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When they were younger, and the mission seemed to have a more obvious end-goal, Anya knew exactly where her place in Damian Desmond’s life was. School-mate, courtyard rivals, budding friends. It was all easier back then, when getting closer to his family was the primary objective, when her father seemed to only care about her grades and how many stellas she could attain.
Anya was an imperial scholar now. Shook hands with Donovan Desmond himself when she was awarded the cloak and the final pin next to his second son last year. But the search for peace was like wading through muddied water, too many lifetimes full of violence to see her own path clearly. As it was, Operation Strix had gone on for too long without ever reaching its true objective, and what was next for her now that their school years were coming to an end, she couldn’t be sure.
Tensions between the East and West were brewing again, and the Desmonds were to blame. In the end… people can never be truly sympathetic with each other, the chairman had said in that first meeting with her father. He said it again just months ago in a speech he gave to the people of Ostania, explaining why the country would be diverting more funding into military weapons research.
And Damian Desmond, once an affection-starved boy in need of his mother’s love and his father’s approval, was now grown into a well studied but hardened young man, ready to follow in the family’s footsteps. His opinions were formed now, too, about what being a good countryman meant. In class, when his hand rose and he spoke clearly about Ostania’s current state of affairs, he used words like expansion, defense, prosperity, but never peace. He was just a student for now, but he would become a politician, too, one day soon.
When that day finally came, Anya wasn’t sure what she would do about the way his hands roved her thighs under the skirt of her uniform, his sharp teeth nipping at her jaw, her earlobe, down the tendons of her neck. How it made her feel like every stella she ever earned was imploding behind her eyes. Her mission had been to get as close to him as possible. With the way her body squelched as his fingers slid behind the gusset of her panties, she was sure she must have misinterpreted the directive.
“Da-Damian–” she panted, making no attempt to push him away. She should, though. They were pressed together on the couch in the Imperial Lounge. It was late, far past curfew, unlikely for any of the other scholars to find them, but the door was still unlocked. They were supposed to be monitoring the halls for any delinquents.
“Will you let me tonight?” he asked, looking down at her with a hazy intensity in his eye. Please, please, please, please, his mind pulsed. He was good at that now, focusing on a single thought so that she couldn’t hear how he really felt. He didn’t believe her the first time she told him about herself, when they were just elementary school kids at a dance, and the topic never came up again. But somehow, over the years, his subconscious must have caught on without him fully realizing it. He didn’t know, not exactly, not that Anya could tell, but his mind was kept guarded all the same.
She could tell him no. Hadn’t Becky said something about withholding her feminine wiles to keep a man’s interest? It could still be favorable to have something the second-son wanted. But she had already said yes before, more than once, and the difficult truth of the matter was that she wanted it, too.
She couldn’t tell between what was for the mission and what was for herself anymore. Too many motives had gotten mixed up in her psyche too young. Peanuts, amusement parks, cake, televised espionage. That was just for her. But Damian Desmond? Could she deny him in a mission-honoring way? What would papa say if he found her like this?
Damian, reading her hesitance, pressed into the little nub that made her gasp and keen beneath him. “I’ll make it good. You’ll like it.”
He kissed her. Pressed his lips against her bottom one and suckled, his tongue lavishing against her open mouth as his middle finger circled her in a dizzingly slow pace.
He would, she knew, make it good for her. Damian Desmond was nothing if not an overachiever. She’d heard the other girls talking about how they were lucky to get off at all when they were fooling around with the other boys. But Damian wasn’t the type to fool around. He always, always, touched her with single-minded intent, chasing her pleasure like another pin on his jacket breast.
She grasped at his shoulders, scratching her short nails against the back of his neck. She spread her knees out further to give him better access. But she didn’t give an explicit yes, and she knew that’s what he was waiting for.
He traced her hole, applying pressure without inserting. It’d be so easy to tell him yes, to give them both what they couldn’t seem to go without.
“I don’t have anything left to give you. You already met my parents. You’ve already been to my house,” Damian breathed into the space beside her head, as if he hadn’t meant to really say it out loud.
His house. That was where they had done it the first time. Anya with her skirt flipped up, laying half-naked in his childhood bed while their moms chatted over a late lunch in another wing. She had made him promise to bring her if she let him have sex with her. His father hadn’t been able to make it.
