A soft, pleased sound escaped her, small and real. It did something to him—more than any shout, more than any oath. He felt it and met it, adjusting to her as the sea adjusts to a new shape of moon.

When her mouth drifted from his, it did not go far. The line of his jaw, the angle of his cheek, the tender place near his ear—she mapped them with quiet patience, as if aligning constellations. He tasted the pale sweetness of her breath, caught the faint wild note beneath her clean scent, something like rain just about to happen.

He did not speak it. He let it be shown in the way he drew her closer and in the way he softened, entirely, within her arms. Her lips returned to his, steadier now; they learned each other's cadence the way two dancers do when the music is new but the steps feel known.

The palace around them responded. Or perhaps it only felt that way because he was aware of her. Light faded from the upper terraces; the breeze gentled; the long white curtains quieted like sails in a sheltered cove. Moon-glow seemed less cold and more like silk.

When at last she stepped back, it was only half a step, a small space meant for breath and choice. Her hand slid down the line of his chest, caught lightly in the fabric there, and then released.

"May I?" she asked.

"Always."

"Careful," she teased, a glimmer back in her eyes. "I might hold you to that."

"I'm hoping you will."

Diana's smile deepened at the edges, and she began to undo him—not abruptly, not with haste, but with the same deliberateness she had given her first kiss. She watched his face as she worked, more attentive to expression than to buttons or fold. The small sounds of fabric—whisper, sigh, hush—felt like a ceremony laid in soft paper. When she lifted the half-opened shirt from his shoulders and let it fall, her fingers skimmed his skin only in passing, barely there, reverent as a vow whispered in a temple.

"You carry stories," she said. "Not all of them kind."

"They made me," he answered.

"They did not define you." It was not a correction; it was a blessing she offered as fact. Her palms steadied at his shoulders, feeling the shape of his steadiness in return. "Stand as you are, Xavier. I see you."

He reached for her then—not to claim, not to undo, but to return the same gentle attention. The white river of her hair was cool silk under his touch. He brushed a strand behind her ear and found the curve of her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"You are not distant to me," he said. "Not here. Not now, I can come here whenever I want."

"Good." she smiled.

He kissed her once more, tender and grounded, and this time when she leaned into him, she brought the quiet gravity of the moon with her, as if she had chosen to shift the tides a little for both their sakes. Slowly, as the kiss ebbed, a pale shimmer lifted in the air behind her. The light gathered itself from every corner of the room, soft as breath on glass, and settled into shape.

A bed unfolded out of glow.

It did not appear with spectacle, nor bloom from the floor; it arrived as if it had always been waiting to be remembered: frame sketched in pearly luminance, sheets like woven light, pillows that held a dusk-colored sheen within. The glow from it did not pierce or glare; it suffused, a gentleness that made shadows thin and kindness bright.

Xavier let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"You can make something like that give such wonderful feelings," he said, wonder threading the words.

"That is the point," Diana replied softly. "Not every miracle must dazzle." She looked to the bed, then to him, the question in her eyes open and patient. "I thought… perhaps this would be kinder. The body remembers the spaces it enters. I wanted this one to remember grace which is me getting you. The fact that Lily allows me have you is a blessing I'll never forget."

He took the sight in. The bed illuminated her—her white hair kissed by luminous edges, her pale skin warmed by the hush of silver, the quiet strength of her posture now softened with something plainly human. She had never looked more like herself.

"It's perfect," he said, and meant the bed, and the room, and this moment where choice met gentleness. "If you wish, we can… we can rest there. Together."

Her exhale was almost a sigh of relief. "I do wish."

They crossed the space between them and the bed as if stepping from one tide pool to another, careful not to disturb the delicate lives below the surface. The sheets accepted their weight like twilight accepts stars—gathering them without claim, brightening them without glare. He felt the soothing hum underneath, a warmth that wasn't heat but a slow radiance, easing the ache of old edges he hadn't realized he still carried.

Diana sat facing him on the edge first, knees nearly touching his. She took his hands in hers—their fingers interlaced, mortal and divine burning down to something simple and mutual.

"I wanted to see you clearly," she said. "To know that what I choose is not a dream of worship, but a person."

"I am very stubbornly real," he answered, smiling.

"Yes," she breathed. "That is why."

She drew him into another kiss, and this one was quieter than any before, more certain, more like a homecoming than a discovery. He answered with something that sat between reverence and gratitude, and the room seemed to grow still enough that he could feel the slow metronome of their joined breaths.

"Xavier," she murmured, and he hummed in response, letting his forehead rest against hers. "If at any moment the night is too bright, or the bed too strange, tell me."

"I will," he said. "And you?"

"I will tell you, too." The faintest laugh curved her lips. "For once, I will not guard everything."

He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me for being what I am learning to be," she whispered. "Just… be with me while I learn."

"Gladly."

They moved with care, not with shyness. The pace had its own gravity—unhurried, attentive to small sounds and smaller shifts. He let his hands trace the safe maps of her: the slope of a shoulder, the fine line at her collar where light pooled, the smooth and strong length of her arms that had guided waves and steadied nights. She undid the rest of his clothing as one might undo a silk ribbon—no rush, no fumbling, only a deliberate patience that made even the smallest inch of bared skin feel like shared language.

"Tell me if you wish me to stop," he said, always that, always making a place for her voice.

"I will," she promised, and meant it, and he smiled at the certainty in his tone.

In turn, he helped with what she wished to unfasten of her own, never assuming a clasp or a knot without seeing the consent in her eyes first. Each time she nodded, it felt like a star given, not a star taken. When a fold loosened and softened at her shoulder, light touched her there in quiet adoration, as if the moon itself had been waiting centuries to kiss that exact place. Her heart tensed with every passing moment.

He pressed his lips on her back where the light rested, lingering, and felt her soften around a breath that trembled a little at the edges and then leveled into calm. Through his class, he knew she loved it slow

"Your patience," she said, "the attention, you don't know how much I love this."

"I want to remember this as clearly as you do," he said.

She took his face in both hands and, for a heartbeat, simply looked. No divinity, no title, nothing but a woman looking at a man as if she were reading a page she had kept bookmarked for ages and finally, finally had time to read. "Then remember this," she said, the words barely more than breath.

"I am Diana, and I am the moon, and I am also just a woman who is choosing you. I love you Xavier"

[Diana's affection have risen to 90%]

"I will," he said. "I do."

When they lay back at last, the bed's glow arced around them like a soft shell, a hush that held the space in kindness. The soothing warmth beneath the sheets eased muscle and thought alike; tension unwound with the slow grace of tides going slack at the end of a long night. The palace, the gardens, the whole endless reach of sky felt very far away and very near at once.

They did not rush what followed. They let kisses say more than mouths could in words.

Then she was laid bare in front of him... A goddess in all her glory ready to be conquered completely.

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