Chapter 7: Falling Together
The door clicked shut, sealing them in the quiet hum of the apartment. The drum of rain on the window was a softer rhythm here, a private percussion against the glass. Mercury’s hands were still on her hips, his thumbs making small, unconscious circles on the damp fabric of her shirt.
She could feel the chill of the rain evaporating from her skin, replaced by a warmth that emanated from him. His gaze was a physical weight, tracing the lines of her face, the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat. The playful rogue was gone, shed like his jacket. In his place was something more focused, more real.
“You’re shivering,” he said, his voice low.
“A little.”
He didn’t move to turn up the heat. Instead, he guided her backwards, not towards the bed, but towards the large window. The city was a smeared tapestry of gold and silver through the rivulets of water. Her shoulders met the cool glass, and she gasped at the contrast. He pressed against her, his body a solid wall of heat, pinning her between the storm outside and the storm within.
He kissed her again, deep and consuming. One hand slid up her spine, tangled in her hair, tilting her head to better fit his mouth. The other hand remained on her hip, possessive and steady. She kissed him back, all her nervous energy funneling into the act, her hands exploring the hard planes of his back through his thin t-shirt.
When his mouth left hers to trail fire down her jaw to her neck, she moaned, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. His free hand came up, his palm gently covering her lips.
“These walls are thin,” he murmured against her damp skin, his breath hot. “And old Mrs. Gable next door has opinions.”
The pressure of his hand wasn’t restrictive; it was intimate, a shared secret. She nodded, her eyes wide, and he kissed her again, swallowing her next sound. His hand stayed, a warm, slightly calloused barrier between her voice and the world.
They moved together in a slow, urgent rhythm against the window. The city lights painted their reflection in the glass—a blurred tangle of limbs and shadow. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt and tugged. He broke the kiss long enough to pull it over his head in one swift motion, letting it fall to the floor. The pale light from the street traced the lean muscles of his torso, the faint scars, the reality of him.
His hands went to the button of her jeans. He paused, his eyes finding hers, a silent question in the grey.
“Yes,” she breathed against his palm.
He undid the button, slid the zipper down. The sound was obscenely loud. He helped her step out of them, his hands gliding down her calves. Then his fingers were on the button of her shirt, working it open. She shrugged it off, letting it join the growing pile on the floor. They stood in the aqueous light, clothed only in their underwear, the air cool on their heated skin.
His gaze was a slow, thorough inventory. She felt exposed, not just physically, but utterly seen. The bravest part of her wanted to hide. The part that had traded a god’s name held its ground.
He leaned in, kissing the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder. His touch was everywhere, mapping her. His hand slid from her mouth, down her neck, over her collarbone, coming to rest, finally, on the swell of her breast over her bra. He cupped it gently, his thumb stroking the lace edge. A shuddering breath escaped her.
“Mercury,” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“I… I don’t want to go all the way tonight.” The words tumbled out in a rush, hanging in the air between them. She braced for a shift, a withdrawal, the cool dismissal she’d feared.
He stilled. But he didn’t pull back. He lifted his head, his eyes searching hers. There was no disappointment there, only a careful parsing. “Okay.”
“It’s not that I don’t want—“
“Ruby.” He cut her off, his voice quiet but firm. “You said no. That’s the whole sentence.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch impossibly tender. “This isn’t a quest with a mandatory objective. There’s no ‘all the way.’ There’s just here. And now. And what we both want.”
The relief was so profound it felt like weakness in her knees. She leaned her forehead against his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I just… wanted you to know.”
“I know.” He wrapped his arms around her, just holding her. “Thank you for telling me.”
They stood like that for a long moment, the urgency softening into something else, a shared stillness. The rain pattered. A siren warbled somewhere in the wet streets, fading into the distance.
He finally stirred, kissing the top of her head. “C’mon. The window’s cold.”
He led her to the bed, pulling back the dark duvet. They slid under together, the sheets cool and smooth against her skin. He propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. The neon sign from the bodega across the street painted a faint, shifting red glow across his face.
“So,” he said, a hint of his old smirk returning. “What does ‘not all the way’ encompass, exactly? For future reference.”
She swatted his arm, a laugh bubbling up. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m practical. Communication is key. Didn’t Jaune give us a whole speech about establishing boundaries?” His fingers traced idle patterns on her bare stomach, making her muscles quiver.
“I think he was talking about loot distribution.”
“Same principle.” His hand stilled. “Seriously. Your rules. My hands.”
The directness was bracing, and exactly what she needed. The ambiguity was the enemy. This, this was a negotiation she could understand.
“This is good,” she said, guiding his hand back to her waist. “Just… here. For now.”
“Here is excellent.” He bent his head, his lips finding hers again, softer now. The kiss was a slow exploration, a leisurely tasting. His touch was patient, learning the geography of her. The ridge of her ribs, the dip of her navel, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Everywhere but the places she’d temporarily placed off-limits.
He was an attentive student. He discovered that a certain spot just below her ear made her gasp, that a trail of kisses along her hip bone made her arch off the mattress. His own restraint became a form of pleasure, a drawn-out tease that built the tension to a fever pitch without crossing the line she’d drawn.
Time lost meaning. It was measured in hitched breaths, in the soft, damp sounds of their kissing, in the rustle of sheets. The world outside the window ceased to exist. There was only the red-dark room, the scent of rain and his skin, the exquisite friction of his body against hers.
At one point, he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She straddled his hips, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal through the thin barrier of their underwear. A flush of power mixed with her nerves. He looked up at her, his hair mussed, his eyes dark.
“Your move, Rose,” he breathed.
She leaned down, kissing him deeply, grinding against him in a slow, instinctive rhythm. A low groan vibrated in his chest. His hands gripped her thighs, guiding her, his touch firm and sure.
