Chapter Text
Travis woke up to pain so intense he thought he must surely have gone to hell. Darkness and an earthy, sweet scent were the only things he noticed before the pain took him under again.
The second time he found himself aware, he was greeted by an angel. It had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, deeper than a summer sky, lighter than king’s blue. Her features were so fair her eyelashes were ghostly against the apple of her cheeks, visible only when the light hit just so. Beautiful. If the pain hadn’t already taken his breath away, the angel surely would.
Eventually, he realized the angel was a woman. She gave him her name, he gave her his.
Eventually, he found out the woman was a witch. Like the ones he had seen killed countless times by righteous men of faith. Men like himself.
Witches were evil, that much he knew. It’s why they had to be hunted and culled. They brought by ruin and pain. They collected souls for the devil, he had been told. Anyone and anything touched by a witch would be doomed to eternal suffering.
This witch had given him her name and a place in her home. She cared for his wounds for countless days, many of which he couldn’t remember, and while he was weak, she fed him herself, with food she hunted or grew, prepared by her own hands. Her smiles were kind and sincere. Nothing before had felt as soft as the touch of her hand upon his skin. When he was feverish and in agony, she sat beside him for hours and hours on end, singing words he couldn’t understand and keeping him cool with wet cloths.
There were wild cats that came to the cottage nearly every day. She fed them and they curled up on her lap like kittens, but Travis’ mere glance their way had the creatures hissing in fury. It brought an amused smile to Taylor’s face, who would then coo at the animal until it was relaxed and purring again. Travis felt like a wild cat, wanting to curl up on the witch’s lap and purr.
He made no notice of the lack of meat in their meals until she returned one evening with two freshly slain rabbits, which she prepared with care and gave to him. Travis refused to eat them both, trying to share, confused as to why she would refuse. The spare one went to the cats, and it took Taylor the best part of that evening to communicate why that was.
“You need Fleisch,” she gestured to his ailing body. “Katzen need Fleisch. I not.”
She wouldn’t take a life unless she needed to. He needed it, so she did it for him. She was kind and she was caring, and one night long after he had seen and benefited from both of those qualities of hers countless times, he had discovered that she was a witch.
Earlier that day, he had managed to go farther than ever in their daily walk, and therefore laid exhausted and in pain as he watched her gather books from a chest by the corner. She arranged flowers and herbs in a methodical, practiced way. Uncharacteristically, she avoided his curious gaze, until such time she had transported those things outside. When she came back one last time, her smile for him was dimmer than usual. She said something, but all he understood was morgen. The darkness of the night had just wiped the last traces of sunlight from the windows when she turned her back to him and divested herself of her clothing by the door. As nude as a newborn babe, Taylor left. The full moon was high outside and Travis watched it for most of that night, unable to fall asleep.
When she returned, now wearing a robe that must have been out in the porch, he was awake still. His eyes stung with weariness, betrayal and tears, though he wouldn’t admit that even to himself.
To her, he had just one word.
“Witch.”
Travis had been taught that witches always attempt artifice and spin lies in order to not be caught. But this one confirmed it and repeated the word back to him right away.
“Yes,” she said, in her beautifully accented, sweet voice. “Witch,” her azure eyes glanced at his with just a hint of fear. Travis hated it.
Against his best judgment, he extended a hand to her. She took it immediately, her skin cold. He warmed it with his own. He should have slain her then, when he had proof and he was recovered enough. Before he was too gone, too caught up in her spell. But he knows it had already been too late. Travis thinks now that it was too late by the time he woke up to eyes as beautiful and warm as a clear summer sky.
Right then, however, he held her hands and begged her to change her ways. She listened, her gaze empty of understanding, then cleaned his wounds and changed the dressings with such care it made his heart ache in his chest, then fed him the greatest part of a warm meal she prepared by herself. As she cared for him, her gaze wasn’t empty any longer, but filled with warmth. His heart thundered every time she touched him, even as his oaths and beliefs burned on the back of his mind like red-hot iron.
There were many things he should have done, then, and did not, and may the Lord forgive him for failing so completely. But the more Travis looked at her, the less will he had to do his duty, if there had been any in the first place. His soul was doomed, surely, but the knowledge of such wasn’t enough to move him. She guided him around the cottage in their customary walk and hummed a tune under her breath, filling the silence with beauty, as always. He watched her, and when she caught him looking, her smile made him forget any pain and exhaustion he was feeling.
That evening, he watched as she busied herself around their quaint abode, a simmering, restless energy to her. When she stopped before him and unlaced her cloak, he expected her to leave again, to go do what witches do out in the forest at night. Instead, she kept on undressing. Different from the evening prior, she did it turned towards him, her eyes locked on his, her nude body in full view. Travis wasn’t inexperienced. He had laid with his fair share of maidens and whores. Yet, he felt like a fresh boy, uncertain, frozen in place by how much he wanted her.
