"Hail the conquering hero, home from the wars," Tiernan murmurs. He is trudging along the dock, wearing the uniform of a British sailor of the nineteenth century; the sturdy, rugged shirt , the deck-worthy trousers, the long dark pea-coat and a flattened, squashed cap tugged down over his curls. Clothing for a colder clime, perhaps, than this. He drags behind him a rucksack, filled with anything he considers at all important (knowing as he does the differences in how time runs, between this world and that, and how much can go awry, so easily).
     His boots don't make undue noise on the dock, though they make some noise. Possibly some of the people in this world stop to stare at him - he is oddly dressed, after all. It would stand out much less in the modern mortal world, even, than here - but it is still not that terribly changed from the clothing of sailors anywhere, everywhere. More stare because of where he is heading than how. And someone (of course) takes it upon himself to interfere.
     "That's the prince's boat, you know that, right?" One young sailor calls it out from where he's sitting on a cargo crate, using a knife on a piece of wood. "I'm just saying," he continues, scraping a bit of shaving off the side. "Those who aren't invited..." And he shakes his head knowingly. His friends - two seedy-looking elves, a fat rat in a pair of boots and felt vest, and three seagulls - all nods in agreement.
     "Thank you, gentleman," Tiernan bows to them, a lowering of his shoulders which does not take his eyes off of them or his surroundings, "but I think that I will manage. But if I get thrown overboard to float as a dead man, you can dice for my goods, hm? Good day to you." A brisk nod, and he picks up his feet, heading to the dock.
     The group of sailors shake their heads. "Crazy as a loon," one of the elves remarks. One of the seagulls caws, looking offended. "My cousin's a loon, and he's a damned sight saner than that," it says shrilly. "He hasn't even got a boat! How's he going to get out to the prince's ship without a boat?"
     Tiernan smiles to himself, and shakes his head to himself. He bends down a bit, in a bit of a crouch, taking from his pocket something like a folding ruler. He fits it to the edge of the dock, sliding it to about three feet in width; and then it begins to unfold, slowly at first and picking up speed, with a wooden clacking sound. It rushes out across the water, forming from the edge of the dock upon the air a yard wide spanning bridge upon the air; and it's this that he steps out onto, pack hoisted again onto his back.
     "It isn't very good for sneaking," Tiernan calls over his shoulder to the dumbfounded sailors, "but it'll do for getting to where I'm going. Thank you all the same for your concerns, of course. Cheers."

     With a second ship needed to be secured, the Prince remains anchored offshore when in his mother's waters. There is no need for concern of piracy, for the ships they say can protect themselves. They seem so harmless from here, their sails tucked in and ropes anchored in all the fittings and hinges. The doors that cover the mouths of the eighty guns are closed (to the great happiness of the other ships, thank you). For all intents and purposes, the ships are sleeping.
     But what of those aboard?
     At the arrival of the expansion bridge, the dragon figurehead of The Draigamor opens its eyes, for a brief moment becoming the real dragon that it is. "Who comes here," its voice rumbles lordly, but then upon seeing the approach of a familiar face, it spreads its mouth in a toothy (though still a bit scary) grin. "Ah, Master Tiernan, it is good to see you once again. You are welcome to board, sir, and take your place in the King's Favor." The King's Favor. A fun little nickname for his private chambers.
     The ropes that had started transforming into dragons returns to being rope and the deck-hands (also dragons when not on-guard) motion you forward, opening the plank and sliding it out to give your ever-expanding expansion bridge an even place to land. They stand stoically aside, returning to their posted watch.
     At the stern of The Draigamor and sitting slightly starboard is another magnificent ship of the same design and caliber. It is far redder, with its ruddy cherry wood and gold. Its dragon also watches, its gold-leaf eyes blinking. The Drake you can see it's called, and it is tucked in as if it has never sailed.
     And suddenly there he is, a shock of red hair and a white silk shirt, undone. He is covered in squirming midnight blue dragons, but for all his brilliant and stark colors it's his smile that is the most shockingly vivid thing about him. He is dressed so simply. In fact, he looks like he hasn't left the chambers most of the day. Iowerth Rhudd Draig stands at the door to the king's quarters (no ordinary captain would have rooms such as those), his smile broad and showing his joy, his eyes bright and lavender, showing his anticipation.
     It has been three months. A very long three months. And he has missed you.

     "A pleasure to meet you once again." Tiernan bows under his burden, offering his greetings to the ship. He, of all people, is the least likely to be shocked or scared by a supposedly inanimate object opening its mouth to speak. "My thanks for your permission to board, and fair winds to your sails."
     He allows aid in getting on board, his pack tossed to dragon-guards so that he has both hands free to pull himself into the safety of the ship proper. The other ship gets a curious glance, and he adds, "I see you've a hatchling? Congratulations seem in order. Let me know if there's anything I can do." Speculation runs rife in the back of his head. How do ships - no; he is not going to let his mind get onto the topic of ship-dragon-breeding. With a little shake of his head, he turns - and there you are.
     Damn you, Io, I was prepared to hold a little resentment in me for our last parting, prepared to re-evaluate all sorts of things. And there you stand, with that smile turned onto me, and the bottom's dropped out of my stomach and I don't know if I can find it. I'll have to try, though. Things have changed, haven't they?
     "Hi there," Tiernan offers softly, his own smile lopsided. He runs a hand back through his hair, making away with his cap. His hair's been growing longer; it's curling increasingly. Some weeks for him; three months for you. Which of you misses the other more? He stands there a moment, holding his cap and transferring it from one hand to the other. "I had a bit of time," he says carelessly, "and, well, I thought maybe you might be a bit bored, so I thought I'd drop by. Is this a bad time, or should I have brought a pizza?"

     Things have changed. A world is changing and it's only been a few weeks for you. Things happen so quickly here. You see Iowerth take a minute to look at you, up and down, from your apparel to your aspect, your face. He comes away from the door and in full view of anyone on shore with a telescope or spyglass, and in front of what appear to be rather impressionable dragons, the future king hugs you mightily. Course, what's a hug between old friends.
     "It seems the material realm agrees with you," Iowerth says. He is as tall now as he will ever be, and though he's not small by any means, he is a good deal less broad than another of your acquaintance. "You look great. Happy," Iowerth adds, the grin plastered on his face. And he?
     He has been working, you can see that easily. You know the red-rimmed eyes for what they are -- reading till all hours of the morning and night. But his energy is good -- if he has been depressed, he's not going to show you. At least not yet. But it is obvious that he has missed you. His eyes are seeking you and everything that's changed about you, openly curious, fascinated, with desire as free-flowing as his curiosity. His hand remains on your arm, squeezing, rubbing, anything to feel you tangibly with him.
     "A hatchling? Oh, you mean The Drake. Yes. I was hoping to hide it and have it show up with a bow tied to it, but... I didn't know you were coming. It's yours. A ... gift from me. I want to show it to you, it's a marvelous vessel..." Iowerth pauses, his smile fading a little, just a touch. "But... later... if that is alright with you. It's... just... been so long. I ... just want to sit and talk with you a while. How long can you stay?"
     A bad time. "No no...not at all," Iowerth adds, shaking his head and dismissing that notion. Turning, he gestures you to follow him to the chambers below deck, the door leading the way to the great winding staircase. "And you know you needn't bring food," he chuckles. "I always seem to have something on me. Duw... you look... you look great, Tiernan. A sight for sore, as my father says."

