Eryshae

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Vael

The Drowned Sun Bathhouse

⚠️ Content Warning: The following scene includes sexual content intended for mature audiences.

Sam came up behind her, pressing a kiss to the bare nape of her neck.

"Let it remember us, then." She turned slowly in his arms, and the candlelight danced in her eyes. "Take your time," she whispered, fingers sliding beneath his shirt hem. "We've earned this."

There were no ghosts or bad reflections in the bathhouse, only the positive vibes she brought with her. And tonight, she chose not to fight them. The steam curled around them like breath, warm and weightless, softening the world. As Sam's shirt slipped from his shoulders, she took in the map of his body, muscle honed by purpose, old scars like drawn lines of survival. She had memorized them all, but here, in this quiet, holy place of stone and heat, they seemed to shimmer. Not as wounds. But as proof.

Proof they were still here. Proof he had returned to her. Chosen her again and again. She let her tunic fall next, slow and unhurried, until the fabric whispered to the floor and left nothing between them but candlelight and shared breath.

Sam's hands found her waist, and her skin lit under his touch, more aware than ever of the pulse beneath her ribs, the weight of being alive. He held her not with hunger, but reverence. Like she was made of something ancient. Something sacred.

Perhaps she was. Perhaps they both were now. She stepped backward into the water, and it welcomed her like a memory, warm, thick, scented faintly of crushed rose and cedar. Her breath caught as she submerged, the world blurring and quieting with each inch. When she surfaced again, slick and shining, Sam was already stepping in after her. His hand reached for hers beneath the surface, fingers threading together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

His eyes were dark now, not with danger, but with want. Vael met him halfway, water lapping around their waists as her hands slid up his chest, fingers gliding over damp skin and the hard planes of muscle. She pulled him close, chest to chest, and tilted her mouth to his.

The kiss began soft, testing, tasting. But then he groaned low in his throat, and she felt the sound all the way down. He deepened it, one hand rising to cup the back of her neck while the other found her hip and pulled her tight against him. Her thighs bracketed his as he backed her gently against the smooth stone wall of the bath, the world narrowing to the press of skin on skin, breath on breath.

Vael rocked her hips forward, slow, deliberate. The friction pulled another sound from him, rougher this time. His grip tightened. She did it again. Their kisses grew fevered, mouths parting only long enough to gasp. Her fingers tangled in the damp curls at the nape of his neck while his hands explored the curve of her waist, her thighs, her backside, guiding her rhythm as their bodies ground together with growing urgency beneath the steam.

The heat between them wasn't just from the water. It was all the wanting, the surviving, the having, finally, in a place where no one could take it from them. "Vael," he rasped against her jaw, voice nearly breaking. "Gods." She nipped his lower lip, then kissed it soft again. "Let me feel you. All of you."

She rolled her hips again, slower now, teasing, the thick water wrapping around them like a second skin. Sam dropped his forehead to hers, panting softly, lost. They stayed like that for what felt like forever, kissing, grinding, exploring, learning each other all over again without rushing the fall.

Every sigh.

Every shift.

Every delicious drag of skin.

Until finally, breathless and trembling, Sam stilled her with both hands on her hips and pressed a final kiss to her lips, slow, reverent, anchoring. "Gods, I love you," he whispered. Vael smiled, her forehead resting against his. "I know."

It was the most natural thing in the world. And yet, Vael couldn't help but feel the weight of how rare this was. To be safe. To be clean. To pause.

But here? Here, she let herself lean into him, naked, yes, but more than that: unguarded. Let her forehead rest against his. Let her defenses slip, one breath at a time. They didn't speak. Not at first. There were no clever words needed. Just water. And warmth. And him.

Later, after they'd bathed, after Sam had found the bottle of rose oil tucked beside the basin and worked it slow into the curve of her back and the slope of her neck, Vael found herself watching him. Really watching him. Not just the curve of his lips or the strength in his arms. But the weariness in his eyes. The quiet thoughts he didn't speak. The shadows that still clung to the edges of his light.

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She loved those too. Because she knew them. She had them. And maybe that was the magic between them, not the fire, not the heat, not even the need. But the knowing. The seeing. The choosing.

Even when it hurt.

Especially then.

Vael shifted in the water, letting her back rest against the smooth curve of stone. Her eyes half closed as she breathed in steam and rose and skin and Sam.

The pool rippled softly as he moved toward her, slow and certain, the water parting around him like silk. Candlelight gilded the planes of his chest, the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a scar that cut across his ribs like a forgotten name. She reached for him without thinking, fingers brushing his wrist, trailing inward toward his palm, then lower.

Sam caught her hand before it could wander farther, lifting it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles first, then the inside of her wrist, his mouth warm against her pulse. "You always know when I need reminding," he murmured, voice like smoke curling through the mist. "That I'm still alive. That I'm still… wanted."

Vael's lips curved into something quiet and tender. She tugged gently, drawing him down until he knelt in the water before her, their faces close, knees brushing beneath the surface. "I don't just want you, Sam," she whispered. "I crave you. The way you see me. The way you touch me."

