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Fiyero couldn’t have said how long they’d been flying. Time had slipped somewhere between the City lights dropping away beneath their feet and the Winkie forest swallowing the last glimmers of them on the horizon. The wind knifed past them so high up, but his hands stayed warm where they braced at Elphaba’s waist. Each shift of her breathing pressed back against his palms, a quiet reminder that he was here, on her broom, closer to her than he’d dared let himself imagine for years.
The moment they landed, Elphaba touched down and strode straight through a tunnel of branches she clearly knew well, cloak snapping behind her. She didn’t check if he followed.
She didn’t had to. That had always been their problem.
He tried to sort his jumbled thoughts out on the way in. He lined up half a dozen openings in his head:
Are you hurt?
I’m so sorry about Glinda. One day you and her will–
I’ve been looking for you since–
But they all tangled uselessly in his mouth the moment he stepped inside her home.
Of course it looked like this. Branches arching over them, protecting her little home from the night. A fire in a cozy little pit giving off a warm, unshowy glow. Lanterns swinging gently from branches all around them, lit with her flames. Papers in a controlled explosion across her desk, with the map above it covered in notes regarding Animal hideouts. He noted with some surprise that much of her writings were in that stange, ancient Vinkan script only she could read.
Her cape dragged across the floorboards like a great shadow. She dropped her satchel without ceremony and peeled off her hat as though she’d just walked in from a mild stroll rather than a two-thousand-foot flight after threatening the life of the Wizard of Oz.
Elphaba had been ablaze with fury and power in the City. She had seemed larger than life. Larger than anything he'd ever known. But here, in the soft lamplight of her refuge, all that heat had burned down to embers. She looked suddenly small to him: too young for the weight she carried, too exhausted by the sins of Oz that her soul seemed to carry. Even so, the quiet strength in her posture hadn’t dimmed; she was still brave in that strong, unyielding way that made something deep and restless in Fiyero ache desperately to reach for her.
That feeling, at least, was familiar.
“Elphaba,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
The lanterns above her flickered so blatantly in disagreement that Fiyero almost laughed.
“You’ve hardly said a word since we left-”
“You shouldn’t have come, Fiyero,” she said, cutting him off. Her gaze was fixed stubbornly on her hands.
Fiyero blinked, startled more by the tremor beneath her words than the words themselves. “If you didn’t want me here,” he said gently, stepping forward, “you would have thrown me off the broom halfway across Oz.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“That you coming was foolish.”
“Maybe.” Another step. She didn’t move. “I’ve been called that before. But I don’t think following you could ever be foolish.”
Her throat bobbed around a swallow. “It is here. Your life is forfeit now.”
“I know,” Fiyero answered. “It was my choice.”
Elphaba turned her head, just barely, as if not yet ready to face him fully. But he saw her eyes flash with something achingly desperate and vulnerable.
“You pointed a gun at the Wizard. You threatened him. For me. You–Fiyero, you can’t undo that.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You can still try. Go back. Tell them I enchanted you–”
“Elphaba.” He let out a low laugh. “Not even your magic could do that to a person. The Wizard may play the fool, but he’s not one.”
Her fingers curled. Her jaw worked, ready to argue, but he pushed forward gently:
“And I can’t go back. You know I couldn’t go on smiling and waving and pretending-”
“Then go back to the Vinkus,” she said, and the words were suddenly stumbling out of her: “Your father will protect you. The whole Gale Force can’t take the fortresses in your country, and he won’t let them try. There are other ways to fight, Fiyero - you didn’t need to involve yourself with the Wicked Witch of the West–”
“But I wanted to.”
That stopped her completely. She turned, staring up at him with her eyes flicking across his face as if trying to find the trick in it.
Then she was spinning away again, her braids brushing against her cheek. Her hands dove into her satchel once more, continuing to unpack it with sharp, distracted movements. A little green vial tumbled loose and fell, only to freeze mid-drop as her magic snatched it before it could shatter across the floor. The rest of her things began to react to her magic too: they shuddered, lifted, circling her in wide, frantic orbits. Her breathing hitched high and fast.
Fiyero’s heart ached for her. He stepped up behind her - briefly dodging a floating book - before he could think better of it. “Elphaba, it’s okay” he murmured, and laid his fingers gently against her sleeve to still her frantic movements.
Elphaba’s entire body jolted at his touch. Then the orbiting mess around her faltered and drifted down. Her tense shoulders softened slightly and something in his chest loosened too.
He let his fingers travel slowly along the curve of her arm, carefully watching her for any sign he should stop. A small tremor, barely perceptable if not for their closeness, threaded through her and he saw her fists loosen. Her reflection in the small mirror before them told him the rest: lips parted, eyes gone dark with something that thundered straight through him, dizzying in its intensity.
“I’m here,” he whispered, leaning in to speak against her lovely braids, “because I want to be.”
Elphaba’s breath caught, released, and caught again. Then, she lifted her chin and finally looked at him fully, with a long and searching gaze.
His heart was once more in his throat, beating hard enough he half wondered whether she could hear its rhythm behind her. The feeling hit Fiyero like a wave: Oz, he loved her. Loved her so fiercely it felt like the air might burst from his lungs.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you want to be here?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t yet. Instead, his hands moved, drawn toward her cape by instinct and affection and a sudden desperate need to see - to hold - Elphaba and not the Witch of the West. He raised them slowly, giving her time to push him away, until they hovered near the knots fastening her cape to her coat.
“May I?”
For a heartbeat she didn’t move. Then her lashes fluttered down, her breath catching on the exhale as she went still - very deliberately still. And he knew it was answer enough.