In truth, she didn’t think it would actually work. He had said no to her requests over and over again for eleven whole years before that, no matter what else she had bargained with. Anyway, she would have given her virginity to him in a broom closet, on the hardwood floor of an empty classroom, even in the back of the expensive sports car he’d gotten for his 16th birthday if he had refused again.
In comparison to those places, the plush, velvet cushions they were laying on top of made her feel like royalty.
“Finger me.”
Damian grunted at the sound of her command, but complied all the same, shoving his two longest fingers inside of her, curling up and rubbing, the way he knew she liked. Obscenities flew out of her mouth, so inelegant, the type that were improper for a lady, especially one that was being courted by a Desmond. But then, that’s not what was happening between them, was it?
She was using him, and she was letting him use her. That’s all this was. She was still a peasant in his eyes. Poor, grubby, idiotic. Her one positive attribute being the fact that her chest had developed over the years, as if by the grace of God she had been allowed to inherit just one trait from the beautiful, terrifying woman who raised her.
She reached between them to unbutton her blouse and then unclasped her bra. Damian wasted no time in pulling the cups down, letting her chest spill out.
“Oh, Anya.” Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck—
Damian thrusted into the side of her hip, and she felt how hard he was, straining against his trousers. It would be unbefitting of a Desmond to beg, at least out loud, but she could hear in his mind the way he was holding himself back.
She knew he needed this. It was a stressful week, what with finals and his father’s yearly holiday visit coming up. His brother would be back in town this year as well, she remembered him thinking, Demetrius’s first year home since graduating. In every way, Demetrius had lived the life his father wanted for his sons, graduating from university early, with top marks, and quickly becoming a cunning and influential member of the party.
Anya reached with one hand to the button at Damian’s waist, popping it open, unzipping, and tugging down on his underwear all at once. Gravity revealing his bare cock head. Damian groaned, panting lightly, when Anya reached for it.
With her hand wrapped around the tip, Anya wondered briefly whether Demetrius had fooled around with peasant girls too, before entering into the arranged, politically beneficial marriage she’d seen Papa reading about in the newspaper. Somehow she doubted it. Demetrius’s mind was nothing like Damian’s, in the limited number of times she had been able to probe it while he was still in school with them.
Demetrius was cold, calculated by nature. There was nothing but an unconflicted apathy in him toward the world. By contrast, Damian was sensitive, a total hothead, though he pretended to be otherwise. Always needing to prove something. Always needing what he couldn’t have, regardless of how much respect he gained from his peers, how many successes he won.
Papa would know how to use that against him. Anya, on the other hand, was stroking his cock, bringing it in between her breasts and pushing them together so that he could do what she’d glimpsed in his head the last time he saw her shirtless. There was nothing Anya could give him that he wanted but this.
He would be embarrassed by the pitched, broken sound that came out of his mouth later. His hand pulled away from inside her and went to clutch at the armrest above her head.
Anya looked up at him, mesmerized by the way pleasure changed the musculature of his face, how out of control he seemed, rutting against her chest. His eyes were scrunched closed, like he couldn’t handle both doing what he was to her and seeing himself do it at the same time.
His mind was empty for a moment, his body acting on its own accord to go faster, harder, shaking the entire couch on its legs. Then, he jerked back. Thoughts of Mr. Henderson filled his mind, the housemaster threatening them with his cane; Old Lady Tonitrus walking through the halls, ready with bolts between her fingers.
“Do you want to stop?” she said, watching him pant and go rigid above her. Maybe he was finally afraid of being caught this time. Maybe, so close to his family gathering, he couldn’t risk being seen with her.
“No!” he gasped, shaking his head. “Just… I didn’t want to—” Fuck. He looked down at her again, gulping. He lifted his hand from where it was supporting himself to push a strand of her messed up hair from her face, then held her jaw. “This isn’t… I was going to—but, I want you to…” Please-please-please-please.
“Sy-on boy?” her voice was reedy and small using his old nickname again. The words had lost all meaning to the both of them by now. But she needed to be sure of who he was at that moment. A Desmond, or the boy she knew him as?
“What is it?”
“Do you like me?”
It made no sense for her to ask him now. She should have asked before any of the other handful of times she’d let him have sex with her. But it suddenly felt urgent for her to know. Anya had a feeling they were headed somewhere bad. That this unspoken thing between them was coming to an end soon, and she would be left wondering what the whole point of her life thus far was, if after all these years, Damian Desmond didn’t even like her.
He seemed stunned for a moment. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, then scoffed. “Can’t you tell? You can read me, can’t you?”
