LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

Convertere

Harper

Title: Convertere

Fandom: Legend of the Seeker

Pairing: Kahlan/Cara

Rating: M, S

Word count: ~2900

Author: Harper

Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit made, no infringement intended.

A/N: Set at some ambiguous time after Richard returns from his stay with the sisters of the Light. This isn’t entirely what I meant to write. I meant to write what you might call Confessor kink.

Convertere

Harper

Every time it happens, Kahlan tells herself it’s the last time. Absolutely the last time – in fact, never going to happen again – because Richard is always waiting for them back at the camp. He’s smiling as wide as if they’ve went out to fetch the Stone of Tears for him and returned victorious, filled with a literal sort of joyousness that threatens to light him up from the inside out.

It makes her even more self-conscious of the lingering wetness between her thighs.

At first, it was an accident. An understandable accident, surely, because when you combine a number of complimentary variables like human nature, fear, loneliness, and increasing familiarity, things have a way of just happening. She could live with accidental; by its very nature, it was something that hadn’t occurred on purpose.

Continuing clearly made it purposeful. Continuing clearly turned it into a mistake.

Now it’s something more, something she can’t control.

Her senses are on high alert, attuned to any small change in the rhythm of the footsteps behind her. It’s one of the few things about Cara she finds easy. The other woman has no need for subtlety unless it’s called for expressly. On their way back to camp, two field dressed hares as their cargo, Cara doesn’t have to worry about minimizing her impact. She can step indelicately.

It’s not that the silence makes her nervous. It’s that Cara will be more of an asset to them if she can behave as a normal person, complete with the ability to discuss the frivolities, and so Kahlan’s tone is light when she says, “We will eat well tonight.”

There’s a long pause before Cara agrees, and Kahlan doesn’t have to see her to know the look on Cara’s face – wary, as if waiting for whatever trap Kahlan is laying to snap closed.

“We will.”

Undaunted, Kahlan presses onward. “If we’re lucky, Richard will have found that thicket of blackberries he was sure we’d passed.”

Again, a reluctant pause.

“If we’re lucky.”

Kahlan grits her teeth and tells herself again that this is for Cara’s benefit, not hers. Still, the strain slips into her voice, and her words sound forced. “They will make for a good breakfast, too.”

She can almost feel the shift in the air behind her.

“They will.”

Cara’s voice has a hint of indulgent drawl to it, as if she’s caught on to the game and is now playing it by her own rules; Kahlan can easily imagine her smirk.

Kahlan draws to an abrupt halt, spinning sharply on her heel. She can’t keep the edge of anger out of her voice.

“Perhaps you’d like to suggest a topic for conversation, since this one doesn’t seem to be holding your interest.”

The smirk on Cara’s face is just as she’d imagined.

The sun is setting behind them. It glints off of the gold in Cara’s hair, giving her a falsely angelic façade at odds with the aggressive arch of her brow and the wicked tilt of her chin. One hand rests on the hilt of one of her agiels; the hares dangle carelessly from the other.

Cara takes a step forward, her movements slow and deliberate. The hares end up hanging from a nearby branch.

“Cara,” Kahlan says, the word a warning.

“You want me to talk?” The swing of Cara’s hips can only be called a saunter, but it’s the way she’s pulling free her gloves, each finger tugged hard, that pulls Kahlan’s focus. And then the gloves are tucked into Cara’s belt with efficient precision, and it occurs to Kahlan that Cara is drawing dangerously close.

“What would you have me say?” Cara asks, the deliberate edge to her movements not stopping until she is pressed flush to Kahlan. It prompts Kahlan to draw in a deep breath, and it’s sharp in a way that causes Cara’s smirk to deepen.

Kahlan stiffens involuntarily, embarrassed by the way her body betrays her. Her eyelids flutter shut and she tries to ignore the brush of Cara’s body against her own, an essentially impossible task.