His fingers pulled at the knots, knuckles brushing her shoulders through her many layers. She made a quiet sound in her throat - barely there, but sharp enough to twist through him. The cape sagged loose, then slid off her completely, pooling heavy in his hands.
Without it, she looked so much more like the younger Elphaba he’d known at school, it nearly brought tears to his eyes.
She stepped away, but allowed his fingers to trail along her arm until she was too far to reach. Her hands rose to her coat. He watched her fingers pause on the ties - just one beat of hesitation - before she tugged them free.
The coat fell to the floor, revealing her threadbare dress beneath. Lamplight traced her long, green arms in an enchanting way as she turned to face him. Her eyes were very dark and fixed on him.
“Why do you want to be here?” she repeated, much softer now.
Fiyero’s affection swelled so fiercely he had to swallow before finally answering her:
“Once…,” he started, holding her gaze. “Once there was a foolish, unhappy prince who went riding in the woods.”
Her brow knit, just a little.
“He stumbled into a little charmed circle made by a forest-fae,” he continued. “She was sharp, and brilliant, and beautiful in a way he didn’t understand yet. And then she vanished. And he’s been searching for her ever since.”
“And why has he been looking for her?” she asked, voice as steady as her look. But he saw her fingers curl faintly at her sides.
Fiyero stepped forward until the space between them narrowed to nothing.
“You know why.”
“I don’t,” she whispered. “Tell me.”
He lifted his hand very slowly - giving her room to stop him, praying she wouldn’t - and cupped her cheek. Her skin was as warm and soft under his palm as he’d always imagined. She leaned into the touch and did not look away from him.
“Because I adore you. And I admire you more than breath. And I love you.” The last words left him rough, dragged from a place he’d kept locked for too long.
The words hung between them. She held his gaze. “And I, you. Which I fear will only bring you ruin.”
He couldn’t move. His heartbeat crashed against his ribs, and the world had shrunk to the ring of her words in his ears and warmth of her cheek against his palm.
“Lovely forest-fae,” he managed, voice roughened. “Don’t ask me to leave you.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then her lips parted.
“Do not leave me,” she whispered. “My sweet, please stay.”
Fiyero didn’t hesitate. Want slammed through him as he leaned in and kissed her with a sudden, consuming fervor that left her gasping into his mouth. Her hands shot up, gripping the front of his jacket - his marital jacket, of all things, sweet Oz - as he caught her waist.
Lanterns flickered around them, the room reacting to the sharp rush of her magic, but all he knew was her: the warm press of her mouth, the way she rose onto her toes to meet him, the small sounds she made, swallowed when he kissed her deeper.
When she finally pulled away, it was only far enough that their breath mingled between them. Her eyes stayed locked on his mouth - dark, unfocused, and so wanting he nearly hauled her back against him to kiss her again - and a deeper green flushed across her cheeks. His stomach flipped pleasantly.
“I should…” Elphaba’s voice trailed, unsteady. Her hand slipped from his jacket, though her fingers lingered until the last possible moment against the fabric. “I should…change. Into something that isn’t–”
She glanced down at the state of her dress, then at him, daring him with the faintest glare to comment. Fiyero didn’t. He couldn’t really do much of anything right now other than reel from the lingering ghost of her kiss.
“…that isn’t what I’ve worn for four days of broomstick travel and sleeping in barns,” she finished softly.
He huffed a surprised laugh, and leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Go, I’ll be here.”
Elphaba nodded. Then she paused and kissed him yet again - shorter but with no less passion. When she stepped back, her hair had slipped forward over her shoulders. She brushed it back with now-steadier fingers.
“Make yourself at home,” she whispered. “I won’t be long.”
She turned and left Fiyero staring at the space where she’d disappeared, trying to catch up to the last few minutes of his life. His lips still tingled and her cloak was still absurdly grasped in his hands.
Only when a gust of wind rustled the little hideaway did he remember to breathe.
The stiff weight of his uniform jacket suddenly registered again - an unwelcome reminder of the powers that now undoubtedly hunted them. He shrugged it off without ceremony, leaving it and her cloak beside the Grimmerie.
As he removed it, his eye was drawn to her collection of papers. Off to the side of her map was a collection of propandra, mostly bearing Morrible’s stamp. He stood before it, eyes scanning the scattered pages and pinned broadsheets. Each posting was worse than the last: Grotesque caricatures or her, twisted into something evil and monstrous. Slogans calling for her capture and murder. Claims that she wouldn’t rest until she saw them all dead.
A cheap, flimsy guidebook with KILL THE WICKED WITCH stamped across the cover in bright garish ink. Fiyero’s jaw tightened. He reached out, flipping the guidebook open to see that it was filled with crude, grotesquely violent diagrams of all the ways she might be murdered. One had been circled twice - melting by pure water - and Elphaba’s careful hand had written something next to it in the ancient language of the Grimmerie.
Another sudden breeze brought another layer of awareness to him - every nerve still vaguely buzzing from her kiss. He tugged at his sleeves, rolling them up to the elbow, then distractedly hooked his thumbs under the suspenders and pushed them off his shoulders. They fell lightly against his hips as he continued to stare in horror at her collection.
Another poster caught his eye from the desk and he picked it up. This was one he recognized from only a few months before: a snarling crone with fingers crooked to unnatural, menacing angles - ugly and terrifying and snarling harshly at the viewer. Below was the usual warnings to lock your doors, lest the Wicked Witch steal away your children while they slept.