Of course she could. It should have been obvious to her. And it shouldn’t have made her so sad. Her mission was to get closer to him, not to make him like her. So, well, mission accomplished. Except, no world peace. No peace in her heart, either. Just her own assumptions and expectations and hurt feelings.
She couldn’t help the way her lip quivered, how tears filled her eyes and stuck to her lashes. She looked down and saw him softening in front of her, and she knew that it was a mistake. She shouldn’t have asked, it was stupid of her to ever think—
“I—I like you!” Damian sputtered, his face reddening and his hands turning to fists at the sides of her head. “More than like you. Ever since we were kids, I—“ Fuck. “Do you really need me to spell it out? You can’t possibly be that dense.”
“Are you just saying that so you can…?” Anya turned her head to the side, tears spilling onto the velvet.
“No. No, of course not!” He scrambled off of her so quickly that he fell to the floor. “We can stop. We don’t need to…” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry. It’s late, and I wasn’t thinking. You probably need to sleep or study for finals, and I just—attacked you.” He shuddered, looking down at himself and moving to tuck himself back into his pants.
“Wait.” Anya caught his hand. “I want to.”
They stared at each other for a drawn-out moment. Anya sniffled, wiping the wet streaks on her cheeks.
“I don’t understand.”
“What if this was the last time?” she asked, the words tumbling out of her before she knew what to do with them.
“The last time, what?”
“Sy-on boy,” she snapped. “The last time that we got to be together.”
“Why would this be the last time?” His nose wrinkled, the expression on his face twisted into half a snarl.
“I don’t know. What if I’m taken by Westalian spies? What if Ostania deports me? What if I get eaten by a bear? What if I get my last tonitrus bolt and get kicked out of school?”
“They can’t kick you out! You’re an imperial scholar. I would take the bolt for you. There are no bears in this city, so just don’t leave it. And I—I’m becoming someone powerful. So nothing will happen to you.”
“What if I was a spy sent to find out the secrets of your family so that I could destroy you?”
“Then it’s too late for me. I’ve already been compromised.”
Anya smiled a little at that. “Just pretend. If this was the last time you were going to see me, what would you do?”
Damian’s jaw tensed. “No. I’m not doing that.”
He sat for a moment longer, and Anya was too preoccupied thinking about what he said to eavesdrop on his thoughts.
More than like you. Since we were kids. He had never said anything like that before, though of course, she never asked. He never said anything that would have indicated he felt more than an annoyed tolerance for her. The fact of their years of friendship, if she could even call it that before they started touching one another, was due to her own hard earned efforts.
Damian groaned and repositioned himself, straightening his clothing and standing on his knees. He picked up Anya’s bra off the floor and held it out for her.
“You don’t want to do it anymore?” She clasped the bra behind her back and went to pull her shirt back on.
“I didn’t say that.” Damian swatted her hands away and took the buttons of her blouse into his own. He had to undo the one Anya had just done because she’d accidentally misaligned the opening. When he was done, he stood and held his hand out for her to take.
“Put your cloak back on. We’re leaving.”
-
“Where are we going?” Anya straggled behind Damian, though his hand was still wrapped around hers, pulling her forward. They were practically running through the courtyard, their shadows disappearing and reappearing across bulbs of orange light from the night lamps.
She couldn’t keep up with his strides anymore. He towered over her now, nearly thirty centimeters taller. He had for at least a year, ever since his growth spurt hit, and it seemed like he might not even be done yet. Anya’s stubby legs had to take two or even three steps for each one of his.
“Back to my room,” he said, like it was obvious.
“I’m not allowed up there!”
He glanced back at her, his face impassive, thinking, That’s never stopped you before.
Those other times were different, though. It was usually her accompanying him to pick something up, or them hiding out there to study when the common areas were too noisy. It just made more sense to go to his. Anya’s dorm building was filled with hall monitors, but Damian had nearly an entire floor to himself, and it was totally secluded, too. Sure, there were stolen kisses, touching, one time (just once!) a quick one during lunch. But it was always during the day time.
Going there past curfew, specifically with that intention, felt like a school violation-bridge too far.
“Have you always been this slow?” he complained. “Do I have to carry you too?”
“No! I can walk just fine.” Anya picked up the pace, feeling her face heat up. She hid behind the flapping wing of Damian’s cloak, letting him lead her. She was doing that more often lately, getting embarrassed around him. She couldn’t remember when it started, only that there was a time when his face didn’t stir up the types of feelings that were in her right now. She missed that time.