     He smiles at you. The smile is quiet - when is he ever other than quiet? Your lover has never been a boisterous sort. The cap is tossed towards one of the dragons on guard duty, and his other hand comes up to tug your hair lightly. "Let's go inside," TIernan suggests softly. "We can talk more once I'm out of my jacket, yes?" And away from prying eyes. He doesn't shake off your hand - but neither does he rush to pull off your clothes here on the open deck.
     The hug is returned, though - there is open affection in his face, in his eyes. That he still cares for you - that is there. It has not changed. Even if so much else has changed. "You're taller than you were when I left," Tiernan says softly. "Did I miss the wedding, or is that still a while away?" He does not know, not for sure. He thinks - hopes - you would have sent word, but he doesn't know. "How long have I been gone, Io?"

     "Three months," and now the smile fades a bit more. "A while, not horribly long, but it's felt longer, I assure you. And... no... I am not married." He chuckles a little. "I would not without you there, you know this." And if you don't, you should. He pats your arm and heads past the door with you. "I have not been successful in finding a suitable queen, but I hear we are to receive an emissary from a very distant part of the lands, a place even outside the kingdoms. I am hopeful she will be suitable. It sounds promising on paper. But... I really want to talk about you... I want to hear what you've been doing. We can talk of our future Missus Queen issues later," he murmurs.
     The door is closed and he is moving downstairs. There are maps everywhere, scattered on the floor, unrolled and open. They are not maps of the ocean and kingdoms (for that is etched into the very floor as you know) but of buildings and islands. "Am I taller?" he peers at you curiously then down at himself. He hadn't noticed. "Gwilym is now taller than I am. You wouldn't recognize him." He stands at the foot of the stairs. He seems old and so young all at the same time. His hair is fiery red, mussed and sticking up here and there and everywhere, his white silk shirt unfastened, barefooted too, wearing only midnight leather pants. He looks like many young men do after long nights in London.
     "There's just so much happening... I'm not sure where to start," Iowerth sighs, eyes widened a notch. They are still gleaming bright periwinkle, the lavender in them blaring -- a sure sign of his excitement. "And I've missed you. Most of all, there's that. Duw... you look...I don't know that I've ever seen you this way," Iowerth remarks suddenly. "You are in your own power. You are radiating strength and confidence." Do you even need me anymore, I wonder. Have you left me behind in your wanderings. "Do you want something to eat... drink...? You know, whatever you want," his voice trails off. It is at your command.
     He was caught in the middle of work, you can see that clearly. He fills his time with that. What wondrous thing is he working on now? It is... immense by the looks of it.

     He follows you down the stairs and into the main cabin, shrugging his way out of his jacket without haste, without hurry. It is put to one side (he knows how you usually abhor disorder) and he takes a place for himself in one clear spot of the floor, eyeing the disarray of your planning.
     "I've never looked enough at your brother to recognize him. Every time I see him, I'm always a little startled," Tiernan says absently, "because I see the hair and the general outline and it's like he's out of focus, because he isn't you. But then, I got very much out of the habit of looking at him too closely, when we were all in London together. Didn't want to be another reason for him to have issues and cause problems for us, and for you."
     Such honesty. As if all that he has suppressed, not stated openly in the past is now being said. No longer held back. "The main thing I want right now is a hot bath and your company, Io. But you're in the middle of something. I know how it is, with inspiration - you need to get it done now, right?" Tiernan smiles at you, that faint, patient tolerance in his smile. "Why don't you get to a point where you can put it aside and then we can talk. I'm here to spend time with you. So..."

     "No, no," he says softly as he looks at you, "... it is good for me to break free from it. And you are more than just an excuse, you are... the best excuse, yes? You are here, and so work can wait a while. It will always be there, won't it?" He smiles at that, knowing it is true, and he takes your hand. He holds it, and then his arms come around you in another embrace, this one more emotional. A hand to your face, Iowerth caresses your skin, remembers it, reminds himself all over again, and he closes his eyes to kiss you.
     It is a tender thing, made tender by the passing of so much time and with so much emotion beneath his skin. You bring out what is good in him, and he shows it to you. His love, his affection -- it is every bit as deep as his desire.
     When he parts the kiss, his eyes are on your own fixed, his hand returning to hold yours. "A hot bath sounds good. I could probably use one," he smirks. "And a drink to your return." He nods to that, turning and taking you by the hand to lead you to the royal bath of this luxury vessel.
     The bath has a view of the ocean and the companion ship and it is framed in stained glass, vivid colors, so many blues from soft sky to rich royal and deep midnight. There is no lighting but natural lighting -- right now, in the midst of the afternoon, the stained glass around the bath and windows is gleaming, tossing colors here and there around the chamber. The bath is filled with water converted from the salt sea to something more soothing for the skin. Copper pipes run beneath the flooring. A turn of the faucet and bubbling water springs up and into the large pool. The pool itself is a sunken tub crafted, it appears, from the same stained glass that surrounds it and the windows and set into a raised dias with steps that lead to the pool's edge and smaller steps that lead into its belly.
     Around the perimeter are folded towels, even robes, all the comforts you could ask and sitting areas of soft sofas and chairs.
     "Would you care for some brandy or wine?" Iowerth wonders, pausing at a selection of bottles that rest upon a table nearest the pool. It is important to have access to drink when one is relaxing, is it not? "Gwilym has come to peace with how things are," he says after a moment. "He admits his emotions were not always clear. I hope that you and he can begin...repairing the relationship that got off to a bad start. He does approve of you and I. He understands now, much better than he did."
     He is pouring himself a drink, even if you will not take one. "So... you are still doing work in Venice? How is that going? What are you learning there?"

     The kiss is returned; he is controlling himself, though you do not know it. Keeping from leaping on you like some wild thing. All in due time, yes? Tiernan smiles a little as you pull away, his fingers linking through yours. "I am trying to get accustomed to being called again by my proper name. I should've picked something other than Terry; I'm sure people think I'm a half-wit."
     He allows you to lead him to the bath, and he looks around with an air of approval. "Nothing for me just yet, to drink. In a bit, maybe." And as you begin preparing for yourself your drink, he is bending, untying his boots, half unlacing them to get out of them, rising out of them and undressing. You would know this even if he did not announce it, which he does, by tossing his undershirt at the back of your head carelessly but with terrific aim.
     He is as you remember him. His skin is marked by the crescent blackness that he has always had since the truth was uncovered; but he is making no show of modesty, no attempt to keep them covered save when he must not. He moves to the steps, then into the water with a little hop, closing his eyes as he is immersed.
     "I'm not worried about your brother's opinions anymore." Tiernan swims backwards, floating with his arms more or less under his head as he tells you this. One eye opens, and he turns his head slightly towards you, then allows himself to more or less stand in the depths of the pool, treading water. "Now, us - that's a different matter. What do you want us to be, Io?"

     He needed that moment of your playfulness. His bemuse expression cracks a smile. He shakes his head. "I doubt anyone finds you a half-wit. Even if you called yourself Terry King of the Imbeciles, they'd not believe it."
     There was a nod as you turned down the offer of the drink, and he continues to pour his own, setting the bottle of pear hard cider aside. There is a quiet between you, and for his part there is a bit of confusion. Confusion? It has been three months for him, and while you returned the kiss there is an element of fire missing. He has it -- it fuels his every look, causes the brightness in his eyes. But you are more aloof than he anticipated. Even for you. He's beginning to get the feeling he's happier that you're here than you are.
     Iowerth does not yet drink. He is rolling out of his shirt as you ask the question. For a moment, his quiet expression, that habitual thoughtfulness, does not change. "What are we now? I thought we were lovers... I am in love with you. I want you to be with me, my companion through life. Wasn't that the plan?" He narrows his eyes at the sound of you floating -- from his vantage beneath the level of the pool he cannot see you. It is not until he steps up the four steps to the pool's crest that he can see you floating so easily. "That's how I always imagined it, at any rate. What ... do you want us to be? Has something changed your mind?" You can see it: he's not sure he wants to know if your mind is changed or not. His confusion is slowly seeping into dread.
     "Have you... fallen out of love with me?" Iowerth asks it suddenly as he stands at the pool's edge. He sips at his cider and then looks at you where you float smoothly along the surface of the pool. "Or... have you ... found that you would prefer to remain Elsewhere?" Not with me. Not living as I've dreamed it but following your own dreams. His skin goes ruddy as his emotions are stirred. He prepares himself for the worst.