He felt vaguely sick. The thought of her seeing this - of becoming aware of how Oz now saw her, of keeping copies of the dreadful propaganda….Worse was the knowledge that this was probably how she perceived herself too, to a certain degree: the hated witch of Oz.
He tore his gaze away from the pamphlet, looking up from the caricature to see the very real Witch of the West had returned to the room.
Elphaba was sitting on her narrow bench by the archway, so quiet and watchful that he wondered how long she had been there. She was watching him with an overtly affectionate look, eyes drifting appreciatively over his more relaxed dress.
Her hair was pulled back into a hairpin that only made her look more like the young twenty-five years she was. She had removed the rest of her tattered travelling clothes and replaced them with a warm-looking grey robe. His heart stuttered in his chest at the smallest hint of a great deal of her lovely skin underneath it.
The difference between the caricature in his hands and the young woman looking at him and the pamphlet in his hands with a soft, knowing expression was so extreme that words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them:
“You’re so beautiful.”
The earlier flush returned to her cheeks as she shook her head with a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
The pamphlet left his fingers and he crossed the room, stopping just short of her. Holding her gaze, he lowered himself slowly to her knees until she was looking slightly down at him. In the lamplight he saw that her eyes had the slight shimmer of tears in them, and the sight made his heart twist.
How can she not know?
“It’s not lying.” His eyes traced the lovely hue of her green skin in the soft silver of the moonlight mingled with the gold spilling from the lamps. Was all of Oz was just blind? “It’s…”
The tears in her eyes glinted brighter. “What is it?”
His gaze drifted across the slope of her cheekbones, the elegant line of her throat, the adorably pinched expression of her brow. And underneath that - the breathtaking realization that he was kneeling before the most powerful woman in Oz, who had fought so hard and risked everything. A thousand words pressed against his tongue, and not one felt worthy of her.
He tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "It's…looking at things another way."
“Fiyero…”
He closed the remaining breath of distance and kissed her. Soft at first, coaxing, then deeper when she answered with a faint sound in her throat and her fingers gripped his shoulders. Her palms slid down to flatten against his chest, slipping slightly inside his shirt, making his breath stutter against her lips.
His own hands found her waist beneath her robe, and he gasped at the feeling of so much warm skin beneath his palms. Elphaba tensed ever so slightly at the intimacy of it, and when he pulled away with a questioning sound, he saw that her eyes were wide and wanting and brave.
With her eyes fixed on his, she slowly pulled at her robe.
It slipped from her shoulders and pooled around her, leaving her in only the black lace beneath.
Fiyero let out a breath that was definitely just a groan. “Ozma above…”
Her underthings were simple but lovely, laced just enough to draw the eye, cupping the soft curves of her breasts and clinging low on her hips. The contrast of that delicate fabric against her lovely green skin made his stomach tighten sharply.
He had no idea how long he stared. Long enough for her to smirk faintly, a flash of pride behind the uncertainty in her eyes.
“You actually wear that flying around Oz?” His voice came out a little higher than he intended.
“I’m full of surprises,” she answered, a smile curling at the edge of her mouth. But her blush was high on her cheeks, betraying how new this was to her.
Still, when he reached out, she didn’t retreat. She sat perfectly still, breath shallow, letting him touch. His fingers skimmed up her calf, over the bend of her knee, up her thigh until he could press his palm against her hip. The skin there was warm and impossibly smooth. She flinched slightly. Not from fear, but from the sheer strangeness of being touched like this after being alone for so long.
“You okay?” he asked, thumb tracing small circles over the lace on her hip.
Her eyes burned into his. “Yes,” she whispered. “Keep going, my sweet.”
He did.
Fiyero leaned forward, hands sliding up her sides with aching slowness, fingertips brushing the curve of her ribs, then higher. Her stomach jumped beneath his palms. When he pressed a kiss to the swell of her breast just above the lace, she exhaled a shaky breath and brought one hand to his hair, threading her fingers through it almost desperately.
“You feel…” she started, voice finally catching up to her, “you feel good.”
He glanced up. Her expression was still a little tense, but her eyes were still dark and interested, lips parted. That nervousness was still there but there was heat beneath it, and something fiercely determined.
"You've never…?" he asked gently.
Elphaba raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
"I don't think," he said with a soft smile.
"So you say. But regardless: you do know me."
That the thing, though: he did know her. So much so that he couldn’t be blamed for blinking up at her in surprise. “Not even with Gl-“
“Well, yes,” Elphaba said, sharply cutting the question off. Her eyes glanced to the side and she bit her lip hard. “Of course. But obviously that didn’t involve…”
Her cheeks were now a very dark green.He felt almost drunk on the wave of affection that rushed through him.
"Okay," he said softly, kissing her again. "Okay. But we don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"Fiyero," Elphaba muttered. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth for a kiss so thorough, it left him dizzy and gasping. "We're going to do everything. Get on with it."
He felt his breath puff out of his chest and was suddenly dizzy with want for her. “Yes ma’am. Just tell me if you need to stop.”
“I will.” Her fingers curled into his shoulder, nails pressing slightly into skin. “But right now it just feels…”
She trailed off as he kissed along the edge of the lace, his mouth warm against her skin. She made a soft, pleased noise that went straight through him.
“…Good?” he offered, grinning against her.
“Yes.”
Elphaba tugged more at his shirt, fingers threading through the folds until they found the warm edge of his skin. Her touch was hesitant at first, testing. But when he pulled back and looked at her - as flushed and fierce and so Ozdamn beautiful as she was - something in her shifted. Confidence bloomed in her eyes.
