Fool. Fool. Fool.

Marva could hardly move. The betrayal hurt too much. Sorem saw it as poor temperament, but she simply could not move.

Even the bath and the towel put down for her spoke of one thing, prison, and for a longer time. So, when she awoke in the night to find nothing around her, she was more than a bit shocked.

The smell of alcohol hung on the gentle breeze seeping through the open window. Freedom beckoned.

Her wings were still tender, but she could fly. She could get some distance.

“Come now,” Sorem hummed, reaching out to run a finger along one of her wings. “Go on. Go on and leave the loser.”

She risked opening her eyes to see his weary expression. His face was red and lids heavy with pain, but he was letting her go.

“Perhaps you cannot fly yet,” he attested. “All right. In the morning you can go. But I haven’t anymore towels,” he grumbled.

A quick scan of the room came up empty and he looked down at himself. All that he had was his handkerchief, but he stared at it for some time before marching to the window and throwing it out much like Marva had done to the dress.

She didn’t mean to laugh but it alerted him to her state of awareness.

He wore a small smile as he pulled up the chair. “What’s so funny?”

Face pressed to the towel below her, she said, “Imagine what people must think with finding all these clothes from this window.”

He gave no answer as he sat. To her surprise, he continued to trace her wings. “Does this help at all; they’re glowing when I do this.”

The misunderstanding of the shimmering of her wings upset her more than this renewed imprisonment.

Even underground, the stroking of another fairy’s wings was done with utmost intimacy. As this was their power, the source of their magic, it mattered far more to them than the private areas of humans.

As such, a stroke triggered strange sensations. Even to fly brought about the contentment necessary to allow a fairy to flutter. Anger and rage could fuel one’s propulsion but happiness and affection were even more tantalizing.

“It is late,” Sorem said, scooping her up. “Here. I promise not to crush you.”

When he put her to rest on his pillow by his face and closed his eyes, she stared at him.

“Prince Sorem,” Marva said at length. “Do you intend to let me go?”

Yawning, he answered, “I am letting you go.”

The hand hanging over her lazily would have been easy to break if not for her newly formed wings.

“But you’re holding me.”

He muttered, “I’m afraid a rat will get you.”

The snore to follow left Marva confused.

She scanned him entirely, waiting for him to perhaps transform into an ogre; he seemed like an entirely new person. Mere days ago, this man barely gave her a word beyond a command.

“He’s still keeping you prisoner,” she reminded herself. Despite the injury to her wings, she went about extricating herself from his loose grip. It was no use. The pain was excruciating.

Worst yet, she was caught between his fingers. She closed her eyes and cursed.

Upon hearing something scurry, she opened them yet again and whispered, “Prince Sorem!”

Another scurrying of little feet forced her to do something she knew he’d take punishment for. She bit him with all her might.

Sorem’s eyes flew open and his grip closed.

Marva winced. The pain was so bad she wished he’d simply crush her and be done with it.

“Oh no.” Sorem sat up and smoothed out the pillow for her as he put her down.

“You bastard,” she cried. “You absolute bastard.”

She’d decided to not show her weakness but the moment she tried to touch her back but couldn’t bear the thought, he knew.

A cool breeze flowed through her wings for a moment before warming. It came back again.

“How’s that? Does that help?” His fingers were back, tentative as they danced along each wing. Hands stretched out, she gripped the pillow and closed her eyes.

To her surprise, he kept on like that for some time. Once or twice, he nodded off and she feared for the rats but then he’d jolt awake and continue with the strokes.

It must have been midnight when the gentle digits stopped tracing the length of her wings. It was that lack of sensation that drew her to seek out slumber.

“Jvalan?”

Relaxed, Marva moaned, “Hmm?”

“Why is the pillow so wet?”

Her eyes shot open. To her horror, he continued.

“If you need to go, I can bring you to the towel or maybe the basin. Actually, you’ve never done anything like this in our one year together so I’m wondering how hurt you are.”

