Outside, the wind is blowing through the streets and chasing the red tag-lights of the cars that go rumbling by beneath the inkblacked stretch of sky with its promise of fading stars and sunken moon-sickle luminescence. Somewhere, there's leaves being driven along an alley behind the building with the answering hiss of a brief rain. Inside, though, two lovers lie tangled in sheets with the slow respite of aftermath...
     "Mmm..." It's what Fiona says most often after sex. After, sometimes during, and between. Right now she's curled on one side, in towards you, arm stretched on the pillow and cheek against her arm, right hip turned up towards the air and knee slightly bent. She lifts her hand to trace a fingertip along a dragon's scales slowly, a half-dreaming sort of expression on her face.
     "That was ... different," she murmurs, voice lowered as if to keep someone from overhearing - no, not to keep someone from overhearing, but lazily, as if there isn't enough energy left in here right now to speak more loudly. "You been holding out on me, Old Man? For shame..."
     Her smile is sudden and wide and sweet, and she shifts to snuggle in close, eyes closing as she buries herself in against you. "Hail to the king, baby."

     Seasons are passing rapidly this year, or so they seem to be when sudden rain beats the streets with its fists and wind moves along the avenues like an impatient commuter. When the one who moves with the ever-darkening days announces he is in this earth, wandering its gardens...
     Its bowers...
     Tonight, it moved through you the same as it moved through the city. Wild motion, teeth like thorns, arms and legs entwining as thickly as vines and ivy. Everything and every motion had more meaning, a double meaning at the very least. You, as he, only seem to do things in multiples.
     Davydd ap Owain wakes up not when you speak but when you bury yourself against him. Eyes screw up and nose wrinkles for the commotion and there's a snort of laughter. "You going to sing songs in my honor," he wonders, mouth slanting. A dark eye blinks open to a slit, not yet followed by his other. "You're flattering me." Are you buttering me up for all of this? His fingers find your side but does not do as Rhodri would by digging and tickling. Instead, they trace circular patterns in lazy thoughts.
     Tonight, such thoughts he's tried not to have!
     "At least we didn't end up somewhere unexpected," Davydd offers. He lifts his head and opens his eyes, just to make sure. "Not a single flower," he notes, looking back to you. "Not a single pillow out of place."
     As you curl up to him, you curl up to dragons and trees, nuts and flowers. Vivid, vibrant, but staying in place. His hand making circles traces larger patterns until his finger reaches your nearest breast. Davydd looks to you, his hand lifting, brushing against your face. "You are more lovely each time I see you." He is quiet for a moment. "When it is my turn to see you... when you are my woman and not some other man's... I want you to dress in the most... intricate of things. Beautiful. With the haircombs. And I do not want you wearing those combs for any other man. They were mine to give. They should be mine and mine alone to see..."

     Colour moves into her skin as you speak, as you touch her again, and there's the soft sound of an indrawn breath for it. "Right now, I think I'd be off-key," Fiona murmurs, a fingertip lifting to trace along the curve of your cheek in a caress. "You took all the breath out of my body, just about. Bloody git. Adorable man. I wouldn't think you'd need flattery..."
     Her eyes are still blue, unclouded by traces of green or silver right now, just a dreamy, pale colour that's been washed by passion. She turns her face slightly into the pressure of your palm, catlike as if seeking strokes. "Alright," Fiona murmurs in answer. "I can agree to it - though I can't promise to be dressed up if you drop by unexpectedly while I'm still staying here. I'll give you that, and I'll go shopping again, so that I've got a wardrobe just for you."
     The idea is no sacrifice at all, really; she smiles, eyes glinting as she looks at you. "You've just given me an excuse to go shopping again, do you realize? And here I used to claim that I hated to shop, especially for clothes. Ah, well." She stretches until her muscles shake and quiver, then relaxes again with a thump of limbs on the pillow and against the mattress. "I suppose I should start trying to look a bit more queenly..."