Her fingers slipped further into his shirt to traced up his spine, and he shuddered hard. When they slid back around, drifting to skitter lightly across his stomach, a sharp breath hissed through his teeth before he could stop it.
She watched him, mouth parted, eyes dark with confidence. Her chin dipped to allow her breath to skim his ear.
“You like when I touch you,” she murmured, like that wasn’t the most obvious statement in the world.
He let out a laugh and dragged her mouth back to his.
The kiss turned greedy - hot, open-mouthed, hands fisting in hair, bodies closing the gap between them until there was nowhere else to go. iyero's hands skimmed around her back, sliding over the edge of her undergarments until he could grip her waist and pull her fully against him.
And then she ground her hips into his.
The movement was instinctive, seeking, and it made Fiyero’s eyes roll back. His grip faltered. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, eyes closing as heat tore through him in a twisting wave so intense it left him speechless.
Elphaba pulled back slightly, panting, and glanced down between them. Her pretty lips curled up into a pleased smirk.
“You like that too,” she observed.
“Well,” he said hoarsely against her shoulder. “I’m only human.”
Their hips met again, this time with deliberate, rolling intent. The broken sound that escaped him was almost embarrassing. Heat was coursing through him now, pooling low and insistent, and he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel her against him.
"Love–" The endearment came out half-strangled. "Please-"
She did it again, slower this time, more purposeful, grinding against him with a confidence that hadn't been there moments ago. His fingers dug into her hips, not to guide her but to anchor himself, because he was very quickly losing any semblance of control.
"Please what, ‘Yero?" she murmured against his ear, and there was something dark and pleased in her voice that made him shudder.
He should have had words. He was usually good with words. But right now, with her body moving against his like that, with her breath hot on his neck and her hands gripping his shoulders, he was utterly undone.
"I want–" He broke off with a gasp as she rocked into him again. His hips jerked up involuntarily to meet her, seeking more pressure, more friction, more her. "Elphaba…take me to your bed. Please.”
A startled, breathless laugh broke from her. She pulled her robe back around her shoulders with trembling hands, then stood and tugged him up after her. Their mouths found each other again as they stood, hungry and urgent, swaying in place. Her hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer.
Ten steps. That’s as far as they made it before she was pressing him back against the archway with a surprising force for someone so slight, her mouth hot on his. Then she pulled him through.
Five more steps before she caught him again, kissing him breathless, her fingers gripping his waist. And then, without warning, the ground disappeared beneath him. He gasped as her magic lifted them clean off the floor. She didn't even stop kissing him, only smiled against his mouth, fingers curled protectively in the fabric at his hip as they drifted upward together.
He pulled back and stared at her in wonder. But Elphaba just grinned, pecking his mouth once again as they fell onto her soft, blanket-covered bed nestled in a hidden shroud of tree branches.
They were now tangled together, breathless and laughing softly into each other’s mouths. The branches curled above them and the lanterns all around still glowed with low, honeyed light.
Her robe was slipping from one shoulder again, so he caught the edge of it and slowly tugged it down, savoring the rustle of fabric as it fell from her arms and thumped onto the bed. She didn’t look away. Her eyes gleamed, dark with intent and heat.
Then she pushed him - gently but with purpose - until he was flat on his back. She straddled his hips with a graceful swing of her leg, and her hair spilled around them in a curtain. Her hands pressed firm against his chest.
He reached for her automatically, but she gently caught his wrists.
“Let me,” she said, low and sure. “Can I?”
He nodded, throat working. “Anything.”
Her fingers traced down his shirtfront, hesitant only briefly before she pulled it free from his trousers. With every inch of skin she revealed, her breathing grew shallower, her gaze more intense. When she finally pulled the shirt away completely, she tossed it aside without looking, too captivated by the sight of him beneath her.
"You really are beautiful," Elphaba murmured.
He huffed a quiet laugh, but it caught somewhere in his throat when her hands started to roam. She explored with surprising gentleness: fingertips brushing over his ribs, the slope of his stomach, the slight curve of muscle just above his hips. She traced his collarbone. Pressed a thumb into the hollow of his throat. He swallowed hard and made a soft noise.
"Is this too much?" she asked, pausing immediately, concern flickering across her features.
“Not enough,” he said thickly. “Oz, you’re…I feel….”
Her lips quirked. “Good.”
She kissed him deeply, and her hands grew bolder, mapping every plane and angle of his chest. His heart raced beneath her palms, and he knew she could feel it.
"I want to touch you everywhere," she whispered against his mouth.
“You can,” Fiyero rasped. “Please do.”
“How generous.” Her eyes fixed on the trail of hair below his navel.
"Do whatever you want. Just…fair warning, if you keep teasing me like this, I won't last long."
Her eyes lit with satisfaction. "Oh? I can make the great Captain of the Guard lose control?"
"You already have," he groaned.
Elphaba leaned down to kiss his collarbone, then lower. Her hair brushed his chest, tickling slightly, and every press of her lips sent sparks across his skin. His hands fisted in the blankets as she kissed down his sternum, pausing to rest her cheek against his chest, listening to his thundering heartbeat.
And then she reached for his belt. He didn’t breathe as she worked - first the buckle, and the button after. Her lip was caught between her teeth. When she finally slid his trousers and underthings down, his hips lifted to help without conscious thought.
She took a moment to fold his clothes neatly at the foot of the bed before returning her attention to him. When her gaze dipped lower, her eyebrows shot nearly to her hairline. Fiyero flushed to the roots, every inch of him feeling exposed and hot under her lingering gaze.