Mouth shut tight, Marva tried to move her wings so that she could escape. It was no use, he’d fondled them too much.

The moment he sniffed the pillow, she felt cross. “It is not what you think,” she assured him.

“Then an injury? Some sort of warning?”

Each helpful word sounded less like the Sorem of there here and now and more like the foolish eighteen-year-old boy of ten years ago.

“When will you ever understand anything about the female body!”

Her admonishment had him falling silent. Marva closed her eyes. She was a fairy and at least he was trying to be somewhat helpful. It was unfair to expect a human to understand.

“It’s arousing,” she admitted.

For a long while, he didn’t answer. “Touching your wings?”

Not just the wings; all of it. From offering a fairy a gift with a bath, to giving any sort of affection, to the very touches and finally, the trust. She’d taken a foolish risk by allowing him to cut her wings. The fact that she awoke with them still attached had sent a wave of relief and appreciation through her that she mistook for more. So, to find herself imprisoned again was terrible.

This admission was the last straw. There was a lot to consider. What they should have been thinking about was how to leave this wretched place. Instead, he started to trace her wings yet again.

Eyes closed, Marva bit back a moan. “I will take mortal form against my will if you don’t stop.”

“I don’t want you to do anything against your will. And I don’t mind your reactions. You look very calm now.” He paused and added, “Unless you want me to stop.”

She turned to face him. Despite the darkness, her night Fae eyes made him clear to see. His expression held no malice, no frustration, only peace.

For Marva, however, she felt daring. This was foolish. This was foolish and more foolish, but she revealed something to him. “Stroke them upwards instead of down. And…softly.”

He kept his eyes on her as he complied. The first stroke came with a shiver but by the second, the wings locked up and began to close.

“I’m sorry.” Sorem sat up.

There was no need for apologies because Marva was the sorry one. Like a flower closing up at night, the wings shrunk down until they touched her back.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, “otherwise….”

Sorem hurried to bring two fingers down against her. On the way up again, he stroked the base of her wings. When her body grew, she let out a cry. Taking mortal form was once a sensual undertaking. She hardly remembered the first time.

Now, fully human, she kept her head bowed. How would she explain why this was a problem? Being coaxed to mortality was not so easily reversed.

She opened her mouth to convey as much but he held her face and dipped lower to kiss her. “I’m not trying to be rude,” he said with a gasp.

Why did he always apologize for any and all affection? To him, he acted like his very presence was a perversion of some kind.

“My back,” she said, panting against his lips.

“Yes. Of course.”

Sharing a kiss while he teased her power sent her senses into overdrive. She uprooted his shirt and reached behind him to do the same. The bare back had her gasping.

Sorem leaned away, face still flushed as he struggled to make her out in the night. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Marva hesitated but confessed, “I’ve never found affection with someone without wings before. I’m….” She looked him up and down. “What are your most erogenous areas?”

He blinked at her.

The hand playing at the center of her wings stopped.

No longer eager, he turned over and lay on his back. “Now that you’re big, I suppose the rats will leave you alone.”

Marva scanned him. She didn’t want to because she barely had the power but she thought, Have I offended you?

A wince forced her to touch her lip to find blood above it. Sorem gasped.

“If it hurts you that much, then stop.”

“But you’ve stopped,” she complained. “I enjoy the stroking of my wings. I only wish to give you the same. But you’ve stopped. Without my powers, I cannot understand why.”

His concern for her only lasted until the blood ceased. Then he closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

Marva wanted to cry. Not only would she be stuck in this sexually-charged body, she’d remain unsatisfied. Trapped yet again with no way of turning back to her true form.

“My mother was kidnapped on her way to marry my father. He paid the ransom, and I came along shortly after. Whatever happened to her, she became…cold. And I was a reminder. She finally told me that I was no prince, as I was likely a bandit’s spawn.”

They remained in silence for some time.

Marva listened to each word with a heavy heart.

