As hard as it was to move, Iowerth's murmured promises about the next room could no longer be ignored. And the chamber certainly lived up to its reputation. The map of the known kingdoms now exists on the ceiling. Like starry night it flickers from above. There are also stars... galaxies... such things as sailors dream of.
     The floor is covered with soft rugs of handwoven silks and brocades collected from the various ports and markets around the kingdoms of dreams. There are windows that give a view of the sea, but the thick curtains are drawn for privacy with the ship docked at his mother's kingdom. Floating globes of glass hang suspended, glowing colors and filling the room with varied hues.
     The captain's bed is large and comfortable. Originally designed to contain three comfortably (man and woman and man), it fits the two within it with room to spare. White and navy silk sheets, midnight brocade cover the two bodies once more at rest. Though some parts rest, some are yet in motion, unable to be anything else.
     His hands move over your back as he lies facing you. The sheen of the most recent activity still glows upon his skin, turned amber and violet with the glowing lights above. Iowerth's eyes have drifted closed. He kisses by way of memory. Your mouth, your chin.
     I have never felt this, not like this. Lust, certainly. Affection, occasionally. My general and I were tender with one another, he especially so. But this... is so different...
     Though you have moved in him, and he in you, once more, Iowerth cannot keep from kissing you, cannot keep his hands from moving over you, stroking. He exhales, pausing his mouth against your mouth -- it hovers nearby, another kiss just waiting to happen. His hand moves against your face, his fingers pressing at your lips.
     "Even after I have you, I want you," Iowerth whispers, his legs beneath the covers shifting, wrapping and tangling in yours. "I don't understand it," he smiles, "...all I know, prince, is that I want it." He kisses you again, that well-trained kiss. The slide of his tongue against your own brings the touch of that smooth, metal ball.
     My compass. It tells me where I am, constantly where I am. But where am I with you?

     It is a constant state of being overwhelmed. He has always known such luxuries; silk, velvet, brocade. Largesse has always been his, to hoard or scatter as he wished. His creations are made with the finest jewels and precious metals, rather than more expected copper and brass and steel wire.
     So why then is this so unexpected? Why does this hold so much weight?
     He doesn't know. You stroke him, and his hands find their way to your chest, to your stomach, back up to your shoulders. In motion, this. In need.
     Tiernan nuzzles against your fingers, lips parting to suckle, to lick, and he pulls away. To kiss you. To sigh.
     Where is this ... what am I doing ... what have I done ...
     I have abandoned neutrality. I am no longer on my own. But what if ...
     What if ...
     Such dangerous words, what and if, when placed against one another. I do not know how to disarm them, save - as with everything - by confronting them or otherwise, melting back into the shadows. And - I do not want to go.
     "This is the only right thing that I have known." Tiernan utters the words softly, lifting that simmering blue gaze to meet your eyes, lips touching to yours. "Everything else seems now as if it could melt away, and I wouldn't care. You have no right to be so beautiful," he adds, self-mockery dancing in his eyes, in his smile. "Why don't you just punch me in the gut and get it over with?"

     The mouth twists in a sardonic angle, as if he should counter that or go into a rant on how beauty doesn't matter in the large scheme of things. But he doesn't. He takes the compliment from you, a lift of bronze lashes to look at you directly with the green and periwinkle gaze. An eyebrow cocks up in that inherited way (should you ever see the High King, you will know it when you do).
     "There are better things to do with my hands when it comes to you," Iowerth chuckles, mouth canting sideways. Beneath the covers, he makes his point. A stroking, caressing point.
     He returns your kiss, his mouth wandering from mouth to chin, chin to mouth. That teasing, open-mouthed brush, though which he grins. It then turns suddenly passionate, suckling. "Whatever it is," Iowerth murmurs, "... I like it. Right, wrong. Who knows. Who cares," he suddenly offers with a comet-streak smile. "Tiernan... I ... am not prone to...show emotion, have emotion," he admits in a low whisper between you. "With you... it is so immediate... this... bond, this need. To be your lover. To show you the world you have not seen. To protect you."
     To love you...
     Fuck you, Gwilym. Somewhere you must be laughing, you impertinent little fuck. Always right, aren't you? He flushes in your arms, a red-head showing his passion so obviously on his skin.
     "To... spend whatever time I have in your company. And you say you will not fear snakes. And I ... shall not fear this. We will be brave things..." Iowerth smiles to you. "You and I..." His hands are on the move again, unable to stop stroking. "I don't know what the need is...I just know ...that I have it with you."
     One hand moves to your face, leading your mouth to his. "Handsome Tiernan... keeper of secrets..."

