Passionate displays have led eventually to wending footsteps one way or another back to Davy's; or rather, back to the flat above Davy's, with Fiona clinging to you and murmuring soft incoherent things against your arm and shoulder. And that has led to more, and finally, to the bed, which does not go unmarked by the expression of more passion...
     She's sighed and moaned and probably screamed herself raw by now, hands clutching at you in all your glory, lips skimming over skin when allowed, teeth nipping, thighs splayed to take your weight, begging you for more, to stop, to start, everything and anything, just please, Rhodri, please, oh, please, until finally she's able to lie where she's been laid (and how), half-curling with you in your warm bed.
     Pink-tipped breasts rise and fall, one hand lifted to trace along your chest lazily, watching the hounds and seeing what they do. Do they come to sniff at her fingers now, as if aware of her? Fiona's eyes are barely open, lips swollen with kisses and biting and entirely too much sex, and she lets her hand fall against your ribcage loosely. "Mmm..."
     Just that one sound, at least for now, soft moan of expired passion. It's left to speak for itself, to see what masculine Echo might respond.

     The masculine echo is one of half-moaned laughter, a chuckle that clings to his throat and reverberates in the chest your hand moves over. The hounds gather to your finger, following and bounding over the new trail you create, and magic moves beneath his skin and makes your future husband sigh.
     And he opens his eyes. For a moment he stares wherever his eyes first land, and then he tilts his head and turns so that he may look at you. "You make new forests," he murmurs in thick Welsh, northern Welsh, swift running Gwynedd water. "...new hunts," his mouth pulls in a lazy, pleasured smile. "A new chase...soon I will call you wife, but I will always chase you..."
     He bends, shifting so that his mouth might find yours again but this time gently. "And catch you," he warns with a grin. The hounds at his chest are not the only ones to move. Rhodri closes his eyes as the others shift, he expels a throaty sigh. Yes... those move, too.
     "My Queen," he mutters, mouth finding your shoulder, and here and there... other parts of you. He can taste apples and honey on your skin.

     "Right now I think we made a new river," Fiona murmurs with her own lazy beguilement. "It's known as the wet spot, and I'm not sleeping in it even if I have to sleep on top of you. Rhodri..." She sighs it, the end of your name, not punctuating it with her usual 'ap arse' or other affectionately scornful insults.
     You kiss her, and her mouth is soft against yours, pliant and quiet. Eyelashes flicker down; keeping eyes open seems far too much like work right now. "I don't mind being caught... sometimes..." And when she does mind, that will be interesting in its own way. Her eyes reopen, hooded, to watch the hounds roll and run. "Did I surprise you, at least? I wanted to do it in a way you wouldn't immediately expect."
     She has had that need, to surprise, to please, to fight in the little ways as well as the large - expectation is her enemy, isn't it? Your mouth moves over her and she moans, skin already sensitive. "One-track mind," Fiona accuses quietly, head falling against her arm. "We have work to do, you know."

     "I make a serviceable bed," he notes. "And... yes... you surprised me. It is not easy to do. It was..." he grins, "... very nicely done. As was I." Rhodri chuckles. He rests against this pillows, his hand patting as if to say: no more tonight, don't worry. After a moment, he spreads out, a hand offered to guide you to your new bed -- his tattooed body... far more pliant now than it was before...
     "Oes... we do. Where do we begin? With your parents or with mine?" Yes, he knows Davydd must be told. As well, he needs to meet his future in-laws. "I think we should tell him together," he finishes in a hush. "I owe him that..."
     And perhaps it is not a thing you should face alone, the ire of a Welsh king...
     "What do you think?" he wonders, finger tapping your head. Anyone home in there?

     Slowly she rises, wincing a little as her body reminds her exactly of what she's been doing with it - and with you. She drags herself over and onto you, flopping to a collapse and lying there with her eyes closed, silver hair beginning already to retake its former length. "You're nice and warm," Fiona mumbles, one hand slipping off your side to prop on blankets.
     "I don't know. I have to consider his feelings in this." Davydd is the trickier one of the two pieces of news to be broken. "I think if we tell him together, he is going to feel confronted... betrayed. He might be angry with me, but if it is just me, I might be able to point out what he's not losing." Fiona stays where she is, her cheek against your chest, lulled, perhaps, by the heartbeat.
     "My parents - it'll be a nightmare, you realize, but I don't have to be nearly as careful of anyone's feelings. So Davydd's definitely going to be the harder one to tell, because I've got to tell him in a way where he's not going to feel - isolated, shut out..." Fiona frowns a little bit, lifting her head and rubbing at one eye with her palm, yawning for a moment. "Tell me what you think."

