I lay no claim to Fire Emblem or it's characters, this is an exploration of character. I always found it a shade annoying that most Female X Male pairings in this fandom are chaste until their wedding night, whereas same sex seem to have free reign of bedroom athletics. "I love you, now come to bed".

The memory Robin alludes to in this story is part of a bigger story I'm working on, exploring that mindset, the cultural differences the Plegians and Ylisseans experience and how Robin's comrades would handle such a revelation.

Libra has worked for most of his life not to be selfish.

He could still conjure up a picture perfect memory of the day his parents left, as though some helpful divine had painted each moment and tucked the portraits away in his mind for safe keeping. For days after they had left he oscillated between anger, misery and utter remorse; first raging against them for leaving him sobbing on the ground with warm blood dripping gently down his neck, then wondering aloud what he could have done to make them stay.

It wasn't until he joined the priesthood, after many long, hungry years of wandering, that he received his answer.

He had been selfish.

Expecting love, the Sister Fyora had told him, her face wrinkled like a wizened apple, was only to invite pain. Love must be freely given, as Naga freely loved them. But unlike Naga, they were weak, so love was often fleeting. The best he could do was simply love and ask no more.

Even as a young child, Libra had resented that. Why couldn't he ask for more? Why should he live off the scraps of other people's kindness – be a doormat to their emotions? It was a rather advanced thought, considering Libra was only in his early teens at the time.

Sister Fyora had given him a kindly, pitying look, cupped his face in her hands and said, "There. That self-centered part of you is what drives people away."

After that, Libra spoke no more of want.

He remembered his first love, a sister who had trained alongside him and the other initiates. Libra was too skinny, too small, something he shared with most of the other young children with him, but she was beautiful. Pink ringlets framed a sweet, hearted shaped face cradling a perpetual smile. Sister Anyetta was from a minor noble house, but had loved Naga so dearly that she had taken up the cloth, Sister Fyora had told them, her desiccated hand clutching the young girl's shoulder. In a clave mostly filled with the homeless, poor and lost, Sister Anyetta was a delicate, rare blossom.

Sister Anyetta had smiled, curtseyed prettily to them, and Libra was lost to her.

Over the months Sister Anyetta was with them, Libra had a hard time looking anywhere but her. She was perfect, he marveled, as she performed her rounds in the chapel with the grace of a dancer.

Sister Anyetta never had a hair out of place, always perfect for her service to Naga.

Sister Anyetta helped out in the kitchen until the wee hours, and then would get up to greet the morning sun in Naga's name.

Sister Anyetta told the younger children stories, and mended the clothes of the older initiates without complaint.

Sister Anyetta once helped him get a book off a high shelf – his body was recovering from the malnourishment he suffered in his years on the streets, and she was a full head taller than him even though she was only fifteen.

She had handed it to him with another peaceful smile, pressed a cool hand to his cheek and complimented him on the practice sermon he had delivered the other day – he had been thinking of her as he'd written it – then swished away.

Libra had hugged the book to his chest, and stared out the window for the rest of the day.

Sister Anyetta was untouchable, impervious to all human sin. Wrath, jealousy, sloth…

Lust.

Libra had heard one or two of the boys talking about the other Sisters in such a manner, and had fled before he could hear too much, his breath whistling in his ears as something foreign and electric had stirred beneath his belt.

Sister Anyetta was beyond all that, and in the small hours of the morning, when the others boys grunted and dribbled their way through sleep, Libra was ramrod straight in his bed, his minds eye playing over all the wonderful things he and Sister Anyetta could do. Picnics; walks in the park; luncheon at a café, which would be their café; masquerade balls and travel to distant lands. In most of these fantasies, he was wildly rich, or a dashing swordsman, certainly not a lowly priest whose prime possessions were his sermons and collection box.

Sex never entered his fantasies with Sister Anyetta, even though Father Simeon had given them a short, halting lecture on intercourse, punctuated with many a cough and vague waving of hands. While the other boys had tried their best to seem disinterested, despite it being the only lecture they ever came close to taking notes in, Libra prided himself on not needing it.