It’s a mistake, she tells herself. A mistake, and if she doesn’t stop…

Cara’s cheek slides against hers. Her lips find Kahlan’s ear, and the warmth of Cara’s breath against her skin makes her shiver.

“Perhaps,” Cara says, her voice so heavy and thick with promise that Kahlan’s knees go weak and she bites her lip to stifle a moan, “if I find the right words, you’ll forget about dinner.”

“Cara.” This time, Kahlan’s voice is breathless. She tries to take a step back but can’t, held immobile by the way Cara’s hands come to rest lightly on her hips.

The kiss is surprisingly soft. Kahlan moves into it with a whimper she immediately wishes she could call back.

“You’ll forget about blackberries for breakfast,” Cara continues softly, breaking away from the kiss; Kahlan’s already moved to follow her before she realizes what she’s doing and blushes even as Cara’s smirk turns into a grin.

“Maybe,” Cara says, sinking to her knees gracefully, “you’ll even forget that the hands touching you belong to a Mord’Sith.”

Kahlan has already got her fingers tangled in Cara’s hair, the move unconscious, so when Cara looks up at her, green eyes gone black, her hand slips to the back of Cara’s head in a grip more possessive than she’d intended.

Cara’s smirk is back but it’s faint, the expression barely enough to hint at anything more than the impassive mask she usually wears.

Her voice, though, is low and raw, deliberately taunting. It slices through Kahlan’s defenses like a knife.

“Command me, Confessor.”

It provokes a moan that’s impossible to contain.

Cara’s hands have already slipped underneath her underskirt. They’ve trailed up the length of her boots and over the worn material of her leggings. Still, Kahlan is surprised when Cara tugs the material down past her hips, leaving it tangled just above her knees.

When Cara’s head tilts to the side, Kahlan finds her hand trailing down. Her fingers slip over Cara’s ear and then lower, sliding over her cheek until the tips of her fingers are pressed against Cara’s lips.

“I want you to hold this,” Cara says. She’s working efficiently, rolling up the white skirt and black underskirt until they’re at Kahlan’s waist, but Kahlan’s finding it hard to think beyond the teasing softness of Cara’s lips moving against her fingertips. “I want you to watch me. Do you understand?”

Kahlan wraps her hand around the fabric absently, eyes locked on Cara’s face.

Seeing her inattentiveness, Cara sighs. She tilts her head further, lets the tips of Kahlan’s fingers slip into her mouth, catches them with her teeth, and uses her tongue to trace circles against them. She watches Kahlan blink, watches as she takes on the sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze of someone about to lose herself in sensation, and bites down.

Kahlan’s eyes fly open. She gasps in surprise, but doesn’t move to pull her fingers free, and Cara smiles, pleased. She takes Kahlan by the wrist, guiding her hand up to the fabric now bunched at her waist, and waits until Kahlan threads her fingers into the fabric.

“Do you understand?” she asks again, voice sharper than before.

Kahlan nods jerkily, eyes still wide.

Despite any appearances to the contrary, Cara has chosen this spot strategically. Not two steps behind Kahlan is a boulder. It doesn’t take much pressure on her part to guide Kahlan to it; its smooth top is level and waist high, situated in just the perfect position for Kahlan to lean back against it.

“Have you grown tired of talking, Mother Confessor?” Her hands are on the insides of Kahlan’s thighs, the tips of her fingers brushing the place where thigh meets hip. She doesn’t even have to push; Kahlan’s legs part without any further prompting. “Do you leave it to your body to command me?”

She rests her cheek on inside of Kahlan’s thigh, and the hand it replaces slips up further to find the small of Kahlan’s back. She digs short nails into the skin there, drinking in Kahlan’s gasp of surprise.

“Cara.” Now her name is a mixture of opposing things, commanding and pleading at once. One of Kahlan’s hands slips into her hair again, and the pressure is faint but purposeful. Cara leans into it, is pleased when she’s not allowed any measure of escape, and changes direction abruptly. Her teeth sink into the pale white of Kahlan’s thigh; the mark she leaves behind is angry and red.