     There's a half-frown. He knows you're right on that score. His arms surround you and he sighs. "Hard to say what he'll do. It's going to be determined by how you broach it. He did tell you to live your life, to marry," he murmurs. "I would expect he'd be shocked by the timing of it. And you're warm, too," he chuckles. "And very soft, better than a blanket..."
     Rhodri closes his eyes. "He must be given the due of a king. If he is respected, it will be easier for him to digest, I think. He might ask for concessions. That is what concerns me. In a hundred years, what will he want? If he wants me to surrender you, he's in for a bit of a shocker." Fingers tickle against your ribs, skim the sides of your breasts then return to your back where they massage lightly. He sighs. "I don't know, Fiona. I'm not sure how best to strike up that conversation. I love you, but I'm marrying your son. It's a hard message to deliver..."
     "I'm not worried about your parents. They'll meet the Earl of Snowdon, a Gwynedd in a long line of Gwynedds. It might be full of uncomfortable silences and perhaps even bewildering conversations, but we will soothe that by sneaking into one another's rooms and sinning in the dark." Rhodri grins, "...Be sure to leave your window open..."

     "I don't want to leave it too long, and I don't like the idea of lying to him more than I've got to. But ... the only thing that I can do is talk to him, and hope for the best. As for shocked by the timing of it, I'm a little shocked by the timing of it." Fiona grins a little, grimaces a little as well. "I didn't expect to say yes this soon, originally."
     She didn't expect things to fall into place as smoothly as they did...
     Thighs splay slightly, making lying atop you the easier. Breasts present an obstacle of sorts, she can't lie flush on top of you; but it's never stopped her before, has it? She rests her cheek against your warmth. "Except unlike a blanket, my arse will get cold. Well, I don't know what he'll want, Rhodri. But if he wants concessions, those are concessions he'll want of you rather than just of me, and those he will need to take up with you. I will make it as plain as I can to him that I am not encouraging of that. I'm greedy," she makes the admission plainly, voice softening. "I want you both..."
     To the matter of her parents there is the slightest of eyerolls. She can't really be bothered to make an open effort at it. "Mother will try to bite your head off, I'm sure, and daddy will want to talk to you alone without me at some point. As for leaving a window open, do you really need me to? I thought you were a better thief than that..."

     "Birds can't pick locks. Well, not without making a lot of racket, which negates the whole point. Hang on..." You are moved about as his feet move the blankets back toward you, pulling them up. It makes quite the odd sight, and he chuckles at what the image must truly be. Twisting, his hands grab the edges and pull the coverlets up and over. "Better?"
     Two layers of warmth enfold around you. "I don't think you should wait. It'll be worse for both of us if he discovers it on his own. It'd would make the dream of having a bed with two kings in it a bit harder to realize." Rhodri's mouth twists. "You do like the idea of that. I'd hate to have it ruined out of apprehension. You tell him then. And I'll have whatever discussion I need to have..."
     "I'm not worried about your parents," he notes. "I've dealt with worse. Believe it or not. I'll be disarmingly charming. They won't be immune to it..."

     "Mnh. Better, yes." Talk about beasts with two backs! Fiona snuggles down, eyes again closed. "Love you. And yes, I suppose birds can't pick locks, but you're ingenious, I figured you'd put that to use on getting in. But fine, fine, I'll leave a window open for you to fly in." Entirely too like father, like son. "It's almost a pity that there's no guardsmen likely to be around to make it more challenging. What woman doesn't like the idea of her beloved being willing to go to ridiculous lengths to possess her?"
     She sighs, her own mouth twisting as she squirms slightly, the idea of being caught between you and Davydd as potent an image as ever. "You have to keep bringing that up," she accuses, lifting a palm to slap it down rather ineffectually against your chest. "I'll tell him, but neither of you likes to share. I can't see it leading to - to that, even if he takes it at all well. But I'm not telling him until you do one thing you said you'd do."
     She doesn't immediately tell you what that one thing is, instead planting a kiss against your collarbone, tongue tracing against skin, tasting you for the pleasure of it. "You've dealt with worse," Fiona then mutters darkly, "but once you've met my mother, you might not want to marry me."

     "I've never let that stop me before," he smirks. "I've been hated by fathers, brothers, sisters, mothers and husbands. Why should yours be any more frightening than any of the others. Come on, now... be serious," he rolls out. "It'll be fine," he assures softly. Have faith!
     Rhodri closes his eyes, his fingers tracing up and down your spine. His mouth spreads into a broad, close-mouthed smile. "Hmmm... that's what fantasies are for, love, to be trotted out and toyed with. Maybe some night I should split myself in two and see how you like it...I'll even turn a set of tattoos blue if you really want the special effects."
     Fingers press and skim in haphazard patterns. "So...what did I say I would do again?" He's said so many things, he can't be sure...

