He stands at the front of the ship, leaning forward against the wooden beams. The wind catches his hair, the light white shirt having the added protection of a leather vest to conserve warmth against his core. His feet are braced with instinctive knowledge against the roll and the swell of the ocean, blue eyes fixed on a point forever somewhere ahead. His mood is neither melancholy nor upbeat, but something meditative; contemplative, lost in thoughts.
     All things come to an end, they say. Will this vacation lead to something new? Or will we continue on as we have? I do not know that I want things to change, but I wonder all the same...
     Tiernan straightens, one hand still resting easily on the edge of the ship's railing as he turns to look for you. The center of my world. Since I met you, that has not changed, even when my orbit temporarily took me further from you. Where are you, I wonder? What thoughts go through your mind, as we speed back to our ordinary life? A life so few could call ordinary, at least on the surface...

     The waters of this dreaming ocean have begun to turn a steely blue and grey, and the heaves and falls of the ocean waves pitch with the uncertainty of winter. Ice has begun to form far to the north, but even here, with sails of dragons' wings turned toward the balmy winds of home, the changing season can be clearly discerned. White caps pitch with a frothiness that lingers longer with each successive day, like the breath hangs longer in the air, and the wind that carries you homeward now has turned cool. At night it is downright cold.
     Not that the weather has dampened the enjoyment of the trip or deterred either of you in activities more suitable to the tropics. But it has called the trip to its timely conclusion. All good things come to an end, and all good boys must sometimes go back to work.
     The deck door to the captain's quarters opens, and a warmly dressed High King Iowerth steps out. He sees you, bemused, on the deck, hands on the railing and peering at the horizon like a captain should. He's cut his hair, or rather he's shaped it into something shorter with invisible, magic sheers. Shorter, the thickness of it stands this way and that, making a fiery, chaotic, poetic mess -- an arrangement impervious to the vagaries of the wind.
     "Ho there, captain," he drolls out. "There's coffee below, and brandy, of course. I'm mixing mine," his eyes rolls at the weather, and he shrugs his large captain's coat on his shoulders, bringing it tighter against his body to shield him from the weather. "C'mon," he entreats, holding the door open. "It'll never do for you to get sick the last few days of our journey."

     He turns and smiles at you - and immediately there is the light of adoration in his eyes. "Captain yourself," Tiernan retorts to you easily. He moves towards you immediately, needing no urging whatsoever. Booted feet clomp on the wood, and his arms are upon his arrival winding their way around your waist, his lips moving in to find your mouth. He tugs, kisses you, sets you free again; but his arms are slower to unwind. He withdraws - but with a noticeable reluctance.
     "Yes, let us go down," Tiernan agrees, a hand moving up to his hair, his laugh a bit sheepish. Bright color springs to his cheeks as he looks down between you both. "I am sorry. I am just moved by some spirit - I do not know what. You look ... very good to me right now, my Io."
     My husband. His eyes lift, looking to yours with added brightness. Here, we are our own kingdom. The two of us and our ship. Who else could I spend all my life with but you? You are my love...
     "I was wondering," Tiernan adds diffidently, as he moves to squeeze past you, down through the doorway and into the belly of the ship, "are you hoping to get back? I know you had to put much aside to do this. I ... am glad that you did." More perhaps than you know. "It has meant much to me."

     "Hoping to get back? I should rather more than hope, or else we drown," he quips warmly, closing the door behind you both. Your kiss was returned with hearty eagerness and as you and he enter the warm luxury of the captain's living area, his arms surround you. Descending the stairs with you, he looks over to you. "Am I looking forward to getting back to work? A part of me always wants to be working, but I am not exactly rushing back, no. We are not rushing back."
     At the foot of the stairs, with the stars glittering above on the magical ceiling, the map of the Kingdoms beneath your feet, your trajectory illuminated, Iowerth Rhudd Draig steps up to you. Periwinkle eyes shine between the copper of his lashes and with a hand at the nape of your neck, he draws you into a kiss.
     The mirrors in the room, here and there, reflect the image back to you. There he is, your husband, your captain, in the magical coat, and you in his arms again. The kiss is wide, without inhibition. It is parted, but his mouth remains on you, trailing along your jawline to your ear: "I needed it, too. But I wish you to know, I will always set aside the world for you. I love you."
     His mouth parted at your skin, he drags his lips from your ear to your mouth. Open-mouthed, he covers yours widely, devouring but without that drowning, sinking feeling of before. Instead, there is only love and the passion that comes with it.
     Parting that embrace, Iowerth smiles and rests his forehead against yours. "I will not forget. You must not let me, hmm? It will be easy for me to get lost in the work to be done. But ... help me to not disappoint you. I know it has been difficult. It has been hard for us both."
     Iowerth takes your hand and leads you to the sofas and to the coffee and brandy. A buffet of warm and savory foods appear, the air suddenly fragrant with the smell of meat and butter and bread.