His love for Sister Anyetta was pure, unsullied, fit for the romance books he sometimes snuck out from the library. He craved nothing but the warmth of her smile, her voice as she warbled the hymns (even he wasn't so lovesick as to say her voice was anything above ordinary), and the way her hair caught the light in the mid afternoon.

And when he was alone in the baths, steam creating the illusion of privacy, with his hand around his hard length to stroke himself to easy pleasure, he took care not to imagine Sister Anyetta. She was too good, too holy to sully with such an act.

When Sister Anyetta left abruptly one morning, run off with a previously pious Brother ten years her senior, Libra thought his heart would break, even as his Anyetta crashed down from her pedestal.

Robin was nothing like Anyetta, Libra reflected as he watched the tactician prowl amongst tents. To any outsider, she'd have merely been striding about in her usual manner, arms swinging, head high and coat hems flaring behind her. But Libra was practiced enough to see the hunter that moved under her skin, the way she'd take a second to size up her next companions – victims, Libra couldn't help thinking – before waltzing over and greeting them perfectly every time. Whether it was a barked salutation, or a kind grin, Robin knew just how to slip through a person's defenses to make them relax.

Libra had no doubt she already knew how to open each person in camp like an oyster shell, getting them to air their dreams and sob their fears. He had already seen how she'd cracked Lon'qu's armour, a mix of madcap shenanigans and odd behaviour that had kept the man angry and on his toes and drove his fear of women completely out of his mind.

And Libra had to admit, Lon'qu had become more bearable after that - though it had been done out of kindness he was wary of Robin's manipulative streak.

Anyetta hadn't been manipulative. Only unfaithful.

Another difference, Libra couldn't help noting – and briefly wondered why he cared, since her habits certainly shouldn't merit the amount of attention he quietly paid – was the way she behaved around her male associates. Anyetta had been demure, her eyes always respectfully lowered, and would never be left alone in a room with a male unless he was a venerated priest.

Robin often sparred alone with Frederick, went adventuring for pastries with Gaius and that wasn't even mentioning the hours she spent alone with Chrom, the handsome noble who gazed at Robin with nothing short of adoration when she wasn't looking.

Libra was looking, and it made foolish jealousy burn in his chest. Made him guiltily, selfishly, wish that Chrom would be thrown from his horse, or eat some bad meat, or be forced into an arranged marriage. It wasn't priestly of him, to think such thoughts, but it gave him a dark, vindictive delight that had Tharja eying him with interest.

It wasn't long before more of Robin reached his ears, as much as he tried to ignore it.

Robin stole strawberries from the kitchen and refused to give them back or – a greater crime in the eyes of their resident sweet-addicted thief – share them with anyone.

Robin spent hours trying to brew the teas and ointments Panne crafted so easily – though her chemistry skills were on par with her cooking, she never ceased her hard work.

Robin kept her hair bound up in an impatient knot at the back of her head, for all the good it did her; her hair took on a life of its own, uncoiling and rearranging itself over her shoulders. It was untamable, breaking the teeth off combs and refusing to hold a single curl despite Maribelle's best efforts.

Chrom had walked in on Robin as she was bathing, purely by accident. Libra had laughed sourly when he heard this – the noble wasn't that ignorant, though he hadn't expected such a devious side in Chrom.

Robin had lost her memories, and though she occasionally received sparks of her old life, it was rarely anything useful or clear. One of these, she had told Cordelia in the mess tent one day, was the memory of a lover.

The revelation had sent the whole tent silent and caused more than one person to choke on their food. Robin had taken advantage of the hush to take a second helping of bread, and sat down as if she'd remembered nothing more than a trip to the market on a rainy day.

The memory was nothing that fazed her, and Robin could not seem to work out why, well, it was a bit shameful to have taken a lover before she was wedded. Libra recalled overhearing - as accidental as Chrom's foray into the women's bathing tent - Robin protesting to Panne and Olivia that she was not embarrassed, or ashamed, and she didn't even remember him so what was the problem?

Lissa was curious; Maribelle was disapproving but reluctantly curious (she had ranted) what Tharja thought was probably locked up in a little black diary, while Sully, Miriel and Nowi didn't care two figs.