“You’re not shy, are you?” she said, going for teasing but sounding a little choaked.
"No," he groaned, head falling back. "Oz, Fae..."
Ephaba blinked, then laughed in quiet surprise at the nickname. “Fae. I suppose I do have you ensnared.”
“Thoroughly,” he said, gaze sliding back to her. “I suspect witchcraft might be involved. I’ll have to fight very hard to escape.”
Her gaze drifted downward again, and her lips quirked. "Hard, indeed."
“Elphaba Thropp.”
Her fingers brushed his thighs first, light and barely there, and then moved inward as her confidence built. When she wrapped her hand around him, his breath shuddered out of him in a rush.
“Ah, Fae-”
“Too much?”
He managed a broken laugh. “No. Just...need to breathe.”
Elphaba’s hand moved slowly, exploring him. And all the while, her eyes flicked from his body to his face and back again, as if she couldn’t decide what part of him fascinated her more. Her strokes were uneven, curious, and it was all so devastating he thought he’d float back up into the air right there.
And then she had the gall to lean in and kiss just above his hipbone, her lips soft against his skin while her hand still moved in slow, almost lazy strokes. His entire body arched, a helpless, guttural sound escaping him before he could swallow it.
“Do you always make that noise?” she asked lightly, eyes dancing as she glanced up at him.
"No," he managed through clenched teeth. "I believe that's new."
She grinned, clearly pleased, and leaned up again to brace one hand beside his head. Her other hand still moved on him, slow and purposeful.
“So it’s just for me?” she asked, head tilted.
"Apparently." He swallowed hard.
"Good." Her grip tightened slightly. "I want to hear it again."
His vision blurred as pleasure spiked through him. "Elphaba," he groaned, fingers catching at her hips.
She didn't stop, only raised an eyebrow with feigned innocence. "Yes?"
"Fae," he tried again, voice strained. His hand finally dropped down to gently wrap around her wrist and pull her tormenting hand away. "You have to stop."
She paused, blinking with surprise. "Why? Am I doing it wrong?"
"You're doing it too right," he said. "And if you don't stop, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."
Understanding dawned in her eyes, followed by unmistakable satisfaction. "Oh," she said softly, smile turning smug. "Oh."
He kissed her before she could gloat, sitting up abruptly to pull her against him. She made a small sound of protest that melted into a pleased hum against his lips.
When he pulled back just far enough to speak, his voice was raw. "Let me see you. Let me put my hands on you. You're driving me insane."
The look on her face was something he’d never forget - a sudden, sharp hunger she didn’t try to hide. “Your hands are already on me, my sweet.”
Fiyero smiled shakily and leaned forward to kiss her again. Then he gently took her hips and eased her down onto the bed, reversing their positions. Her eyes never left his, dark with want.
"Lie back for me," he murmured, lips dipping to just barely brush hers. "Let me see you. Let me make you feel good."
Elphaba shifted onto her elbows, one brow arched. "That's what I was trying to do, you know."
"I know. And you were excellent at it." Her lips curved at the praise. "But now it's my turn. Come on, lovely. Let me even the playing field."
To his surprise, Elphaba did lay back, though not without a small huff of amusement. Her arms folded briefly across her chest, a flicker of uncertainty chasing across her face before she caught herself and exhaled slowly. Her limbs stretched along the soft, rumpled linens, her hair spilling over her worn pillow like ink. One hand curled beside her head, the other resting lightly on her stomach.
Fiyero drank in the sight. He simply sat beside her for a beat, one hand lightly tracing the line of her shin with his knuckles.
"Let me?" he asked softly, brushing his fingers up to trace along the edge of her undergarments.
She hesitated, then nodded once, slow. Her arms lowered.
Fiyero’s fingers worked quickly at the little buttons holding her top together. It fell apart, revealing the final layer of fabric under it. Through the tatters of the black lace on her chest, he could see the darkness of her nipples - and he couldn’t help himself from dipping down and dragging his tongue across one, enjoying her squirming, gasping response.
"Fiyero-!"
"Just testing something," he murmured against the fabric, grinning at her shiver. He gave the other breast the same treatment, making her arch enough that he could reach behind and undo the final ties.
The garment fell away, and he pulled it from her arms. For a very brief moment, it seemed like she would try again to cover her chest, but then she paused. Bit her lip. And let her arms fall beside her head instead, vulnerable and trusting.
Trying very hard not to be completely distracted by the sight of her bare breasts, Fiyero reached for the lace at her hips. He tugged the fabric downward slowly, letting it slide over the green of her skin, down the lines of her legs. The evidence of her arousal threatened to distract him even more as he quickly moved to set her things aside.
And then he looked at her.
Elphaba lay quiet, bare beneath the lantern glow, her hair wild across the pillow, her breathing shallow but steady. Her body, usually hidden beneath so many layers, was lean and strong and so beautiful that it momentarily stunned him. The long lines of her thighs. The soft, gentle curve of her stomach. The sharp line of her collarbones above the swell of her breasts.
"You're staring, 'Yero," Elphaba said affectionately, eyes sparkling despite her blush. She reached out and took his hand, placing it on the curve of her breast as she had before. "You said something about touching me?"
He said nothing in response, choosing instead to lower his mouth back to her now bare breast. Her fingers clenched in the blankets as he dragged his tongue softly across her nipple, circling it before finally closing his lips over it and sucking gently.
"Oz-" The word broke off into a moan.
He gave her breast attention in slow, deliberate waves - tongue flicking, lips closing gently, then releasing only to begin again. Her hands rose from their grasp of the blankets, catching in his hair as she pressed him more firmly to her chest.
