I have never been so tired of beds in my entire life. Soft or hard or in between, I don't care; give me a plank and a pillow and a bit of canvas to cover myself. Hang that, give me a sack of grain for a pillow and I'll be fine. All of this luxury enforced upon me is making my skin crawl and my teeth itch. What in deus' sweet name is taking so long for me to heal!
     He's at the end of his rope; he's twitchy, unable to stay in bed and forbidden to much get out of it. A dangerous time for him, when his energy is returning to normal just enough for him to get in over his head. Tiernan is presently grumbling a good deal, although inwards; it shows on his face in flashes before vanishing, like turbulent swells beneath the surface of the rolling sea. Dark hair is slightly mussed; his cheek, a little less pale than it had been, but still with that burning intensity to blue eyes trapping whatever they see.
     And his sudden decision is as inevitable as it is accompanied by movement. He begins sliding from the bed, ignoring the slight wince of strapped ribs. They're mostly healed, after all. "I'm going to go up top and have a look," he announces. "I want to see what's going on over on the water. See if I can read any signs." Besides. He might have a message waiting, right?

     The pillows aren't going to reprimand you. The coverlet, though clinging, will let you go without further argument. And the bed? While it has been known to complain when you're on it, it has no intention of trying to talk you out of something. If only your lover could occasionally be as smart.
     It is the middle of the afternoon, and the ships have been at sea for five days. It will be two days more before the islands of the king's home will come into view. You are given your time to sleep -- you do not wear the king around your neck -- and during that time the king is on the deck, receiving messages, reports, and the comfort of salty wind in the face. There's nothing like being on deck of The Draigamor. It is his true home. All other places, he but rents...
     When you leave the luxurious captain's quarters -- like no room on earth nor on any other ship -- you see the thousands of small dragons in flight, their wings spread against the air, directing the vessel in the shapes of giant sails. The honor guard of his majesty the king are not on this vessel, but sailing on the ships that flank the king's. Here, it is just you and him, the ship surgeon, and a few thousand wyverns.
     How long has it been since you have seen him stand in the pilot's place, the coat of his captainship on his back? The coat no longer swallows him. It fits him perfectly now. His red hair is mussed, lifted and tossed as it has been by the wind now for a few hours. His hands on the wheel, he conveys the quickest course, flashing a signal to the cadre of ships around him of the slight correction to this morning's navigation.
     And he leans back, half sitting against the railing as he sips his tea.

     Blue eyes soften at the sight of you, and one corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a smile. There he is. The man I love. What is there more potent than knowing one's own heart, being free to give it wholly? Tiernan looks down at himself - he has dressed in haste, canvas dun trousers and a white shirt over his bandages, a pair of seaworthy boots on his feet, half-laced. He limps towards you, ignoring the luxury. Ignoring, too, the reaction you likely will have to seeing him up and out of bed.
     You are against the railing; he could not sneak up on you if he tried, so he doesn't try, taking a side approach as you sit there, drinking your tea. "I admire the cut of your coat, captain. And the cut of your jib." Tiernan's grin is a bit gruff, for him, though his voice is as quiet as ever. Damnation, why does the salt air bring tears to his eyes? Just for a moment, and they're gone; he stands there, slightly askew, sea-legs in place but injuries still on the mend. "Is there tea for me as well?"
     A single question is followed by moment. He shields his eyes as he scans the horizon, looking from ship to ship to ship. "Any messages of import?"

     For a moment, it is there. The young Iowerth, Captain of The Draigamor, far more confident than he should be standing on a ship in a coat too large. That Iowerth is still there -- the sense of adventure, the need for discovery, for learning. Only now, he wears the extra vestiges of a king -- the air that sparkles in attendance around him, as if it were hosting a ball in his honor, and the wind and the sea that seems to start, to exist, because he is here to see it.
     When you come into view, he is not surprised. Had he tied you up in the quarters you would still have found a way to get on deck. It is as much in your nature as his. Iowerth smiles just at the corners of his mouth, some shimmer in periwinkle eyes. Setting his cup and saucer down, he pushes off the railing to join you, to meet you halfway. In his motion, the white silk of his shirt is pushed by the sea winds and parts to reveal the stars across his form. "I thank you," comes the droll, soft tone. "I just trimmed my jib this morning. There is tea," his hand waves and an entire service, in heavy-footed pewter that resists the rhythm of the sea, appears. Including scones.
     He comes upon your good side, his hand there to balance you as he greets you with a kiss. "Yes, many messages. My mother says to say hello and get well soon. And we are victorious. Completely." His hand touches to your hair, to your head, a soft assurance given. Completely. "I am changing course only slightly to take better advantage of the currents. I expect we will make land in the islands this time tomorrow." How Iowerth smiles when he is ahead of schedule.
     Kings that once were captains are always delighted so...
     "Do you want to take the wheel?" Iowerth smiles to you. "The dragons are steering, in truth, but... still there is a comfort in it. I know you miss it." There is no chastisement. Not in his tone or in his eyes. He is content to let you pay the price for your boredom. To a point. When it is time for you to rest, he will command you if he must. But not just now.
     "If you want me to tell you of our victory," he says, going back to the tea. He pours you a cup and augments it to your usual preference. "I would be more than happy to, Tiernan."