She was panting when they got to his door. He let go of her hand briefly to pull his key from his shirt pocket, and without the warmth of his hand in hers, she felt suddenly bereft.
“What if someone catches me in here?” She stepped in front of him through the door as he pushed it open for her.
She could almost hear him rolling his eyes as she toed off her shoes at the entrance and unclasped her cloak to hang at the rack by his desk.
“Don’t make yourself so at home then, if you think you’ll need to get up and run at any moment now.” Damian didn’t turn on any lights, but the waxing moon through his tall windows illuminated enough for them to see in the dark.
Anya turned her nose away, giving him a pitched hmph, as she went to sit at the edge of his bed.
“You know the rules aren’t for us,” he said. For us, meaning the imperial scholars.
But there was a time when ‘us’ meant something to him that didn’t include her. In another room, with a different group of people, it still doesn’t.
“So what now?” She eyed the way he stepped toward her, slowly, deliberately. “We’re gonna do it here? We might as well have done it on the couch in the lounge.”
“If today were the last day I could ever see you again, is that how you would want it?”
“I thought you said you weren’t doing that.”
He shrugged. “Well don’t say things like that. You’re freaking me out.”
“Would you be sad if you never saw me again?”
“Why are you asking me these weird questions? Is something happening?”
Anya shook her head, “No.” Not tonight anyway. And probably not tomorrow. But maybe someday soon. Maybe after they graduate or maybe before that. Who knows when Donovan Desmond would decide to topple over the precarious balance of world peace with his mutant weapons dealings.
The East and West were on the verge of another war, and Damian wasn’t stressed about it in the least. The possibility that something might upend his life had never even crossed his mind. Even if war did break out, he would be safe.
It was different for her. There were contingencies made, Anya gleaned from Papa’s mind, about what would happen to their family if their secrets were revealed. Top of those plans was escape, at all costs. Her father was a Westalian spy, and her mother, though Ostanian, worked for an organization which was directly undermining the work of the current popular party. The party which Damian’s brother and father currently headed.
“What are you always thinking about nowadays? You used to be such an airhead.” Damian stood in front of her, staring at her with his mouth pursed and his brows furrowed. She couldn’t keep up with the eye contact and looked away.
She sighed. “Damian…”
“Don’t call me that right now.”
“Sy-on boy,” she corrected, exasperated. “Let’s just…”
She looked down, ready to unbutton her shirt again. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently until her back hit the comforter, and she was forced to look at him again.
He cleared his throat, and even in the darkness of the room, she could see the pink of his cheeks. “If this was the last night I ever saw you, I would try to find you again. For the rest of my life probably.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. You’ve been tormenting me for 12 years. You’ve probably ingrained yourself in my DNA or something by now. Like a virus that’s gonna stay latent inside of me forever.”
Damian leaned over her, his arms bracketing her vision. His lips were so close to hers that she could feel his breath in her mouth.
“So I’m like a virus to you?” Her eyes were closed. She didn’t realize when that had happened. His warmth was there again, pressed against her, comforting in an infuriating way.
“Do you hear anything I say?”
“No. Just kiss me.”
-
He kissed her. Thoroughly. Languidly. He took his time like he was proving something to her.
He wouldn’t let her undress herself. He took longer to take off her blouse than he did putting it on her. He fingered the skin of her thigh as he unzippered her skirt, never taking his mouth from hers.
His mind was full of thoughts about what he wanted to do to her, and the images of it left her reeling, writhing. She didn’t think there was a single inch of her that his fingerpads hadn’t crossed by the time she was just down to her bra and panties. Her every nerve-ending sparked with anticipation.
“Anya,” he said. Anya-Anya-Anya-Anya—
He reached behind her to unclasp her bra, two handed, and his hands caressed her back and her sides as he pulled it off her.
She wanted to say something snarky to him, to get him to hurry up, but she found that she couldn’t. Her chest was heaving. He put his mouth on one of her nipples, leaving a feather light kiss before moving on to do the same to the other.
Beautiful, he thought. Perfect.
Of course he would think that when looking at her chest.
When he moved to tug down the sides of her school-issued underwear, Anya was nearly kicking her feet up into him. She was soaked all the way through, the insides of her thighs slick.
“S-sy-on boy,” she whimpered. “Please.”
She, unlike him, was not above begging.
Damian nodded, tossing her panties off to the side with the rest of her clothing, and knelt down in front of her. He grabbed at her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed, and nudged her knees out of the way.
