SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 384: The Night Before the War [IV]

They left the tower without looking back.

Their fingers remained intertwined as they moved through the narrow streets, steps naturally falling into the same rhythm. The city felt different from above. Smaller. Quieter. Almost delicate in the way its lamps spilled light onto stone and shuttered windows.

It looked ordinary.

So ordinary it felt fragile.

A few figures passed at a distance. Lycans in civilian clothes. A pair of elves speaking in low voices. A human merchant locking his stall for the night. People finishing their days in a place that would soon become a battlefield.

Aubrelle walked close to him, half a step to his side, Pipin’s quiet presence guiding her with the same certainty as always.

They stopped in front of a modest building tucked between two taller structures.

"This is it," she said softly.

Trafalgar looked up at the simple façade, then back at her.

"I didn’t know you had bought a place here."

Aubrelle turned her head toward him through Pipin’s sight, her expression briefly puzzled.

"...Bought?"

The faint pause gave him away.

He smiled.

She did not.

For a second, she seemed genuinely unsure what he meant, until something in his tone registered.

"...Oh."

Her lips curved, slow and small.

"You’re teasing me."

Before he could answer, she reached for the door and stepped inside.

Trafalgar followed her in.

The apartment was quiet and warm, lit by a single crystal lamp resting on a narrow table near the wall. Simple furniture. Clean lines. Nothing extravagant. A place meant to be lived in, not displayed.

He closed the door behind them.

The lock turned with a soft, final click.

The silence between them felt different from the one outside. It did not carry anticipation or fear. Only privacy.

Aubrelle stood a few steps ahead of him, her cane fading away as she let it go. She turned back toward him, guided by Pipin’s steady gaze.

For the first time since the war had come into view, nothing waited for them beyond the next hour.

This night belonged to them.

Aubrelle lifted her hands to the white cloth and untied it without ceremony.

The blindfold slid free.

She did not hide her eyes from him. Not the unfocused crimson, not the faint scar tracing her cheek. There was no hesitation in the gesture. Only trust.

Trafalgar felt it land in his chest more heavily than any promise.

He stepped closer.

Their kiss came slowly. Careful lips, finding rhythm the way two people did when neither wanted to be the one to rush the moment away. Aubrelle’s fingers hovered for a breath against his sleeve before finally resting there, light and unsure.

Both of them were nervous.

It showed in the way her breathing kept changing. In the way Trafalgar paused between every movement, checking her face, checking her posture, checking something he could not quite name.

"It’s okay," he whispered against her forehead. "We don’t have to hurry. We really don’t."

Aubrelle nodded almost immediately.

"I know," she murmured. "That’s... that’s good."

Pipin remained nearby, quiet and still, perched where he could see them both.

And because of that shared sight, the awareness arrived before either of them was ready for it.

Aubrelle froze for half a second. In surprise.

Through Pipin’s quiet, borrowed sight, Aubrelle became suddenly aware of how close he really was. Of the warmth of his body in front of her. Of the way his shoulders rose and fell with each slow breath.

At the same time, she became painfully conscious of herself — of her posture, of the way she was standing too near, of how exposed she felt without the cloth over her eyes.

It wasn’t desire that made her tense at first.

It was the simple, overwhelming awareness of being seen.

And of wanting exactly that.

Color rushed into her cheeks.

"...Sorry," she whispered reflexively, even though she did not know why.

Trafalgar blinked.

"For what?"

She laughed very softly, embarrassed and breathless at once, and leaned forward again before the moment could grow heavier than it needed to be.

Their foreheads touched.

Nothing about it was confident.

It was shy. Awkward. Earnest.

Aubrelle hesitated.

There was a small pause between their breaths, close enough that Trafalgar could feel the warmth of her forehead where it still hovered near his.

"...It’s my first time," she admitted quietly.

Her fingers tightened for a moment in the fabric of his shirt.

"I don’t really know if I’m doing this right."

Trafalgar’s answer came without hesitation.

"There isn’t a right way," he said softly. "Only what feels safe. For both of us."

That was enough.

He shifted just slightly closer.

Then, slowly, almost cautiously, Trafalgar began to undo the buttons of the white shirt he was wearing.

One by one.

There was no hurry in the movement.

Aubrelle followed the sound of the fabric parting through Pipin’s quiet, shared sight, and then, without being prompted, her hand lifted.