     He is not bound, save by the tape and bandages around his middle. He is not tied, save to your apron strings (did you but know it, did you but wear an apron). "Tea." Tiernan lifts his eyebrows. "Hm." Tea. Hm. He lifts his hands as well, looking at you, and his gaze strikes you as hotly and heavily as a forge's hammer. It is not tea I want.
     He makes that word and that sound, and he joins you to kiss you with sudden questing interest, hungry movement of lips and tongue. Who cares who sees? He has his king in his arms. Well. One arm. When he pulls back, he informs you quietly, "I am glad it is done. And I am glad to be here. With you. Whether the islands arrive to us tomorrow, or remain far away for a week or three yet."
     Blunt, soft, direct talk. He smiles at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and though he is tempted, he does not help himself to another kiss. Instead, he turns with a low groan, joining you in leaning against the railing. "I'll take the helm in a moment," Tiernan answers you lazily. "I would love to hear of our victory. But right now I have to decide if I can stand having you up here, clothed, when we could be below, naked."
     He is recovering his strength. Yes.

     A single eyebrow lifts as he sips his tea. Such the picture of a noble gentleman he makes. And for a moment it appears as though he might be shocked -- shocked! -- at such frank language. Until his smile makes a liar out of him. Leaning back, saucer in one hand and teacup in the other, the captain-king pauses to consider the question put before him, inclining his head as if he were presented with a real conundrum. A veritable quandary.
     "I see. Well," he grins, "...the doctor will be encouraged by your recovery, to be sure. Though I shall be scolded," he chuckles. "Again," he mutters softly at the brim of his cup as he takes another sip. Iowerth turns, setting the cup and saucer on the railing. Quite the precarious position for such fine China. But it's in no real danger. The ship has a real affinity for China. He hasn't lost a cup yet.
     You have restored him to himself. Though his quiet intellectualizing, that seeming serenity, still appears from time to time, it is no more nor any less than he has ever had. That is, simply, who he is. "I suppose it's really a question of health," Iowerth continues, twisting to look at you. He smiles in that light, humorous way. A slim smile that would be a grin if he weren't so droll. "I feel fine, of course," he adds softly, humorously, his mouth starting to twist into a broader smile. "But I am not the one with the busted shoulder and other wounds. Of course, we could just lie together naked. Surely the doctor would have no issue with a nap."
     Bending slightly, the king kisses you again. "I love you," he murmurs there. How like myself I feel again. There is nothing tentative about the kiss, just as there is nothing dark and tugging about it. It has all the purity of a saintly buss, and all the warmth of true affection.

     "Let me see," Tiernan murmurs to you, from his position next to you. "You are the king. The doctor, no matter how talented, plies his trade - ah, well." He shakes his head in mock-solemnity. "No hope for it, I'm afraid. But I imagine since you grew up with a mother, you've learned how to tune nagging out, right?"
     He laughs. Have you ever heard him laugh so freely, so joyously? Never mind that his weight is settled more heavily than it ought against the wood. Now he reaches for the tea things. "I don't want a nap, my love. I want you. I intend to have you. In me, on me, around me... I will accept no substitutes for my king and lover, the man I admire and adore, the man with whom I intend to stay very solidly planted - and wedded - for the rest of my life." He measures the words as he does his guar, a quick grin given to you. And he straightens.
     You are being a saint. He is being a devil. Which of you will win? Tiernan leans to the kiss, chuckling quietly against your mouth. "I love you too," he whispers. "Even though I know this burst of energy will fade, the feelings are real, Io. There is nothing more genuine than my knowledge of where my heart belongs. Thank you for having me back."