     "And not all lingerie. Though," his eyes crack open again, "I will need you to have a separate wardrobe for that, too." No, he really doesn't want to see you in something that Rhodri sees you in. It would be strange. It would likely make that famous Welsh temper erupt.
     "I ... promise I won't just...drop by. It's not respectful. And I don't think your new husband and lord would be on board for that. I promise no impromptu drop-ins, no 'I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by'. And in return you will dress up for me. I really liked the Belle Epoch, L'Age D'or," his voice drifts. "And I won't just stop by for a night, fuck you silly and leave. When I come," a little smile, "... to visit," he adds, "... it will be on new moons, for the full term. When it begins to wax again, it will be time for me to go."
     The kiss brings the magic with it once more. Davydd gave no warning, and your skin tingles with the rise of energy. "Of course I need flattery," he says. He props himself up on his elbow, looking suddenly recovered from all of the recent activity. Eyebrows quirking upward, like jumping flames, Davydd smirks. "I don't like having rivals..." But the humor is there.

     "Alright, you can have your own lingerie as well." At this rate, she may as well just ... start creating it on the fly with her magic, rather than buying it. It'd be much more cost-efficient, not to mention the storage of it all. She sighs a little, not wistfully or unhappily but a settling little sound as she curls with you. "I'll show off for you, how's that? Maybe I'll get a few corsets made especially for you to see me in - I like bustiers, never worn or owned a corset. And you can have the fun of listening to me bitch about being unable to breathe."
     Fiona grins, though the grin fades slightly. "We're not married yet and won't be for a while. Weddings take time to plan, you know. And until then, I will be here - I like having my own space. I might keep it up even after." She has her own business to attend to, business which tugs at her even sometimes in odd moments like these. Her kingdom that she has inherited. Her kingdom which she intends to build here. "I'll see."
     "Belle Epoch, hmm? Oh, I think I can oblige." The grin returns, filled with a sly sensual mischief, and she rests one palm on the flat of your stomach. "The full term, hm? Okay, love. I ... mmm..." The sound is for the kiss, her eyes close and again she curls into you, skin warming suddenly with the flush of magic and of sex. Speaking of having trouble breathing...
     "If you can't see how you affect me, you can't be looking very hard..."

     "I'll get used to the idea eventually," he notes it quietly. And for a time, he lets that phrase stand on its own. "I think you and he should feel free to come and go in Powis Castle as you please. Regardless of whether I'm there. At some point, I'm going to have to see you in the same place. I might as well get used to the idea."
     Davydd looks at you as he leans back, elbow still to the pillow and head resting on his hands. You know he sees it. His complexion, a little less fair than it was when he first came in (he has you to thank for that), reddens a touch, across the bridge of his nose and the constellation of freckles there rise as with the advent of twilight. "I'll sort it through," he says. "Don't worry."
     "In the meantime," Davydd exhales, giving his body back to the bed, the blue tattooed wonder of it all. His arm lies over his eyes, the thick arms of a man who's seen more than his fair share of battles. There were scars once; those have faded. "I see it, darlin'." He turns his head against the pillow and looks at you.
     But he sees Rhodri wherever he sees you tonight. It is simply too new not to...

     "I'll keep it in mind. But the frank truth of the matter is, Davydd, I went to Powis because of you. Without you there, I ... don't belong there. Well. I don't really 'belong' anywhere in particular, but you're my anchor there - going back when you're not there would be terribly lonely for me." And that is true no matter who is with her. She watches you through half-closed eyes, lazy but appreciative with her glance. "I love it there - but I love it because it is yours, and I see you in it."
     The similarities are there, aren't they? Tall. Broad. Solid. Red...
     "I know it's hard on you." Fiona's gaze doesn't sharpen, but it becomes a little more focused as she pushes her way to a half-sitting position. "I'll just say this. No matter what else, and I know this will sound probably ridiculously poetic and girly of me - your name is in my heart, Davydd. I gave myself to you, and I don't want to be given back. You'll do as you need, as you feel you must, and I know that of you. But you - well ... someday, I'll show you just what you mean to me, and as difficult as this is now, maybe then, you'll be able to believe it. You have not been replaced."

     Well, I know I have. But I invited it...
     "Yeah," he exhales, hands giving his face a rub and then they extend out on either side, taking over the bed. Per his usual. "It's just a little quick. I guess I thought it would be a year or two. Or ten." Davydd glances to you, chuckling a little. "But you know... on the other hand, why should you wait. And if he has feelings for you... why wait..."
     He laughs suddenly. "The ironic part of it all is... if my business had not ... if things had not gone the way they did for me, you'd still have had to marry Kelly. Don't you remember me saying that? You'd have to, since he's the one with the life on paper. Two of them, actually."
     His hand motions for you, his arm swallowing you up. His hand pats you on the hip. I know, it says. He has not been replaced. But he is, as he put you, on hold. "You're a patient woman. You sat there listening to me tell you about needing a postponement, and now you're sitting there listening to me bitch about it."