     "You know, with as much as you jump to conclusions, I ought to have." Tiernan shakes his head a little, splashing water in your direction. "Deus, Io. Get in here, will you?" He is amused. Compassionate, but amused. His arms spread, and he beckons to you.
     He moves to the edge, leaning up against the wall of the pool, watching you. His dark hair clings to his scalp, water dripping down the nape of his neck and forming rivers across his chest which gradually drain to trickles, then droplets. "We got into a mess the last time because of that, Io. You thought I was leaving you, and I didn't. Now you're assuming all over again. I'm asking because I know I've been gone a while. I don't know what's happened while I've been away - and there you are, acting as if you've just seen me run over your dog."
     He shakes his head, then sighs, sinking slowly down into the water. Deus... "I have not fallen out of love with you," Tiernan tells you, head tipped back so that the heat can work on the back of his neck. "I have not stopped wanting you. I resent you for it, a little. It is harder to have one foot in either world than both firmly planted in only one. But I love you. My time there has changed me; is changing me. You are in love with me, but I want you to be sure that the me you are in love with is the me that is here in front of you."
     He straightens again, opening his eyes to focus them on you steadily, leaning back against the pool's wall once more. "I don't want either of us to plan our entire lives based on how things started, Io. We've been through a lot of changes - both of us - in a short amount of time. Things have changed and are going to change, and that means - as people, as men, in love or not - we need to look at where we are to decide where we're going. Would you rather I continue to assume, like we did the last time? That didn't work. I'm trying to make sure whatever we are going to have will work. Besides," he finishes lightly, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand across them, "that's what you pay me for, isn't it? Making sure things work."

     He comes by it honestly and is helpless to completely avoid it where emotions and the heart is concerned. But do not blame him. Blame his father for continuing that thread in the family genes. And for reasons he can't even explain, part of him wants to run. But it isn't you. It is change. It is what has changed and what will continue to change.
     Iowerth looks at you, then to his hands. The glass disappears. Tipping his head back and tilting to the side he looks at you again, this time with unafraid eyes, his adolescent worries cast off. He removes the leathers, tossing them aside and revealing the first male body you knew other than your own.
     The dragons swirl and writhe. There are seas there and whirlpools; there are shooting stars and there are compasses and guiding lights. Iowerth stands before you a moment, letting you see him. Unabashedly naked. He steps into the pool, easing into the water to join you.
     "We are not who we were when we made those promises," Iowerth nods, "...this is true. You were with your first lover, and I only my second really. We loved wildly, as boys will. But those boys have become men." The water is warm. He closes his eyes a moment as he floats. He does not swim to you, but maintains a certain amount of distance between you as you talk.
     "Where I am... is... I am about to become king. I have created my kingdom... I want to show you if you have time, before you leave again," he notes in an aside. "And I will marry within the next year or two, as has already been determined, and at that time I will officially take the crown. I have a general for my armies and security is already in place. Soon, I will be moving there permanently and opening the gates and waters to the kingdom for others to converge. That is where I am, Tiernan. Do you... have any interest in going there with me? In being there with me? As my lover, my confidante? Do you want to command the navy or run voyages of discovery as I once did, now that I must turn my mind to other matters? I need to know where you heart is leading you. Is it leading you toward or away from me?"
     Iowerth folds his arms against the side of the pool, resting his head upon it. He turns to you, his eyes bright, his face placid in awaiting your answer. Whether he likes it or not.

     "I want to share my life with you. Whatever it is in my life, I want my life to be equal to yours. I do not want to be your pet, held onto out of sentimental attachment or lust." Tiernan answers you calmly, regarding you steadily. "I don't ask you to stop your own work; I'd think less of you if you did. And I would like to be there to help you in your endeavors, but I can't make your work my life's work; not without feeling as if I become less than what I am, what I ought to be. What we have together, I want it to be a meeting of equal minds, equal spirits. Titles have come to mean little to me," he shrugs, "and it is who we are to each other that matters."
     He gestures to you, watching you, to see how you respond to this, to how you respond to what he is telling you. "I know that circumstances of birth have made this a thousand times harder for us both, Io. Not just you, not just me. But this is what I want. It is what I feel I deserve; not that you owe me," he says quickly, "deus, let us not speak of debt. I don't feel you owe me anything. But whatever relationship we have, I want it to be one where we both can bring the best of ourselves to it as we can't help but bring the worst of ourselves. We aren't children, as you said. What we do now will affect us, shape the course of our lives for a long time to come."
     Tiernan sighs, turning to look up at the source of the light as it filters down from above. "Maybe I plan too much," he admits. "I know I have to share you with many things, Io. You are a captain, a king, a brother, a son, and you are about to become a husband on top of that, to some woman as yet unknown, unidentified. Am I asking too much? Am I requiring you divide yourself into too many pieces, for my own piece to have a known shape, defined and named? If I am ... then tell me."

     "No... it is not too much to ask," Iowerth softly confirms. He exhales, pushing off the wall and floating to you. "I don't care if you want to do nothing, it you want a dozen titles or none. I just want you with me. Your life... your life is your life. I think... no, I know," his mouth forms a frown, cupidic lips cutting downward, "...I have tried to plan it out for you, toss ideas at you, I still do... but ... I can't decide what you are going to do or who you are going to be. It's a habit... and a bad one, I know. I will stop offering those things. We don't have to ...justify your presence in my life with titles and things."
     He lifts his hand, his damp skin rolling over your own, his fingers stroking your face. "I love you. And I just want you to be happy, Tiernan. When you were sad, I started... trying to find ways to make you smile or return what had been taken. It's a bad habit that I will... learn to lay aside. I promise." Iowerth leans in, kissing you again. It is brief, tender and giving. When it parts, he remains close to you.
     "You don't owe me anything, We are not ...indebted to one another. And... I agree... in order for us to be happy with one another we are going to have to be equals in one another's eyes. You have to have your own life in order to achieve that, not one that I allow you 'by my good graces' to have." Iowerth nods slowly in thought. "My heart is large, it has to be. And though I will have to tend to my people before myself, you are principal in my heart and mind." First. "Any queen of mine will have to simply understand that. It is my hope that... once things are settled ... we will not have to skulk about in dark corners. That is my hope."
     He is quiet for a time. Quiet to listen to you, quiet to look at you where you are visible both above and below the water line. "I have built you your own apartments in my basilica. Easily accessed from my own but separate. I hope you choose to stay there, but you are not required to." Iowerth stares at you. He is still amazed by the changes that are so apparent. He is having to get to know you all over again -- you can see him adapting to this new dynamic. You are so much stronger, so much more confident. Do I look as strange to you?
     "You are ... just so different," Iowerth remarks. "I like you speaking up for yourself, having a sense of your own direction, your own determination. I felt changed, too, until I saw you again. Now... I don't know what I am. It has been too long, Tiernan. I am on my heels, a little." Iowerth cradles your face in his hand. "I'm going to have to find my way with you again. Get my footing and get my bearings. I am sorry if I seem strangely unconfident. I feel strangely unconfident somehow." His ears go pink, so you know he's telling the truth. And is embarrassed by it.