     The dragons sparkle with his own exhilaration. There is nothing like your laughter. It is medicine for the heart, and his is reborn with boyish energy, giddy when he hears it. A wave of his hand and the tea service disappears, reappearing in the captain's quarters. He straightens, pushing off the railing, and he offers his hand to you.
     "A sailor takes the tide when it arrives, oes?" It is a variant on striking while the iron is hot. Though it may disappear before the two of you get below deck, below deck is where he is heading. "You can sail us into the moonlight," he murmurs. "But come spend the afternoon with me."
     You are among the very few who can say they've been propositioned by the high king.
     None, in fact, save you...
     In his coat and in his captain's finery, Iowerth stands before you, the palm of his hand upturned and waiting to feel the slide of your own palm against it. His periwinkle eyes are fixed on you in warm humor but in desire warmer still. It burns differently now -- as different as the warmth of the sun is from the burn of undersea volcanoes. But it is there, and it finds its best expression in you.
     No longer is he out of his mind from it, no longer mastered by such heady desires -- or lusts, as they were when he felt them. He stands there in his full power, expressing it without fever. It is there in love. It is there in the connection between you, passing on the air like comets in and out of your joined orbits. It is a gravitational pull rather than the tug of oceans.

     It is a proposition which is is willing to accept. Eager to accept. You stand, and he straightens - with a grimace, his pains not yet easily forgotten, but he straightens nonetheless. And his hand finds its way to yours. "The tide, the rain, the sun, the moon, the elements - all the world combined, so a sailor takes. I will take these things and I will make something better of them, for you."
     He is not out of his mind. He is very firmly in it; on the sea, aloft on the waves with the emotional grace of a surfer, prepared to take what comes. Even the occasional dunking. "Below," Tiernan murmurs. "Am I to be below you today, my love? I suppose until this blasted shoulder relearns where it belongs, I will have to be." He half-chuckles, the sound as impatient as it is humored. Something has been unlocked in him. It shines in his eyes when they pass over you.
     I love you. In you, I have finally found my home, found myself. Nothing else matters, now, but building the future. His hand touches to yours, clings, grasps. His tea? Oh, well. Tea can come along for the ride. He walks slowly, but surely, steadily as you and he guide one another. "So tell me of our victory. Before I forget to ask."

     He is subtle in how he guides you, in how he offers his support and assistance. He does not seem to help, and yet he helps you as he leads you down one set of stairs to the deck entrance of the captain's quarters. He holds the door for you, allowing you to pass ahead. "We will sort that out in a moment," he remarks on your shoulder. He has yet to decide which is better for your shoulder. There doesn't seem to be a good position for it apart from standing, to be honest.
     First, there is the matter of battles and victories...
     "What was your prison," he looks to you as he recounts it, "...and not only yours has been erased from the world. There is not a tree left, not a building, not a stone. Even the dirt has been reduced to base metals, all impurities burned from it. All creatures corrupted have been given their peace at last, and angels have guided the tortured souls on to be restored. It was quick, complete, efficient. Best of all, it is finished."
     He guides you from the grand living room and its map floor. The kingdom of the Winter Diamond, or the space it once occupied, sparkles with the light of Order where once there had been Chaos. Iowerth brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it as if making a pledge. "It will be ruled by my first son," he murmurs to you. "For now, the kingdom enters the protection of the high king. The scorched earth will heal and we will build something rich there to take the place of the corruption that was there."
     Iowerth frees your hand only to lift a touch to your face, a guide of your face to him for a kiss. "One day soon, I hope it is a remote thought for you, those memories there. But there is no earth left to hold those memories for you. You can let them go... at your leisure." He brushes his mouth against yours, a kiss teased, and he traces your lips with his tongue, giving into the emotions of the moment in a wide, expressive kiss. And stars explode against your tongue.