"You're so sensitive," he murmured when he shifted to her other breast, his mouth hot against her skin. "I love that. Love every sound you make."
She moaned, hips shifting and thighs tightening against his sides. Her beautiful skin was flushed and damp, breasts rising rapidly as she breathed. He finally abandoned his attention there to kiss a path lower, trailing his mouth down the curve of her ribs, her stomach, pausing just above the dark curls between her thighs.
He paused, breath warm against her skin, and his eyes lifted to meet hers. She looked wrecked already: eyes hooded, lips parted, cheeks flushed that gorgeous deep green. Her breasts still rose and fell rapidly, nipples peaked and glistening from his attention. But it was her gaze that sent heat spiking through him: the dark, heavily aroused look in her eyes that was quickly burning itself into his memory.
“Can I?” Fiyero asked softly. His hand had found her thigh, thumb tracing slow circles there, grounding her. "Let me taste you, Fae?"
She didn't speak at first. Her eyes closed, lashes fluttering, and when she inhaled, it was a slow, shivering breath.
"Yes," she whispered. And then, like she couldn't help but tease him even now: "Let's see if the scandalous Prince of the Vinkus lives up to his reputation."
"Oh, I intend to exceed it," he muttered against the crease of her thigh, kissing it softly. Then he moved higher. Her hands fisted in the sheets again, breath catching as he settled between her legs and brushed his lips where she clearly wanted them.
He started gently, allowing her to grow accustomed to the sensation after so long on her own. She trembled beneath him, a soft moan breaking from her throat as he let his tongue part her slowly. When he found the right spot and licked hard, her back arched with a sharp gasp.
“Fiyero–!”
The raw sound of his name like that nearly undid him, and his own hips ground desperately into her bed for a brief moment before he could control himself. His tongue swept over her again with more pressure, then again, finding a rhythm that had her squirming and rolling her hips against his mouth.
"That…ah…." She cut off with another moan.
He wrapped one arm beneath her thighs, keeping her open for him, and slid his other hand up, circling her entrance before easing one finger inside slowly. She cried out, but his mouth never left her; he only changed pace to soothe her through the new sensation. When he slid deeper, his tongue pressed and swirled in tandem with his hand.
Elphaba practically writhed beneath him, any former reservation burning away in the heat of her need. She was so responsive, so achingly open, that it made his stomach twist and dip pleasantly with every sound she made.
Her hands found his hair again, threading through the strands, tugging in uneven bursts each time his fingers stretched and curled, finding a new way to make her cry out. Her thighs clamped around his head briefly, then fell open again as she gasped his name.
“You feel…” she stammered, voice shaking apart. “Your mouth, ‘Yero.”
That made him smile against her, and he angled her hips up slightly to draw her closer, his mouth greedy now and hungry for every sound from her mouth. He added a second finger, stretching her carefully, and she made the most delicious broken gasp.
Elphaba’s thighs began to shake. Her hands scraped lightly against his scalp, and he let her push him wherever she needed. She was already very close: he could feel it in every tremor and desperate rock of her hips.
Unable to resist the temptation, Fiyero lifted his eyes briefly to see her. And then groaned at the sight of her flushed and trembling, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open.
“Let go,” he whispered, half against her. “I’ve got you, Fae.”
"But I want to-" She cut herself off with a gasp as he crooked his fingers. "With you - I want-"
Fiyero smiled and suckled hard at her for a moment just to feel her buck desperately beneath him. Then he pulled back to press a soft kiss to her inner thigh. “We’ll get you there again, lovely thing. Don’t worry about that. Right now, just let yourself feel good for me.”
She stared down at him, pupils blown wide, then nodded shakily and let her head fall back. "Okay. Okay, but you better…ah–"
He redoubled his efforts, tongue and fingers working in tandem, and moments later her body clenched hard around his fingers as she came. Her voice broke over a cry and her legs trembled violently. He gentled his touch but didn't stop, kissing her softly through it, drawing out every last wave of pleasure. His fingers eased out only after she started to relax, and he pressed a final tender kiss to her center before trailing his mouth back up her thigh.
When she finally slumped back against the bed, loose-limbed and panting, he climbed back up to lay beside her. She was still blinking slowly, dazed, the loose parts of her braids clinging damply to her temples.
Fiyero propped himself on an elbow, brushing a thumb gently along her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered open and locked with his.
"My compliments to whoever taught you that," she said, a little hoarsely. Then cleared her throat. "I need to inform the Ozmopolitan gossip columns at once: Scandalous Prince lives up to reputation. Or rather, exceeds it, as promised. I apologize for ever doubting you."
Fiyero laughed and traced her cheek again.
She learned forward to kiss him, groaning quietly at the taste of herself in his mouth. When she had had her fill, she pulled away and studied him for a long, quiet moment.
For several heartbeats, she simply breathed, her pretty breasts still rising and falling in a very distracting way. Then something shifted in her expression: a flicker of hunger returning, somehow stronger now, mingled with a new determination.
Her fingers brushed his chest - light at first. Then firmer. She pushed gently, and he let her guide him onto his back without protest, his breath catching as she followed, climbing over him. Their bodies brushed, skin to skin, intimate in a way that sent heat licking up and down his spine.
Elphaba's hands mapped his torso almost possessively now. Over the lines of his chest, the slope of his ribs, down the sharp V of his hips. She kissed his collarbone, his sternum, across his chest, lighting up every nerve. And then, resting her weight against him more fully, she whispered against his throat:
“You’ve had your taste. What do we do now, my sweet?”