He found the hand she was resting on her stomach and intertwined their fingers. Then his mouth was on her, a flat tongue lapping up the entire area between her thighs. She was so sensitive she could cry again.
He had only done this to her once before, but the last time, Damian’s nervous thoughts were so preoccupied with whether he was doing it right that Anya couldn’t focus on if she liked it.
She didn’t want to know what he thought this time. Didn’t want to hear whatever unsavory thoughts he had about her body down there, or how degrading it was for him to kneel in front of her, now that he’d had time to consider it. She tried not to listen with her abilities, but then all she could hear were the wet sounds of him suckling her clit.
She wriggled her hips, pressing harder into his face, needing more of him. Damian complied with his nose mashed against her pubic bone.
It was too easy for him to make her come undone. A few flicks of his tongue, a curved finger pressed inside. That’s how it always felt, like she made herself too easy for him but couldn’t help it. She nearly screamed, everything in her tensing. Damian squeezed her hand as Anya squeezed his head between her thighs.
Even after it ended, and her legs fell limp, she still needed more of him.
Damian stood, pulling his own shirt off and, finally, reached down to take off his pants.
Anya didn’t get many chances to see him shirtless. They were usually in a rush when they did these types of things, pants hung over hips and skirt flipped up with panties pushed to the side. She’d glanced the hard, lower part of his abdomen before, but functionally, there was never a reason for him to be entirely naked.
She felt her mouth go dry looking at him.
He was hard, everywhere. All wiry muscle on top of thick bone. Did they feed him different food in the cafeteria? Where did he get the time to work out? Outside of class, they were nearly always together, always studying, other than the times when Anya was asleep. Which, admittedly, was often.
“Don’t stare. It’s impolite.” He turned away from her, his chest and neck darkening.
“You were staring at me earlier.” Anya pushed herself up onto her forearms.
He didn’t respond, but when his eyes found hers again, they were dark. He moved to climb onto the bed too, and she clambered back so that her head hit his pillow.
She noticed it then, how much everything smelled like him. She felt like she was laying in a pit of Damian, his room, his sheets, his pillow case, his body moving over hers. If the world could shrink to just this size, everything would be fine.
He was on his forearms, knees between hers. His cock was so engorged, she thought she could see it pulsing. She waited for him to put it in.
“Anya?”
“Hm?”
“Do you…” Damian sucked at the backs of his teeth and then shook his head. “Nevermind.”
Why would I ask her if she likes me? That’s so idiotic. The stray insecurity bubbled up to the surface of his mind seemingly by accident.
“I like you,” she confessed, if only because she made him do the same earlier. It wasn’t a lie, either. Not some ploy to manipulate his feelings, though she would have been better off if it were.
It didn’t really matter whether she liked him, anyway. Love confessions, flowers, big romantic gestures were the type of thing that Becky was into. Anya knew that she would never be Damian’s girlfriend, not in any public capacity. He had nothing to gain from her. She would never marry him.
He kissed her again, and she forgot about all of that. The head of his cock knocked against her opening, and then he was pushing into her, stretching her open. She sighed in relief.
“You’re so big,” she said, because she knew he liked hearing it, but also because he really was. She had only ever seen one penis, but she couldn’t imagine anything bigger would fit inside of her. As it was, he was already snug.
He grunted, and then thrust into her all the way. Anya moaned into his shoulder.
He wasted no time, grabbing her leg and pulling it up to hook over his arm as he started pounding into her. Anya whimpered, keened, filled the air around them with nonsensical words and phrases. When they were together like this, all logic and reason escaped her.
It was just Damian, his warm skin against hers, his hands holding her waist, his mouth on her forehead, her temple, pressing kisses into her even as he broke her.
“Can I flip you over?” he asked, without pausing his rhythm. The sound of his voice startled her. He almost never spoke while they were doing it. Her mouth fell open, but the words took too long to form.
He must’ve taken her surprise as trepidation and shook his head, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Nevermind. We don’t need to do that.”
“N-no, I…” she started, but he ground his hips into hers, and the sensation sidetracked all her thoughts. He did it again, and again, and again, over and over until her body was shaking, and she felt a cord inside of her snap.
She threw her head back into the pillow and came again, her vision blacking out as pleasure racked through her.
He pulled out and held her to him as she whimpered with the aftershocks of it, her body twitching as her orgasm finally crested.
