After the earlier outburst and much swallowing of water (so much water, in fact, that he got a bit of a stomach ache), it was a quiet Davydd who emerged, clean-shaven, clean-bodied, towel-draped, and shiny-toothed from the bath to the bedroom.
     There was only a sparing glance for the bed, the bed of such infamy, and even so sparing the look, the blush was not sparing. It rushed up his neck, over his ears and sprouted at his cheeks. It is not so much that he did what he did... though he did it with a clear mind, as clear as it can be in such a space... it was that he enjoyed it.
     All over the bed and the other man besides...
     The whole thing is disconcerting. A universe, tilted -- once again. Maybe there is something yet about himself he does not know.
     Davydd drops the towel, so dismayed he does not even pick it up and fold it. It lies where it falls, falls where he stands. He takes up a pair of sturdy trousers, a pair of brown chinos, something he wears when he goes to the fields to work. A pair of Doc Martens are taken up next. A sweater will follow after. A very lord of the manor, this...

     She's changed again. Lingerie didn't so it. Maybe he's sick. Maybe he's right, he IS gay and he doesn't know it. Nnno, that's not a hypothesis we're prepared to live with...
     Jeans, a punk rock shirt and a pageboy (back to fuchsia, this time), and a black leather jacket, plus her own Doc Martens. She's seated crosslegged on the ceiling, reading when you get dressed. "Do you want me to give you some space, Davydd?"
     That's your wife asking it. From upside down, with a copy of the day's newspaper; now she sprawls out on her stomach. She's been doing the crossword. "If you'd rather, I'll skive off and leave you be, but I'd really rather not."

     He leans against the easing of the closet door, his arms in the olive green sweater, preparing to pull it on. "I don't know what I want," Davydd mutters. It's a great deal better than the histrionics of earlier. He takes refuge in the sweater for a moment, enjoying the comforting darkness.
     The dragons go into hiding, perhaps that's what they all need, as he pulls the knitting down over his form. It's not a bulky sweater, but it seems so layered onto his own bulk. His shoes in hand, Davydd heads to the bed. He plops onto it and drops the shoes as if he shall be pulling them on next.
     He doesn't seem likely to all of the sudden.
     Dark eyes are quite foresty with the addition of the green sweater. It's a good color on him, olive green. Makes his hair seem more auburn, somewhat less fiery. He looks at you. "Sorry for the ranting."

     "The day you can't manage a good rant is the day I know you're really coming down with something." Fiona sighs, folding up the newspaper and tossing it onto the bed next to your shoes. "Want me to come down?"
     She does so anyway; one moment lying on her stomach on the ceiling, the next moment lying on her stomach on the bed, midway between your shoes and the paper, chin propped on her hands as she regards you. "I love you, Davy. Even when you freak out. Just, you're overreacting a bit, so of course I have to put my ass on the line and try to get you to calm down."

     He may go incandescent if he continues to redden. But perhaps that is a sign he's well-fed for a change. "You think I'm overreacting." A question as well as a statement. "It didn't strike you as... a bit odd? I mean, take out the part that he's from my own loins, which makes this whole thing strange enough for me... but I was just...on him. You don't find that peculiar?"
     Davydd exhales, a mighty sigh given to the peacock canopy above as he lies back. One yet bare foot draws up, flat upon the bed, while his other skims the floor. "I just couldn't stop myself... but I can't just blame it on my condition," vampiric hunger is a powerful thing but...
     "It's part of my construct," he says, looking to you. "That I'm a man's man... that men don't go with men...and they certainly don't suckle their neck and stroke themselves to completion on one another. I mean..."
     His eyes go wide again -- who knew that green could ever be so fiery. "...that's not natural. It's not normal..."