Fiyero swallowed hard at the question and the endearment. He felt breathless at the sight of her like this: flushed and bare and sitting atop him, eyes bright with want and affection. "Whatever you want," he rasped.
Elphaba sat back slightly, moving deliberately so that her thighs bracketed his hips. He hissed as the sudden heat of her slickness pressed against him, and stared up at her in wonder.
“You feel so good there,”she murmured, almost to herself, her hand splaying over his racing heart. "But I've never…" She trailed off, uncertainty flickering across her features.
Fiyero caught her face in both hands, gentle and aching to reassure her. “I know, it’s all right.” He hesitated, then added carefully, “And it’s probably for the best we don’t do anything, anyways. Unless you’ve just had a cycle…” He blushed.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she interrupted with a quiet laugh, some of her natural confidence returning. "A witch knows her draughts, sweet. I'm a little wiser than my mother once was."
Relief and desire surged through him in equal measure. And he probably would have thought more on the subject if he wasn’t distracted by the hot, slick feeling of her moving slowly against him, coating him with her arousal. His hands found her hips almost involuntarily.
Fiyero?" she asked, tilting his chin with her finger to capture his gaze. Her eyes were dark and sure, and she was smiling. "Lay with me?"
He breathed sharply and pulled her down into a kiss, deep and slow and full of everything he felt for her. When she shifted her hips deliberately against him, he moaned into her mouth, clutching at her waist.
"Yes," he managed against her lips. "Yes, Fae. Please."
She reached between them with steady fingers and guided him to her entrance.
Fiyero's head dropped back against the pillows, jaw tight with the effort not to move, not to thrust up into her heat. She was molten around him already - soft and tight and so very warm - and his hands clung to her hips like a lifeline.
Elphaba paused, half-sunk onto him, breathing hard. “Oz.”
“Fae,” he managed, panting a little. "Go slow. As slow as you need. Let your body adjust."
She nodded, expression fierce with concentration and heat. She sank down further, adjusting and breathing steadily. Fiyero could hardly think. He was too wrapped up in the feel of her, the look of her above him, her body learning his so intimately.
"That's it," he murmured, thumbs stroking soothing circles on her hips. "You're doing so well, love. Take your time."
When she finally took all of him, they both stilled - shaking and breathless. Elphaba's thighs trembled slightly where they framed his hips. Her hands found his shoulders, fingers curling tight into the muscle as though to anchor herself. Fiyero was pretty sure he had stopped breathing several minutes ago, as his world had narrowed to the hot, perfect feel of her around him, the dark, dazed look in her eyes as she stared down at him.
He reached for her cheek, brushing away a damp curl, his thumb smoothing over her flushed skin.
“You okay?”
She nodded, kissing his palm. “I love you.”
"I adore you," he breathed. "You're perfect. This is perfect."
She smiled softed and moved then - just a small, testing roll of her hips - and his mind reeled.
"Oh," she breathed, eyes widening. "Oh, that's-"
"Yeah," he agreed roughly. "That's–Fae–"
"You feel…" She experimented with another movement, taking him deeper, and they both shuddered. "Like…"
"Like what?" he managed, desperate to hear her thoughts. "Tell me…"
"You feel…" Elphaba exhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering half-closed. "Like you're mine."
Whatever breath he had left slipped out in a broken sound. His hands skimmed from her waist to her back, pulling her down gently until they were chest to chest. Their mouths met again - more of a shared breathing than a kiss.
Then she moved again and they both shuddered, pleasure sparking through them.
Their rhythm built slowly. Her hips rocking against his, guided by instinct and the anchoring of his hands. She pulled him to sit upright and leaned into him, and his arms wound tightly around her, holding her close as they moved together. Two bodies, hidden away and learning each other in her little corner of the world.
Elphaba buried her face in his neck, her lips brushing his jaw, his pulse point. Her soft sounds turned breathless and aching, and her rhythm deepened with quiet urgency as her movements grew bolder, more confident.
"Fae…" he murmured, hands coasting up her spine, then down to grasp her hips to help guide her movements. "You feel… Oz, you feel incredible."
He felt her smile faintly against his skin before she bit down gently on his shoulder - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him gasp and thrust up into her involuntarily. She made a pleased, surprised sound at that, and did it again, her teeth scraping lightly.
"Elphaba–" His voice broke on her name.
"I like when you do that," she murmured against his skin. "When you lose control a little."
"You're going to make me lose control a lot if you keep–" He cut off with a groan as she rolled her hips in a particularly devastating way, taking him so deep he thought he might lose his mind. "Where did you learn that?"
"Quick study." She sounded so breathless and wicked all at once, and he loved her so much in that moment he thought his heart might burst.
Another slow, deep roll of her hips, and they both gasped. It was good - so very good - but he could feel the tension beginning to gather in her again, that sweet, shaky edge she was drifting toward. Her movements were becoming less controlled, more desperate.
And he wanted to give her more. Needed to give her everything.
He shifted beneath her, hands sliding to her waist. "Elphaba," he said softly, breath hot against her ear. "Lie back for me again. Please."
Elphaba blinked at him slowly, visibly reluctant to separate even for a moment, her body clenching around him as if in protest. But then she nodded, trust shining in her dark eyes.
He shifted them gently, rolling so she sank into the bed beneath him without Fiyero having to pull out completely. Her hair fanned across the linens, her skin flushed the darkest form of green he'd seen on her yet. Her mouth dropped open prettily as he settled fully over her again, sliding deep, and the sound she made went straight through him.