     And standing is bad for his arm. It isn't fair. All he wants is wild uninhibited sex with his lover, is that too much to ask? After being chased through catacombs, across plains and down mountains by orcs, goblins, trolls, wolves and raiders, apparently the answer is yes.
     He listens to you; it does diffuse his thoughts of matters more amorous. How could it be otherwise? The smile fades slowly to grimness as he listens, his hand on your shoulder. And he nods, once; swallows, blinks, swallows again thickly. "Good," Tiernan murmurs, voice a bit hoarse. That is all that he says on the topic. He has to look away for a moment, even as you are leading him.
     I no longer think of her. She was never my mother. But it stings, a little. Healing does, doesn't it? I regret never having known my parents - but I believe, as I must, that wherever they are, they are watching. They are happy with me, I think. I hope.
     There is not much room for self-doubt. Tiernan smiles at you as you make your promise to him. Carefully, he lifts his other hand, ignoring his shoulder's twinge, and rests his palm on the back of your head. "I do not have need of kingdoms for myself, Io. All that I need is a place in your arms. If your heart is open to me, then I can make whatever else I need. My body is a bit broken - but these hands have made wonders before. I want to make them again. If you will put up with it, I'd like to convert my old apartments to a workshop."
     He has it in his mind's eyes already. A vision which is only disrupted by your mouth coming to his; and he gasps, leaning to brace himself on you. You are a rock. You are his rock, and more than sexual desire, there is that comfort he finds in your arms, in your presence. My lover. My liege. My king. My friend. My captain.

     The kiss dissolves, slowly. It is nothing so sudden as a parting. It seems to live on your lips, gradually drawing away, like the sun setting. Iowerth smiles a little. "The apartments are yours to do with as you like, love. Whatever you like. I expect you will be sleeping in mine anyway." There is a slight glint that appears in the periwinkle.
     And he'd just as soon not have you spending time in the pool that witnessed your underwater entanglements.
     Biting his lower lip, Iowerth lifts his eyebrows. He tastes you there as he thinks on his own jealousy, wondering idly if you sense it."Come on, we should get you to the bed, love," he says. And taking your sound hand, he leads you from the vast main area to the even more luxurious private chambers. "I will undress you, here," he guides you. As you stand by the bed, the captain-king removes his coat, setting it aside on a chair that rests near the bed. In silk shirt and trousers, he is suddenly as simply attired as you are. With gentle and slow hands, he lifts the shirt from you, letting the cloth drift down to the foot of the bed.
     "I am looking forward to the time when we do not have to be careful anymore," Iowerth whispers. "I'm not sure I even remember what that was like." His mouth twists in humor directed equally at both of you. He, for his prolonged case of celibacy. You, for your prolonged injuries.

     "I would rather sleep with you," Tiernan murmurs his agreement, blue eyes glinting with warmth and humour. "Now that we do not hide who and what we are. Now that we can be whole."
     It has been so long. He has never felt truly whole; but with you, he has always come closest. And now, there is an astonished joy that pervades him, allows him to ignore (for the most part) the aches and pains that go with his body having been so thoroughly abused. His hand lifts, cups your face, thumb brushing at the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he whispers, filled with emotion. "I am glad ... Io, I am so glad we did not put each other aside."
     He is focused on how he feels about you; he looks at you earnestly, no cognition of your submerged thoughts upon his face. You take his hand, and you receive that quiet smile, which of late seems to widen so readily into a shout. "We have always had to be careful. Just in the past, less physically and more emotionally. Now, we can finally be who we have been meant to be, yes? My king."
     One blue eye closes into a wink. "How would you have me swear my fealty?"

     He seems momentarily confused by your question, but then realizes you are teasing him. With the sea swept away from him, leaving a quieter, more bookish Iowerth behind -- when the tide is out, the truth is revealed -- such things as blushes are allowed to exist. But he smiles through it, feeling the hotness on his cheeks without embarrassment.
     "You do not need to swear fealty again," he murmurs, his hands going to his shirt now. He lifts it and he tosses it to land upon your own. His body is streaked with comets and galaxies. It is a startling sight. His hands lift, cupping your face in his grasp. "I am glad, too," Iowerth says seriously, softly. "We tried hard, you and I... we argued a lot. I thought I had lost you for good a time or two. I am lucky to be surrounded by those more patient than I. Part of me is nervous yet, in this new beginning. But you know... I could never resist setting out on some discovery or another. And that's what this has become, to me."
     His thumb moves across your mouth and this his hands lower, brushing your stomach as they move to the fastening of your trousers. "Your doctor is going to kill me," he whispers with the light of a smile. Periwinkle eyes are bright, laughter illuminated. "But I will have a smile on my face, oes?" Iowerth laughs suddenly. "I remember when we would run away on this ship together as boys. That was discovery too," his voice falls in a hush as his cheeks redden, damn near glowing in the memories of what has transpired in this room over the years. "I love you," he whispers, kissing you as his hands unfold the fabric.