     "Mother's not likely to hate you. She's just..." Fiona sighs, unable to put it into words. "She's just a bitch." Her mouth opens and closes against your shoulder, soft and gentle. She isn't fighting you right now; she lacks the energy, lacks the need. She arches just slightly under the stroking of her spine, breasts pressed more firmly against you for a moment before she relaxes. "That's nice," she purrs. "Makes me want to turn myself into a cat and see if it feels as good."
     For the fantasy, there's a renewed hint of colour spilling into cheeks and into eyes as blue eyes regard your emerald, and she pouts. "No teasing," Fiona mutters. "I couldn't do anything about it tonight even if I wanted to. Anyway, I - I..." She sighs. She can't say she doesn't really want it. That would be a lie, and right now, at least, she can't lie to you. "You don't need to go to such lengths," she says instead. "I'll talk to Davydd and we'll see where we stand."
     She drags her fingernails gently along your side, then back up. "Brute," Fiona accuses lightly. "You said you had a ring for me. One that you thought would fit well. I can't go round telling people I'm getting married without the proof, now can I? Or should I just put that around your little hound?" She reaches back behind her to pat at your hip; you know what she's referring to.

     "Little?"
     He barks that out. But he lacks the energy to growl and bite properly. "No, I'm not giving you a cockring to seal our love," he chuckles. "It would seal something...but not a wedding vow. As for the real ring, I do have one for you... but not tonight. Tomorrow night, I will make dinner and will present it to you properly. I can tell you it won't be a ring any other woman has worn around her finger..."
     His fingers dig into your side, "...Or around anything else for that matter. No, it will be lovely. Fit for a queen. Better still, perfect for my queen." Rhodri wraps you up in his arms and arches upward, twisting to place a nuzzling kiss at your neck. "I love you. Even though you called my....hound little..."

     "It got your attention," Fiona murmurs, lazy with self-satisfaction even as you dig your fingers in, it ending in a squeal and a laugh. "Bastard! Stop that..." Oh, but don't stop that. She sighs as you come up against her, the kiss to her neck, the warmth and glow of it all. "It doesn't need to be tonight. I'm just curious about it, and can you blame me?"
     Fiona turns her face towards yours, lips seeking yours in a kiss. It is all so very different with you, from how it is with Davydd. There is still that fear, for her, that that is will turn into a was where he is concerned; but she is determined. And so far, her determination has been enough. She can only pray that it will be again...
     "I love you too, Rhodri. And I intend to continue to be full of surprises if I can. Now you know why I was so ... wound up." A hand comes up to stroke fingers through auburn tresses, her mouth moving to rest against your ear. "I had it all planned, until I didn't, and then I just - suddenly didn't know what to do anymore. Should I have waited, do you think?"

     "I have no doubt you will keep me on my toes," he smiles back, his face close to yours, your kiss returned. "I have no doubt that I will enjoy it," he speaks that low, the smile tugging to the side. "And, no, darlin'... you shouldn't have waited. Waiting... just doesn't work with matters of the heart. I waited, and look what it nearly cost me."
     His arms surround you tightly and hold you to him, as if his very skin could whisper the promise of its sanctuary to you. Here is your safe harbor. Here, your home. "You will tell me... when you're going to speak with him. I should be prepared. You know, he has that ability for... long distance calling..."
     Emerald eyes stare at the ceiling. Unseen by you, he smiles. "Maybe I should give it to you tonight. Do you want it, darling?" he murrs low, the tone not merely suggestive but downright filthy...

     "But it didn't..."
     After all, here is she, not somewhere else...
     Not with someone else...
     But then again, whose fault is that?
     "I wanted it to come out right. I don't know if the way I did it was exactly right for us, but it wasn't too wrong, at least." Fiona remains up against you, cheek to cheek, turning her face for a brief kiss and then away again, eyes closing. "It's - this is very strange, you know."
     It's so normal...
     "I'll tell you," Fiona continues, "when I speak with him, but right now, I don't know. I'll have to try and - book time with him, and in a sense, I feel bad to interrupt his work for this, but I don't want to wait too long, either. I /will/ ask for his blessing, one way and another. How he deals with it, how he handles it, well, that's on him. I know that I love you both. Hopefully that will be enough."
     She props herself up, sliding her thighs as if to try bracing her knees on either side of you and both palms to your chest, now. "Do I want it?", Fiona demands. "Sir, are you propositioning me? - I wouldn't mind something to drink. A snack, maybe. Something to get my energy back." She sits up, reaching behind her to take matters in her own hands. "Maybe I do want it."
     She sobers a moment later, hands releasing to curve partially closed at your ribs instead. "If you want," Fiona shakes her head, hair still only down past her shoulders and all askew. "But ... I'm not going to rush you. Take your own time."