She unlaced his underthings, and he made no motion to stop her as she pulled them off. Then, she straddled him on the bed. Her body was so soft over his. Leaning forward, she rested her bosom over his chest. He could feel the slick nectar of her core as it touched his pulsating manhood. Travis completely forgot she was a witch, he forgot he was damming himself by not slaying her, he forgot his own name. But not hers. Her name was whispered again and again against her hair and any skin he could reach. In every single spot where they touched, he burned with the most want he had ever known. There was no penetration. She did to him as she willed, searching and finding her own pleasure with him as an instrument. By the time she took pity on him and took his cock in hands, he could have wept in gratitude. Instead, he held her close. Afterwards, he feel asleep to the sound of her breathing.
In the morrow, he felt feverish. He wanted, he wanted so much it drove him half out of his mind. Yet, he did not want to force himself upon her, as he had been taught is men’s role. He was turgid and throbbing, but what he wanted most was the simple touch of her skin under his hands and lips. To test the softness of her breasts, to bury his nose and inhale the perfume on her neck, to make goosebumps rise on her fair skin and then trace them with his fingertips. The near-painful demand his cock made was negligible in comparison to that.
And because she invited him to, Travis indulged in all those wants for as long as she allowed.
Eventually, perhaps frustrated with his obsession over touching her instead of taking her, she herself positioned him against her entrance. Yet, he could not penetrate. She tried, getting more and more frustrated, and Travis watched helpless, his mind dazed with love and lust. Then, in an act he had only heard of, but never participated in, she pulled his hand towards her core. He hesitated, knowing it was wrong, but she begged with her eyes and whined pleadingly in words he did not understand. He gave in.
He bit the inside of his mouth so hard it bled, but it did not stop him from feeling the impossible softness between her legs. She guided one of his fingers inside – inside – of her and cried out in pleasure. Her hands looked so very small wrapped around his wrist, holding it there, then guiding one more finger inside. His cock was purpling, hard as a rock, leaking, as he pictured the soft tightness of her all around him.
She seemed to reach her peak when her desperation and want exploded before his eyes, then she fell lax over his body. Travis had been told women can’t feel sexual pleasure, and he knew, from experience, that it was untrue. But, never before had he seen such exhilarating demonstration of it. One would need to be completely blind, deaf and dumb to mistake the image of Taylor for anything other than pure, carnal orgasm.
He held her close for as long as she let him, and when she closed her legs and positioned his member between her thighs, Travis thrust until he spent outside her body. It felt so good. Nothing had ever felt like this, and he wondered if maybe this was heaven, designed perfectly for him. Maybe death had come already and, somehow, the angel chosen for him happened to be a witch. God’s ways are mysterious and the best men can only guess at his will. Maybe they had all gotten it wrong, at least in this. Maybe goodness is simply good, and not a trick. Maybe none of that truly matters.
That same evening, he was suddenly woken up by Taylor. Her skin felt like fire against his, fevered and slick with sweat. She fumbled with the covers and any clothing still on either of them, then took his already turgid maleness and pressed herself hard against it. She was so slick, dripping with desire, and yet, her body was still too tight to breach. But oh, she tried. Inch by glorious inch, she guided him inside, sobbing with pain and pleasure. Travis could only hold on to her hips and let her do as she willed.
“Have you never laid with a man?” He asked her, knowing it was pointless, the question too complex for their meager capacity to communicate. She appeased him with a kiss over his lips, unaware of what his words meant. But the answer came nonetheless when, finally, her pelvis pressed against his and Travis could just barely make out the dark stain of blood where their bodies met. He knew it must have hurt, both by her vulnerable, high-pitched moans and previous experience. That did not stop her, and Taylor danced over his body in sinuous, frenetic, primal movement. There were tears in her eyes when she cried out her climax, at last. The velvety, tight, hot clutch of her body dragged Travis along, leaving him spent and lightheaded with pleasure.
If his soul had not been doomed before, it surely was after what followed.
He had been taught, the one thing the followers of God and the followers of the Devil have in common is ritual. The one Taylor performed upon him that night felt like something straight out of heaven. It made the blood under his skin buzz, his heart seemed to double size and the air itself felt heavy with power as it entered his lungs. Travis could feel the heartbeat on his lips as he pressed them against Taylor’s forehead, her sumptuous, pink lips, the mound of her womanhood, her knees, her feet. He followed the road map set by her, hoping it would give back even a single ounce of the surge of emotion her actions had given him. After, he’s aroused again, hard and pulsing, and when Taylor takes him in again it’s a little easier and, somehow, even better. Travis would have thought such pleasure, such completion to be impossible during one’s earthly life. When she laid in his arms later, sated and lightly slumbering, he wondered again if he hadn’t just died, and this was his piece of heaven. He didn’t think himself worthy of it.
