Detraeus blinked. Then, he grunted, cheeks still hot as a desert dawn, and he mumbled, tucking an abashed kiss against her cheek before withdrawing full. “Good.”

Or, he hoped it was good.

A part of him warned that this was precisely the opposite of anything he ever planned for himself, but he shoved those thoughts away, reaching instead for their things and leaving debate for another time altogether. After re-donning his various and sundry weapons, as well as his boots, he gathered her clothes as well, tucking them under his arm along with her shoes before he reached for her hand with his spare arm.

“Home,” he said, knowing full well that her vision would be far more limited than his in the full dark of night, even with the moon above, and it was best that he at least got her out of the slippery section of rocks before they worried about the other details.

When they made it safely back to the sand, he handed over her shoes and clothes, letting her re-dress in what she liked before they started the long trek home. As he walked beside her, watching the moonlight glimmer off of her wet skin and scales like fairy dust, he knew that they had a longer-still path before them. One that could not be measured in feet, bodies, hours ridden by hastar or city lengths from one point to the next, but in moments, touches, and stray words passed between them.

He suspected tonight would not be the last time he kissed her, and wondered if it was detrimental to him, that he found the thought elating, not worrisome, and looked forward to the moment that he proved himself right.