Have you ever seen a cat, lying on its side, tense and stretch until all four legs shake and quiver with the effort? Have you ever seen how thoroughly limp they go after they've done that? Right now, that's Fiona...
     She's lying on the bed, thoroughly abandoned, eyes closed. Her hair is all in a tangle by now, skin flushed and glowing with the excesses of passion. What you do, you do to excess, after all...
     Fiona stirs, rolling over and turning so that her cheek is pressed up against one masculine stomach, the soles of her feet to a warm masculine thigh. Lazily, she says aloud, "At least with two I've always got a spare... and my feet won't get half so cold... so how long have you two been planning this - little exercise?"

     "Honestly?" A sudden rise of a male voice, the sound moving physically against you where you rest your head. Rhodri lifts his head off the pillow, looking down a pile of bodies, a tangle of tattoos and a tempest of golden hair, "...it all happened rather quickly over a few pints," naturally, what else but alcohol.
     "The fighting was his idea," Davydd rolls out, his head at the foot of the bed, his feet cushioned by the pillow. "He wanted you to see he could be tough," syllables dissolve into earthy laughter, "...hey, watch those feet. I've already had a knee in the groin..."
     Rolling emerald eyes, Rhodri looks down to you, his hand moving against your scalp, a light massage. "The rest didn't really occur to me until we started trading off with the dancing. Which, let's be honest, apart from the kick in the groin, he was pretty well kicking my ass coming and going..."
     "It hurt me more than it hurt you," Davydd murmurs from the other end of the bed, grinning wildly. Not like a father should but certainly with a father's tone. "It was half inspiration," a slant of a smile, "...half accident. Just like most music and art..."

     "You're both tough," Fiona murmurs, stretching again and then settling comfortably, eyes drifting closed at the scalp massage. She could almost turn into a cat right there. "Tougher than I am, anyway. I don't know how to use a sword. And I like you tough. Both of you. It turns me on."
     This is the right place for such admissions, and certainly the right time. She moves one foot, shifting so that it hooks under a male knee rather than near already bruised equipment. "I must say that for a crunchingly bruised set, you rose to perform admirably," Fiona quips. "Sometime, I'm going to see if I can't ride you two into the ground, but I'm pretty sure it'll have to be one at a time. Together, you're much too much for me." Not that she's complaining.
     "If that's the case, and it's like most music and art, maybe next time we ought to set up a recording studio?" She isn't serious. Her tone is light, amused, and one hand lands on a man's hip, kneading and then pushing as she struggles to sit up, pulling herself to sit crosslegged between you both, running her hands over her hair to unknot it, untangle it. "Actually, I suppose this is probably as good a time as any to bring it up. You two up to discussing the wedding, and ... stuff?"
     Quick, run, before it gets any worse...

     "I can't imagine what would turn you off," Davydd quips. "I keep trying, you know, by speaking," it breaks into earthy laughter, "... but so far you keep forgiving me. I'll say I don't quite understand it. Just when I think you'll find your senses and run away, there you are again in French knickers." The darker set of eyes find you as he shifts his knees a little to let your feet nest in between. "Bruised," comes the great Cymric wave of his voice, "...but unvanquished..."
     "You'll need handcuffs," Rhodri smiles, rolling onto his side, "... or rope... but I'm sure you can manage..." He doesn't look at Davydd when he says that, there's no trading of looks, or thoughts. "Wedding? Sure...we're a captive audience..."
     When you move and then Rhodri rolls over, that's Davydd's cue to readjust himself. No need to keep a vista view of his progeny's privates. The bed creaks and shifts mightily as he piles onto the pillows and lounges after a stretch of his own. "Well, I said I would dance with you. What's more to talk about?" It's not his wedding afterall. Davydd turns his head on the pillow and looks at you.
     Again, two pair of green eyes are fixed on you...
     "But," exhale, "...sure...why not. What's on your mind?"

     "You haven't tried to turn me off, you've tried to run me off," Fiona retorts easily, "and you've found that when I've made up my mind, I'm hard to get rid of. I'm attached now - if you wanted to get rid of me, you should've done it before I imprinted. Now I'll never be able to look after myself in the wild."
     She might be more truthful than she knows...
     There's a brief, heated look given to the son, a slight flare of colour, but she doesn't answer that assertion in words. Instead, she just turns to address the both of you at once. Easier than way.
     "Well, I've decided on a date, for one," Fiona says drolly, "and it would be nice if you both could attend, under the circumstances. The fifteenth of June - it's a Saturday. Makes things easier all round, and it appeals to my sense of humour." Midsummer's eve indeed. "So that's the first item on my list. Do you two think you could oblige me by being there?"
     There's only one right answer to that.