     This kiss, it is all he wants. His eyelids droop closed and his arms again go around you. There is such contentment in the curve of his mouth as his lips part for yours, in the way he leans in against you. "It is not the same as when we were boys. But I do not need it to be," Tiernan murmurs to you. His mouth travels, skimming your cheek to nip your ear. "I am happy, Io. Really, truly happy with who I am - with us. I want you to know it."
     Unhurriedly his hands travel up your chest, pushing back the shoulders of your coat so that he can lean in, his mouth grazing your throat where it meets your shoulder. "Mmm... I love you, too," he whispers. "The scent of your skin... the taste of you... these unhurried moments when we can be with one another without the weight of office. I want to be with you, Io, more than anything else in this world - or any other world. I am content."
     He lifts his head to your kiss, sighing as he buries his fingers in your hair. When it ends, he rests with you with his forehead to yours, and he smiles. "I won't let you forget, Io. I intend to surprise you once in a while. But there is something I am thinking of doing, and I want your insights."
     He parts from you, only to the length of the end of your arm with his hand still in yours. And he drops heavily onto one of the sofas, leaning back to look at you affectionately. "I was thinking," Tiernan says slowly, "of the question of heirs. You have them, of course. I don't. I do not have kingdoms to give, but ... there is the business."

     "Remind me, always," Iowerth murmurs, his eyes rolling closed as you run your fingers through his hair. That is his undoing. Such a small touch. He needs so little. "I look forward to the surprises. It will help break the monotony of rule. And I will be sure to reciprocate." He turns his head, leaning to return your kiss. But you head to the sofas.
     It takes him several more minutes to realize you've continued speaking.
     Heirs...
     Blinking back to consciousness, Iowerth turns to follow you. He pauses to pour two cups of coffee with two healthy dollops of brandy. He brings one over to you and takes a seat with the other. "You are right. You do need heirs. You have a tremendous legacy to leave them. Though I can't see you tiring of the work and challenge anytime soon." He smiles at that. "Do you have a ...mother in mind?"
     Have you met someone? That thought moves through him for a moment. He lifts his cup and takes a healthy swallow. The brandy moves through him, over him, warming him. He settles back in his captain's coat and leathers.

     He smiles at you with such love in his eyes. He sprawls back, eyes closed. "Mother? No. Deus, no." Tiernan laughs, a bit breathlessly. "Io, you know how I am. I ... have no interest in any woman, not truly. The only wife I will know is yours." His lips quirk, and he moves his arm away from his forehead, eyes opening to look at you. "And how terrible does that sound," he wonders aloud. He shrugs, shakes his head. No, no women.
     "I do not know what to do about it," Tiernan explains, sitting up a little, shrugging his way out of his vest and then accepting the coffee. "I ... could adopt, I suppose. I - do not know." He looks a bit at a loss. "I never had to think about succession - not really. I have always put it off. And now... well, now I am realizing that I must not put it off much longer."
     He looks to you, a certain bemusement, wry helplessness in his eyes. "So I want you to tell me how to deal with this. I may not deal with it that way - but tell me, Io. Because I don't know."

     "You could adopt," Iowerth nods to you, a hand reaching over and glancing a touch against your hair before it falls back to his lap and to his coffee and brandy. "You have shared a bed with our wife," always our and never my. "You have been there for the conception of my two heirs. The children are ours, with her. You could simply make your own. I would be there only if you wished me to be. I know that Zafirah would give this to you without thought."
     He takes a good swallow of the coffee and brandy, and then sets it aside. Slowly he begins to unwind from the large coat. The floating oil lamps, bobbing in the air in their multi-colored glass, warm the entire chamber better than any fire. It is quite cozy now, out of the wind and warmed by the coffee.
     "That would be my first suggestion. She is your wife, too," Iowerth notes quietly. "When she accepted me, remember...she accepted you. But if you wish to adopt, I think that would be very magnanimous of you. I support whatever you decide to do, you know this."
     With a gentle wave, he motions you over to lie against him as he stretches out and makes himself comfortable on his side of the sofa. "Selfishly, I would like to see your own child come into being. Why not do both? Have one with Zafirah and then adopt one..."

     "I could adopt. I do not know." You suggest other ideas, and he glances at you slantwise, puzzled by the suggestion, the offer. "I ... do not know. I would not ask such a thing of her, though. It - well." He blushes, your lover does, turns red and has to look away. "It seems very much to ask. Too much to ask."
     He is embarrassed now, even as he crawls forward to join you, letting his weight settle against you heavily. "If I were to do such a thing, why would I not want you present? You are my husband and my love," Tiernan whispers to you, a hand lifting to touch your cheek. "There is no part of my life where you do not belong. Though the only concern I have is for the future. Things may not remain as peaceful and placid as they are now. If storms do come - I want there to be no risk to what you have built."
     A sadness moves into his eyes, and he closes them so you will not see it there, that thought. Such dark thoughts on such a moment. He moves to sit up again, running a hand back through his hair. "Have there been many messengers clamoring for your attention already?"