     He expels breath at your touch, closing his eyes. Going with it; not fighting it. "I approve of your hands," Tiernan manages to say. And then you kiss him again, and - why fight to talk? There will be time. He hopes.
     And then you are speaking again, and he has to fight to make sense of your words. His arms wind slowly around your waist, caressing, holding. "I ... need to hold you," he admits it so softly, as if this, too, is a secret. "Emotion ... I've always kept anything I feel inside. As something I shouldn't be prone to - something that could be used against me."
     It is true, isn't it? He looks to you, to see if you feel this way too. And looks away. "I ... am very bad with words. But you ... you slow down my thoughts. Being with you, my mind doesn't make the leaps it should. You tell me things, and I'm so busy trying to hear your voice that it takes time for all your meaning to seep through."
     A hand unwinds from your waist, fingers splaying gently against your chest. "I ... do not want to be parted from you. And it has me afraid. I am not afraid of snakes, but ... this is not a snake." Blue eyes suddenly pull up, from your chest to your face. "I don't run from my fears, so I ... won't run from this. I just ... won't try to name it. Yet."

     Yes, let's leave names out of it. You see him second that, you see him hear in your words the echo of his own thoughts. Iowerth places a finger upon your lips as if to say Shh, no naming names. His mouth holds a knowing smile. "So it will not be named. It needs no name, Tiernan. It is...we are..." A tattooed shoulder lifts in a shrug. That's enough, isn't it?
     "Princes... and emotion," Iowerth continues softly. "We live in a realm of politics and schemes. Emotions come with a price." His hand moves to your hair, then disappears in that darkness. "But between princes, my prince, there may yet be confidences. I will hold yours safe in my skin."
     A hand trails up your spine before lowering again to cup you in his grasp. Serpentine his strong arms run, coiling around you, even as his tongue curls around your own in a kiss that speak of greater knowledge, of you, of this.
     Iowerth breathes a pleasured sound against your ear. "My handsome prince, I understand a prince's condition... the quiet need to be secure... to believe in something...I share it." His mouth moves against your neck, as if he should have breakfast, lunch and supper there. His teeth occasionally mark your skin, but his mouth suckles the roughness sweetly away.
     "I love your neck," he groans, "...your shoulders... your mouth... the curve of your rear fits against me like it was made to be there. Your eyes ... if I wrote poetry as well as read it, I would have more to say, more eloquent than this...."

     "Noone will know of yours from me," Tiernan murmurs in answer, leaning towards you as your mouth pulls away. As if he would follow, if only he could. "I ... trust you."
     He says the words as if they are in an unfamiliar language; you see the slight frown for a moment, the puzzlement is brings to him. But such frowns are banished by your touch, your mouth, and he groans. "How should I not believe in you? From the moment I saw you, I have wanted to be here. I just didn't know it was this that I needed."
     "How should I ever want to be apart from you? If I could, I'd slake my thirst from between your thighs and fill my stomach with your words, your touch, your sighs." There are little sounds of enjoyment, of pleasure where you mark him, suckle at him, and when you cup him, he sighs as well.
     "I ... have never felt like this. I have never felt this much. I wish..." Tiernan silences himself, swallowing it. Wishes should not be spoken. They are dangerous. His hands stroke gently against your face, down your shoulders, his thumbs stroking a course across your collarbone. One hand brushes your thigh, and he sighs. "It is so urgent."

     He grins cock-wise, even though his face colors -- starting first at his ears -- as you talk of slaking your thirst. But he does not look away, nor in his flushing does he seem the least bit embarrassed or bashful. "Our secrets then are safe, the one in the other." Leaning in, Iowerth murmurs at your mouth: "...even as our bodies are safe... the one in the other..."
     His grin slides against your mouth before leaving that territory for others, your chin and your throat. Grinning, he begins to head southward. There is nothing said of wishes. "Hmm... nor I," he whispers, his mouth and the small metal bead moving against a nipple. "I ...was no virgin," well you know it, "...but I have never," his mouth wanders to the other nipple, "... felt this ... this... need to be inside someone else's skin...to want to understand... everything. To know... to feel..."
     Wishes are dreams. While not inherently deadly, hope can be a tricky thing. It can lead to joy or to despair. "Perhaps it is so urgent," Iowerth whispers at your chest, "...because we had so isolated ourselves. Protecting yourself from everything still opens you up to something."
     His mouth lifts from your chest, returning to be near you mouth. His hands slide beneath the covers, over your hip, between them. Periwinkle eyes look to you, directly through the blink of bronze lashes. "We are too much alike," he chuckles softly. "We think...we think too much. It is a prince's curse." Iowerth smirks, "For those who bother to think, that is." He's not sure Gwilym bothers to think sometimes.
     "Don't think too hard," he whispers at your mouth, opening it to his, his pierce tongue sliding its secret against your own. "Not yet... I'm sure we will have to soon enough... but... let's not forget to ... enjoy this...urgency between us..."