     "You know, I don't know what could be a more appropriate setting than this." He looks at you seriously, even through the grab of his...matter-at-hand. "It is our marriage bed, it's where we first made love, it's where we continue to make love, it is the place where I should pledge it eternally, even as I like to act it out repeatedly," his mouth cants warmly and he sits up, you still straddled on his lap.
     His hands cradle your rear and pull you to him. His mouth opens at the hollow of your throat and he whispers Welsh there, an ode to your skin. And then he takes your hands, lifting your left, your betrothal, hand to his mouth. He closes his eyes.
     His words follow in Welsh, smooth intonations of the northern dialect, the tripping sound of water cascading, of harp music. With it, a light and a heat, an energy and a great swell of magic rises, pressing on the air around you. Pressing around the third finger of your left hand.
     "The ring around your finger is the symbol of my love, the visible sign of my adoration, and the living pledge of my life and my lands with you, beyond death. It is my kingdom. It is my Self, which is all I have to give. It is yours, and I, and all that shall follow behind us until the darkening of the sun."
     What is left behind that swell of magic is a ring made of something more dear than platinum, more rare. In the center, a single circular cut emerald of an unearthly clarity, surrounded by delicate ivy leaves and hazel and even of oak there to hold the starburst emerald in place.
     And in the reflection of light against the stone, the clarity and color deepen, drawing your eyes not to the center of a beautifully cut emerald but to the image of his own meadows, his inheritance. Avalon. And his own eyes.

     There is no argument with the adjustment of position; she sighs, leaning into you as if needing to be held there, needing to be cradled to you. How often is she so relaxed, so perfectly at peace? Even with the looming worry of what might yet come to pass, what Davydd will do or will say, she has not tensed. She has thought, she has spoken, and while she has felt the fear of possible loss, it has no power over her, here and now...
     You take her hands and there is the question in her eyes, paused upon the hint of parting lips, but silent nonetheless. You speak, and she is silenced the more, a hush that falls over more than just mouth, the breath in her body stilled upon the Moment.
     She knows the feel of magic by now. She recognizes it, gives due respect to it, but this is more than Magic. It is overwhelming. It is humbling, and even as she looks to the stone, perhaps you see that in her eyes, the blue and grey and reflected green of them - the ocean is in her eyes, the summer sky and the winter winds, fluid and turbulent even when at rest. How can she respond?
     "It's more beautiful than I have any right to lay claim to," Fiona murmurs, words barely audible even in the sudden stillness of the bed. She blinks, her face still tilted slightly down and her gaze still locked onto the ring, the stone. It is as Immense as was the Rock, but for very different reasons...
     Slowly, slowly she looks up from it, brow creased. There is Meaning here. And she is uncertain of gleaning all of the Meaning in this. It is difficult to feel a queen, to remember one's own majesty, in moments like these - or perhaps that's peculiar to just Fiona. "I don't know that you should have done this," she begins, then stops. She tries again. "It's - are you sure that I should have this?" There, that's better. She leans in towards you, bringing her lips close to yours, and softly, so softly she speaks. "I will ... try to be a good wife to you, Rhodri. I'll try to deserve this. I don't know that I can, but - I'll try."

     "Love me, and that will be enough, Fiona..." Rhodri's reply is as easy as you've come to expect from him. Simple on the surface, but deep in meaning. There's not much else to add to that. He's said his peace, he's given you what he promised, he's made you speechless, and you're naked in his bed and betrothed to him.
     What else could he possibly need?
     "You said something about snack, and something to drink," he says against your collarbone, his mouth parting there, suckling at the skin as he cradles you yet in his arms. "We'll have to forage. Feel up to it?"

     "You know how I am. Once I start something, I'm difficult to get to stop." And that is true with Love as much as any of the other things that she is a creature of, isn't it? Fiona sighs, arms going around your neck and her head tilting, allowing you the access you like but at the same time close to you, close to your warmth. In its own way, this ring holds more weight than did that other...
     There's a moment given to reverence, a sneaking glance at the ring so like your eyes, so much the synopsis of your kingdom, hand tilted at an angle for a moment before both hands slide into your hair, cradling your head for a kiss.
     "Only if you carry me," Fiona retorts, voice a caress in and of itself. "I think this ring is too heavy for me to walk with..."

     He laughs at that. It's quiet laughter but it has the warmth of Truth to it, and of true humor and delight. "Alright," Rhodri says, and cupping his hands beneath your rear, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and begins to rise.
     "You can stare at it all you like. The more you look," his whispers at your ear as he stands with you in his arms, pressed against him as he moves, "...the more you will see..."

Posted by rowan at December 09, 2004 12:30 AM