Kahlan’s fingers tighten in Cara’s hair and pull hard. Her eyes narrow, her lips set in a hard, unyielding line, and she meets Cara’s challenging glare without flinching.

Cara’s smile in response is genuine.

She’s barely able to hold on to the fabric of her dress when Cara’s tongue finds her clit. She’s not entirely ready for the pressure Cara is using nor for the sharp edge of her teeth. Her back bows; her magic rises sharply within her, already pressing at her skin with a tingling that is not at all unpleasant, but it’s one more thing onto which she has to hold tight.

Cara doesn’t back off. She holds Kahlan’s gaze as her tongue works and Kahlan isn’t sure how many minutes slip past. Maybe one. Maybe one thousand.

She wants to look away, but she can’t.

“Cara,” she says more sharply than she’d intended, “if you keep going… If you don’t stop…”

Cara’s hands have slipped under her, pulling her hips up and providing Cara with more freedom.

“This will be quick,” Kahlan tries to warn. Her hips are already moving, rolling up in a steady rhythm that doesn’t match Cara’s movements at all.

She doesn’t intend for Cara to pull away from her completely.

“Well,” Cara murmurs, rising smoothly, her smirk returning at Kahlan’s look of confusion, “we can’t have that.”

Since leaving the sisterhood, Cara has become adept at doing things for her herself that she used to have done for her. It takes surprisingly little time to free the buckle of her belt and drop it to the ground before undoing the laces at the small of her back to create enough slack for Kahlan’s hand to slip inside her pants.

She brings Kahlan’s hand to her belly. The leather there is cold, nothing like the skin Kahlan knows she’ll find when her fingers slip further down. Anticipation rises inside of her; it had been a surprise, just how much she enjoyed having Cara gasp and moan at her touch. A revelation, in fact, and now she can’t look at her in the same way, can’t dredge up the same seething hatred she’d felt when Cara had first joined them. Now she tries to find Cara’s scowl from across the camp fire and sees, instead, the way Cara looks when she breaks apart under her touch.

Cara steps closer, her thighs bracketing one of Kahlan’s. She wraps her hand around Kahlan’s wrist and draws her hand down; the look on her face when Kahlan’s fingers slip between her thighs is enough to make Kahlan forget to breathe. It’s that mix of cocky and vulnerable that only she gets to see, and if Kahlan’s honest with herself, she can’t say for sure which she likes better.

“There’s no need to rush,” Cara says, voice catching as Kahlan’s fingers begin to move. “I find I’m not afforded the gift of the Mother Confessor’s time as often as I would like these days.”

Cara pauses, lips parted, as if she’s considering saying more. In the end, she just shakes her head shortly, teeth digging hard into her lower lip; Kahlan can feel herself about to ask for further explanation when Cara’s hand slips between her thighs.

She’s not sure she’s ever been told to leave things alone quite so eloquently before.

The questions sit on the tip of her tongue, unformed. It’s hard to give them substance, not when Cara’s fingers slip into her gracefully. Not when sharp teeth find the curve of her neck, exerting pressure just shy of that needed to leave behind a bruise.

Not when she catches a spark of emotion in Cara’s eyes that she can’t quite name.

Her fingers move with an urgency she wishes she could impart to Cara. “Please.” Kahlan says the word before she consciously allows herself to give voice to it. It’s needy in a way she doesn’t like, girlish and breathless.

Cara answers her with a hard kiss.

Kahlan’s fingers wind into Cara’s hair, her skirt forgotten, even as Cara’s fingers tighten on the back of her neck. There’s a desperation to the kiss she hadn’t anticipated. She can’t tell who it belongs to or why, but maybe it’s her, because Cara has slipped another finger inside her. Cara’s palm is pressed hard against her clit, and she feels her magic begin to thrum again. It’s just under her skin, gathering strength. It’s delicious, tinged dark with need, and she pulls away from Cara’s lips, gasping.