     "I still love you," Tiernan says softly. An arm winds around your waist, and he stares at you, looks into your eyes as if to communicate with you without words. But he takes the time to frame the words, to put them into speech. "I know I have not been saying it in this conversation very much; focused on getting these other words out before they drifted off. But you have no need to fear losing me. I can see that you have; that you do."
     He draws you to him, a hand spread at the small of your back, his other hand at your hip, and he smiles a little. "You are afraid I have changed too much, that you will not be able to rely on what you have always known will work," Tiernan remarks. He looks to you steadily. "That the old familiar touches, the old familiar words will not move me. That this confidence is only the surface; that under it, everything else has changed. You cannot rely on the ground holding where it used to be solid, where you knew everything was fine."
     He does not offer reassurances. You will have to wait and see. Instead, his hands turn you gently, and he pulls your back in, against his chest, an arm wrapping around your waist. "You are still the king of my heart, Io. But I have lost the mystique that thrones have. And that is what you need from me, I think; a lover who will remind you that you are a man, rather than a king. In our bedroom, there is little room for crowns." His hand brushes your thigh, his other hand lifting to caress the nape of your neck, and you can feel his lips brush the back of your shoulder. "Little room for titles; for roles. I would rather be mated to you than your servant. And I do not think - king or no - you would ever seek to serve anything less than an entire kingdom, hm?"

     "Oes," Iowerth whispers. He admits that fear to you, though you do not need such admission for you have already seen it. You know it for what it is. He turns as you wish him to, though he turns his head toward you, his gaze still fixed on you. It lowers only as your mouth does, brushing against his shoulder. Yes, I was afraid we would have to start over. And so... we shall. "I will have to learn what moves you now, to reacquaint myself with the discoverer I once was before Coronado became king."
     He turns in your hold. This is a time to face you. You see that in his eyes. His gaze now dips to your lips, bronze lashes downsweeping to half veil his eyes. "My role and I are now so intertwined," Iowerth says, his arms snaking around your waist. "I will need to be reminded that I am a man divisible from my duties, though my duties contain so much of me and my dreams."
     He kisses you, his mouth trailing over your chin, suckling there as another has recently done as he makes his way to your neck.
     "I don't want you as a servant. I want you as my man," Iowerth breathes it against your ear. "And I will stop fearing this new future with you, but rather see it as an opportunity to know you as you are, not as you were. To find what... pleases you now. And with joined hands... we will move forward... oes?"
     His eyes lift from your lips to your eyes, his eyebrows arching upward, the tails of two comets. His confidence, which has been shaken with him being on his heels with your arrival, starts to return to him. Drifting back just slightly, Iowerth tilts his head to study you. He watches to see if your flesh reacts to the wandering and padding of his fingertips. It is as if you two have never made love before, that this is the first time you have seen one another without your clothing. He says nothing. This is a practice best suited for silence. A hand moves over your chest, fingers sliding through the water and against your skin.

     He offers you his smile, enigmatic though it may now seem to you. But it is the same smile he has always had. "What we are to one another is important to us. The man may not be divided from the king, but the king from the man; in my arms, you are whoever you want to be, Io. You don't have to be anyone else. I love you for who I have seen you be; from when you began through now, all of our growth and exploration, pleasurable and painful."
     You kiss him, and he kisses you in return, teasing lightly at your mouth and then claiming it, grazing your lips with his teeth and then soothing them with the suckle of his lips, the gentle, soft pressure of his tongue. And then he seizes your mouth in earnest, his eyes drifting closed with a pleasurable sound as he seeks that compass he knows is behind the gate of your teeth, gliding his tongue against the roof of your mouth and then down to tug and push at the steel ball, this way and that.
     "Why fear?" Tiernan murmurs as he sets your mouth free, his hand lifting to capture your own. "Do you think I will have changed so much as that - become someone you do not know at all? You have had me with you for six years, going on seven. I've been gone less than six months." Your hand is lifted, his head is bowed, his lips skimming the cool surface of your palm. And then his grip shifts, his fingers linking again through yours as he pulls you in close. "I am claiming that which I want, that which is mine, that's all. You."

     The energy between you is different. That which surrounds you is very different and his is reacting to the change. It is as if the polarity of magnets has been switched. He is not leading anymore. He is following. And that is very disconcerting. "The dynamics are... different," he whispers. "I ... don't know how to react yet."
     Before, such a kiss would have enflamed him. You toying with that metal ball would have had him hard and aching. He would not be floating with you, wrapped with you, looking befuddled and confused without so much as a lift below the surface of the pool. He cannot shake it. You are more powerful than he is at this moment in time. And that is not a position he can remain in comfortably.
     "I think I need to dry off," Iowerth says. "I need a drink." He puts a hand to his head, raking water through it. It remains mostly dry. "I know... you haven't been gone as long as it seems. Your energy is just... different. New. I need to ... get used to it." And he is not, clearly, not yet.
     He begins to drift out of your hold. He does not retreat to the other side of the pool, but rather hoists himself out where he stood. Colossal streams of water cascade off of him, off of the musculature and structure. That form you know so well. He is not feeling in his element. Perhaps if he swam in the sea...
     "Are you sure you don't want anything," Iowerth asks you again. "There is regular pear cider as well as hard cider. There's brandy. I even have an apricot and a pear brandy..."

     He releases you, watches you, saying nothing. You withdraw, and he nods; he holds himself aloof with your retreat. "Get what you need," Tiernan says quietly. He looks quickly away; his face held in shadow. Slowly, he sinks down, under the surface of the water, eyes closed; resurfaces, swimming lazily to the steps.
     He stands on the lower steps, pulling himself out of the water without turning to you. "Thanks." He shakes his head to your offer. "I'm fine without, for now." He does not follow you with your retreat; allows you your space, your distance. His hands come up, pushing his hair back again, and he goes quietly to where he'd dropped his clothes.

     Iowerth turns, looking to you. He sees you with your back to him and he looks down at the glass as he pours a refill. This time it is brandy. "Tiernan..." You are upset. Exhaling mightily, a wet and naked Iowerth plops onto the sofa. I'm sorry. Please... come sit by me. He takes a swallow of the brandy and then he sets it aside.
     "I want to hear about your work," he says, "... about your experiences in Venice." Iowerth bends, taking up his shirt. He's not dry, he realizes, so it will only stick to him. He drapes it over the back of the sofa instead, rising to get a towel for himself and for you. He carries it to you. "It has had a profound effect on you," he notes, "... and I want to share in that. This ...confidante thing goes both ways, oes?"
     He looks at you, exhaling again. "I'm sorry... I killed the mood, didn't I." That familiar drolling tone returns. "It's nothing you did or didn't do, and I do want you, I ... just need a moment. I ... want to talk to you. It's been too long. And you're staying here, right? We have all night..."

     "I'll stay if you want me to." He says it quietly, but doesn't turn; not right away. He is upset. He will never look at anyone, when he is upset; when he is afraid that emotion might show on his face, unguarded, unrestrained. Tiernan takes the towel, looking at your hands rather than your face.
     He dries himself slowly as you walk away, as you speak. You are not being ignored; it is just that as you needed a moment, now, apparently, so does he. The towel ends wrapped around his waist as impromptu kilt, and he moves to the sofa as well, sinking onto one end, leaning back and closing his eyes. Much of the energy has drained suddenly from him.
     "Venice is a city in trouble," Tiernan says quietly. "They need people who can do something about it. It's why I ended up there." Listlessly, he sinks back, eyes still closed. "I'm working with a marine engineering firm which is trying innovative ways of keeping buildings afloat and raising ones which have sunk. It is not something which gets done often enough for there to have been much background; they are trying to use marine salvage tricks on buildings, by turning the buildings into the equivalent of sunken wrecks or sinking ones. I am one of the bright young men sent running around to check on projects and try to solve problems as they arise."

