Sketch commission for @bioticbootyshaker (aw why can’t I tag you?) of their character Maurevar and elfyourmother's Marisol.
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When he’d found the barn, on the edge of town, he hadn’t known who it belonged to. All Maurevar had known was that it was warm and dry, and after spending more than a fortnight in the elements, that had been all he’d needed to know. It wasn’t until the next morning that he’d discovered who owned the bar, when Marisol had found him curled up in the corner and jabbed him in the ribs with her boot.
The place had been his home for nearly half a year, Mari bringing him his meals and sneaking him in blankets and sitting with him when her chores were through. When she’d revealed herself as a mage, he had breathed a sigh of relief, revealing himself the same; enjoying the spread of her smile when she reached out and touched their electric fingertips together, sparks flying.
Mari told him that her father would offer him training if he wished it, and maybe a bed made of sturdier stuff than hay. But he had lived on his own for too long, and he didn’t want to be a burden — or maybe he just didn’t want to be anything more than her little secret; the person she slipped out to meet in the middle of the night when her family slept.
“I love you,” he said, flushed. He sounded indignant about it, like she had made him do something he never wanted.
“Such a sweet talker,” Mari laughed. “Don’t sound so cross about it.”
His mouth touched her throat, lightly, the scratch of his stubble not rough enough to hurt, but rough enough to send a shiver over her skin. She thought about telling him she loved him too, but the way he moved close to her, the way he tucked himself against her like he needed shelter from something she couldn’t see, let her know that she didn’t need to. He knew, and if he didn’t…
Mari would just have to show him.
Hay stuck to their hair, slick with sweat, and they giggled together against the dim, dusty air like children. The moonlight was strong, strong enough for her to catch the flush on his body when he reached out and pulled her closer to him. A boy like Maurevar, who had spent his life alone, who had found his way to her through happenstance and dumb luck and a bitter storm, didn’t know how to love without throwing himself headfirst into it.
He would make a mess of things, she thought.
She smiled, picking a piece of hay from his hair.
What was life without its messes?