Soldiers don't start at the sound of metal hitting the ground. Common enough for them to hear the muted clanging of armored feet, people moving around in heavy arms, putting it on and discarding it to do exercises, to march, to fight. As the feet draw closer, she still doesn't turn from her task because Aveline is methodical in caring for her own armor and though they tease her about it from time to time, no one would dare interrupt her.
It's what she does because she was taught to do it. Make it last, her father would say, not needing to elaborate. There were no other sets if hers fell into disrepair, no money to buy more and no second chances to get into the King's service.
She's surprised when the footfalls stop in front of her and block her light. Still, she finishes the task, wiping the wax carefully from the crevices of her chestplate. Whomever stands before her is silent as they wait.
When she looks up, her face morphs from the almost scowl she was forming to a large grin. "Wesley." She breathes her husband's name as he smiles down at her, templar armor gleaming in the lamplight. "This is unexpected."
"I have a short break, and knew you were nearby." He offers as explanation, though they need none. When they got married, he'd promised he'd always find her.
They embrace without hesitation, and she threads her fingers through his hair. It's shorter than it was the last time she saw him, but just as soft under her hand. When she buries her face in his neck, he smells just like she remembers, like home.
That first kiss comes only when they have privacy, away from all the others. He's fiercer for the waiting, as though the minutes since he came to camp were worse than the weeks preceding them. Her body hums with a quiet passion that unlocks with his touch, her mouth against his. The urgency comes later, but that first kiss is a welcome, an 'I missed you' and love conveyed in the one simple gesture.
Soldiers Like Us, Aveline/Wesley, T
It's what she does because she was taught to do it. Make it last, her father would say, not needing to elaborate. There were no other sets if hers fell into disrepair, no money to buy more and no second chances to get into the King's service.
She's surprised when the footfalls stop in front of her and block her light. Still, she finishes the task, wiping the wax carefully from the crevices of her chestplate. Whomever stands before her is silent as they wait.
When she looks up, her face morphs from the almost scowl she was forming to a large grin. "Wesley." She breathes her husband's name as he smiles down at her, templar armor gleaming in the lamplight. "This is unexpected."
"I have a short break, and knew you were nearby." He offers as explanation, though they need none. When they got married, he'd promised he'd always find her.
They embrace without hesitation, and she threads her fingers through his hair. It's shorter than it was the last time she saw him, but just as soft under her hand. When she buries her face in his neck, he smells just like she remembers, like home.
That first kiss comes only when they have privacy, away from all the others. He's fiercer for the waiting, as though the minutes since he came to camp were worse than the weeks preceding them. Her body hums with a quiet passion that unlocks with his touch, her mouth against his. The urgency comes later, but that first kiss is a welcome, an 'I missed you' and love conveyed in the one simple gesture.