     Iowerth sits forward. For a time he says nothing. He listens and only after you have finished speaking and after a few moments more, he turns to you and reaches out his hand. "I'm sorry, love. Please. And... of course I want you to stay." He rises, the towel tied around his waist and with it wrapped kilt-like around him, he kneels before you. "Will you accept my apology for the inadvertent refusal? I was overwhelmed. I needed a drink. It has been... very emotional... is very emotional."
     He speaks it in soft earnest. Those periwinkle eyes sparkle with lavender and blue. Those colors again, blue and violet, but lighter here. "You were seducing me, and my mind was so crammed with... everything -- past, present, and future. I am sorry. It is not, was not, you." Standing, Iowerth leans over you. His hand strokes against your face again and he kisses you. "Please believe me."
     The towel does not lie...
     Parting the kiss, he rests his forehead at your own. "You are a bright young man," his lips lift at that. A smile! Heavens! Who knew he still could? "They are lucky to have you. And what you are learning now we can put to use here, can we not? I have... patterned my kingdom on Venice... rather, the dreams of it and you that I was having when you first left and I visited. Remember? Who knows, you may need to help me keep my kingdom from sinking..." As if -- but it is meant to cheer you up. It's the least he can do."
     Standing in front of you, Iowerth hooks his fingers between the towel and his waist and he gives a tug, letting the soft fabric drop to the floor. His body is a marvel, and he lets you get an eyeful as it begins to finally react. "Can we ... try again?" Iowerth murmurs.

     Tiernan looks at you; downcast face is no protection when you are kneeling in front of him. He sighs a little. "Maybe I am going too fast for you," he says quietly, against your lips, watching as you rise. "It seemed so clear to me, when I thought about it. I wanted you to know..."
     He shakes his head a little, rising to his feet, reaching for you to pull you close. He does not kiss you again; not yet. He just holds you, arms winding around the breadth of you, holding you in against him with his head draped against your shoulder, his cheek brushing your own.
     "I will always love you, Io. But right now... I don't know. Maybe you need more time. Before we rush headlong into each other's beds again, maybe..." His grip tightens, then releases; you can see the tension in his shoulders. He steps back, turning his face away again, though his voice is calm, controlled when he again speaks. "Maybe it was a mistake I've made."

     "Wanted me to know... what?" His arms surround you. "I think we are analyzing it to much," Iowerth notes for the record. "It is easy for us to fall into. Each action does not have to be fraught with meaning, does it?" Iowerth pulls back, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you again. "You will always love me? More time? If anything, Tiernan, there has been too much separation." You turn your face away and he draws it back, shaking his own. "Don't do that... don't look away."
     He holds your face before him, his forehead resting against your own. "Don't look away," he whispers. "Stay with me." He says nothing again, nothing for a time. His gaze merely looks into yours. He faces how different you are. "I see so easily, so clearly how much you've changed. I have as well. We know this. We must, therefore, be patient with each other. If we lose patience now, we could lose everything, Tiernan. Each other. And I don't want that. Please hear me. I don't want that."
     His thumbs rub against your cheeks. "We need to talk... we need to reacquaint ourselves. Do you not need to reacquaint yourself with me? Do I seem the same to you?"

     "How I feel," Tiernan agrees quietly. "I ... have never talked much. You remember, don't you, when we first met, when I told you how I didn't read much poetry, because it held no meaning for me? I couldn't understand it. There was no correlation for it, in my world." He looks up at you, his hand rising to cover your own. "I had nothing to lose. I couldn't understand loss, because there was nothing so precious that it could not be replaced."
     His chin dips down again, his eyes closing, and he sighs; a quiet exhale that sounds nonetheless raw, catching in his throat. "I could live without you, Io, but my life would be so much less than what it is, with you in it. But I've become greedy. Maybe I want too much. And I want you to want me as badly as I do you. I want to see it; feel it; taste it in your eyes, your smile, your kiss. I don't want you to protect me from yourself, Io."
     His forehead thuds lightly against yours, and then he straightens, standing, keeping your hands in his. "I love you," Tiernan says simply. "That's all. People have been loving each other forever. So why am I so bad at it?"

     He is startled, and when you say the word 'protect', Iowerth Rhudd Draig opens his eyes. I have been protecting you. How long have you known? "I have ... always protected you, and us," he murmurs. He whispers his secret, his hold around you tightening as you come face-to-face with his intensity. "From the moment I showed you that secret tunnel and took you on-board this vessel. I had to protect you from your family, my family, from any outside eyes."
     "And finally," he continues, "... after you were nearly killed and your kingdom was in ruins... I cloistered you. I protected you from everything and everyone that had hurt you, including me." Eyebrows lift, and his face is ruddy, twisting with what he has not said, what is difficult to say. "And now, you do not need me. And I do not know what it is like to be with you, without you needing me."
     Everything for him is on its head, and he lets you see that. You wanted to see it, feel it, taste it? You have your wish. The sea is in a tumult in his eyes. The ship groans from it, listing slightly in the offshore waters. There is spray against the high cliffs of his cheekbones. "I am not powerful to you now, you don't need me to be the protector, your king-lover. It's not you who are bad at love. It is I."
     But I do love you. So twined with the need to protect you as it has been, love feels shaken, as tossed as the seas beneath this ship now. But love is still there; it is only my emotions that are pitching. Iowerth's grasp tightens, one hand at the nape of your neck, his other around your waist. "When we were first together," he whispers at and near your mouth, "... I let you feel everything that I was. We loved magically as much as physically. We experimented, learned each other and from each other. When you fell ill, I gave you all the compassion that was in me, all the tender feelings of love. You were not well enough for much else. And I wanted to shield you, hold you, make you well. Give you a reason to live. To be the rock for you to anchor onto. Because I loved you, and I was afraid that if I did not, you would slip away beyond the shadows with that woman, and I would lose you."
     His hand and your neck pulls you into him, and you taste the salt of oceans in his kiss, the ocean that wets his face, shakes his body with emotions. And the wave of energy that first pulled you into his arms now knocks the both of you back: you upon the sofa, and he upon you. He is heavy, and the body carved by life on the sea -- the pulling of ropes, the steadying of sails -- is hard, not soft. Pummeling, not welcoming. Your lower lip is pulled, sucked by the whirlpool magic of his mouth, punished by the rocks of his teeth. He could drown you -- loving the ocean is dangerous business -- but he coughs you up, his mouth releasing yours loudly so you can both breathe.
     "I want you," Iowerth whispers at your mouth, your flesh likely still feeling the echoes of his tugging mouth and teeth. It is swollen and red. "Can you see it now?" You do have an excellent view of his body, his towel long gone and dragons appearing to claw at your skin. "Feel it now? I have drowned alone in wanting you since you left," his voice reminds you that it was YOU who left. "I have sought solace but have not found it. You were not here to give it to me," he whispers in the crowded space of the sofa. His hand reaches between you, surrounding the root of your exposed length. He does not move it, he does not have to. The whirlpools of the ocean are his... are Him, in fact. The sea sucks at your blood wherever he touches you, sends your inner oceans into a tumult. The mouth of the sea surrounds you, pulling strongly. Iowerth lets you feel it, then moves his hand away, his body sinking against your own, heavy as cliff stone, his mouth opening widely over yours once more.
     It is want at its most naked, both literally and figuratively. It is four months, maybe five already for him since all of this began; three since your last visitation. And though you can imagine he did not spend every evening in solitude, still You were not there. He shows it to you, the beautiful and the terrible, the gentle and the punishing. The sea in calm bays, the oceanic cyclone. They are all in his eyes, in every touch, and your are slapped with the waves in every kiss.

