Horse Ride – Hadrian & Alessa (POV)

His back is so straight, it could be made of stone.

Hadrian barely dares to breathe, the only air allowed out is through the tiniest crack in his lips. His face is heating, both from the pressure in his lungs and your proximity.

Lord in Heaven.

He shouldn’t have invited you to ride with him, but he had to. Billy seemed exhausted, and Hadrian couldn’t bear seeing you walk. Not after the roughness of the road, not after the bandits and that sword that had come so close to—

Hadrian shuts his eyes closed as you shift in front of him. Your legs brush against his thighs and Lord, he should have just given you Elly. He could have walked, why didn’t he think it? But as his fingers tighten on the reigns, a small voice at the back of his head, a treasonous, sinful, undeserving voice whispers that he lies to himself. That he wouldn’t have it any other way, now, would he? The false honorable of man that he is.

“… and beyond, the harbor.”

Alessa’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and Hadrian opens his eyes to the night once again. Tarragona materializes in front of him, the road ascending to the top of a hill.

Hadrian shakes himself. There are more important things to worry about like the maps, this Rafael, and the fact that both you and Alessa kept him in the dark for so long. You don’t trust him; he reminds himself for the hundredth time. A dark wave spills over his thoughts as Hadrian’s eyes dim. You don’t trust him, and why should you?

The road grows steeper and Elly struggles against it. At the inclination, you fall back on the saddle. Hadrian doesn’t have time to process as a warm weight press on his chest. It’s not sudden but gradual, like the shift of slow-moving sands in the landscape of a desert. You don’t clash against him but melt instead, first your lower back, then your shoulder blades, and then the back of your skull rests just between his collar bones.

His hands freeze on the reigns, the palms clammy, and if there’s sand in his thoughts, there is sand right now in his throat and his ears and his tongue because they all feel numb and rough and Father from above, he can smell your hair. It sends his already spinning thoughts into a violent whirlwind.

He can feel his body locking, and vaguely, between the madness, he can feel you stiffing too. You adjust your weight, starting to lean away—

And Hadrian may be an idiot, but he's not as big an idiot as to let this go. He bends his arms and tentatively, his ears burning with a fire of a thousand suns, he rests one hand against your stomach. He feels your intake of breath through both his fingertips and his chest, and he smiles, then, when you nuzzle closer still.

Father, you bless me.

Resting his chin on top of your head, Hadrian decides he’s done thinking. You’re in his arms, safe and warm, and the city doesn’t look as menacing as before.

“The road eventually drives towards the sea.” Alessa’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife. She is staring with narrowed eyes. “But we will go east, find our way into the residential district.”

His smile doesn’t waver. He’s done thinking. His thoughts are all made of senses and those... those can feel nothing beyond you.

- - -

Your arms are wrapped around her, and Alessa does not mean to, but she can feel her spine lose its strength. Even as she rests against you, Alessa tries to keep her composure, fighting not to make a complete fool of herself.

You hum faintly, the vibrations traveling from your chest and spreading through her back like the earthquakes following the step of a giant. Your voice tingles against her ear in a slow drawl that nonetheless makes a shiver run down her spine, and Alessa does not mean to. But whatever little distance her pride had forced her to keep disappears as she melts against you.

‘Tis such a warm night, and tiredness weakness her resolve. She does not mean to, but a sigh leaves her parted lips when you tuck her in, your warmth not unpleasant, your closeness much too safe and she is a fool, but Alessa decides then, that for the ride, just for this ride, she will not mind it.

She will not mind it as the Devil’s Bridge comes into view. She will not mind it as Kroner walks through the streets of Tarragona full of shadowy corners and buildings with too many windows. Too many possible hidden eyes. She will not mind it; she commands herself through clenched teeth. She will—

Your hands suddenly envelop her own. Alessa blinks and looks down to see your fingers intertwining with hers, your thumb making little soothing circles against her skin. Alessa instinctually stiffens, her joints locking tight in her shock.

And she regrets it immediately when Alessa feels your hands lose their confidence. You hesitate and she hates it.

So, stiffly, always too stiff, she grabs your hands back and embraces your touch. Your cheek rests against her forehead, and she swears she can feel you smiling.

Fool.

But so is she, because Alessa smiles a secret smile as her muscles lose all tension and you intertwine your bodies as closely as your hands. Her fingertips find your wrist, and in there, she seeks the soft, faint rhythm of your heart. She cannot feel it on her back, beating through your chest, but Alessa imagines that she does. She imagines the sound pulsing in tandem with the one on your wrist, the vibrations enveloping her in a strange, new reality.

They pull her away from her doubts and fears, away from her worries and thoughts of treasures stolen by former allies.

The inn is right ahead, but Alessa wishes that the road could somehow stretch, and time could slow or even halt altogether. Her skin is too cold, she knows. It always is. But in your hands, it warms. And in your arms, she calms.

And with your breathing in her ears and your pulse in her hands, Alessa lets herself go.

For a while. Just for this ride.

- - - 

This story used to be on Tumblr, but I edited it and decided to save it here instead. I'm starting a series with the RO POVs, so I want them all in the same place. 😊