     He breathes out quietly with a flood of colour to his face as you cup his cheeks, eyelids lowering to half-mast. "You are so beautiful," Tiernan murmurs, moving his bad arm and wincing just slightly; but his hand lands at your hip, which was his goal. "In all the time I've known you, you only get more and more beautiful, Io. Who else could I want as I want you? You move into my soul, my captain, and take the helm so easily."
     His lips part to suckle at your thumb as it passes, stomach reflexively sucking in at the passage of your hand. "We have been together so long already," he murmurs. "I would not give up one moment of it, Iowerth. Even with the pain and trouble. Knowing how it all comes out now - this moment is worth anything."
     There is as much emotion as there is air in the room; in fact, it's getting a little crowded. His mouth parts against yours, his exhale warm and gentle. "And I love you," Tiernan admits, smiling at you lopsidedly, gaze tender. "Despite anything it may have looked like at times; there were times I did not love myself very much or very well. Thinking myself evil despite any intent - but now I am free. And being free, I have chosen to be here. Free of any curse - free of any fate but the one I make. I feel blessed."

     "Ten years," Iowerth notes. His eyebrows lift in open astonishment after uttering that aloud. "Nearly a third of our lives we have spent with one another. It would have been beyond sad had we given up as we both tried. Last time you left, I was just... convinced...that you were going to be gone for good. And yet, I knew what I had done was right. I can't keep you under lock and key. Your life's your own. I was ...simply ill prepared for how empty my life was without you."
     Iowerth looks not to your face, but to the journey of his hands as they slowly slide beneath the hem of your pants, as they slip between fabric and skin, pushing it slowly downward, over your hips. There is a passing of redness as you praise his beauty. But he does not look at himself to preen in agreement. His eyes are fixed on you, your stomach, your thighs, and between them. With a skimming of fingers on your good side, he motions for you to sit, so he can remove the pants altogether.
     The fabric of his trousers has no discretion. It shows him easily there, the thin, summer cloth billowing where his own flesh presses outward. While the tranquility, the quiet of his demeanor has not shifted much in your return, his body has reacquainted itself with its desires. His creamy complexion gives away that desire so easily, reddening, affecting the multiple and vivid colors of his tattoos.
     "I am glad that you are free, Tiernan. That you feel free. And that you can finally feel the blessings you have. I was worried for a time that no matter how much positivity was around you, you were not going to accept it." Iowerth's words halt suddenly and he sighs, tipping his head back. Ecstatic, he breathes: "I just... have to be with you."
     As you sit on the bed, he undresses for you. He removes his boots, letting them thud on the floor without a care. He removes his trousers, tossing the cloth to the side. He is vivid in all his unclothed, starry splendor.

     Ten years. "We are not done with each other yet." Tiernan grins at you, watching you with a hungry sort of intent in his eyes. You are beautiful, yes. You are more than beautiful, to him; to him, you are the embodiment of all of his desires, known and otherwise. How can one defend against that? He is gutshot by it, fascinated and held on a hook, watching your every move. It is not blood that he bleeds, but desire.
     You move; you touch him, and it is all that he can do to keep his hands still, stay still, don't twitch, don't shift where ribs or other bones or healing itching skin might protest and complain. "I am free," Tiernan whispers to you hoarsely, fingers twitching slightly in their urge to touch you, to hold you, which he is subduing. Making himself subdue. "I am free, but I have chosen, Io. Whatever comes, we will face it together. Deus... I have to have you. I have to be had by you."
     It tears a raw groan out of him, and he lurches slightly at the bed. You can see his reactions; the swelling, the redness in his face, the flush which has not been brought on by strong wine or brandy. It has been brought on by you. And he gives in to temptation...
     He leans forward, ignoring creaky protests, leans forward to swipe his tongue across the head of you...