     His hands lift, his wrists draping against your shoulders, and he tilts in against you, his forehead to yours. "You can be strong without needing to carry me as well as yourself and your kingdom," he tells you, his voice low, kept quiet. He closes his eyes; the blue of them hidden from you for a moment as he swallows. Strong emotion, this. "Why do you think I don't need you? We grow as we do, Io, together or away from each other. Maybe I don't need you to shelter me from my enemies, the enemies of Us, the way I used to. I need to make my own way. That doesn't mean I don't need you."
     His mouth parts at yours, though he's breathless; caught unawares by this drive of yours, that pushes him back, that sucks the air from his lungs. You fall upon him, his hands bracing at your back, at your skin, and for a moment, his eyes close again, then open, facing you squarely. Directly.
     He cannot fight you; and so he does not. He is patient; he spreads himself under you, legs tangling against your own, body braced against the sofa. "I can't give you solace," Tiernan manages to grind the words out, "if you won't let me. Do you want to talk, or act?" His hands push against your skin, making their insistence known. He pulls his head back with another gasp, sucking air into burning lungs. "I'm not a victim, Io. I make choices..."

     His body tangles with yours like it is held in place and tied with seaweed. His lips are close to yours, one hand stroking your face, his other pressing at your back. "Do you want me, have you missed me?" he asks softly. "Have you wanted to feel me like this? I have slept alone for so many nights," Iowerth whispers, his periwinkle eyes gleaming at you in his close proximity. So startling he can be with his fiery hair and light purple eyes. "I missed you so much, and there were nights I thought that you weren't coming back. I'm sorry if I haven't made my feelings plain, but ... do you see them now? Are they plain now, love?"
     The words, though quietly spoken, come with a rawness of energy, of emotion. Iowerth's mouth pulls at your lips, your chin, and then parts at the side of your neck, his lips and tongue and teeth blazing a trail. "Duw," he murmurs there, "...your taste has been on my tongue, your smile in my heart, even your laughter, that musical rare sound has been buzzing in my ears. I've had no peace without you." He gnaws and sucks -- does that remind you of anything? -- and seems to feed on your very skin, your very presence.
     "I give myself to you," he whispers, his body readjusting to let his mouth trail over your chest. "Here is all of me, flesh and blood, and spirit and heart. I have nothing else, nothing left to give but this everything." His mouths opens at a nipple, his breaths warm there, panted there. "In all of my beauty and all of my ugliness. My love, my possessiveness. Tiernan..."
     He sighs your name against your skin, his body readjusting again, allowing him to stroke his mouth, lips parted, down the center of your torso to your navel. "What else... name it... tell me what you want, what more I can tell you, show you, to prove to you how much I want you."

     He would not tell you hurtful truths; not now, not here. That the last time he was this close to a man, it was not you; that at that time, you were all but entirely out of his thoughts. Those are words which would only be meant to hurt. And he does not want - no matter what has happened or may yet - to hurt you, to wound you. Calloused fingers roll against the nape of your neck, thighs spreading wider under your weight as his mouth lifts to yours, his head falls back with a sigh.
     "I thought that if I had to, I could live without you," Tiernan tells you quietly; so quietly, his mouth framing that o with pursed gasp. You are in motion. It is harder for him to keep up, right now; to match you with actions when his mind is taking so much time with words. "And then ... when you pulled away from me..." You can hear his groan as you slide down him. "Damnation, Io," he mutters, his fingers going into your hair, "do you want me to tell you what I think, or does it need to wait?"
     There is a half of a laugh in his voice when he says it. Amusement mingles with exasperation, with self-mockery that is a new addition to those blue eyes. He tugs lightly on your hair, sliding down with his body pressing in close against yours. "I am not so adept as you," Tiernan whispers. "I can't tell you and show you at the same time."

     His head lifts as you tug his hair and he slides back up with a sigh. "I wish you'd make up your mind. First, you go to seduce me, I start talking and you get upset. I start making love to you and now you want to talk." He sounds exasperated, but as he laughs you know the exasperation is meant only for show. "No wonder I don't know which way is up, you and your conflicting signals," he pretends to grouse, his body settling on yours (the sofa's not quite large enough for you to lie side by side).
     His arms around your shoulders, Iowerth settles in to listen. You know that face: open, attentive, curious. It is the same look you get when you speak about anything, the face of a philosopher and scholar. "You know, you repeating over and over again that you can live without me isn't exactly making me feel any better," comes the droll tug of his voice upon his lilting syllables. "So," he murmurs, now far more seriously, "... you were saying about living without me... if you had to, which by the way you don't have to, and I don't want you to. We've already dealt with our misunderstanding about the parting of the ways..."
     Oh the things that are better left unsaid...

     Your lover looks both patient and stubborn at the same time, if such can be said to exist. And he presses in against your chest, sighing. "I have missed this," Tiernan admits quietly, eyes closed as he rests his cheek against your collarbone. "Being with you. The scent of your skin. The way you and only you feel. Yes, I could live without you, Io. But when you turn from me and I feel rejected by you, I feel as if my world is crumbling at the edges. There is this ... knot, almost pain, in my stomach which gets tied then; a hole there which begins to pull my entire chest, and most particularly my heart into that vortex. When my mother died, I shed no tears. I don't think I'd be able to be that stoic over you."
     One of his hands rises, smooths roughly over your hair, then settles again at the nape of your neck. "Maybe I could live without you. I don't know. When I am not with you, I think I could. When I'm with you, and I'm faced with the possibility ... I feel parts of myself dying. So even if I could - I don't know for how long I'd make it before there wasn't enough of me left for it to qualify as living."
     His mouth presses against your chest in a warm kiss, and lifts again, those blue eyes regarding you from up close. "Not needing you to protect me, though, Io, that does not mean I don't need you. I need your warmth, your support, your words, your wit. I need to see your eyes on me, and your heart behind them," Tiernan whispers. "I just need you to want me and to be with me for who I am and who I will be, Io. If you see me only as something fragile to be protected ... then we won't last. We'd last only as long as it took for you to have children."

     The two of you lie upon his sofas like lazy boys on a summer day -- all naked arms and legs. "Well," Iowerth turns his head, his mouth trailing against your skin in idle play -- you and he have all day and all night and who knows how long he'll be able to talk you into staying, so he thinks -- there is no hurry to his motions. His mouth is lazy, his fingers even more languid. "At least you'd cry. That is a relief." Iowerth lifts his head, his fiery locks standing up here and there where your hand has moved through it. He smiles but behind his smile is serious recognition for what you say. Stretching, he kisses your mouth.
     His mouth stops playing at your own, his eyes opening again and he rests his head against you. For a time he says nothing. He merely holds you, his mouth trailing over a shoulder. There he sighs. "I don't see you as a fragile thing, no. You are my friend, you are the one I love. I see you as my companion, my lover, my confidante and very trusted friend. I love the man you are. And even though your path has taken you away from me... and even though I do not like it... I do like where it has led you and that you are here with me, truly here with me. Not empty, not just staring off somewhere but really and truly here with me. I want you to stay with me, I am not going to be dishonest. But I do not want this at the expense of your own happiness. Maybe...you can... just visit me more often, hmm? Five months is too long not to see you at all, or only fleetingly."
     Iowerth kisses your ear, his mouth finding your neck again. The kisses are gentle but tugging. "Can we meet in the middle, then? I stop protecting you and you start seeing me more?" Lifting his head again, his lips play at yours, brushing, lightly rubbing, then stealing a little suckling kiss here and there. "I could live without you too, but I bloody well wouldn't enjoy it."