She touched his chest.

Carefully at first.

As if asking permission without words.

Her palm traced the solid line of his shoulder, then lower, feeling the firm warmth beneath the skin.

The shape of muscle.

The steady strength of his body.

"...You’re really warm," she whispered, almost to herself.

The contact made her breath falter.

Trafalgar didn’t move away.

He let her explore at her own pace.

He could feel the faint tension in her fingers as they pressed more confidently now, as she became aware of the athletic strength beneath his skin, of how real and close he suddenly was.

After a quiet moment, he spoke again.

"Aubrelle..."

She lifted her head slightly.

"Pipin," he said gently. "Maybe... you could dismiss him."

Aubrelle froze for a second.

Being without sight made everything sharper.

"I... I’m not sure," she whispered. "It feels different without him."

"I know," Trafalgar replied, just as softly.

They stayed like that for another breath.

Her hand was still resting against his bare chest.

Finally, she nodded.

"...Alright."

The mana around her stirred.

Pipin dissolved into pale motes of light, fading quietly into the air.

The room became smaller.

Not in space.

In awareness.

Aubrelle’s breathing shifted immediately.

She became acutely conscious of herself.

Of how exposed she felt now.

Of the fragile warmth low in her body, and of how vulnerable it made her feel without Pipin’s borrowed sight to place distance between sensation and emotion.

And yet...

She did not step back.

Trafalgar moved closer again, slowly, carefully, helping her with the first layers of her clothes, letting her guide his hands just as much as he guided hers.

Trafalgar’s hands stilled for a moment.

Not because he hesitated.

Because he was looking.

Aubrelle felt the pause immediately.

"...Trafalgar?" she asked softly. Her voice carried a small, uncertain smile. "Are you... okay? You stopped."

He drew a quiet breath.

"Yes," he answered.

Then, honestly,

"I was... appreciating you."

She tilted her head toward him. "...How?"

His voice lowered without meaning to.

"Your neck," he said first, quietly. "The way your hair falls over your shoulders... your collarbone... your arms... your stomach..."

His hand hovered for a second before resting lightly at her side.

"And your boobs," he added, almost shyly. "The way you’re breathing right now."

He smiled faintly. "I was looking at all of you. Every little part. I didn’t want to miss anything."

Aubrelle’s breath caught.

Color rushed into her cheeks.

"...You’re making me embarrassed," she whispered.

But she was smiling.

She leaned forward before he could say anything else and kissed him.

While he kept kissing her, Trafalgar moved his hand up to her boobs, playing with them slowly, making Aubrelle feel good.

"T-Trafalgar..."

Aubrelle sounded surprised, but a soft moan escaped her lips as the sensation made her shiver.

She wanted to explore him too.

Her hand slid down, slipping inside his trousers, until she found his dick.

She could feel how warm it was.

And how hard it already was.

Aubrelle tried to pull down Trafalgar’s trousers by herself, but he stopped her gently.

"Wait... let me help you."

He removed them for her.

Now Aubrelle could touch him properly.

"...Does it feel good?" she asked quietly.

Trafalgar’s breathing had turned heavy.

A low sound escaped him before he could stop it.

"Yes," he answered honestly.

It was Aubrelle’s first time doing something like this, and she knew she was clumsy.

But Trafalgar did not mind.

This time, he took the initiative.

"Just let yourself go, Aubrelle."

Without Pipin’s sight, Aubrelle could not see anything anymore.

But she could feel everything.

Trafalgar gently guided her down onto the bed.

Her body tensed for a second.

Then relaxed.

She felt his lips first.

A soft kiss.

Then another.

Lower.

Until he reached her boobs, kissing them slowly and making her breath tremble. Trafalgar briefly brought his fingers to his lips, wetting them, and then gently touched her clit, moving carefully, slowly, while continuing to kiss her boobs.

Aubrelle gasped loudly.

"Haah... uugh... aaah... Tra-Trafalgar... p-please..."

She asked him to stop.

But her voice was broken by moans, and Trafalgar could clearly tell she was feeling good.

"Just enjoy it, Aubrelle," he whispered.

"But... I want to make you feel good too," she answered weakly.

"...The way you are doing to me."

Trafalgar smiled softly.

"Then... I have an idea."

He lay down on the bed, and Aubrelle moved above him, their bodies repositioning naturally, close and trembling with shared breath.