     "If I got up and ran or lost my mind over every last thing that struck me as peculiar in the past couple of years, you'd have had to kill me back in the beginning. On the whole, it isn't the weird shit that makes me freak out; it's the relationship stuff." Fiona looks up, then sits up, feet dangling over the edge of the bed. She pats the bad next to her in a 'sit down' sort of way.
     "Maybe you can't blame your condition," Fiona shrugs a little, "I don't know about that. I couldn't know, not without experiencing your condition. But there've been plenty of times when you seemed not able to help it. As for the ... sexual aspect of it ... I'm looking at it from a different perspective from yours."
     She sprawls back on the bed, now, folding her hands behind her head, looking up at the ceiling rather than at you. "Item the first. You'd had my blood, which you've compared to the apples of Avalon - and you know how apples affect you, dear. If you were a living man, I'd be comparing it to how whiskey affects you, or something. It," she raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes at you, grinning with punk sass, "gets you hard as a fucking steel beam. Part the second, you and Rhodri were practically reading each other's minds, or, I don't know - but the sexual energy in the room was pretty damn high. And, for the record - it wasn't focused on you making out with him or anything like that; the two of you were pretty focused on me. Which I like; this isn't a complaint. Next."
     She sits back up, holding out a hand to you, now that you're laying back, dragging her fingers through your hair. "So ... you were already seriously turned on ... and obviously, seriously hungry. Which I don't really blame you for; we've been here a week, you can't eat me all the time, and I don't think you'd eaten much of anything in that time, had you? So it snuck up on you, didn't it. It was about timing, Davydd, not about being gay. I'm not going to get into natural or normal, because frankly, very little about last night's situation would strike most people as either natural OR normal. Need me to go on?" Fiona leans over, peering into your eyes from an upside down vantage point; then, quickly, kisses your nose.

     Green eyes look to you as you kiss his nose, going momentarily cross-eyed as he focuses on what is nearest to him. Your lips in his case. "It has occurred to me that with both Rhodri and I ... with you at once, that I am in bed with my own son. It's sometimes strange." Maybe that's it. Davydd looks at you.
     Relief begins to ease its slow way in...
     "I try not to think about it," his wry voice drawls out and his mouth makes much of a slight smirk. Sighing again, Davydd closes his eyes. "I need to be better about getting a decent meal in. But you know... hard to find magical blood outside my own family. And... I crave it, need it." He throws an arm across his eyes, shielding his face from the light.
     "And I need to prey for it," he lilts on, not have it handed to me. It's ...part of who I am, let alone what I am. I guess... that's it. I don't know." He growls out a great groan, a sound of frustration released before he looks at you again. "The whole thing's unnatural. I guess... there is nothing more or less about what transpired last night."

     "Exactly. Two magical kings, one vampiric; one magical queen, to whom you're both addicted." Fiona says it in a blithely factual tone of voice, but her smile at you is gentle. Her fingertips draw along your scalp. "One king is your son. The queen is possibly your descendant. You're eight hundred, he's five hundred, I'm twenty... I have two sons who're now about as old as I am - and don't think that doesn't weird me out now and again, you know. I mean, they're from my uterus, but they're fucking hotness on toast with clotted cream and jam!"
     Her fingers tighten in your hair as if to emphasize her point, and then Fiona laughs. "See what I mean? It's easy to get mixed signals. The body and the brain practically live on different planets. You do need to eat, though. I ... may even have a potential solution," she looks thoughtful, "but let me see what I can do. Anyway."
     She slides down so she's next to you, lying up alongside of you, propped on an elbow. "Does it matter which world you eat in? But honestly, Davy - the opportunity's been there before. I don't think it's proof you're gay. It's just ... timing. If you were gay, I ... don't think ... we could have connected the way we have. I mean... be honest..."
     "What we have ... it is more than just sex ... isn't it?"

     "You can't make people for me... that's not the point. Besides, the last one was a bit of a disaster, to be honest." Pistachio. Not to his lord's liking. Well, apart from that one night of near rape. Hands to his head, his one hand covering your own, Davydd sighs.
     "Oes, it's more than just sex. I love you, so... " He pulls your hand to his mouth and he kisses the center of your palm. "Diolch. I'm alright now. I just... I've never had something that close to...well..." His skin goes scarlet again.
     "I think it's proof that I'm a fucking freak," he chuckles suddenly, then sighs again. "So, alright... I'll leave it be. I'm not William." He looks at you and smirks. "And the boyos are getting to be of a certain age, aye. I hear that Gwilym takes after his namesake and Iowerth can't be bothered."
     That's not healthy either. Davydd rolls over to lie on his side, smothering you in a broad armed, broad chested hold. His mouth brushes your forehead.