“I suppose, I just…I just want to be something that a woman might desire. I make a mess of everything I try. Even before she confessed these things to me, I knew she regarded me as if I was something wrong—a blight and not a son. Just…an extension of pain that followed her around crying to be held.”

Due to lying on her stomach, Marva reached down to search for his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from yourself, or these encounters. Fairies care little about steady companionship with humans.”

Sorem risked meeting her gaze.

“Sex is simply sex to us. It’s not a closeness and it’s not something meaningful. Even we Jvalan don’t put much weight on it. Fairies can have sex, many do. They can answer all desires but matters of trust and safety come much harder. As such, red and blue fairies seek out love to bathe in it. Yellow fairies seek out laughter. Green fairies success. There’s a whole spectrum of Fae.”

“What do night fairies seek?”

Marva hesitated but eventually confessed, “Truth.”

“Trust?” he corrected.

Though it pained her to admit such a vulnerability, she nodded. “Yes. That is what arouses us. The fact that we can allow such vulnerability is why we react. I don’t find your touches disgusting. And I don’t find touching you disgusting. And I’m not asking for anything more than to answer the desire that you’ve stirred in me.”

He took her in, slow as he turned to her entirely.

“So tell me what it is you want and we can enjoy one another’s company.”

Nothing happened for some time; Sorem didn’t even move. Finally, he sat up and took off his shirt. The rest of his clothes went to the floor next until he rested bare.

Marva needed no fairy night vision to make out the scars. He didn’t look like the sort to fight. Though she thought to inquire about them, the pain in his eyes begged her not to.

So instead, she eased closer and asked, “If—”

“Could I just show you?”

She gave him a nod and he ran his hand down to her chin, past her neck then finally down between her legs.

Breathing quickening, she asked, “And this gives you pleasure?”

His face became crimson as he nodded.

She opened her mouth to argue but his lips met hers. He slid his wet fingers up past her stomach then around to her back once more, opting to bring his left hand between her legs instead.

“So, this will have no meaning?”

The worry in his voice made her smile. “None.”

“I don’t want to know how many lovers you’ve had,” he said in a whisper. “Even if they were as meaningless as this time.”

She nodded her agreement, but his words summoned a myriad of emotions. One by one, face after face, Marva searched her memory for a lover. For any sexual encounter. Matax was the only face that came to mind. And he hadn’t sought sex, just her unwavering devotion. In fact, it was the promise of this closeness that had led her to make her biggest mistake.

Two fingers slipped into her and Sorem waited, forehead pressed to hers.

She kissed his nose then mouth for encouragement.

Once he lay on his back, he pulled her atop him to sit on his stomach.

The plentiful secretions concerned her at first; they were probably more than an average human. If Sorem cared, he never said.

Even his pelvis had scars. She feared for what she’d feel on the rest of him but was relieved to find smooth flesh elsewhere.

Using both hands, he stroked her back then slipped around to cup her breasts. They moved hip to him until he met his mark and stopped thrusting. Each attempt they made at joining had his member slipping forward then back until Sorem reached down to hold himself steady.

The first attempt stung. The second was a bit better. But at the third, she sat and he popped in.

At first there was no sensation on her part. One memory came to her. This wasn’t her first time. Any woman visited by a fairy, fairy and human alike, could never enjoy a different bedfellow. And to become a night Fae, a fairy in love had to experience deep betrayal by a lover.

Those thoughts rushed her as Sorem held her hips and eased her up then down again, his pulsating member sliding in and out.

“He was human,” she marveled.

“What?”

Her lover had been human, whoever he was. And now…she no longer remembered.

A laugh left her, and she kissed Sorem in earnest as he thrust into her.

Somewhere in her past, in her very essence, her lover hurt her, and now she no longer cared.

She was free.

“When I reach my climax,” he warned, “it goes on for quite some time.”

Marva stared down at him with affection. “That is infrequency. So, I shall give you more practice.”

‎