     "Next June?" Rhodri wonders with a grin. "I think I can be there. Shall I have my people call your people?" A raise of an eyebrow. If you didn't know he was full of shite, descended from the King of Shite Talk, you might think he was being serious. "I think given the circumstances that the date is wholly appropriate," he continues, but in earnest -- as far as anyone can ever tell with Rhodri.
     "You realize, it'll have to be a ...late wedding. The sun's out longer that week than any other week in the year. Might have to wait until damn near ten o'clock...I mean, it doesn't matter to me. It's your wedding, your date to pick, but unless you're going to shutter all the windows and send the groom in with the very unenviable task of waking me, it'll have to be late. What about your elderly relatives?" Always the practical with Davydd. He turns his head upon the pillow and looks to you, fiery eyebrows cocked up in an open expression. "Hate to be a spoiler..."
     "I think we can work around that, da," Rhodri murmurs. Rarely does he refer to him as 'da' (dad). "But you're right, it's a logistical issue to deal with...fortunately, you know Powis like the back of your hand. You won't have to go far to attend, and if you have to be a little tardy..." A slight shrug. What difference will it make really?

     "My grandparents are why I'm such a night owl, actually - lunch was always served at promptly four o'clock, dinner no sooner than nine at the outside. Mother hated going for visits. It threw off her carefully planned routine." Fiona laughs at the memory - she can laugh about it now; she's conquered that dragon. "But she didn't mind sending me for summer so she could have my father to herself. I'd come back thinking a one o'clock bedtime was normal."
     She rolls over to Davydd, wrapping an arm around broad shoulders and leaning in to be nose-to-nose. "You're not being a spoiler," she murmurs, "and I'm not upset. We'll find a way to make it work. If it won't work, well ... I can always find a better date. I want you at the reception, I want to dance with you, I want you to love me, and we've already discussed the bridal night. Everything else? We'll find a way."
     Fiona unlatches, rolling back to the middle with a hand put out to grab Rhodri's calf. "Besides, why would I bring it up if I didn't want you to give your input? It's not just to make sure you'll pencil me in on your busy social schedules," there's a demure smile, "especially as you'd rather do something else with your pencils. But I also wanted to discuss the idea I had for ... well ... living arrangements."

     "No, no," Davydd says, a pointed green look given to you. "I won't hear of you moving the date on my account. It means sommat to you, and it's appropriate, given who you're marrying. It's his time, it's your time. You should have it. I will ...figure out a way... a twilight wedding, perhaps... I can force myself up a bit early. Or have Rhodri open the door and throw a shoe at me."
     Rhodri chuckles, "I can do that. God knows I've done it before. Just try to remember I'm your son, would you." His arms surround you from behind and he speaks at your ear with the lift of his head. "The fifteenth it is." He kisses you to seal it. Done.
     "Living arrangements?" they both say at once, Rhodri looking intrigued and Davydd looking confused. "Don't we have enough houses? I'm going to be broke at this rate..." Such grousing. You'd think you asked him for his wallet or for alimony...

     There's a flushed look at all of the insistence on her behalf; she's touched, and it shows. "I've been trying not to become a monster bride," Fiona murmurs. "I'll let my mother have my share of the tantrums. I want to be a gracious and lovely bride, rather than making people's lives nightmares. But thank you - both of you. And are you sure I couldn't wake you up more enjoyably, Davydd? You did say you wanted to see me in my finery before the ceremony."
     Imagine that - Fiona, in white lace and silk and veils, bending to wake the eternal slumberer. It has a certain romantic imagery to it.
     Her hands go to cover Rhodri's, she turns to lean into the kiss. Sealed, signed, delivered - all arranged, just like that. Then she pulls away, sticking her tongue out at Davydd.
     "Actually, this won't cost you a cent, ap Arse. I was going to ask about the idea of just living at Powis, rather than finding another place - it seems silly, with all these separate flats and one perfectly good castle which noone's living in right now. And it'd mean plenty of room for any children that come along as well," Fiona points out, slightly defensively as she pulls away in order to tie her hair back into a knot, "and close to the Gwynedd side of things - which is probably bound to be better to deal with than my mother - plus snooty enough for anyone we actually want to impress. And easy to get to and from London, as we've already proven, and..."
     She lets it die off, folding her arms over her chest. "But if you don't want to hear about it, or you think it'll end up costing too much in upkeep," Fiona mutters, "I'll just drop the topic. Who wants tea?"

     "As lovely as that sounds, and as nice as that mental image is," Davydd notes, both his tone and his expression serious, "...it wouldn't be a good idea. But," the grin slides to the side, wretched look, "...you can be the first to greet me... hmmm..." Again, the trading off. Now the kiss is his, pressing against you... folded arms and all.
     "No pre-marital coitus," Rhodri is firm on that point. "If I can't see her before the ceremony, you can't see her before the ceremony. You'll see her when I do, aye? Walking down the aisle to meet me and the priest..."
     Maybe, says Davydd's look to you. We can be sneaky, too...
     Davydd glances to his son, smirking. "Alright, alright... no pre-marital fucking. Her dress won't be wrinkled." Much. "And I ... think the idea of Powis is great. My work keeps me in London, so I won't be there every night, can't be there every day. But... sure... the castle should be lived in, and it should house your children. Our children. I think... it would be a great idea. It's a good country life, perfect place to raise children..."