     His arms surround you, and he kisses the crown of your head. "What storms may come," Iowerth murmurs, "... we will weather them. We have in the past, we will in the future. Do not worry." His mouth brushes against your ear and he kisses your neck, here and there, drops of pleasure and warmth. "It is not asking too much. Speak to her about it. There is no reason to be embarrassed. You have kissed the woman, after all." He smiles to you, his hands slipping against and beneath your clothing.
     "I will be there," he softly assents. "I will be there when you ask her, when you and she create this life. You've seen me do it." There's no sex involved. Not between them. It is wholly magical. You and he copulated, and the child he would have given you grew in her belly.
     "You and I will make love, and she will be there. And instead of my heir, she will bear yours." His hand upon your chin, Iowerth gently turns your face to him and he kisses you gently, sucking your lips into the warmth of his mouth. He suckles there, the taste of coffee and brandy flowing between you. "I want to be there," his voice deepens, and he hugs you to him.
     The kiss is a sudden tangle. Inspired by your wish, and by the love between you, Iowerth practically gives off light as he kisses you, passion claiming him like the sea claims the sand.

     "You are sure." He questions it, though it is not said as a question, lifting his gaze to look at you. Sure, that you wish it to be done so. Sure, that it should be done such. That it will not lead to more trouble than not.
     And you are kissing him, and he cannot resist. His hands lift to stroke your face and run through your hair, his eyes closing as he pours himself with sudden intent as he kisses you in answer. I love you. Where I would be without you...
     Tiernan cannot break the kiss; he is pouring himself into you, cleaving to you with sudden need. "I want you now," he whispers. "I need you, Io. Deus. Get these clothes out of the way..."

     "I am sure," he whispers at your mouth and he opens his eyes, periwinkle fixing on you. "I am sure," Iowerth repeats. Wrestling out of his coat, out of his shirt, he moves against you, his mouth parting beneath yours widely. His hands are on you, pulling and tugging at your own clothes, untucking your shirt, peeling away your layers as you and he make a wrestling, writhing mass of male flesh on the sofa.
     Hands splay and pat, clumsy with want and in the position you and he are in, it takes time to peel away the essentials. Hands quicken, two pair seeking purchase against skin. And in the heavy petting that ensues, breaths begin to slam against the air.
     When the two of you were first in this chamber, on this ship, pawing at one another like this, it was never this hot. Before, it was clumsy exploration. Now, it is all seeking, blazing need. Need with purpose. Need with knowledge. Need with love.
     One hand slips into your trousers, his other clutching your hip and rear. Teeth nip at your lips, teasing you, neither mouth nor tongue are spared.

     His hands are shaking. He notices it, dispassionately, in some distant part of his brain. It is not usual. It marks the significance of the moment. Conversations will have to wait; he simply cannot garner the focus to talk. His teeth are chattering a little as he squirms on top you, next to you, tugging and pulling at your layers.
     "Deus," Tiernan groans, rising above you as you and he tangle with his shirt, He pops free, hair wilder for it, panting. You clutch at him, your hand in his pants, and there's a groan as he crashes down against you again. One hand cups your face, his other hand dragging down against your chest. "Bed," he gasps out to you. He jerks his head, trying not to fall off the couch. His eyes tell you of his need, the blue of them darkening with the turbulence, his emotions on display to you, broadcast upon his face.

     His hands lift to your face, his thumbs brushing your lips. His mouth quirks upward, a slight smile in recognition of his own need and yours. Kissing you, Iowerth sits forward, pulling you both up, his arms around you as you and he rise. "The High King calls a new resolution," Iowerth pronounces grandly as he folds you in his arms. He moves against you as he walks behind you. Mouth to your ear, "Each day, he and his husband will have lunch. A private lunch. We will eat and make love before heading back to our respective businesses. So let it be written, so let it be done. So says the king."
     Iowerth's mouth parts at your neck, and he makes it his dinner as he opens the door to the bedroom. "What do you think about that... new rule," he murmurs at your ear, smiling against your flesh as he unfastens your trousers and lets them fall slack at your hips.
     "The king wants to see his husband... every day. Without fail. No excuses. Not even from me." He grins at that and, hands on your hips, pulls you back against him. You can feel his excitement, encased in leather as he moves with you toward the bed. "No excuses," he repeats.
     Not children, not wives. Not commerce, not war, not even peace.

Posted by rowan at October 10, 2007 06:50 PM