     "I wasn't planning on making someone for you." Fiona rolls her eyes at you, snuggling in closer to you. "I was thinking more of the people there who already exist, Davy. But have it your way." She smiles at you as you admit what she knows; it still makes her a little breathless, hearing you say it. As if love weren't a four letter word.
     "You're not William, no. As for our boys ... give Iowerth time to sort himself out. He inherited some of your own headspace, and that can't be easy. Look how much trouble you've been having, and you've had eight hundred years to deal with it," Fiona counsels unworriedly. She smiles as you pull her so close, closing her eyes and leaning in towards you. "I love you," she murmurs. "No matter what, Davy. We've got a lot going for us. At least, I think so. So what do you want to do about your food problem?"

     "I don't need blood even once a week, but when I need it... I ...need it." Davydd closes his eyes, relaxing with you. "And when I need to drink... sipping from you sometimes isn't enough." Dark green eyes open and he looks at you, a wicked smile forming. "As I think we saw last night. But..." his arms tighten as he bends with you, his mouth at your ear: "You will still be my favorite..."
     There's a soft groan as he hugs you and rolls back. "Poor lad," he sighs. I should take some time while he's here, talk with him. I'll go sailing with him while you and Rhodri are off in India."
     The crisis appears averted. "Diolch," Davydd whispers. "Who knew that a slip of a mortal girl would be dispensing sage advice to an eight hundred and some odd old vampire, who should fucking know better, by the way. Why am I so thick?" he blurts out.

     "You do what you have to," Fiona murmurs, lips moving against your ear in turn. "I love you. I know you're not going to just ... cheat on me. I promise to try to remember it, and believe it. Besides, in a few days, everyone's going to know you belong to me, remember?" Her eyes sparkle at that, mischief promised. "My Davy. My husband. The one whose name isn't on the papers." Her lips rub against your cheek, nuzzling.
     One hand rests against your other cheek, and she peers down at you as you roll back, as she pulls herself on top of you. "I don't know if my advice would be any good for anyone else. But you and I ... we're connected. Deep down. As if we're too alike," Fiona murmurs to you in that tone of voice lovers use. "I understand you. You understand me - at least, I think you do. Most of the time." She grins lopsidedly, fringe falling into her eyes. "You're thick because it's /hard/ to examine everything about yourself, about other people. Once you start, where do you stop? With you, it'd be pretty much all or nothing, wouldn't it. Examining every last thought with paranoid intensity, or thinking about none of it and charging bullheadedly forward. That's my Davy. Maybe you'll learn some moderation eventually, but apparently, not yet."
     Her fingers trickle down your cheek to rest on your broad chest. "Don't neglect Gwilym," Fiona counsels. "Make sure to spend equal time with them - alone and together. Gwilym's very confident, but it's not entirely real; some of it's just attitude. He's insecure; he's second, and he knows it. Loves his brother and wouldn't supplant him for the world, but ... it's a hard thing, being second, isn't it?"

     "Second? I was third," Davydd notes. "I killed them to become king. I'm not exactly the model for healthy relationships, darlin'." He chuckles suddenly, edges of that pointed grin showing. "I know," he notes about Gwilym. "I won't neglect him. I'll take them both on an adventure while you're away. And of course it's not real. He's eighteen... he's supposed to be insecure and arrogant. Shite, I still haven't outgrown it," he needles himself with a grin.
     When all else fails, self-effacing humor works. Davydd stretches and takes up a good portion of the bed. So much for going out and doing something manly. He's going to manly take over the bed. It's enough for now.

     "I'd prefer not to encourage our sons to kill one another," Fiona answers you placidly, tugging on a lock of your hair. "They've come close enough on occasion, and that's with them loving one another."
     She presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You never had someone believe in you as truly worthwhile. I'm apparently the one person to whom you don't really have to prove yourself all the time; you don't give yourself that break, even. But I love you, darling, and I'm not worried that you're going to turn into some sort of couch potato king. So - time will tell, hm?"
     Fiona cocks up one eyebrow at you, then grins widely. "You three have adventures. Try not to get arrested, hm?" She bends and plants a smacking kiss on your lips. "And meanwhile, let's go down and get something to eat. I'm ravenous, and while you might need blood - if I don't eat, I won't build my blood back up nearly so fast, now will I? Come on... let's get a midnight snack so I can be a midnight snack."
     "My favourite vampire..."

Posted by rowan at May 01, 2006 08:07 PM