Her hand slid up his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. His skin was hot beneath her palm, his heartbeat a steady thrum. Alive. Real. Hers. Sam leaned in slowly, his lips brushing hers, once, then again, deeper this time. Water lapped softly at their sides as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, fingers sliding beneath the water, thumbs grazing her ribs, her hips. He pulled her closer, until her knees cradled his thighs, until there was no space left to miss.

Vael moaned softly into his mouth, tilting her head to grant him more. Her arms wound around his shoulders, wet skin sliding against wet skin. Steam swirled around them like fog around a flame. Sam's mouth moved to her neck, tracing the line of her jaw, down to her collarbone, where he lingered, biting gently before soothing the mark with his tongue. She gasped, arching into him.

"Tell me," he whispered against her skin. "Tell me you want this." Vael met his eyes, dark and gleaming beneath the golden light. "I need this," she breathed. "I need you." That was all it took. He lifted her easily, settling her back against the warm curve of the stone. The water cradled them both, rising to kiss her skin as he pressed into her, slow, reverent, like worship.

Her legs wrapped around him as his body moved against hers, each motion a vow, each breath a surrender. Outside the chamber, the world carried on. But within the bathhouse walls, time unraveled. Only the sound of water, breath, and the quiet breaking of two people choosing each other again and again, even when it hurt, especially then.

The candlelight flickered low, casting molten reflections across the water's surface. Steam curled lazily into the air, scented with rose and cedar and skin. Vael rested against Sam's chest, legs still loosely wrapped around his hips, her cheek nestled in the curve of his shoulder. The water lapped gently around them, their bodies buoyed by the warmth.

His breath was steady again, slower now. Sated. Grounded. But his skin still buzzed beneath hers. She shifted slightly, just enough to let her fingers drift down the center of his chest. Water clung to her knuckles as she traced the scarred line along his sternum, the one that hadn't always been there.

The one that marked the change. The one that glowed. Nestled beneath skin and bone, the amber that had become Sam's heart pulsed with a soft, golden light. She watched it flicker brighter where her fingertips lingered, its rhythm quickening beneath her touch like it knew her. Recognized her.

Responded to her. "Still so bright," she whispered, lips brushing the space just below his collarbone. "It's faster now." Sam glanced down at her hand, then met her gaze with a quiet smile. "It always does that. When you touch me." She trailed her fingers lower, watching the light chase her touch like firelight in oil.

"You never told me it responded to emotion; like this," she murmured, awed despite herself. "I didn't know it would," he said softly. "Not at first. But you… it's like it remembers you. It want you near." Vael looked up at him, her eyes dark with wonder. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he breathed, brushing a damp lock of hair from her cheek. "It feels. That's all. Like it's alive. Like I'm alive." They fell into silence for a moment, content in the soft ripples, the warmth, the knowing. Then Vael smiled, slow and sleepy, and rested her chin on his chest. "When we get to Ocean City," she said, voice hushed and dreamy, "will you take me sailing?" Sam's brows lifted, a half-laugh escaping him. "Sailing?"

"You promised me stories," she said. "About the coast. About that little two-person boat you said you'd rebuilt with your father."

He chuckled, hand drifting lazily along her spine. "That rickety old Laser? She's seaworthy, but barely according to Dad." Vael lifted her brows. "So am I. Seems a fair match." He grinned, warm and open. "Alright then. When we reach Ocean City, I'll take you sailing. Just the two of us. We'll bring wine and fruit and no plans. Let the tide pull us where it wants."

"No knives, no blood," she whispered. "No rebellions, no dying," he added. "Just wind and salt and sun," she finished, curling into him again. "And you." He kissed the top of her head, slow and sure. "And me." Her fingers rested once more over the pulsing light of his heart, and this time, it steadied beneath her hand.

The water lapped around them. The stone held them. The world, for this one moment, asked nothing more. And in the warm afterglow, with the promise of waves and wind still waiting for them ahead, Vael let herself believe, just for tonight, that peace could be something they kept, not just something they found.

Sam shifted slightly, wrapping his arms around her more fully beneath the water. Vael fit against him with an ease that felt eternal, as if their bodies had always known how to find each other in stillness. She let her head rest over the steady glow of his heart, the warmth of it radiating into her cheek. Beneath her palm, the amber light pulsed slowly and evenly, like the rhythm of waves brushing shore.

Outside the chamber, the world murmured on, distant footsteps, a soft gust of wind, the creak of old wood settling. But inside, the bathhouse held them in silence. Wrapped in steam and skin and each other, they drifted.

No battles.

No blades.

No political intrigue.

No promises to break or blood to answer for.

Just the soft rise and fall of Sam's breathing, and the quiet strength of his hands cradling her beneath the surface. Vael closed her eyes. "I could sleep like this," she murmured, voice drowsy against his chest. Sam pressed his lips to her hair. "Then sleep." And so she did, curled in his arms, skin to skin, light to light, heart to heart.

Let the world wait.