Libra had noticed Sumia and Cordelia avoiding their tactician, though Libra suspected it was more because they were head over heels in love with the idea of romance than any displeasure on their part.

Panne had agreed, and mentioned that such taboo was considered useless in taguel culture; though committing your life to a mate was an act of great devotion. Olivia…

Had a surprising amount of questions that Robin was unable to really answer, and eventually fumbled out an excuse to the dancer before practically sprinting away. Libra had managed to make it back to his tent before his composure was completely lost, muffling his snickers with his hand.

Robin had a shy side, he'd found out that day.

No one had asked Libra what he had thought, but he'd gathered that people had already made up their minds about what he thought, judging by the nervous stares he received whenever he and Robin were within eyeshot of one another.

Libra could have listed the different between Anyetta and Robin all day. Warm pink hair to milk white; meadow-green, saintly eyes to dark, lascivious chocolate; a chaste smile to a knowing beam. Heavy, shapeless robes to an open coat, his selfish side whispered, a distant figure to someone…touchable.

Libra had figured this odd attraction of his would die away soon enough – Robin was a sexual creature, he had grudgingly admitted this to himself. Not like the sad, hard women who walked the less salubrious kind of streets, the kind who wept in confession and jeered at him as he passed them by outside.

Robin was a woman who knew herself precisely, down to the last pale hair on her head. It was part of what made her such a great tactician, the faith she placed in herself and in her judgment. She knew that the people under her care were worthy of protection, of her efforts in keeping them alive, and they responded almost instinctively to that trust.

That she accepted her past, even embraced it, without making apologies for what would be a serious Ylissean faux pas, was what Libra…liked most about her. She would never have submitted willingly to a Sister Fyora figure.

He had been certain it would die away soon enough. And in the two years of peace that had followed Gangrel defeat, Libra woke everyday expecting it to be gone. He had come to Ylisstol to serve the church there, so he told everyone who would listen, but a tiny part of him was hungry to stay near Robin. This had suited the tactician quite well, and Libra found that more often than not Robin would invite him to her small house and things would be…intimate. Not in any physical sense, though Libra's eyes lingered on her form more and more often, but a kind of companionship grew between them.

Robin had a cynical side that Libra found combative and delightful to debate with, while an edge of sarcasm he rarely displayed would flick a fin in their conversation, which she seemed to think of as a rare treat. Not a day went by that he didn't make Robin laugh hard enough to spill her tea, or she sweet-talk him into some mad flight of fancy that had him smiling - even when they ended up in the most ridiculous situations, like dancing on her kitchen table or dropping tomatoes from her rooftop.

She found out about his love of drawing, and he'd found himself bringing over his sketchbooks, a warm, selfish flame of pride burning in his breast as she ooh'd and ahh'ed over his work.

There had been a time, for a few scarce months, when Chrom had been aggressively courting Robin and she had responded with a degree of surprise and enthusiasm. While Libra had been by no means happy about it, as it meant her visits were more infrequent and Robin was becoming more and more important every passing day, he couldn't begrudge the prince his bravery. His relationship with Robin was just as complicated, but at least Chrom was doing something about it.

But Robin was happy; there was a spring in her step that Libra hadn't seen before, even though every now and then she would stare off into the distance with a tiny wrinkle to her brow, as though trying to catch a memory that kept slipping through her fingers like a butterfly.

On a cold morning, Libra was summoned to Robin's home. He found her leaning against the table, a wad of beautiful, thick paper clutched between her fingers. She thrust it at him without a word, and as he pried it from her perfectly still hands, he already had an inkling of what it held. He unfolded it carefully, taking a moment to decipher the words mauled by elegant calligraphy.

"Chrom and Sumia are to be wed, then," he said aloud, raising his eyes to Robin's frozen, hunched form.

"I'm not of noble blood," she said dully. "The council…decided it would be for the best, strengthen the houses, they do make a charming couple, I can appreciate the tactical sense behind it, Sumia's tougher than she looks." The bitch, was her unspoken, sour comment.