"’Yero…" she started, voice filled with a need that made him have to pause and breathe hard to stave off his own end.
"My pretty Fae," he said softly, one hand bracing beside her head while the other trailed down her side, savoring every curve. "Let me make you feel good."
And then he moved - pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in slowly, deeply, making sure she felt every single inch of him. She arched beneath him with another broken little moan.
"Like that?" he asked, doing it again and watching her face intently.
"Y-yes. Like that–"
His hand drifted between them, and he smiled at the sharp jerk of her hips beneath him when he found what she needed. His thumb circled with gentle precision while he maintained that slow, deep rhythm, angling his hips to hit the spot inside her that made her gasp his name.
Her hands clutched at his back, sharp nails scratching in a way he knew would leave marks. The thought thrilled him: evidence of this moment, of her claim on him. Her thighs rose to cradle his hips and take him deeper, pulling him to to him. She was still sensitive from before, still trembling, and he could feel how close she was again already.
"Fiyero… I'm-"
"I know," he assured her, panting, brushing her hair back from her damp temple with trembling fingers. "I want to feel you come around me, Fae. Let go for me."
She tried to speak again, but it melted into a soft, broken sound when he angled his hips just right and pressed his thumb more firmly against her. Elphaba’s eyes squeezed shut, her mouth falling open in a cry. "Please-"
"What?" he said breathlessly, enraptured by the sight of her pleasure. By the way she was coming undone beneath him. "Tell me what you need."
"More–harder, I think. I need–" She cut off with a gasp as he obliged, his rhythm quickening, deepening, giving her exactly what she was asking for. "Yes–oh–"
He dropped his head to her neck, lips and teeth working against her pulse point as his hips drove into her with increasing urgency. The hand between them never stopped its steady, circular pressure, and he could feel her body beginning to tighten around him, could hear the desperation climbing in her voice.
"That's it," he murmured against her throat, his own control fraying. "That's it, love. I can feel you - you're so close - "
She made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan, her head tilting back as pleasure coursed through her. There was something wild in her expression, something freed and unashamed that he'd never seen before.
"What is it?" he asked breathlessly, catching the shift in her, even through the haze of his own need.
Her eyes sparkled in the dimness. "For the first time," she murmured, moving against him with abandon, "I'm feeling quite... wicked."
The word sent a bolt of heat straight through him. "Good," he growled, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. His hips snapped forward and she moved wild beneath him.
"Don't stop," she gasped, one hand fisting in his hair while the other raked again down his back. "Please don't stop–"
"I won’t, Fae," he promised, adjusting the angle of his hips slightly and groaning against her neck when she cried out sharply.
Her breathing had turned ragged, desperate little gasps that matched the increasingly erratic rhythm of her hips rising to meet his. He could feel her trembling everywhere they touched, could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her body.
"Look at me," he breathed, lifting his head with a sudden desperation to see her peak. "Fae, look at me."
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed and so full of love it stole what little breath he had left. He held her gaze as he thrust deeper, harder, his finger pressing more insistently, and watched as her pupils blew wide.
"Yero…" His name broke on her lips.
And then she came with a cry that had her whole body arching against him. He felt her pulse around him in waves, felt her nails score down his back, felt her breath hot and desperate against his skin. And he swore in that moment the sight and sound and feel of her pleasure was the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed.
He held her through it, kissed her through it, whispering nonsense against her skin. His hips slowed but didn't stop, drawing out her pleasure until she was gasping and twitching. And of course the feel of her around him - still fluttering through the aftershocks, still so perfectly tight - combined with the dazed, sated look on her face sent him tumbling after her only moments later. His rhythm stuttered, became erratic, and then he was groaning her name against her neck as his own release suddenly caught up to him and crashed over him, pleasure whiting out his vision and leaving him shaking.
Fiyero managed to keep most of his weight on his forearms even as every muscle in his body went liquid, unwilling to crush her. Their bodies clung to each other, trembling and slick with sweat, breath tangled together as they slowly drifted back to themselves.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Fiyero pressed soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, her lips - unable to stop touching her, unwilling to separate. The night air carried a creeping chill, but he stayed close anyway, knowing they should part but unable to make his hands obey. Elphaba's hands smoothed over his back in lazy, soothing patterns, and he could feel her smile against his shoulder.
"You're amazing," he murmured eventually.
She hummed and turned to nuzzle his jaw. "We're amazing."
"That too," he agreed, finally managing to lift his head enough to look at her. Her eyes were soft and warm, her expression so openly happy it made his chest ache. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," she whispered, pulling him down for a slow, tender kiss that felt like the single happiest moment of his life.
When they finally separated, it was with reluctant hands that lingered, their bodies still humming with the echoes of pleasure. Elphaba reached for her robe, shivering faintly as the night wind skimmed her cooling skin, then tugged the blankets around them until they formed a little cocoon of warmth against the night.
Fiyero settled back against the tree that served as her headboard and pulled her against him without hesitation. She practically melted into the space beneath his chin, hooking a leg over his.
They stayed like that, drifting through quiet nonsense concersation and softer touches. Her fingertips traced idle lines across his chest while his hand traced the length of her spine. The night grew darker with the rise of clouds over the moon, and the world outside their little haven slowly began to intrude again, creeping back around the edges of Fiyero’s awareness no matter how he tried to hold it off.
He tried to ignore it. Tried to savor this sliver of peace. But the thought pressed harder with every passing moment, a cold stone settling in his ribs:
“You cannot stay here. They’ll find you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
