Work Text:
Knock Knock.
“Windsong? Are you still in there? It’s rather late.”
Vila reverently taps at the wooden door. Windsong, after discovering some sort of breakthrough in her research this morning, had secluded herself in her study buried nose deep in books and documents. Aside from a few trips to the restroom, Windsong had nary come out to eat nor drink. Not being the first time to happen, Vila typically helped herself inside with a plate and glass to remind the researcher she was still human, even in the midst of groundbreaking research.
“Windsong, I’m coming in.”
Vila gently twists the doorknob and slowly peeks her head into the room. And, upon seeing Windsong’s state, she huffs a sigh and marches fully into the room, hands anchored at her hips.
“Oh, you!”
Comrade Windsong, bless her heart, had fallen fast asleep face down in her papers with pen still gripped in her fingers. Rolling her eyes (but not without a smile on her lips), Vila trots over to the desk. Her eyes flicker over the freshly inked papers, filled from edge to edge with leyline diagrams and equations. The most recent one boasted a nice big wayward line and dark splotch of pooled ink at its end. Careful not to disturb the order of the papers, Vila plucks the pen out of Windsong’s gloved hand, caps it, and sets it aside.
“Windsong,” Vila calls softly, “Windsong, it’s time for bed. Come along now.”
Vila runs her fingers through Windsong’s splayed hair. The researcher merely murmurs incoherently with no intention of removing herself from her chair. Scratching the back of her head, Vila shrugs and leans down, placing her hands on Windsong’s back and under her knees.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t try!”
In one swift motion, Vila easily lifts Windsong up and out of her chair, clasping her tight against her body. Windsong, now finally regaining some slight sense of consciousness, opens her bleary eyes to look up at Vila.
“Vila? Are you…carrying me?”
“Indeed I am, Comrade Windsong.”
“You really are…more than what meets the eye, huh? A big girl like me getting carried around…is…embarrassing.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing that no one else is around to see, hm?”
Despite her less than sober complaints, Windsong still nuzzles her head into Vila’s shoulder and drapes her arms around her neck. Vila, careful not to clip said big girl’s head against any door frames, successfully makes it to the bedroom and holds out her payload over the bed.
“Mmph—“
Vila watches Windsong bounce in place after unceremoniously dropping her face first onto the pillows. Windsong groans while turning herself over, spreading her full body across the bed in her drowsy stupor. Vila, huffing once again, climbs up into bed herself and straddles against Windsong’s waist. She leans over, peering down at the other woman’s face.
Windsong breathes in steady rhythm, undisturbed by the woman boldly sitting on top of her, but visibly scrunches her nose and tilts her head away when Vila’s dangling braid brushes against it.
How such a handsome woman could be so charmingly adorable at the same time, Vila was sure she would never tire of seeing.
Having her fill of admiring Windsong’s slumbering form, Vila proceeds to pull up on her wrists and peels off her gloves, one on each side, and discards them by tossing them off to the side. Windsong pays no mind in favor of keeping her eyes closed for a few more seconds, but regains a sliver of awareness and props up to look once she notices her tie suffers the same fate as her gloves.
“Mmm, Vila…?”
“Yes, Windsong?” Vila replies, now fiddling with Windsong’s belt, but Windsong stops her with a hand over hers.
“Oh, uh…I’m…really sleepy…I-I don’t know if—“
“Oh, relax. I’m not doing anything to you in this state.” Vila holds back her laughter seeing Windsong’s bright red flush spreading across her cheeks. “Surely you don’t want to be sleeping as if you were out doing field research!” She swats Windsong’s hand away and wrestles off the leather belt, letting it clatter on the floor with the rest of the clothes.
“O-oh! I see. I see. That makes sense.” Windsong flops her head back down onto the pillows. “Thank you, Vila. You are always so kind to me, Vila. What did I do to deserve you?”
Apart from saving her hometown, Vila could make a rolling list of why she finds herself attracted to Windsong. Alas, Vila acknowledges this question as another one of Windsong’s sleep-drunken nothings and doesn’t provide an answer, and instead moves to work at the lacings at her boots.
After removing several loops, Vila finally manages to pluck off one boot. Windsong, acutely aware of how much trouble they are, finally sits up.
“Vila, it’s fine. I can do the other—!”
Vila quickly plants a palm on Windsong’s chest and forces her back down onto the bed with a soft thud.
“Let me do it,” she asserts, “You’ve been working nearly the entire day.”
Windsong, face flush with heat once again, can only meekly let out an obedient “okay” in response. Now somewhat a bit more sober, she slightly regrets her earlier protests.
Vila, with a sigh of relief and triumph, plucks off the other boot and lets it tumble against the floor.
“And done. Now it’s time for bed.”
The Rusalka leans over Windsong’s body and flicks off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into almost total darkness. Silvery moonlight remains, flowing through the window and splaying across the room in streams.
“Thank you, Vila,” Windsong murmurs. Her hand wanders in search of her partner’s. She twines their fingers together once found. “I love you.”
“And I love you too,” Vila responds with a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Now hurry up and go to sleep, and you can work on your research again in the morning.”
“My research…!” Windsong’s eyes widen at the mention, but any thought of jumping out of bed is quickly stifled and quelled by the weight of Vila’s head upon her chest.
“Yes, perhaps you’ll dream about it tonight?” Vila teases, arms binding around Windsong’s body.
“Hm…perhaps I will.” Windsong concurs, a smile in her voice. She places a hand on Vila’s head, offering a few gentle strokes of her thumb across her hair. Sleep easily claws Windsong back into its depths with Vila’s weight and warmth against her body. Vila herself counts the rhythms of Windsong’s heartbeat like sheep.
Only mere years ago, Vila couldn’t dare even fathom the idea of being accepted by anyone as a half Rusalka. If she told that younger version of her that she would find not only a home, but love and a new dream as well, she would have hardly believed herself.
Vila lets close her eyes.
Tonight, she will dream of her home. Her love. Her utopia.