Sky hands me a cup of instant soup and settles beside me on the sofa, his own cup in hand.

The fancy meal he'd prepared has been cleared away—what will keep until tomorrow stored in the fridge, and what won't (the fish) sacrificed to the tribe of feral cats that live in the abandoned lot across the street.

In its place, Sky brewed us a pair of cup noodles, retrieved from a stash he keeps in his van.

Lifting the paper lid, I peer at the nest of starchy noodles floating in a brown broth of sodium and preservatives, and raise a brow at Sky.

"From gourmand to 'starving student?'" I ask teasingly. "I thought that progression was supposed to go the other way."

Sky lifts a shoulder and takes a sip from his cup, holding his chopsticks to the side. "This is comfort food. It's not meant to be healthy."

"This is comfort food to you?" I ask, frowning as I study the label. It's all in Japanese, though, so I don't glean much from my attempt at reading it.

"Yes. Probably the salt. Does it surprise you?"

I shrug. "I thought comfort food was supposed to be stuff you ate as a child."

He grins. "Did you imagine I go to the pet store and buy myself a six pack of live goldfish when I'm feeling down?"

I look up sharply. He laughs and grins. Humor makes his eyes sparkle like starlight on waves, and I find it hard to look away, but his amusement quickly fades.

"In all honesty, Thassian cuisine does not lend itself to comfort in the same way that land-fare does," he says. "A salty broth was among the first hot foods I learned to enjoy. Nothing comes close to a traditional, homemade miso, of course, but these instant things do in a pinch."

He snags some noodles with his chopsticks and slurps them down.

Settling back against the sofa cushions, I raise the cup to my lips and take a sip of broth. Surprisingly, it's quite good. It has a rich umami flavor, a hint of kombu, and (of course) a hearty dash of salt.

"So, you'd never eaten anything warm before you came to land?" I ask.

He makes a face. "Well, fresh seal's blood is considered a delicacy, but..." He shudders and changes the subject. "What about you? What is your go-to feel-good meal?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I grew up with two parents who loved to cook, so there was always a wide variety. Then, once I found myself in a domestic role, I was more concerned with what the kids and..." I stop and clear my throat as unbidden and unpleasant memories flood my mind. "With what the kids liked to eat," I finish.

Sky frowns and sets his soup cup aside. "You can tell me anything, Martin," he says, leaning towards me. "I won't think less of you, and I doubt it's possible for me to think less of your former mate than I already do."

I stir my noodles and nod, gathering my thoughts.

"Food was a trigger," I say at last. "A meal that didn't meet her standards... Especially if there were guests..."

I sigh, remembering the last time I'd cooked at our old house. The fact my own brother didn't eat meat had slipped my mind, and Elena had been furious. That night, after everyone left, and the kids were in bed, and there was nothing left between us to shield me...

"I was always proud to be a fast healer," I say, tearing my mind from the memory. "Like Freya and Dane. Cuts, burns, bruises—even broken bones; a day later there'd be no trace. Who'd have thought that would have a downside?"

A bitter laugh bubbles to my lips and I bite them to contain it, risking a glance at Sky.

His green eyes flash silver, like lightning at sea, but when he speaks his tone is gentle.

"You were with her for ten years. That's a long time."

I look away. "I know. And I know it makes no sense. I could have taken the kids at any time, walked a half mile to my parents' house, and told them everything. But I didn't. I was ashamed, and frightened. And it's not as if she was cruel and vicious 24/7. Sometimes weeks, or even months would go by, and things would seem to be getting better. They weren't getting better, of course, but eventually I got good enough at gas-lighting myself, Elena didn't have to anymore."

Sky is quiet, and when I finally look up, I find him watching me with a thoughtful, veiled expression.

Self-consciously, I refocus on my noodles. "Anyway. You see how you got the better end of this deal. My heart chose a prince; yours chose a coward."

"You know that isn't true," he says sharply.

I flinch. "I'm not asking you to pity me."

"I know. And I don't."

I look up, surprised, but the expression Sky wears is soft and kind.

"I don't pity you; I respect you, Martin. And I'd very much like to take you up to bed right now and show you just how much I want to make you mine. But I won't."

"You won't?" I hear the disappointment and insecurity in my voice and wince. So much for not being pathetic.

"No." Sky shakes his head, but smiles. "However, if by any chance you'd like to show me anything similar, I'm... more than 'up' for it, if you catch my drift." He winks.

I stare at him as his words slowly percolate through my brain.

"You mean...?"

He smiles. "If I've learned anything in the last few hours, it is that we must be equals, you and I. The pendant split between us is two equal halves of one whole; equal power, shared equally. Yes, I want to make you mine; I want to make you moan and whimper, and shiver and beg as I ravish you. And I want you to make me yours as well. But more than that... I want you to tell me what you want, Martin, and I want to give it to you."

I stare at him, letting his meaning sink in.

"I want you to know you're in control," he says. "That we share control, equally. To say 'yes,' and 'no,' to give and receive, to offer and to take. Tonight... I want you to take whatever you want from me. I'll leave you in peace, hold you as you sleep, make love to you, or let you fuck me into jelly, as you wish."

"Oh." I swallow and examine my soup, but it's difficult to see the noodles past the images projected in my mind. "That's... Um..."

I clear my throat and let my thoughts settle. I know what he's doing, and why. He's handing me the reins, or the keys, or whatever metaphor works, and he's doing it for two reasons: first, he knows what Elena did to me, and second, he's aware I know what he could do to me with his Voice, if he chose.

He could make me do anything. At the moment, however, I'm convinced all he wants is for me to trust him.

And I do.

"Alright," I say, and take another sip of broth, finding the soup has cooled to the perfect temperature and that — despite everything — my appetite stirs at the simple, comforting flavors that wash across my tongue. "But let's finish our dinner first, shall we?"

The slow grin that spreads across Sky's face as he slurps his noodles holds a sinful promise and sends a shiver down my spine.

"As you wish," he says, quite softly, as the fans of his lashes veil his eyes.

*** *** ***

A/N: An AI image for Sky. Maybe a little younger than I imagine him; maybe this was from his earlier days, fresh from the sea

And a possible image for Martin, though he looks a bit too 'magical' and not Wolfy enough, but who knows. Could be some AI foreshadowing here😆: