Happy 2023! It's good to see me, isn't it?

I know it's been a hot minute (five years) since I last posted a Wicked phic. I honestly wasn't even expecting to write this, but here we are.

Fair warning: It's been five years since I've written for Wicked. But I saw the show again over the weekend and I'll leave it at this: Mary Kate Morrisy and Jordan Litz are a Fiyeraba shipper's DREAM. And if anyone has a boot, you'd be my hero.

In any event, thanks for reading!

And yes, it's another ALAYM fic. Sue me.

How had it come to this?

She couldn't have fathomed it. To have gone this far, to hear his labored breaths beside her, his large hand firmly grasping her as they ran for their lives. It was a scenario beyond her wildest dreams.

Now he's just there, kneeling in front of her on the forest floor with the dopiest grin on his annoyingly handsome face and staring at her with such utter happiness, she doesn't know what to do. His gaze is soft, eyes roving over her face as if he's drinking in each and every one of her features and committing them to memory. Her throat is suddenly thick and she quickly looks down, breaking the connection with a quiet "ahem" and hoping to break whatever spell he seems to have suddenly fallen under.

But there is no spell. Not from her anyway and even though she knows as much, part of her wishes there were. Because then that would explain why he's looking at her the way he is, why he even came away with her in the first place. She can already hear the whispers from the Emerald CIty, miles away by now, accusing her of the very thing.

"She kidnapped the Prince?! How tragic!"

"Not kidnapped, but magicked away by a love spell."

"Poor Lady Glinda - losing her fiance so soon after the engagement"

Horrible words, but really, those are far from the worst rumors she'd had to face over the years. But if they were true and she had cast a spell, that would make what comes next easy.

Because he has to go back. A life on the run is not for a spoiled rich boy. His head is muddled by the sudden engagement- really, that had Glinda written all over it. He's bored with palace life, enviably predictable and mundane. When he saw her in the throne room, surely he saw an opportunity. One last chance to sow whatever wild oats he craved by being tied down in matrimony. One last hope to rebel against what was expected of him.

Because there is no future for him here. With her. For them. If he thinks for a moment that there is, he is even more brainless now than he had been at Shiz.

Steeling her nerve, she raises her eyes back to him, resolved to tell him so. Except now, he's not looking at her. In her musings, she failed to notice that he had taken her hand again, turning it over in and admiring the callused scars on her fingers, a testament to her work over the five years. He cradles it in his own, raising it to press a kiss to her palm, letting his breath puff over her skin. Heat courses through her at the simple contact, the touch of his lips altogether too close to bringing dreams to reality, and she is helpless to simply watch as he finally looks up at her with that same damn dopy smile as he guides her hand up until she is cupping his face, clasping her fingers there.

His skin is soft under her touch and she leans imperceptibly closer, torn between what must be done and what she so desperately wants to happen. Her eyes fall closed as her fingertips memorize the texture of his skin and open a moment later on a breathy sigh. "Fiyero…"

He swallows hard and moves closer, hands moving from hers to rest on her waist, then moving up and down her ribcage in an attempt to sate his apparent need to touch her. She doesn't stop him. He understands; the battle that rages in her. Understands the twisted swirling of longing, guilt, joy, lust and dare she think it…love?...that are fighting for dominance at this very moment. He understands because he feels all of them too. As hard as she's trying to convince herself otherwise, she loves him. She has for a long time, even longer than she's willing to admit to herself and for one, selfish moment, she imagines he loves her too.

Imagines those large hands, protective and strong, moving over her body in different ways. Ways that have filled her undisclosed dreams for nearly half a decade. His lips not on her palm, but on her own, hard and demanding, and then on other, more intimate places, bringing her the sinful pleasures she's only read of in dime novels and overheard discussed in whispers around tavern tables.

What would it be like to feel those things? To feel those things with him?

"Elphaba.." Her attention snaps back as Fiyero speaks for the first time, gaze dropping to where he holds her and back up to hers again, searching for the right words, if there are any. She gazes back, watching and waiting to see what will come next. To see whether or not reason will arrive and he'll leave her cold and alone. He tries again, "Elphaba, I-" and fails, but not before hooking an arm fully around her waist and hauling her closer on what can only be described as a growl. It's so unlike him, so out of character for the charming boy with the annoyingly pretty face she had known, and yet it sends chills up her spine.

That annoyingly pretty face is now buried in her neck, breath hot on her skin as he clutches her closer, his mouth alternating pressing itself to her skin over and over again and whispering things against the shell of her ear, things that she's sure she is imagining. "I'm sorry. I've waited so long to hold you, to touch you. You have no idea how long I've wanted this, searched for you, dreamed of you, wanted you…"

Her breaths are shallow and quick, even as she holds him tighter, shamelessly allowing herself to enjoy his careless words and the caress of his lips, teeth and tongue on the column of her throat. His confessions keep coming, kissed into her skin like a whisper. "It's always been you, Elphaba. Even if I was too much of a coward at Shiz. It's always been you."

She knows she should stop him. He's speaking madness, drunk off an adrenaline high and about to spiral straight into the ground. Soon enough, it will all wear off and they'll be back to awkwardly circling each other to see who can get away first. But if this fever dream is all she will ever have of him, she will accept it with no questions asked. Because the way he's holding her close, the sensation of that infamous mouth on her neck..it's more than she could have ever hoped for, more than she ever deserved.

He pulls back then, an apology in his eyes and she fears the moment has passed. The brief, potent taste of elation and passion and Fiyero, and though she will forever be grateful, she hates the fact that it has already ended

He notices immediately, the sorrow in her eyes she can't hide and his hands are immediately on her face. "Elphaba…what is it?" When she doesn't answer right away, his face falls and he immediately lets her go, putting space between them. "It's too much. I'm so sorry.."

"Don't you understand?" she hisses, feeling the first simmerings of annoyance and clutching on because she needs to feel something, anything familiar. "Do you not see what a mess you've created by being here? By coming with me?" Hurt flashes in his eyes, but she presses on. "You're as good as a fugitive, throwing all of that away for nothing!"

"It wasn't nothing," he returns. "It was for you. All of this is for you, for us."

"There is no 'us', Fiyero,don't you see? It will never work."

"I knew the risks. I couldn't pretend anymore."

She scoffs. "You're engaged, Fiyero. I don't know what illusions you think you're having, but they end now."

He crept closer. "The only 'illusion' was that sham of an engagement, which I never asked for or agreed to, by the way. What will it take to make you believe me? That I want to be here with you?"

He's glaring at her now and she returns it with equal ferocity. What does he want from her? Surely he can't think they can just fly off into the night on her broom and that be that. He doesn't love her. He can't. Both of them would be fools to believe that is possible and she tells him as much, unable to help herself, to believe that is why he's here, because that would be stupid and ludicrous and …

And the next thing she is aware of, she in his arms, flush against his chest and his mouth is on hers, just as she's dreamed of so many times before. One hand is clamped on her waist, the other threaded through her hair, anchored to her scalp as he presses his lips to hers again and again, each pass and sweep mingled with her quiet gasps of surprise.

It's on one such gasp that he takes the opportunity and deepens the kiss, both hands moving to cradle her throat as he drinks deeply of her. It's the kind of kiss she's read about countless times, but never thought she'd experience for herself. In the back of her mind, she acknowledges, albeit begrudgingly, that all of the rumors about this man were true and now that she's on the receiving end of his attentions, she finds herself a bit giddy that they are.

She feels his tongue sweep across her teeth, seeking to be deeper still and she lets him, taking the opportunity to wind her arms around him, her long fingers finding purchase in his hair. He groans at her touch and presses even closer, if such a thing is possible, driving her to test a shy response to his attentions. He tastes like cognac and sunshine and it's a combination that is so uniquely Fiyero that she can't help the giddy smile that forms against his mouth.

She feels his lips curve into a smile of his own in response before she kisses it away, eager for another caress against her mouth. He pulls away before it can happen, breaths ragged from their passionate embrace and she immediately feels disappointment set in. Still, she can't hide the glowing eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips from the man before her, so when he asks again, in an infuriatingly smug tone, "Do you believe me now?", she pulls him back to her for another deep kiss, which he is all too happy to oblige.

"Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight," she murmurs into his shoulder. "Because I don't know if I'll ever truly believe it,"

"I'm here," he responds, doing just as she asks. "Whatever you need, Elphaba, I'm here."

She pulls away then, searching his face as if to gauge his sincerity. He gazes back at her, face open and she hesitates, only a moment, before coming close and whispering something in his ear, face immediately flaming as she sits back down. His eyes widen and fly to her face, no doubt questioning how she can shift from hot to cold and back again with such velocity. But he knows her, as much as she hates to admit it, and she knows that he knows she wouldn't ask if she didn't mean it, but having been raised in such propriety and because she knows he would never want her to resent him, he asks, voice strangely thin.

"We don't have to…Elphaba…are you sure?"

The pure want is evident in his voice and that alone sends a thrill of desire down her spine, but he holds himself in check, will continue to do so until she says so. Little does he know, or perhaps he knows very well, how long she has wanted him, wanted his hands on her body, wanted him to fulfill her darkest fantasies she never dared to speak aloud.

She finds she has no voice now, but a single nod is all it takes for the last thread of his control to snap. She sees it, the moment it gives way. She sees it in the darkening of his eyes, from bright blue to midnight, in the flex of his fingers moments before he reaches for her, and in the bob of his throat, tongue darting out to wet his lips before they're on hers again, hard, deep, and demanding.

Only once does she feel him hesitate, only for the barest of moments, and she pulls back, meets his eyes, finds her voice and tells him in no uncertain terms that "Yes, I'm sure, I've dreamed of this, of you, more than you would ever know. This moment might be all we ever have, you and I. So don't hold back, Fiyero, because I need to feel. Love me hard and love me now. Please". He stares back, pupils blown, before coming at her again, seizing her round the waist and rolling them until she lies beneath him, tilting her chin up to receive his kisses

He doesn't hold back and she is happy for it. In another time, another palace, he may have been gentle, may have loved her like a heroine in those books, but their reality is one of borrowed time and every moment counts for a hundred, a thousand others.

Her hands are on his face, thumbing his cheeks and his own arms support his weight above her, dipping down to kiss her over and over, getting her comfortable with this proximity, the intimacy of being so close and so physical being new and overwhelming, despite how much she wants him.

Eventually, he lowers himself to one arm, using the other to skim down her side, causing her to groan and shudder beneath him. She breaks away, staring up at him, to which he grants her a lopsided smile as he takes her hand and guides it to the buttons of his shirtsleeves. A quick intake of breath is the only indication of nerves, but she takes the hint, bringing her other hand up to assist as she releases one button after the other, baring his skin to her hungry gaze.

He watches her with a hooded gaze, one hand resting on her thigh, as she brings both her hands to his back to his face, pulling him down for another kiss. Her right hand strokes over his jaw and down his throat before venturing further south,tracing the down his chest and abdomen, feeling the taunt muscle bunch and release beneath her fingertips that the freed buttons have revealed. She swears his breaths grow shorter the farther south she goes, tightening his grip on her leg and she stops just above the waistband of his trousers, but does not brave to go further.

He swallows hard above her and mutters, "It's alright," with a terse nod. Still she hesitates, so he kisses her again, fingers bunching the black fabric of her gown and asks against her lips "May I?"

Her desire outweighs fear and permission is granted with a muffled "touch me…" accented by a kiss and a tug of his shirt, held in place by the suspenders he still wears. He chuckles, unable to help himself, as his hands begin to wander, smoothing over her shoulder, down her arm before joining the other as he begins to ruck the dress up her legs until it's settled around her hips. Dipping his head, he presses a chaste kiss to her lips before venturing to her throat again, repeating his earlier ministrations, but this time adding teeth and tongue as his hand finds her breasts, still covered in midnight black.

She curses the dress in that moment, longing to feel his fingers on her flesh without barriers, but she knows there is no time for that. Not now and she can only pray to whatever deity might be listening that she'll have that chance. For now, she kicks at his knees, causing him to grunt in surprise, but lets her pull him down, takes the hint and settles his full weight between her thighs and she releases a satisfied sigh and winds her arms around his back to pull him closer.

She feels him against her then, for the first time realizing exactly what she's doing to him and she can't help the flush that spreads over her cheeks. Fiyero notices because of course he does and runs a finger along her jawline. "Do you trust me?"

She expels a long breath and nods and then he is guiding her hand to him, showing her how to touch and tease. She is blushing furiously now, but lets Fiyero guide her hand, mimics his movements and watches in wonder when his eyes fall closed and her name is a strangled moan in the night. The feeling is heady and powerful and she pushes his hand away, emboldened by his reactions. He only allows her a few strokes before he stills her hand, rolling away.

She watches, confused, as he moves down her body, his hand dipping between her legs and suddenly she feels him there, fingering pushing aside her undergarments to find her beneath. She can only lie back as the first rush of pleasure overtakes her as he works her body with his hands and when he sets his mouth to her, her soft cries only seem to drive him on, motivating to see how high he can take them with those talents alone.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls, snapping both of them out of the lustful haze that has descended. Elphaba's eyes snap open, immediately meeting his and Fiyero see the silent plea there. Raising himself above her,she is suddenly aware of the clink of his belt buckle giving way and she suddenly tenses in his arms. His pupils dilate before her eyes, heating blood into fire as he buries his face in the crook of her neck and, with a few shifts of fabric and fingers, and whispered words of reassurance in her ear, takes what his body demands. Her eyes fall closed at the feel of him, new, but welcome, her nails biting into his shoulders as he fills her completely. Both are completely still for a moment- just a moment of blissful harmony- and then she shifts ever-so-slightly and the angle drives him forward and her back, his arms drawing and lifting to press her closer.

Now beneath him, Elphaba strives to deepen their connection, cursing their semi-clothed state and wishing for the slide-and-drag that comes with bare flesh-on- flesh. Still, she sighs as Fiyero bends down and captures her lips in a fevered kiss, grasping her hips in a fruitless attempt to direct the rhythm of their loving.

His first thrust leaves her breathless, but she holds on tight, arching up to meet his movement, striving to bring him a fraction of the pleasure that courses through her body. On the second, she cried out beneath him and his gaze immediately whips up to her face, concerned etched all over his handsome face. She reaches for his hand, reassuring him she's fine and on the third, she gives in and moans his name as she has a thousand times in her dreams.

"Fiyero…" she gasps as he thrusts into her again, hiking her legs up and around his hips as he groans her name into her mouth and his hands find her breasts again, massaging them through the fabric. "Don't stop," she breathes, drunk on the moment and on him. "Sweet Oz, don't ever stop…"

This liaison is hasty and inelegant, but neither is it any less satisfying for either of them. They ride out the waves they created together before finally falling into breathless release. When the final tremors ebb away, Elphaba practically melts under him, seeking the reassuring touch of his hand as he lies half-atop her, his own breaths staggering and shaky.

He is the only one who will ever see her like this, the greatest sorceress in Oz undone by the Captain of the Guard. He is the only one she will ever allow to be this close and he pulls her closer still, covered in sweat but pressing a kiss to her temple and murmuring how much he loves her, how he has waited for them to….well, do what they had just done, she can't find it in herself to argue with him.

Not now. Not while she's lying sated and satisfied in his arms.

They will have to flee soon, both of them. That is abundantly clear.

But right here, just for this moment, she is his and he is hers.

And right now, that's enough.