The following days seem to blur in a flurry of happiness, pleasure and contentment. Travis’ lingering pains slowly fade until he feels fully like himself. When he can walk to the river and bathe with Taylor, they splash around the frigid water as if they are children, laughter the one universal language. When she rises in the morrow to find wood, he follows, taking the heaviest of the chore upon himself. She cooks, and he assists as well as he can. Travis even gains the feral cats’ begrudging tolerance by helping feed them. He knows he has duties and a life he must return to, but that knowledge is barely a buzzing insect on the back of his mind, fully deafened by the overwhelming rightness he feels simply by being with Taylor. Witches must, in fact, be magic, because he’s enchanted by her.
It’s the most incongruous thing he has ever experienced when his men arrive for him, at last, and all Travis feels is pure, deep, all-encompassing dread. Taylor’s sudden panic awakens the irrational beast in him. He recognizes the armors, the familiar faces, and because they are turned to Taylor with rage and hatred, Travis attacks them anyway. He bellows in rage as they drag her away from him, calling her a witch like he once had, and it takes a dozen men to stop him from going after her.
Then Taylor screams, out of his sight, and Travis goes so mad he loses the last shreds of self-preservation he has, wrenches himself away from those who hold him captive and pushes his way outside. There, he finds Taylor kneeling on the ground, tied up and held down by two men twice her size. Her dress is muddy and her eyes are wide with terror.
He feels someone grab at him again and Travis’ vision goes red. On instinct, he takes the other’s sword and is plunging it in before the man can blink. His rampage might last seconds, minutes or hours, he does not know, and it ends only when the sword that clashes against his is being held by one with a face he has seen his whole life.
“Brother,” Jason says. “Stop!” Travis hesitates, finally, and Jason outmaneuvers the sword right out of his hands. “Stop, she’s safe. Look.”
Jason steps back and motions to the side, where Taylor is now standing, covered in mud and crying, but whole.
When Travis makes no motion to attack, Jason throws his own sword aside and holds him by his shoulders. “We thought you lost, brother.”
The haze over Travis’ eyes lifts at last, Jason’s touch and face grounding him again. “Jase,” the childhood nickname comes out and, with it, much of the tension eases, at last. “Don’t hurt her,” his voice is still a growl, but the desperation underneath it is unmistakable. Jason’s expression is surprised and deeply concerned, though he covers it up quickly. “Of course, Travis,” he nods, appeasing. “Release her!” He orders.
A murmur goes through the men, but they oblige. Travis strides towards Taylor and rips the ropes around her wrists with brute strength, paying no mind to the friction burn it causes his palms. She’s crying, her lower lip trembling with fear and adrenaline. He checks her over, his hands on her hair, her arms, her face, and finds her fully unharmed. Jason pulls his attention again with a hand on his shoulder. Travis has calmed down enough to know this looks bad, and that he owns at least his brother an explanation.
“She saved my life,” he swallows down the emotion, willing himself not to cry, “I own her my life, she must at least keep her dignity for the travel.”
Jason’s furrowed brow still betrays his concern, but he just nods in understanding, as if Travis isn’t behaving like a crazed barbarian. “Of course, brother. The Council may try her fairly upon our arrival to the city, but she will come under no harm in my hands. You have my word.”
Travis nods, outwardly calming down. However, dread spreads inside of him, taking root in the knowledge of what awaits his love when she leaves Jason’s steady, merciful care. Her blue eyes, when he looks upon them, are now dimmed and vacant, the fear giving way to resignation. She knows what awaits her as well, probably better than Travis does.
Taking a deep breath, he pushes the chaos of feeling surging within down and down and down, until is able to turn and look at his brother with a mask of indifference over his features. “Thank you, brother,” he rests a firm hand over Jason’s shoulder, careful to show only so much gratitude.
There are bodies littering the ground and it’s likely too late to pretend that Taylor means anything less than his whole world, but for both of their sakes, Travis has to try. “I apologize for my intemperance. In the darkness, I did not know it was you who came for me,” the lie feels slimy on his tongue, but Jason exhales in clear relief, the concern in his eyes dulling some.
“I’m just glad you are alive,” Jason responds. “Let us rest tonight, brother, we have a long way to go in the morrow.”
Travis nods, one last, quick glance towards Taylor. “Of course.”