     That grin... that kiss... He kisses you, kisses the air where you were. You are on the move again. "I want," Tiernan says simply, "and I need. I ... was." He colours, his hands lifting to cradle your head, fingers playing through your hair and tugging a bit. Yes, he likes your hair, the brightness, the length. It gives him something to hold.
     "You were first... for most of it. I'd - held another, but we didn't have time enough to do much." Time. There is a pang, a low inwards shudder of pain and suspicion at the memory, shrugged away. But yes. He was a virgin. Mostly. "Even then, I ... didn't have this connection. It was more that he was there, and - it was strange and unexpected and exciting. Not like this. Not like you."
     With you, I knew every step of the way what would happen. I was afraid of it. But I wanted it. I knew it. I welcomed it. Love ... is this what they call it ...
     He shies away from the notion of love. Is it? It is what it is; best left under its rock, pinned where it can't escape. You are kissing him. That is so much more important. "You won't be content," Tiernan accuses you softly, "until you've worn me into the ground. But I can't leave off touching you. Being with you. How do you expect to sail a ship, with us joined at the hips?" He grins, flushing a little at his quip, then groans, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He doesn't say anything, then; he holds you, feeling your heart beat with his.

     "Would you like to see?" Such a conspiratorial tone. He rolls you over until you are beneath him, his hands burying themselves into the bedding. His fiery eyebrows waggle and the smile is broad, warm...and..yes...thoroughly wicked.
     "It breathes as I breathe, it will surge as I surge." Iowerth closes his eyes even as his body settles upon yours, his legs spreading your legs. He takes in a deep breath. Is he praying? Meditating?
     You feel the ship shifting beneath you. Can you hear the anchor weighing, the dragon sails unfurling? Iowerth opens his eyes slowly, bronze lifting to reveal the bright periwinkle beneath, that lavender swirling with magic.
     "And so... if we want to go to the middle of the ocean and dive naked into the sea...who would be there to witness other than ourselves? Perfect for secretive princes having a torrid affair." Smiling, he lowers, his hands coming to play at your hair. "Hmm," his body moves in sympathy to the tide that takes him out, to the tide that draws you to him. "Your first.... you should have told me," he chuckles, "... I would have shown you a bit more courtesy. Well, no sense in putting on pretenses, you have me...have had me," he grins, "...as I most certainly am..."

     You are showing off. For him. And he glories in it, giving you a grin that has more than a hint of a mischief of its own. From beneath you, he looks up, his hands stroking, caressing your skin with such infinite care. His lips want to purse, to speak, but words are swallowed back. Patience, Prince, patience...
     Tieran closes his eyes, drinking in sounds and motion and sensation. Guessing, rather than knowing what is going on...
     "I'll go wherever you want," Tieran murmurs, eyes opening at the touch of your hand to his hair. "I wasn't feeling much like talking," he protests mildly. "And ... I don't know how much courtesy I could've taken. You did just fine. More than fine." He colours again; blushing like a girl. "Actually," he admits quietly, "the hardest part was when it suddenly clicked for me who you were."

     "Hmmm," he says, understanding in that sound captured at his throat. There is a sympathetic look suddenly. "When did you catch on... it's the ship isn't it," Iowerth teases, even as the ship begins to pull out. His weight settles on you.
     Oh, he clearly enjoys that. The look in his eyes speaks that in volumes. As does the feel of him beneath the covers, between your legs. Ah, sweet youth. More energy than it can stand to burn...
     "And does it still trouble you, being in the bed of the high king's son?" He doesn't truly think so by the way you have moved with him, on him, in him, beneath him since arriving here. His fingers move against your scalp, through your dark hair. "We will have to be careful," he notes. "But that would be true even if I were not the crown prince."
     The boat moves slowly. It rocks, it moves the two of you within this bed. It begins to speed up. On the ceiling, a bright star shines. It moves. Ah! It is the ship! A compass shows dimly against the map, with the cardinal direction gleaming brightly.
     "We're just sailing around the bay," Iowerth confides in a stage whisper. "But soon... we'll take our trip. Tomorrow... we will make arrangements... hmmm... and ...venture out. We will go to my island."

     He sighs under your weight, settling there as if he might never move again. Parts of him move, though. His hands. Other parts as well. "Actually," Tieran is embarrassed; you can feel it as well as hear it. "I didn't ... catch on fully ... until ... we were in the other room. When ... we ..."
     Then. Yes. He's not going to put it into more words than that, as embarrassed at his slowness as at the description. He sighs, shaking his head as you would expect. "Bother me? No. I wanted you before I knew that you were a prince at all. I didn't know what to do about it, but I did. Maybe I wanted you to be the stern captain," he teases lightly, "lashing me to the mast for your pleasure. It doesn't matter. Who either of us is, it's more than who our parents were. You ... are ... something rare, and unknown."
     His hand travels to find one of your own, carrying it to his lips. He suckles slowly at your fingers, one by one, then presses a kiss to the center of your palm, tongue curling there for a moment. "I want to be alone with you," Tieran whispers. "I want to be with you. Anything I can have, I want. For the rest ... I've endured worse." A faint smile quirks, a dark eyebrow lifts. "Is this where," he adds, "I offer you my fealty, your highness?"

Posted by rowan at April 30, 2006 08:54 PM