     "Not a morning person, Davydd?" Fiona murmurs it sweetly - too sweetly. "And here I thought every man woke up a morning person as long as he's woken up by a woman's lips wrapped merrily around his John Thomas." But there is that kiss, and she relents on her sulk, sighing. She's so easy...
     She's a bit mollified, and trying hard not to show it - trying hard not to sneak glances at either of the two of you. So tempting, really - you present such temptations to her. "No fighting over me, boys. I love you both, but if you want to get into a fight, you know the rules - find some git hitting on me and defend my honour. Mind, it'd be an awfully one-sided match. Unlatch, Davydd." She squirms to free herself.
     "I'm going to get some dessert. Rhodri, what do you think about the house idea? I thought it'd be good - and it's isolated enough that any, mmm, isolated magical incidents can be overlooked. And, of course, it means you don't have to break daddy's cheque on a house."
     A woman after both of your hearts...

     "I think it's brilliant," Rhodri notes quietly. "If you hadn't suggested it, I might have insisted on it. It's as if you read my mind." The tease is as gentle and as true as the look. Yes, there are moments when Rhodri is true. He rolls over to lie on his back, to watch you get up. "Food would be good, would you mind?"
     Davydd unlatches with a sigh and rolls over, first on his back, then onto his stomach with a great exhale. He doesn't ask for food. It's getting late, and his congenial mood is going out the window. Along with his alertness. "Not a morning person," he says. Not at all anymore. "That's putting it a bit lightly. Nothing for me, thanks," Davydd tacks on, his voice low, his words slow.
     Rhodri grins at the departing figure of his naked future bride. "I should really get around to telling you how much, but I'm afraid you'll ask me to return it. A trust fund for our children. I haven't touched it. We don't need to. It can sit there gaining interest. Well, I might pinch it a bit for the honeymoon, just to keep it saucy..."

     There's an adoring smile sent to her Summer husband for his words as she rises, and she pauses to move over to where her Winter husband rolls over. Fiona rests a gentle hand on his hair, bending low to kiss his forehead. "Get some rest, darling," she murmurs. "London will still be here tomorrow night, and you'll always be able to find me. My flyboy, hm?" She ruffles Davydd's hair, then straightens, rising to turn away again.
     "You enjoy teasing me by not telling me how much," Fiona retorts to Rhodri, "because I don't for a minute think that you'd let me make you return it. Besides, even if I tried, I doubt that daddy'd accept it back - it'd hurt his feelings. No, I'm just curious as to how much he thinks your stud fee is worth..."
     Since, really, that is what it is, isn't it? The bride price is really, in this case at least, all about the production of heirs. There are other men who can command that sort of price, perhaps, but it's a handsome sum nonetheless.
     "Do you really need to pinch any for the honeymoon? Exactly how much is this honeymoon going to cost?" She laughs as she heads for the kitchen, shaking her head. "Bloody men," she says affectionately. "What am I going to do with you..."

     "Apparently he expects much of me. To the tune of three quarters of a million pounds," Rhodri notes as you pad away, expecting to hear the thump-thud of your fainting right behind it. He grins, the wretch. "And worthy every penny, wot?"
     Davydd's eyes pop open and he half rolls, giving Rhodri a look. You're fucking putting me on. How much? "Three quarters of a million pounds?" He whistles long and low. "Your biggest single night heist. You'll never top that one..."
     "As for the honeymoon, I don't suspect we'll have to touch it. But... there's really no reason so skimp..."
     "Where are you going?" Davydd mumbles, face half-planted on the pillow again.
     "India," Rhodri replies. "I wanted something exotic..."
     "Sounds nice..." Davydd exhales.

     The footsteps abruptly stop, with a sudden inhalation of sheer, unadulterated shock. Fiona turns, slowly, one hand going out to help brace herself as she stares at the bed with tremendously wide eyes. "He ... and you ... I mean ... Abuh..."
     She's surprised. She stops. She tries to start over. She shakes her head; it doesn't help. Finally, Fiona says, "For that money, Rhodri, I think you owe me another three orgasms a night."
     Slowly, she exhales, turning to make her way back to the kitchen, shaking her head as she goes. Daddy loves her very much, yes, it seems so. "I think I'm going to threaten my grandparents. They shouldn't give you anything. No need for you to get a swollen ego any more than you already have..."

     "I can manage," he drolls, "...but can you? Usually after the third one, you're a goner as it is. You want three more?" His ego is naturally inflating. He doesn't need compliments to get it going. Or money. Though money never hurts. "I think your father adores you. And I think I'm a lucky bastard. I never had it so good...now....go get dessert. I'm famished. Then we'll see about the other ...three..."
     Davydd appears to be asleep, though he's still breathing. Just slowly. Just evenly. Just softly. A sigh. But then he speaks: "There's no way to inflate it any worse than it already is. Me... why isn't anyone giving me money for shagging you rotten? I'm the one who suffers from an inferiority complex..."
     Rhodri rolls his eyes and rattles in Welsh. "You're full of such shite, honestly..."

Posted by rowan at January 28, 2005 01:05 AM