“You have to let me go. I’m going to…” She trails off, still too embarrassed to give name to what happens to her.

Cara doesn’t move. Instead, she catches Kahlan’s eyes with her own. She’s looking up through her lashes, expression serious, almost grim; Kahlan’s hand slips out of her hair and down to her shoulder, ready to push her away because her control is slipping, when Cara catches her by the wrist.

“Not yet,” she growls, and Kahlan’s eyes widen as Cara forces her hand over so that it’s wrapped around her throat. Her fingers tighten reflexively and it’s almost too much, the way Cara bares her neck so trustingly. She can’t take her eyes away from the sight of it. Her hand is pale against the gold of Cara’s skin, the grip beautiful in a way Kahlan has always forced herself not to see. Cara swallows hard, and Kahlan watches the bob of her throat, thinks about what it would be like to have Cara kneel at her feet, confessed and pliant.

The magic is strong, verging on uncontrollable; she can feel it gathering, as dense and heavy as a storm, but Cara’s hand is around the back of her neck again. They’re locked together, dancing on the edge of disaster.

She flexes her hand and wonders if Cara can feel the sting of the magic.

The pressure of it is building behind her eyes. It’ll be beyond her control soon, will have gathered a momentum that she can’t stop.

“Cara, please,” she whispers, because she can feel herself start to tighten around the other woman’s fingers. Her hips are still moving, sloppy now, and it’s beginning to feel inevitable. “I won’t be able to stop it.”

“Not yet,” Cara says again, but this time her words have lost their edge. “Just… just…” Her nails dig into Kahlan’s skin. Her face is flushed; there’s a look of determination in her eyes that breaks suddenly into wonder as her body jerks hard. “Kahlan,” she says desperately, and the sound of her name on Cara’s lips nearly shatters Kahlan’s control.

She pushes hard and Cara goes sprawling. She barely even has to touch herself before her magic escapes her, sudden and savage, and it’s climax and release melded together so closely she can’t tell them apart. It leaves her drained, panting, with blood rushing through her ears so loudly that all she can hear is the roar of it.

When she collects herself, Cara is still sprawled at her feet. She’s pulled her gloves from the forest floor and is lazily working them back into place; her gaze stops at Kahlan’s waist and refuses to go higher.

“We should head back,” she says, though she makes no move to stand. “Richard and Zedd will be waiting.”

Kahlan barely hears her. “I could have killed you,” she says, fear turning her voice hard. She pictures, again, Cara at her feel, not willing and compliant, but instead writhing in agony.

Cara shrugs her shoulders dismissively. “You showed admirable control. You should be proud.”

“Cara.” She stops herself, because the hardness is still there. She takes a deep breath, forcing gentle patience into her voice. “Why would you do that? I could have killed you.”

Cara stands slowly. She pulls her laces tight and slings her belt back around her hips. “You give yourself too much credit, Mother Confessor,” she says, voice cool, “especially if you think I’d allow you to hurt me.”

Kahlan’s hand finds Cara’s chin, forcing her head up so their eyes meet. She looks deep, using her Confessor’s power to search for the truth.

Cara looks back at her defiantly, as unreadable as always.

“Satisfied?” she asks, hand once again wrapping around Kahlan’s wrist. They’re locked that way for a moment before Kahlan pulls away. She looks away, afraid, for once, of what Cara will see in her eyes.

“You won’t be a mystery forever,” Kahlan says, and even though it’s not what she means, the words sound oddly like a threat.

Cara snorts, then smirks. She retrieves the hares from their place on the branch and motions for Kahlan to resume her place at the front of their small procession.

Kahlan spends the rest of their trip on high alert, listening for the footsteps of the woman behind her.

She hears nothing.

~ ~ ~