     "Ass." He laughs, though, a genuine laugh, and his hand goes to your cheek. No; what memories and comparisons are there, are there behind his eyes, out of harm's way. There is no hesitation in his kiss. "Yes," Tiernan admits softly, "I would. I came damned close to it just a few minutes ago, and I would not tell anyone that except you."
     Whether you know it or not, he likes that possessiveness of yours. That he can arouse your jealousy. That your feelings for him are somehow the more real for it. He nips lightly at your lower lip before speaking again. "My path isn't taking me away forever or for all of the time. I don't know what I'm doing yet, Io. I'll figure it out. I promise to talk with you about it when I do."
     He makes few promises, and tries his honest best to keep the ones he does. Whether it is reassuring or not, he doesn't know; but there is response to your kiss, your touch. "I love you, Io," Tiernan murmurs. "I don't want you thinking it's all one-sided. Though it's ironic, isn't it... where we are now... I remember a day when I was in your bed back at the beginning, and I told you I wanted to stay with you and I was afraid of being parted from you. You weren't reacting quite this way, as I recall."

     "Did I say all the right things to get into your trousers? I was a cheeky boy," his eyes arch upward in that moment of self-reflection. Tilting his head, Iowerth looks to you. His gaze drifts from your eyes to your mouth and back again. Each glance to your lips is followed by another brush of his own mouth and another kiss. "Then we are agreed. You and I will talk more, you will tell me what I can expect for visits and I'll... manage during the times you are not here."
     His eyebrows arch a little again as he lowers to rest against you. He likes giving you his weight, letting and making you feel it. And to feel your skin against his own, nothing getting in the way of the connection: he is all but rolling around in you. "I had some... what I would call at any rate... commitment issues in the very beginning," Iowerth admits. "But I haven't felt that way in a long while. And it was just... the uncertainty. Soon, that uncertainty and inexperience were exchanged for love and confidence. The confidence, admittedly, comes and goes," his voice drolls suddenly as he rolls his head to bring his gaze to yours again. Iowerth's lips, with a good fullness in their own right, form a humored smirk. "I've gone from being slippery to possessive. I'm not sure which is worse to be honest," he chuckles.
     "I like it when you tug on my hair and rub my scalp. I've missed that. And your laughter, and just ... being like this. Lying about naked without a care in the world. Like free men who don't have responsibilities, who just loiter about on sofas in grand chambers and have discussions on all manners of things. It's our private little Lyceum."
     When his mouth returns to yours, as it always must when you are near, the kiss is fuller. Wider warmth begins to blend, his tongue sliding against your own. It does not end so much as it drifts off into smaller, suckling touches, finally fading into brushes and nudges. "I will try to remember it is not all one-sided. It's not all about you," his lips slide in another smile.

     "You did," Tiernan murmurs the confirmation, his grin quiet and reflected in his eyes. His lips brush your own, then cling, suckling, tasting you unhurriedly. "You were my first. I gave myself to you utterly - unreservedly. It was frightening, as a matter of fact. To go from being one person, separate from all the rest and indifferent, to clinging to this piece of man with bold and knowing eyes and no way of predicting what he would do. If what I gave would be returned, or ... just sent back, marked 'return to sender'."
     He smiles a little, a hand going to your jaw so that he can tip your chin up, a kiss brushed and then taken, your mouth claimed with his eyes closed as he pours himself into it. He releases your mouth when he has to, a soft sigh trailing after. "Be possessive. It hurts me less. When you're being possessive, I know you still want me. See? I'm not invulnerable, Io, even if I'm stronger than I used to be. And I'm so carefully and considerately marking all of my vulnerabilities for you with red ink. How do you get through the days when I'm gone?"
     He scratches your scalp gently, then moves to sit up, patting your shoulder. "We're never going to have here the kind of relationship we could have there," Tiernan tells you, matter of fact about it. "There, noone would care except people whose business it isn't, and who couldn't really do more than inconvenience you. Here ... I don't know anymore. I've stopped caring what people think, even here, Io. I'm going to do whatever seems best for me, and do my damnedest to be happy doing it. But I don't want you hurt in that. So - tell me how we should fit together, and I'll tell you if I can do it. But it's got to be something I earn; that's all I insist upon. If you think I should be a janitor, I'll listen. Night watchman. Laundry boy. Just ... talk to me, hm? And do you think I could get that brandy, now that I'm pretty sure you don't want me to just go away?"

     But I'm comfortable -- his eyes say it all, echoed by a disapproving groan as you sit up. When you move, so must he. Dragging a hand through his hair and rubbing his scalp, he rises to get the brandy. "There is pear and honey and apricot and quince," he says, a finger landing upon the cap of each bottle as he names them off. "Which do you fancy?"
     It is warm, there is no need for robes, but he tosses one to you and takes one for himself, shrugging it on (thought leaving it open) as he pulls up a bottle of the honey brandy for himself. Its scent is rich as it's uncapped and as its liquid pools into the wide bowl of his glass. "I don't know that I have a right to be possessive," he murmurs. "But if it makes you happy, I won't hide it. But you will have to warn me," periwinkle flickers up to you as a serious gaze is given, "... if you begin to resent me. Me, being possessive of you when I'll have a wife." You know he's not monogamous physically, even if he has only one love. His eyebrows knit together in consideration as he sets the bottle aside. "They care more There than they do Here. There, you can still be killed for what we do with one another. Beaten, hanged, executed. Here," his eyebrows open upward, outward as he turns to look at you, his hands hovering over the bottles, still waiting your decision. "...here, I set the tone, do I not? I am high king, or will be. And I don't intend on allowing the same incrimination and recrimination to exist here. It is not part of the vision I have for my kingdoms, that Love is punishable offense."
     Iowerth inclines his head as he looks at you. "I want you to choose what you do. Whatever will make you happy and keep you near me, Tiernan. If you want to continue your naval work here, then I will assign you to the ports. You can work your way up, if that pleases you more. Where you fit in, how you fit in... you are the high king's lover. You are not second to his wife, but on equal footing with her. She will bear my heirs. You will bear my heart. That is how I see it. I want you here, in this world. I want you with me, as I always have. I will need your advice, your support and your love. That has not changed. I would love it if you accepted The Drake and made it your own. If you do not want it, I will assign it to the head of the navy. But it is your ship to accept or refuse."

     "There, you can choose where and what you'll be," Tiernan says mildly, "and here, you will be king. I want to be with you," his voice softens, "but I want you to know that I would want that if you were not a king, Io. You are who you are." His hand goes to your hair, tugging again as he stands. Both hands go to the small of his back, and his eyes close as he stretches with a groan.
     He is still leopard-spotted - still selfconscious about his spots. He brushes his fingers through his own hair, moving slowly towards the row of bottles, listening to what you have to say. And then frowning, playing it back again. "You intend to - be open about it, then? What is it you intend? I am confused. My brain is suddenly not keeping up, Io. Please, explain..." Brandy will have to wait. You have flummoxed him.

