___ Fern X Stark ___ The inn was quiet, the kind of deep silence that settled over old buildings in the middle of the night.
Frieren had fallen asleep almost immediately, her breathing steady and soft from the adjacent room, leaving Fern and Stark alone in the shared space.
The single lamp cast a warm glow across the tatami mats, and Stark sat stiffly at the edge of his futon, his hands clasped in his lap, his ears red.
He could feel Fern’s gaze on him—calm, assessing, patient.
“Stark,” she said, her voice low and even, like she was discussing a spell or a battle formation.
“Come here.” He scrambled to his feet and crossed the small distance to where she sat on her futon, still fully dressed in her traveling clothes.
She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, but her fingers were already working at the ties of her tunic.
“Help me with this,” she said.
Not a question.
An instruction.
His hands trembled as he reached for the fabric, his fingers brushing against hers.
She let him fumble for a moment before she sighed, a soft sound that might have been amusement.
“Breathe, Stark.
You’re not facing a demon.” He exhaled, forcing his hands to steady, and worked the knot free.
The tunic parted, revealing the simple linen shift beneath.
She shrugged the tunic off her shoulders, and her boobs pressed against the thin fabric, the outline of her nipples visible.
She stood, and he followed suit, his mouth dry.
She reached for the hem of his shirt, and he lifted his arms obediently, letting her pull it over his head.
Her fingers lingered on his chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the scars from battles past.
“You’re warm,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“Lie down.” He lay back on her futon, the straw padding rustling beneath him.
She stood over him, and with deliberate slowness, she untied her skirt and let it fall.
Then she pulled the shift over her head, and she was naked before him.
His breath caught.
Her boobs were small but firm, perfectly proportioned to her frame, with nipples that were a pale pink, already tightening in the cool air.
Her waist narrowed before flaring to gentle hips, and the triangle of hair between her legs was a soft, dark auburn.
Her thighs were slender but strong, the thighs of a mage who spent hours standing and casting.
But it was her face that held him—that calm, composed face, with its steady eyes and slightly parted lips.
She didn’t look nervous.
She looked like she was about to conduct an experiment.
“Touch me,” she said.
“Here.” She took his hand and placed it on her hip.
“Slowly.” He obeyed, his palm gliding across her skin, feeling the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip.
She guided his hand upward, until his fingers brushed the underside of her breast.
“Your thumb,” she instructed.
“Circle my nipple.
Gently.” He did.
The soft flesh yielded under his touch, and her nipple hardened against his thumb.
He heard her inhale, a tiny hitch in her breath, but her expression remained unchanged.
“Good,” she said.
“Now the other.” He switched hands, repeating the motion, and this time he saw her eyelids flutter—just slightly, just enough to tell him she felt it.
She lowered herself onto him, straddling his hips, her knees planted on either side of his waist.
Her body was warm, and the heat of her sex pressed against his cock through the fabric of his pants.
She reached down and unfastened his belt, then tugged his trousers down until he was free.
He was hard, painfully so, and she looked at him with the same calm assessment she gave a new spell.
“This is for me,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his shaft.
“Do you understand?” “Yes,” he choked out.
She guided him to her entrance, and he felt the slick heat of her, the way her body was already ready for him.
He didn’t move.
He waited.
She lowered herself, inch by inch, her walls stretching around him, and he gasped at the sensation.
She closed her eyes, her breath escaping in a controlled exhale, and when she opened them again, they were darker.
“Don’t move,” she said.
“Not yet.” She sat still, letting him feel every ridge, every pulse of her inner muscles.
Her hands rested on his chest, her fingers spread across his pectorals.
She rocked her hips experimentally, just a fraction, and a shiver ran through her.
“You feel good,” she said, and there was the barest hint of surprise in her voice.
“Better than I expected.” She began to move—slow, deliberate, each roll of her hips sending waves of pleasure through him.
Her boobs bounced gently with the motion, and she caught his gaze fixed on them.
“Look at me,” she said.
“I want you to see my face.” He forced his eyes up, meeting her steady gaze.
She was flushed now, a faint pink spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.
Her breathing was deeper, but still controlled.
“Tell me what you want,” she said.
“To please you,” he answered, his voice rough.
“You are.” She leaned forward, her mouth close to his ear.
“But I want more.
I want you to fuck me.
Hard.
Can you do that?” He nodded, and she smiled—a small, rare smile that made his heart stutter.
She rose, then sank back down, setting a rhythm that was faster, harder.
The futon creaked beneath them, and her composure began to crack.
Her breath came in short gasps, and her grip on his shoulders tightened.
“Harder,” she said, and her voice was a command, not a request.
He obeyed.
He gripped her hips and drove into her from below, matching her rhythm, then surpassing it.
She cried out—a sharp, unguarded sound—and her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Like that.” The room filled with the sounds of their bodies, the slap of skin against skin, her ragged breaths, his guttural groans.
Her boobs bounced wildly now, and he couldn’t help himself—he leaned up and captured one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.
She gasped, her back arching, and she rode him faster, harder, her control slipping away entirely.
“I’m close,” she breathed, and her voice was almost desperate.
“Don’t stop.” He didn’t.
He drove into her with everything he had, and she came with a cry that was half pleasure, half surrender, her body clenching around him again and again.
The sensation triggered his own release, and he groaned against her breast, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside her.
For a long moment, they stayed locked together, breathing hard, her body draped over his.
Then she lifted her head, and her expression was back to its usual calm, though her cheeks were still flushed.
“That was acceptable,” she said, and the corner of her mouth twitched.
He laughed, a breathless, relieved sound.
She slid off him and lay beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand finding his.
“Rest,” she said.
“We have a long journey tomorrow.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She didn’t answer, but her fingers tightened around his.
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, and from the other room, Frieren’s soft snoring drifted through the walls.
They lay in the quiet, tangled together, and for a while, that was enough.