“Sy-on boy, get off,” she whispered, gently pushing him with a flat hand on his chest.
Damian frowned but did as she asked, sitting back on his knees. He was still obviously hard, cock standing straight up against his stomach. For a moment, he looked down at it, embarrassed.
Anya rolled over onto her stomach before she could lose her nerve, getting up onto all fours. She even remembered to arch her back the way Becky had taught her to, between giggles and under her breath, the last time they talked about sex.
“Oi, Anya—!”
“Do you wanna put it in?” she asked, turning back to look at him.
“I told you, we don’t have to do that!” he sputtered, his hands wringing in his lap.
“I want it.”
-
Anya didn’t realize how different it would feel, the change in position. Physically, the way her walls squeezed around him, the new angulation hitting places she didn’t previously know existed inside her. But emotionally, too, how lewd it was, to present herself to him, with her face down, any sounds she made muffled by the pillow.
She liked it, a lot, but Damian seemed to like it even more. He felt almost feral, out of control, slamming into her then accidentally pulling out too far, his grip on her hips tight and punishing.
“You feel so good. Fuck—fuck.” It was the first time she’d ever heard him swear out loud. “I—I think I’m in love with you. I want you so bad. I want you all the time. Fuck.”
He thrusted into her with particular force, and she just whimpered, too out of her mind to react otherwise.
“Please don’t leave me. Please. I would die without you. I know I would.” He kissed the middle of her back, breathing her in. He reached under her and pinched her clit between his fingers, pressing and swirling in tandem with his thrusts.
“You’re everything to me, Anya. I’m in love with you.”
She wailed into the pillow as her walls clenched around him again. It was too much, how deep he was inside of her, the force of his thrusts moving through her body, his hands all over her, the words he was saying.
She came, collapsing from her kneeling position onto her stomach, and then she felt him jerk, pumping into her once, twice, shallowly, then pulling out and spurting onto her back with a deep groan.
His knees went slack behind her, and he gasped, falling to her side. When she turned to look at him, he must have seen the tears streaked down her cheeks, the puddle of them damp on his pillow. Panic flooded his eyes.
“Oh shit. Anya. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He almost reached out to her but abruptly pulled his hands back, as if he was afraid of hurting her. “Let me… I’ll clean you up. Just wait.”
The bed shifted with his body weight as he left it, and she laid there with his semen cooling on her skin.
She felt weirdly sated. The stress, the tension, all her anxiety from earlier was released now. She breathed easier.
Damian came back from the bathroom with a washcloth in hand and a tornado of self-deprecating thoughts whirling around in his head. He cleaned her up without speaking, wiping between her legs, then drying off the small of her back. The entire time, ripples of his angst were palpable in the air.
He cleared his throat to indicate he was done. Anya turned around immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down onto the bed and into a kiss. He kissed her back, but his hands fisted at the sheets, and he pulled back from her first.
“I’m sorry, Anya. I’m so—I will never do that to you again. I was—“ Totally out of line.
“I liked it.”
“What?” Damian shook his head in disbelief. “I made you cry!”
“It was…overwhelming. But I liked it. So don’t be sad, okay?” Anya kissed him again, just a peck this time, and tried to smile at him.
He blushed, so hard that she could feel the heat radiating from him, and then hid in the crook of her neck.
“Anya…” he said, the sound muffled by her hair. “About what I said, when we were… you know… I hope I didn’t…make you uncomfortable.” He held her to him, as if afraid that she might run if he let go.
Anya hummed, caressing the back of his neck. Exhaustion finding its way into her limbs and eyelids. She yawned. “It’s okay, s’boy. I know you were just saying it in the heat of the moment. I don’t mind.”
He fell silent for a moment, considering something that she didn’t have the energy to listen in on.
His arms around her, the tangle of their legs. The deep satisfaction in her core. It was so comforting, so soothing. Anya yanked the covers over them and let herself drift off.
Damian had said something more, but it was lost to the darkness.
-
Two weeks later, after the holidays, the bombings started. On the night that Anya spent in his second son’s dorm room, Donovan Desmond released poisonous, exploding insects onto the capital city of Westalis, though that bit of news never made to the Ostanian media networks.
Twilight was injured trying to intercept the attacks, and Anya, along with the rest of the students at Eden College, were barred from returning to school for their own protection.
The war officially began again. Their stilted farewells at the crowded school gates surrounded by their families on the last day of the term would be the last Damian saw of Anya for nearly a decade.