Daigo sniffed but slunk out of the tent. Tyrus fastened the flap. Then he opened the one on the roof, letting moonlight stream through. Moria studied his face, but the angle left it in shadow. He deposited his cloak by the door and lowered himself to the sleeping pallet, staying atop the blanket, which seemed a bad sign, but then he kissed her, and while he kept it light, it was as sweet and heartfelt as any kiss that came before it.
"Did he . . . explain?" she whispered.
"He did, and it is a lot to think about, but I'm not going to do so tonight."
When she hesitated, he stroked her cheek. "It's fine, Moria. I understand what he did, and while I do not think he always made the right choices, he made the choices that I would expect of him. He tried to keep his honor. He knows he did not, and that burns most of all, and that absolves him most of all, to me. The friend I knew has not changed, however much he may think he has. He is still as difficult and as exasperating and as wrongheaded as ever. But as idealistic and, yes, as honorable, too. That is all I needed to know. That he made mistakes, and he owns them. That many of those mistakes were a choice between two evils, and the other was no better."
He looked down at her. "Can I stop talking now?"
"Please."
"Do I need to ask if you've changed your mind about--"
She answered by pulling him into a kiss. Soon he was under the blanket with her, just kissing, and Moria decided that while kissing standing up was all very well and fine, kissing horizontally was an entirely different thing. It was body against body, hands in hair, legs entwined, deep and hungry kisses that seemed to go on forever. Even the position changed, and with each new configuration, there was some new sensation to delight in. Tyrus on top, the weight of his body on hers. Moria on top, straddling him and discovering . . . Well, discovering something to rub against, something that sent waves of pleasure through her and made him gasp and push against her until he stopped abruptly and lifted her off to lay beside him.
"We ought to slow down," he said.
"Why?"
"Because otherwise, this will be finished very quickly. Or my part will, and though that won't affect my willingness to complete yours, it will change the tenor of things."
"Why?"
He chuckled and seemed ready to brush off the question with a joke or some opaque explanation. Then he saw her expression, sobered, and explained in detail and seriousness. While Moria understood the basic act of sexual congress, it appeared that significant and important details had been left out.
"Yes," she said. "We'll slow down then. And thank you for explaining."
He kissed her. "I will explain anything you want, Moria. If I dodge a question, make me answer. I am simply not accustomed to discussing such things."
"You make a very good teacher."
"It helps to have an eager student."
"I am eager."
He pulled her back to him. "So am I. Yet if I do anything you decide you do not want, stop me."
"I will."
The kissing started again, slower this time. They were pacing themselves, embracing but no longer entwined. His hands slid under her tunic, carefully, growing more confident when she sighed in pleasure as his fingers touched her bare skin. His hands slid over her stomach and sides, gradually making their way up to her chest, and when they found their goal, the difference between Levi's groping and Tyrus's touch . . . ? It was like the difference between fouled water and honey wine.
It was . . . incredible. There was no other word for it. His hands on her, exploring and touching and finding every spot that made her sigh and gasp and moan. That a simple touch could make her feel that way seemed beyond imagining. The heat she'd felt in her own exploration mounted to a fever pitch and then . . . And then . . . There were no words for the rest.
Afterward, kissing and embracing and whispering, and then feeling him against her, and whispering, "I don't know how . . ." and letting him show her. And that was almost as wonderful as her own pleasure, watching his face, hearing his sighs and moans and gasps, and bringing him to the same place she'd been and taking him over the edge, leaving him shuddering and holding her, face buried in her hair, telling her how wonderful she was, how she was everything he wanted.
And then, remarkably, there was still more for her. It seemed that her "end" was not as final as his and he took her back there, and when he was done, they fell into exhausted sleep, curled up together.
Moria woke to a sound from outside the tent. Or so it seemed, but all was silent and she could see Daigo's dark form at the door, meaning nothing was amiss. Tyrus still had his arms around her, seeming too tired even to shift in sleep. She kissed his lips and nuzzled against him, but lightly, trying not to wake him. While there was some temptation to do exactly that, it was more curiosity than physical need. Her body was satiated and content. Her mind was still open to more exploration. Was it all right to touch and explore when one's lover was asleep and unable to give permission? Likely not. She'd have to broach the subject with him.
Daigo scratched at the tent flap. She opened the tent to see him gazing into the predawn night. She could make out a figure and she tensed, ready to grab her dagger and warn Gavril. Then she looked to see no sign of his sleeping pallet and realized the figure was him. His back was to them. She squinted into the sky. While she could make out streaks of light at the horizon, and they'd walked half the night, he ought not to be up and about yet. Especially with his sleeping gear.
She took her daggers and donned her cloak. After one glance at Tyrus, who'd fallen back into deep sleep, she hurried off after Gavril, Daigo following.
She caught up with him in only a few running strides. He seemed in no hurry, trudging even. When he heard her coming, he turned. He said nothing, but waited for her to catch up.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I . . ." He hefted his pack and glanced away.