     It seems such a strange thing, to touch on you the head like a pope giving a benediction... truly, more like a king bestowing some political grace... as your mouth moves across the sensitive skin. There, all the tell-tale signs of arousal -- the stiffened flesh that moves in reaction to the swipe, the fullness of that flesh, the redness of his complexion. But there is no turbulence to go with the desire. There is love, in all its power, but lust is gone from him.
     Iowerth's hands land upon your head, cradling it as your mouth tastes him. His touch is gentle, so foreign to all your former days and nights together. It still catches him by surprise. And though it does not flag his desire or the virile display, he wonders at it. To love this much, to want, but without fire, without the tangling of seas. It is... strange. Strangely innocent.
     "I feel like.... we are boys again," Iowerth whispers, his head tilting. "Just... trying to figure one another out. Not knowing... really... what the other wants. Our hands, our mouths explore the way." He sighs, his head tilting. Slowly he pulls from you. He kneels at the bedside -- you are the only one to see the king on his knees -- and he removes your trousers fully, your shoes, setting these aside on the floor.
     The fire was so familiar, and the sea. His voice insinuates its way within you, from the base of your spine to the back of your ears. I am having to learn ... all over again. What it is to desire. How it feels. The power... of it... it is all different, even though it is you and I.
     It is uncertainty, not tentativeness. On his knees, Iowerth bends his head, his mouth suckling just at the head of your own erection. He tastes you, and his mouth is pleasure. He glances up, the shimmering periwinkle seeking your reaction as his mouth slowly sinks downward.
     I am not as I was, his eyes echo. Are you pleased...do I please you as I am? There is concern there as his mouth lifts off of you and Iowerth stands. He sits on the bed beside you, his hand reaching over to stroke what his mouth has so recently left behind.
     "It is... as if all of it has been stripped away," Iowerth continues softly, his hand clasping your length, alternatively stroking and squeezing. "I feel like I am going in slow motion," he peers at you, as if you and he were debating some philosophical theorem and not his lovemaking technique. "If ... you are wanting this to be hot and heavy," his mouth twists, "...I'm not sure I'm capable of that anymore."

     "In some ways, we are boys again." Tiernan whispers it to you, looking up at you, even as you pull from him. His gaze holds warmth - heat, even. But it also holds acknowledgment, understanding. And compassion. "In some ways, we are something other than boys, Io. We have grown into men, and in some ways we grew apart. You grew outwards, to provide a canopy for your kingdoms, for those who could and would take shelter under it. And I grew inwards, afraid of the world, afraid of the impact I might have on that world."
     His hand lifts, lowers as you finish undressing him, his movements shaky, uncertain still due to the damage of his body. And he shivers, a pleasurable sigh escaping him as you slip within him with your unspoken, hidden voice. You please me. Iowerth, my heart leaps at the sight of you, especially you unclothed. I ache, do you not see it in my eyes?
     They are very blue; they lock onto you and they do not move away, a groan echoing his words as you stroke him. I am throbbing with my need for you. I want to be tangled with you in every way imaginable. Before, I was afraid I would end up taking you from the world. I wanted so much from you then - but I was afraid of it, at the same time. Of it, of the having of it, that I might do you irreparable harm.
     He is gasping a little, eyes rolling back, mouth dropping open as you touch him, and it is hard for him to master his thoughts to answer you. Your every touch which lands on his skin is as if it were too much. As if you were touching beyond the flesh, to the soul. Who knows, perhaps you are.
     Deus, Io! Do I look as if I am hoping to star in a pornographic episode? Well. Maybe I do. Tiernan pulls back a little, with a shudder, and he looks to you with one wing of raven's black hair dropping over an eye. The other eye visible smolders, and he lifts his hand to you. "What we have had," his voice has gone hoarse again, throat dry, "it is changing. But I want you as you are. Not as some intangible something. What is it that you think I want, Io? Your body? Yes. Your mind? Deus, yes. Your spirit, your heart - yes. What happens in bed between us - do you think it really wouldn't be good enough for me?"
     "It is different," he shakes his head, his hand sliding against you. "That's all. But... different does not have to be such a bad thing," he says that to himself. "I am... acclimating to this new energy. So much slower. I just want to please you. That's all that matters between us in bed. The connection we share, and that you are happy."

