Written for RivaMika Week, Day 4 on Tumblr

Prompt: Tired - in need of sleep or rest; weary

Writer's note: I thought I would only do one fic at most, but I'm too inspired by all the great stuff coming out of RivaMika Week… trying out a different style compared to my first story, enjoy!

She never wanted anything except to feel that she was needed, instead of alone.

He never wanted anything except to feel that he was truly alive, instead of just surviving.

In the dead of the night, two soldiers of sorrow cry out for a reprieve.

She caresses the sinuous lines of his body, feeling his strength pulse beneath her fingers, and forgets that life is as fragile as a knife plunged into the depths of a heart.

He tangles his fingers in her silky hair, breathing deeply of her clean scent, and forgets the smell of blood permanently soaked into his clothes, his body, his soul.

She pretends that her bones are not dry with desperation, as the one thing she still holds dear threatens to slip out of her hands again and again. He pretends he is not crushed by the weight of countless lives broken before his eyes, their whispers of dreams and regret binding his hands to his swords as they flash like lightning through the skies.

He does not push her away. She does not crumble in his arms.

As he plants rough kisses down her face, her neck, her breasts, she feels wanted. At least for a while.

As she comes to life beneath his lips, he feels in control. He knows exactly what to do and what the outcome will be.

In the dark, they cling to one another, for they have nothing else to hold on to.

They do not speak. There is nothing to say.

Because in this cruel world, there is little comfort for the weary.