     "It is my goal to be open," he says quietly, looking to you. He offers you the glass. The bottles are there for you to pour. He remains standing by you, though now he lifts his own glass to drink. "It will likely not be right away. How it will happen, I do not yet know. But it will be open at some point. You will have status if you wish it, you may earn however much you wish to earn. I do not want to insult you by granting too much. We already know that... doesn't make you happy. And I tend to be grand when it comes to you."
     His hand comes up to brush against and through your hair, to touch your face. He can see you are still self-conscious about your markings. "I wish I could make them go away," he murmurs. "Only because I see how they make you feel. Do you know I don't even see them? Only when you look down."
     He tastes of honey when he kisses you. His tongue is sweet with fire, and the burn is transferred to you in that embrace. A hand to your nape, his other cradling his glass, Iowerth deepens the kiss. Though he wears a robe, he is as naked in this moment as he was in his birth. His kiss is an expression of longing, of great love, of tempestuous need. It possesses you before it lets you go.
     "Love should always be encouraged," Iowerth says, his eyes on your mouth again. How he loves it. How it moves beneath his own. His hand strokes your face, your neck, and periwinkle eyes lift to look you in the eye. "Would you want us to be open, to be free? To set the tone for the rest of the kingdoms? I do not see the point of living lies when as king I have an obligation to the truth."

     You have caught him completely off guard. He picks up the bottle, then sets it down again; if he were to start pouring, he would not know when to stop. "I ... " Tiernan starts to speak, then stops. His hand comes away from the bottle and rubs the side of his head vigorously, then falls to his hip. And he looks at you as if he has never seen you before.
     You move in, you kiss him, and he sighs, expels a breath from his mouth to yours as you kiss him. You let go, and he just - stays standing where he is. There is such confusion in his face, in his eyes, a hesitation as how to answer.
     "I need a minute," Tiernan says finally. His hand lifts, lands on your shoulder, squeezes. "I'm sorry, I - my brain's just taken a walk, and I can't think. There's too much noise, too many thoughts all trying to get on the line at the same time, Io. And I am afraid to say even half of them."

     He chuckles softly. "I was there myself earlier. It is alright. Just... let me know when you are ready and... well... we have already said, yes? That fear is of no use between us. It does us no good. You can trust me, can you not? With your fears as well as your triumphs? Here," he softly speaks, taking the bottle gently from your hand and pouring you a glass. Iowerth then hands you the glass, curling it in your grasp so you do not drop it. He smiles to you, his hand landing upon your cheek again, a soft caress, a gentle pat.
     "While you have been gone, I have been designing a kingdom. Part of that," he says, withdrawing just a little to return to the nearby sofa, "... is setting the vision and the tone of what I will ...put out into the worlds. If I am open with my love, does it not make Love stronger as an idea? And if Love is stronger, can it not become a positive force, one of many in the universe, to secure the boundaries of chaos? That is how I see it." He sips at his brandy again, his gaze remaining fixed on you.
     "I had many long discussions with my mother. She and I are agreed that my father, whose ideas and thoughts were born of the far more limited material realm, overreacted when he found out about you and I. And while the marriage must proceed because it simply must, there is no reason to ... reinforce those bad assumptions, stereotypes and ideals here, where I can set a tone for others to live by. The main stumbling point, for me, is timing. But when it is right, I... we ... will know. We may have to be discreet, but I do not intend on hiding who I am or who I love."

     He is still dumb, struck speechless by this. He looks at you, then slowly, he moves to sit with you; next to you and sliding to the floor, parting your thighs to move between them.
     His goal is not lewdness; not yet, anyway. Instead, the scarred arms go around your waist, his cheek against your stomach, eyes closed as he inhales your scent, your warmth, your nearness. And he says nothing. The words are all tied up, tangled together inward into a Gordian knot that he hasn't found the knife that can cut it. He does not even know where to begin. And so he sends his thoughts back to the beginning : not the beginning for you and he, but before then. To the beginning for him, for himself.
     "Before I knew you, I could not understand love." The words are said quietly, and he turns his head to kiss your thigh. "I could not understand giving up everything and wanting everything. If you told me to go fetch the moon down from the sky, I doubt I'd do it, Io. But I'd want to give you everything you want, even if I couldn't or wouldn't. And ..." He shakes his head. It is so tangled.
     He settles his weight upon your knees, and one hand now strokes against your length; lifts it, his tongue teasing across the head. "I have been jealous," Tiernan admits softly, nuzzling against you. "More than I have said. Of your potential queen - not of you having one. But that she would have what I could not. It is ... not something I have told you. It is not something I have let myself think about, Io. I know how much you have had to risk, had to sacrifice to be with me at all." His head lifts, and he looks up at you. "I ... should leave words to someone who is better with them."

     His hand is in your hair, stroking with idle motions. His gaze is on your own as you lift your eyes. "You are doing fine," he whispers. He starts to smile but then it fades. "I... did not take your silence on marriage matters to be happiness, love. I have been worried about how you would take it, which is why I was so adamant that I wanted you to be a part of it. Remember," his fingers stroke you as you rest between his thighs, "... when we were making you out to be my right-hand man, my chief of court, how I wanted you to be able to voice your opinions on who it would be. I thought," he smirks, "...that if you had a hand in choosing her that it would be easier for you. But I knew," Iowerth whispers. "I knew it would be difficult either way. I tried to force women on you, which was cruel of me, but I could not bear the thought of you alone when I would have to spend time with my wife."
     His hand comes to rest upon your head, holding you. "... We were imprisoning ourselves unnecessarily I think. We were going to let others determine how we would live and love, forgetting that it was in our power to decide these things. Whomever she is will have a high level of status, to say the least. But you will not be her lapdog. You will not be subservient to her but on equal standing. You cannot give me children or I'd just marry you and be done with it." He winks, the periwinkle sparkling. "I was trying to be so magnanimous when we spoke of a potential wife for you, but I would have been jealous too. And no doubt shall be should you ever decide you want a wife and children."
     Iowerth taps his finger lightly to your nose. "Come up here. You are not a servant who should sit at my knees." He grins, winking again. "Not when I can have you on my lap, at any rate." He taps your nose again, then stretches out his legs, his thighs sitting widely to make a more than ample lap for you to ascend like a throne. Iowerth rolls his head back against the sofa's cushion. He takes a sip of the honey brandy. "You should try this one too," he notes. "I think it is my new favorite." He offers you his glass. It is waiting for you to take once you sit upon his lap.

     "It seemed wrong of me to say anything about marriage," Tiernan murmurs, his eyes closed as he rests his cheek against your thigh. "I knew it wasn't your choice; it was something which had to be done, and once set in motion, couldn't be halted by either of us. I bear as much blame for it being set in motion as you, but you were the one paying the price."
     He smiles a little, looking up at you, then rising to sprawl across your lap, leaning up against your chest. "I probably will marry, eventually. For children. Maybe. I don't know. I don't find myself drawn to the type of women you do, Io. I suspect I'm a male chauvinist pig, to be honest." A hand lightly taps at your chest, a physical representation of a chuckle. "I want you," he whispers.
     You offer the drink, and he takes it, taking a thirsty swallow and cradling the cup's base against his belly with a low sigh. "I am getting melancholy. And I can't even blame it on the liquor. Why do you put up with me, Io?"

     He laughs, an arm going around you. A hand loses itself in your hair briefly, drawing your head up so he can kiss you. "Because I love you," he says seriously, softly. "And you look good in my bed. Even when you're melancholy. But why, hmm? Why are you melancholy? Because I said I loved you and wasn't going to hide it? Or is it all this talk of women and children? If so, then let's stop talking about it. Besides, if she's any sort of queen at all, she'll be glad for you taking me off her hands and out of her hair."
     Surrendering the glass to you, Iowerth cradles your chin with one hand and cups your rear with the other. "I know it has been tough for you," he murmurs at your mouth, his lips plying against yours, parting them beneath his insistence, between the syllables of each and every word. His honeyed tongue slips against your own. "Oes...I know."

Posted by rowan at September 13, 2006 02:08 PM