     Sitting flush against you, he slides one arm around you to balance you, to help you bear some of the weight without putting pressure on your shoulder and upper back, and his other hand resumes the exploration. His fingers slowly slide, padding from root to tip. "What will be comfortable for you," he wonders. "What will do the least amount of damage. I do not want to prolong the injury, Tiernan."
     He remembers when the two of you were boys, barely seventeen. You and he were on this same bed, your hands running over one another, stroking each other to completion, to resurrection, and to another completion in the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun. That closeness, that purity -- it is in it again, in the stroke of his hand, in the sweetness of the kiss that leans in to find you.
     Innocence has a sexiness all its own. In its simplicity, it is more honest. There are no narcotics, no magical gymnastics. There is simply his mouth parting your mouth, his tongue sliding against your tongue, and his hand gripping and slipping around you. On your tongue, he gives you his heart, opening his mouth to you, his whole self to you in that kiss.
     It is there, his desire. It is not hot, but it is white-flame bright. No less intense -- simply different. Where it once burned, it now illuminates. It shows you his goodness, his hope, and his vulnerability. How he wants to please you. How he wants to make you forget about the others that have given themselves to you. How he wants to forget them too. He wants to make you feel as you have never felt with anyone before, himself included.
     Untouched his own erection jerks against his stomach, its surface shiny with the oils that leak from it untasted. The stuff of stars, not seas now.
     Not parting from the kiss, Iowerth opens his eyes. He looks at you. He sees the truth of your ache, your need, your pleasure. Suckling on your lips, he starts to shift, his body stiff with the sudden need to fill you. He doesn't speak it. It is evidenced in his musculature, in his arousal, in the sighed groan, the first pleasured (and non-philosophical) sound he has made since clothes fell to the floor.

     Different. What will that difference mean? He does not know. He slows, a little, watching you with a distant sadness which he struggles to banish. "I do not want anyone but you." Tiernan clarifies it, speaks it, mouth moving against yours. It is not spoken, but it is in the room, and he tackles it, addresses it head-on, without true fear. "Iowerth, this is my pledge to you. I know that what you bring me is good enough; it is more than good enough. I would love you if all you had to your name was a ramshackle shack by the ocean. I would build us a boat, and I would sail from your shack to catch fish to bring back to feed you, whether your own work was by my side or no. And if we caught enough fish, if you were unhappy, I would set out with you in that selfsame boat and find somewhere else to go."
     It is, for him, a long speech, especially long when it comes to matters of the heart. His hands lift, shakily, cupping your face in your kiss, through your kiss. And his mouth mumbles at yours, "I love you. That is what I need."
     To love you, to be loved by you. You touch me and I am instantly ready, Iowerth. It does not need to be lewd. It does not need to be rough. I want our flesh to meet and separate only as our souls do... with all that it entails. I told you once, as a boy, that I almost wish I were a woman so that I could marry you - but that I do not, in truth, want to be a woman. It is true. But your children will be my children, I will help you to love them and guide them as much as I am able. As much as you allow me. I want to be with you all my days and all my nights.
     Your lover smiles, and the smile has that wistful note, wedded to joy all the same as he looks at you. He lets himself fall back against the bed with a lofty exhalation. "Touch me. Let me touch you." Tiernan says the words out loud, drawing them out as he reaches for you with his good hand. "Be with me. Let me be with you. We will find our way out, Io. It may surprise you. But I have known what I wanted since I met you. Neither of us have been good at admitting to the truth of my want."

     You lie back and he watches you. Your words move over his skin and within it. He nods, and he gives you his hand. The rest of him follows. It is a gentle covering, his weight held off of you by the placement of his hands in the bedding. The uncertainty in what he is becoming is set aside. You receive Iowerth without boundaries, Iowerth without restraint.
     "Marry me," he says. It is placed there, simply and without adornment to rest midair as he kisses you. And though he speaks of an absent fire, when he covers you, when his mouth parts yours widely beneath his own, there is no lack of passion.
     Comets slide along your tongue, bouncing off your teeth and down your throat in a star-studded kiss. It is an instant joining to his heart, to his soul. There is nothing between it and you. It is as naked as he can be. There is ache there, a need to be loved by you, a need to love you, a need to show you, a need for you to be close.
     This close...
     And though he might have been (would have been) embarrassed to admit such things before, there is no shame now. His heart in in your hands. And you can feel the thickness of him between your legs, a sudden, thudding presence at your opening. The kiss parts with an audible rush of breath as he sinks within you.
     My children will be your children, as if they were born from you and I. I want you with me... with us... from the moment they are conceived to the moment when they are born and after. His periwinkle eyes fix on you as he fills you, and the ache, the tenderness, the affection, the love that he feels is etched into his expression. "I need... you with me. I need you to be a part of everything, Tiernan. I want them to be yours."
     The intensity of that need makes his eyes well with liquid. His voice tightens as he groans into his thrusts. "I want my children to be yours. I need them to be yours as much as mine." It is as close to impregnating you as he could ever come. "Marry me," he whispers at your ear, your mouth, your eyes. "Have my children."

Posted by rowan at April 12, 2007 11:08 PM