, finds Mara’s shocked gaze, then finds Sjur’s .

“Maybe,” she husks with a sheepish smile, and means it.