Robin met his eyes as she said this, and though her face was serene, he could see the rage and hurt battling behind her gaze.

"He didn't even tell me," she said suddenly. "It was the wedding invitation, crammed into my mailbox. He didn't even tell himself." Her shout rattled the windows, and two high spots of colour rose in her cheeks, her eyes glittering strangely. Libra reached out before he could stop himself, and grasped her hand. It was the first time they had truly touched, and the first thing he noticed was how warm her hand was.

Not just warm, hot. Robin had an inferno swirling beneath her skin.

"The bastard," he said flatly, and the comment was so unexpected he almost tried to look at his own mouth in astonishment. Robin was certainly staring hard enough.

For a second Libra thought she would wrench her hand away and order him out, still stinging from the rejection and ready to lash out. Instead she threw back her head and laughed loudly – there was humour there, but also a vein of darkness, bitterness that sent a thrill running straight to his groin.

"Well put," she said warmly. "I wonder how happy they'll be to have me guiding the battles from here on."

"While it may be an opportune moment to test Sumia's agility against a cluster of archers, I ask you refrain," Libra said wryly, causing her to quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Don't want the blood on your hands?" she asked teasingly, and he shook his head innocently.

"I wouldn't want you to tarnish your perfect record with such an unworthy sacrifice," he answered, and that pulled another laugh from her. It was vindictive, petty and childish, but Libra was feeling equal parts pleasure and anger at the new noble couple. In all his years as a priest, dealing with the sorrow and heartache of humans, Libra knew exactly when a person needed to be the bigger man, or just a little bit cruel.

And she had held his hand. Surely Naga could forgive a few unkind thoughts under those circumstances.

She gave him a brief hug, her heat relaxing his muscles like a hot bath, even as something coiled low in his stomach. His selfish side awoke, again, to sleepily suggest running his tongue over her earlobe.

"Well, I certainly never thought I'd be laughing again, let alone five minutes after seeing that weighty scrap," Robin sighed, flicking the invitation off her table and apparently oblivious to the hunger stirring in his blood. She gave him a smile, one he'd never seen before. "It was…fun, while it lasted. But time to stop being selfish."

And then they were at war again, but things were different.

He had no idea how much, until the day they picked up yet another future child. They had returned with Gerome, a tall, handsome boy with a shock of blond hair and a sulky twist to his mouth. He would have been of no consequence to Libra had the boy not shot a look of confused longing at Robin.

The look did not go unnoticed by Chrom, who had been watching Robin almost obsessively since they had reconvened for war a year and a half after the royal wedding. Sumia had been nothing but apologetic since their first incredibly stilted meeting after the fact, and Chrom seemed unable to do anything but simmer in regret, though he did his best to make Sumia happy.

Libra couldn't help but feel a spark of sympathy for their new exalt. He wanted nothing more than to serve his country and be worthy of his sister's legacy, but he was already falling into the same traps she had. Sacrificing his own happiness for his subjects, the people who wouldn't care a fig for it, unless he was…selfish, for once in his life, and wedded the woman he loved.

Whenever their antics became almost unbearable for Libra – Sumia's stuttering and apologizing, Chrom's wounded looks - he would meet Robins gaze, and see the same suffering there, now tempered with amusement.

Now Gerome had entered the picture, his eyes flicking back and forth between Minerva and Robin, the latter of which was engrossed in conversation with Laurent. He was soon dragged away by the hungry wyvern, and Laurent rabbited away to no doubt performed another inventory check.

Libra and Robin we left on the edge of camp, alone, their – his, hissed Libra's selfish side – weary tactician partially draped over a stack of supply crates.

The air was thick with an anticipation that left his head tingling.

Her eyes flicked over and met his, dark and unreadable, and what she did next had Libra's full attention, though he was sure he would faint at any moment. The finger she had lightly pressed to her lips began to move down, the tip catching every so slightly on her lower lip, leaving them slightly parted as her finger continued it's journey.

Libra swallowed thickly, trying hard to get his suddenly erratic breath back under control.

Her finger traced over her chin before dropping to her collarbone, dipping briefly into the shallow valley there before feathering down, further down, into the suddenly plunging neckline of her shirt and between the two soft swells of her breasts.

