He rises above her, brushes his cheek against hers. Her skin is so soft, her scent so familiar, cherries and almond and the warmth of home and he swallows hard, pushes down the lingering sadness, the cloying remnants of fear.
He’d dreamt of her, all the time, of her bright laugh and the tenderness in her eyes when she looked at him, so happy and so very much in love. Dreamt of moments like this when the world around them sank into oblivion and nothing mattered but the language of their kisses, every touch like Braille spelling love letters across their bodies. Missing her so much that every part of him ached, more than any injury he sustained. Fearing he might never see her again.
Yet here she is, warm and lithe and alive in his embrace, her arms wrapped around him and her body writhing, the long, graceful column of her neck arched, calling for the worship of his mouth. At last he sinks his lips to her skin, kisses along the triangle of her chin and down the line of her neck, learning every slope and dip, every sensitive spot as if it’s the first time. She’s sobbing his name, her voice laced with tears that speak of the pain of their separation, the horror of not knowing whether he was alive - or dead.
He sucks on her pulse point and she sobs his name, clawing for more of him but he rests there for long moments, silent, just his mouth to her skin. She calms beneath him, her fingertips drawing circles over the back of his neck while he listens to the pounding of her heart, feels it throb against his lips as it beats in syncopation with his, strong and alive.
They’re alive. They’re here. They made it.
(my very first, admittedly rather crappy piece of Caskett fanart. pencil drawing.)