Later, spent and tangled, they lay facing each other. The frantic energy had melted into a liquid warmth that pooled in her limbs. His fingertips traced the line of her nose, her lips.
“Still with me?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse.
“Good.” He kissed her forehead, a chaste, closed-mouth press of lips. “Get some sleep.”
“You don’t have to…” She gestured vaguely at the obvious physical state of things, her face heating again.
He snorted a soft laugh. “I’m a big boy. I’ll survive.” He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. “This is better.”
And it was. As her breathing slowed, syncing with his, she thought of Lyra, her paladin, holding a secret so close it burned. She had held her own secret tonight, the weight of her inexperience, and instead of it being used against her, it had been carefully, respectfully, set aside. She hadn’t needed divine intervention. She’d just needed to speak.
Mercury’s breathing evened out into sleep. Ruby lay awake a little longer, listening to the rain diminish to a drip-drip-drip from the eaves. The neon glow from across the street bled across the floor, over their discarded clothes, and across the shelf where his miniature figures stood sentinel. The rogue, the mage, the paladin. A tiny, silent party watching over them.
She closed her eyes. The last thing she felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest against her cheek, a rhythm more comforting than any spell, more real than any roll of the dice.
A thin, persistent pressure in her bladder eventually pulled her from the deep, warm well of sleep. Consciousness returned in fragments: the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across her waist, the smell of clean cotton and male skin, the stark, flat light of morning bleeding around the edges of the window blind.
She didn’t want to move. She wanted to preserve the perfect, drowsy cocoon of his warmth forever. The pressure intensified, a mundane and urgent reality. With immense care, she slid out from under his arm, the cool air of the room kissing her skin, raising goosebumps. She padded barefoot across the wooden floor, her striped cotton panties the only thing she’d kept on in the night.
Mercury stirred as she left the bed. His vision was a blur of sleep and morning light, but it sharpened instantly on the figure moving away from him. He watched her, eyes heavy-lidded, the sheet pooled around his hips. The pale stripes of her underwear curved over the swell of her backside, a simple, captivating geometry in the grey morning. He stared, motionless, until the bathroom door clicked shut softly behind her.
The room felt different in the daylight, smaller, more exposed. The miniatures on the shelf were just painted plastic. The leftover tension from the game felt like a story told by someone else. He heard the quiet rush of water through the pipes in the wall, a strangely intimate sound. He rolled onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face, the ghost of her warmth still clinging to the sheets beside him.
When Ruby emerged, her hair was a chaotic crimson cloud, her face softened by sleep. She paused in the doorway, seeing he was awake. A faint, self-conscious pink touched her cheeks.
“Hey,” she said, her voice scratchy.
“Hey yourself.” His voice was a sleep-roughened rumble. He lifted the edge of the duvet in clear invitation. “Get back in here. It’s cold.”
She didn’t need to be asked twice. She slipped quickly across the room and slid in beside him, a shiver running through her as her cold feet brushed his calves. He gathered her in immediately, pulling her back against his chest, his body a furnace. He buried his face in the wild tangles of her hair.
“You snore,” he mumbled into her neck.
“I do not.”
“You do. Little puffs. Like a steam engine idling.” He tightened his arm around her waist. “It’s weirdly calming.”
She elbowed him gently, and he grunted, but didn’t let go. They lay in silence for a while, listening to the city waking up: a distant garbage truck, a car alarm, the chatter of pigeons on the fire escape.
“So,” he said finally, his breath warm on her shoulder. “How’s the morning-after wisdom save? Any regrets?”
She considered it, honestly. Her body felt pleasantly sore in new places, a map of the previous night’s explorations. Her mind was quiet, not racing. “No regrets.” She paused. “You?”
“My only regret is that we have a midterm on Thursday.” He nuzzled her neck. “Otherwise, I’d suggest we test the structural integrity of this bed for the next forty-eight hours.”
She laughed, the sound vibrating through both of them. The digital clock on his desk glowed 8:17 AM. Reality, with its schedules and responsibilities, began its slow, inevitable seep into the room.
“I should probably go,” she said, not moving.
“Probably.” His hand splayed on her stomach, holding her in place. “Or you could call in sick. We could order terrible pizza and watch worse movies. I’ve got a two-liter of generic soda that tastes like melted plastic.”
“Tempting.” She twisted in his arms to face him. His grey eyes were clear now, watching her with an unnerving directness. “I have a lab. It’s a partner thing. I’d be screwing over Ren.”
“Fine. Be responsible.” He kissed her, a slow, languid good-morning kiss that tasted of sleep. “Walk of shame’s less shameful before nine, anyway.”
Twenty minutes later, she was dressed, her hair tamed into a rough ponytail. She stood by the door, her dice bag tucked in her backpack, feeling an awkwardness she hadn’t expected. What was the protocol? Mercury leaned against the doorframe, shirtless, in a pair of low-slung sweatpants.
“So, next game is Tuesday?” he asked, filling the silence.
“Yeah. Jaune’s, probably.”
“Cool.” He pushed off the frame and closed the small distance between them. He didn’t go for a dramatic kiss. He simply hooked a finger under her chin, tilted her face up, and pressed his lips to hers, once, firmly. “Try not to sell any more divine syllables before then, yeah?”
“No promises.” She smiled against his mouth. “See you, Merc.”
“See you, Rose.”
The door shut behind her with a softer click than the night before. The hallway smelled of cabbage and disinfectant. As she walked down the four flights, her body humming with a new, quiet knowledge, she thought not of paladins or secrets, but of the weight of his arm in the morning dark, and the effortless way he’d watched her cross the room, claiming the simple sight of her as his own.