In all this time, her eyes didn't leave his face, something he only realized when he jerked his gaze back up from her hypnotic finger, a small smile playing about her lips. It wasn't mocking, or cruel – it was a smile of finding out something new, and liking it.

Libra had turned and marched away swiftly, not looking at anyone or heeding any greetings until he stormed inside the tiny, crude chapel tent.

It was gloriously empty, and kneeling at the makeshift alter gave him a small sense of peace.

Though Libra stayed there all night, his head bent in thought, nothing assuaged his imagination or the heaviness between his legs.

The next night, as Libra was about to undress for bed, he found himself pulling his boots back on and walking out of his tent with an odd sense of purpose. The day had been wet and warm, the night not much better, and he had been looking forward to getting out of his heavy robes.

It was as close to a sign from Naga as he had ever gotten. Something would happen tonight; he knew it as he knew every spring bees courted flowers and every winter, children died in the cold.

His feet lead him through the camp, ghosting past his comrades sleeping soundly in their tents, out to the south of the camp. He past Robin's tent, no candle throwing out flickering shadows – the tactician was never in bed at this time, and she was clearly not in her tent, so at least he knew to whom his feet were taking him.

He reached the edge of the camp, where the clearing melted into trees, and their lanterns beat the inky shadows into grey, writhing shapes. Robin unfurled from the darkness, her hair already plastered about her face, and sized him up for one long moment.

"You're dying to get out of that robe," she declared, and all of a sudden the robe in question was too hot and too tight, and he felt like that strange, churning heat in his stomach was trying to drag him onto the tips of his toes and turn his muscles to mud.

She had grabbed him then; slim fingers around his wrist that made him feel like pulling away and pulling close, and he wildly blamed the tingles shooting up and down his arms to the very tips of his fingers in the residual static left in her from the Arcthunder tome she habitually carried.

Not exactly following and not exactly resisting, he was dragged over the last dim ring of light cast by the camp lanterns, and now he was in the forest, the light drizzle replaced by the pillowy thud of his boots hitting wet ground, and drops of water rustling through the canopy.

A scant amount of moonlight fell through the closely woven branches, turning the ground into shattered panes of light and dark, and gleaming off silky wet leaves. Robin's hair almost held a light of it's own in this strange moment that she had pulled them into, and though they could only have moved a few meters from the campsite Libra instinctively felt that this place was private, sprung into existence in the last few seconds solely for them.

Robin turned her head, and Libra's throat constricted at the coals smouldering in her dark eyes. "I like to run," she said, he hand sliding down from his wrist to thread between his fingers, and dear Naga, every inch of her body truly ran hot, her digits unaffected by the slight coolness in the air and chasing away the iciness that had begun to settle in his hands. "It – I am – " her brow furrowed, and that small, selfish part of Libra relished seeing Robin lost for words, a state few saw her in, and witnessing this was like seeing the tactician stripped bare and naked before –

Libra suppressed the sudden, aching shudder that went through his body, though not enough to prevent the whip of heat that coiled in his groin, and Libra suddenly felt like blessing the darkness they found themselves in.

"I like to get away from duty," Robin continued. "It's what makes me think I wasn't very martial before I forgot everything, there's a part of me that hates how rigid and controlled everything is, how some days I just want to lie in bed and drink tea, to eat lemon biscuits and read something other than a book on improved tactics, and not have to get up to make sure the camp hasn't turned into a squabbling bloodbath in my sleep."

"A part of you wants to be selfish." Libra hadn't realized he'd spoken until Robin's head snapped his way, and the blood that wasn't currently pooling south (in anticipation of a scenario he'd only ever guiltily, madly dreamed about) rushed up his neck and into his cheeks.

But Robin was nodding, the movement outlined in the dark. "Yes, I would dearly love to be selfish." He hand tightened, and Libra felt something primal stir in the back of his throat and trickle down his spine. "I would love to just – just take, and take – " her voice lowered to a growl, the words forcing them past her lips, and Libra realized that in spite of the darkness, the privacy and their own strange bond, she was still ashamed to say the words, even to him.

Somehow, in the dark, his other hand found her free on, balled up in a fist by her side, and stepped closer to her until they were only inches apart, easily closed inches said his panting mind, and he swallowed nervously as he coaxed open her fingers to lace their hands together. He could see her eyes clearly now, and he nodded gently, trying to convey patience and understanding without revealing the weakness, the desire her proximity brought him.

"I want so much," she murmured, the rain plastering her hair to her cheeks. She would have looked childlike if not for the hunger in her eyes. "I want to have everything, and not have to give it back later." Her hands tightened again, and Libra crushed the urge to pull her close, run his palms over her cheeks to brush away her hair and be a little selfish himself.

"I run, Libra. When everyone goes to bed or is busy with other things, I sneak away and just run. I ran through the snow, slapping at the pine branches and slipping on an icy pond, little wild foxes who didn't know any better came to tangle about my feet. I ran across the dunes, and saw the starlight dropping above my head even as my feet sank into the sand. It was still warm from the day, and once I rolled down into a deep valley to lay in a dried up riverbed of sun-polished stones and the bones of creatures I didn't know the name of. And I ran through forests like this, when the leaves were orange and carpeted the ground so thickly I had to push my way through, when the nights were hot but pulsed with such life I was nearly deafened by singing insects and the beating wings of birds."

Robin inhaled deeply, so deeply Libra felt the swell of her breasts lightly brush his chest. "And tonight I'll run through this forest, with rain running down my neck and small creatures rustling in the underbush. I'll sprint through puddles so fast they'll fan out around me and the branches will whip at my arms, and I'll be cold and tired but no one can catch up."

"Why – why do you tell me this, Robin?" Libra whispered, close enough now to feel her warm breath blooming over his chilled face, her pupils blown and gaze so intense he was sure she could see every longing thought he'd had about her that he had so long coddled and protected.

"Because I want you to run with me," she rasped, tearing her hands free of his so she could grasp his face, and Libra was sure the burning in his cheeks was nothing compared to the heat in her hands. His hands rested on her hips, and he intended it to be gentle, unassuming; but almost of their own accord his hands curled and gripped her tightly, his selfish side crooning in delight at the play of her muscles under his hands. "I am not blind, nor am I stupid. You're as tightly wound as me, as locked up in protocol and appearances and doctrine as I've been, and I know you want to break free, you want to burst. So let it crack around me, you can trust me. I want to be selfish, and I want to see that part of you."

Then she was gone, a wraith in the darkness, and Libra felt a smile tug at his lips. It wasn't just a chance to run free.

It was a chase.

Libra chased Robin for what seemed like hours. She always managed to stay a few steps ahead, ducking and weaving expertly through the trees, and Libra found he avoided the worst of water and flora if he imitated her movements.

He was sure he would have lost her by now, if it weren't for her pale hair catching the paltry moonlight. And he was getting closer, a primal part of him howling happily at this chance to stretch his legs, to chase and have something to work for. It manifested as a sudden burst of laughter, almost a roar, and Robin pirouetted neatly at the sound, her eyes wide open in surprise.

Libra was on her then, pushing her back until a mossy treetrunk arrested their movement, and his mouth was already fitted over her, one hand tangled in her white, wet locks as the other curled around her thin waist. A deep groan rumbled up from his chest, and his senses were awash with her, her dark, spicy scent filling his head and causing him to clutch her harder.

If she had pushed him away, made any indication of protest, anything, Libra would have been able to pull away. Reluctant, gasping with denial, but he would have let her be. His selfish side would have been satisfied, and they could have gone back to camp to endure a slightly more strained relationship.

As it was, when her fingers slid up his jawline, over his cheekbones, temples and grabbed handfuls of his hair, Libra was gratifyingly surprised. And when her mouth, which had been working feverishly against his, parted to bite gently on his swollen lower lip, Libra didn't have enough mental space left to continue being surprised. When her small tongue demanded entry to his mouth, which he willingly gave, and greedily slid in to touch exquisitely against the tip of his own, Libra found he didn't have any room for thought at all.

For what could have been hours, against a tree, in an unknown part of a strange forest, as the rain gradually abated, Libra was lost in the glory of taking, the roaring, consuming energy that had flooded his body causing him to lose the thread of events. At some point he had lifted Robin and wrapped her legs around his waist to keep her firmly pressed against the bark, and while he couldn't remember doing it, the sigh of delight that came from her was burned in his memory.

At some point she had managed to remove the top half of his robe so the fabric hung wetly around his waist, her hands roughly running over his exposed chest and shoulders, and eliciting a gasp from him every time her blunt nails came into play. Her hands left hot trails over his skin, and if he thought Robin ran hot before, she was almost like a furnace now, which sparked in him a tiny twitch of selfish, male pride.

Him, she was like this because of him.

At some point he had moved from her mouth, to her jaw, and down to her neck, and though he knew the way he sucked and nipped at the skin would leave very clear bruises, he couldn't help but do it to hear the cries she tried to bite off. He had told her no, don't do that, we're alone.

Even if they had been in the middle of camp, he wanted to hear her. She obliged, and each time he enticed a cry from her it would send electricity shooting down to his already painfully hard member.

At some point his hands had slipped open her shirt, and at some point she had shifted her position so he was pressed flush against her torso, and he could press himself in between her legs to the delightful core of warmth that sent jolting sparks of pleasure through him each time she slyly drove her hips forward.

And at some point, Libra realized he was truly lost to this woman, and not simply the moment when her nimble fingers divested him of his trousers, and those same fingers wrapped around his length through his small clothes, and his head was back, eyes closed, mouth dropping open, and he couldn't see the way she hungrily drank in his reaction. Not Even the moment when, not to be outdone, he reached for her clothes and realized she had somehow removed her own outerwear while her legs were still firmly locked over his hips.

If Libra had any doubts before about whether it was seemly for a priest of Naga to be wrapped around a decidedly unholy woman, any worry over tarnishing Robin's reputation, or apprehension over dealing with the reason behind Chrom's lingering gaze, it vanished when Robin grasped his face and pulled it up from where he had been lavishing attention on her rain-soaked breasts. They had proved to be just as interesting as he had previously found him, and he wanted revenge for her teasing the night before.

"If – " Robin gulped, wetted her lips (an action Libra couldn't take his eyes off) "If you don't want to do this, truly, I will not force you. I want to take, but I will not take this from you." Libra was at first confused at her words, and it slowly dawned on him the position they were in. He was pressed right up against her now, the rhythmic press of his hips having drawn them so close that only their small clothes prevented anything else. Both hands grasped her rear, and his eyes dropped from her face to follow the trail of rough kisses and occasional tooth mark that left her creamy skin flushed and bruised.

His eyes rose again, an apology forming on his lips, when he met her eyes and understood. Understood how much she needed this closeness, this act of letting go, doing something mad and passionate and selfish away from prying eyes, with someone she trusted and cared for, before –

And again, Libra understood, the other reason she had wanted him here.

"Robin," he breathed, tucking his face up close to her ear and pressing himself against her thigh, drawing a sigh and squirm from the lovely, fiery, brave woman gathered against him. One hand easily holding her up, he slid one hand to the slightly twisted fabric of her last item of clothing to hook a finger over the top, his hand shaking only slightly.

"I've got an awful lot to give for you, so take what you want."

Minutes, hours, days later, when they were back at camp, Robin turned to him, and if her face hadn't been so lovely Libra would have been tracing the stark marks on her neck with his gaze.

"A moment in the woods," she mused, her head tilted.

Libra's heart sank. "Would you prefer it to stay there?" he asked quietly, his selfish side screaming, railing against it's prison and it's shameless begging made him want to weep. He hadn't realized he had been so empty, and Robin had made him feel so full.

"A fleeting moment?" She pondered for a moment, and even the owl's stopped whooping in the trees to hear her answer. "N-n-no. I think – " and now a smile grew, " – it's beyond time we were selfish."

And then babbies. This story was unbeta'd, which you probably noticed. And my first story in a long-to-the-power-of-umpteen time. So feedback would be glorious. Ta.