     "It is quick," Fiona admits, moving with you into your arms, closing her eyes. "But in some ways, it's easier on me like this, Davydd. I know it's your business, and that ... waiting a hundred years means just that, waiting, but my pride doesn't necessarily know it. Oh, I've been telling myself otherwise, but it hasn't been entirely easy, you know. And, this way too, I ... don't have to tell my mother that it's off."
     A silly thing, maybe, but a heavy one for her, heavier than maybe she's entirely realized. There's a little shrug for it, her hands moving to your shoulders, warming her fingers against the back of your neck. "Knowing what I know now, I think that would've been a bit of a little hell for him, you know - marrying me on paper, I mean. Not saying that this part is easy on any of us, but I know how I'd feel if I were the surrogate for someone else, marrying you."
     Fiona lifts her head, then resettles, turning a little so she can watch your face go through its range of expressions. "It isn't patience, Davydd. You'd know that if you'd ever had it before."

     "I'm a shite, aren't I. It isn't easy for anyone, I know that. And listen to me going on and on about it, when you're the one who's had rings fly on and off her finger within the space of a few months." He sighs at that. Now he's angry -- only at himself again.
     So much so, in fact, that he can't say anything for a bit. His face goes fiery red, his eyes go sharp and he's sitting up, throwing the covers off. He doesn't get up, but he swings his legs over, feet to the floor, as if he were about to launch up. The muscles of his shoulders and back, etched with the vivid show of blackthorn and whitethorn tense with the passing emotion.
     After all of that ...emotional display the only thing he says is: "I'm so fucking self-centered. Jesus..." He looks up at the ceiling and sighs it away. After another moment, he turns his head to look past a broad, blue shoulder. "I am sorry, Fiona. For being a thoughtless fucking jerk. I won't talk about it anymore." You. Rhodri. Him. New clothing. Whatever the fuck.
     "I need something to eat. Are you hungry?" And now he stands up, the great blue wonder. No robe in sight, he just stands there in his unabashed glorious color.

     There's various things she could say - 'you're not a jerk', 'don't go on like this', any number of things, but she doesn't. Instead, she sits there, watching you. "Food? I'm not all that hungry, but I wouldn't mind a cup of tea. Shall we go on and forage a bit?" Fiona's voice is casual, but there's still the underlying sensitivity, wire-thin antennae of perception extended in your direction. She isn't being on eggshells, but she wants to know...
     Now she rises from the bed, moving to the closet to drag out an old t-shirt - she hasn't got everything unpacked yet, there's still boxes piled up in neat stacks against one wall. She slithers into it, letting it fall down about her thighs and then turning back to you. "I should've maybe gone for a place with a fireplace. Live and learn. Want leftovers, or shall I cook for you with my own two hands this time?"

     "A cup of tea it is, then," he notes softly. He reaches out with his hand, crooks his finger at you. Come here. "Tea with milk and sugar. I'll put the kettle on," Davydd insists. "All you need to do is come with me..."
     Finally -- the world is coming to an end! -- for Davydd smiles. Easily, warmly, and with the gentleness of his own understanding. "And we'll find something else to talk about. Unless there's anything else you want to say about it all..."
     His arms surround you, warm and strong. Bending, Davydd nuzzles your neck, and his mouth moves against your ear. "Forgive me for being a wanker. And a selfish one at that. Hmm? Can you?"

     "One other thing I want to say." Fiona looks at your hand beckoning, moving towards you willingly enough, looking up to your smile. "And of course I'll come with you, if only to show you where I keep everything. No point you bumping your head and dropping my best tea, all over the floor." Her own smile is warm and a bit lopsided, her arms going up around your neck as she moves into the embrace.
     "I forgive you, Davydd, for anything right now. A little selfishness isn't a bad thing - it keeps you sane, you know. After all, I'm selfish, and greedy, and I've got all sorts of other bad habits." She releases your neck, palms going to either side of your face as she leans back, touching her forehead to yours. "The one other thing, Davydd ... try to forgive yourself faster than I did where Paul was concerned? Life is hard enough..."

     He nods to that. You know me so well. So much for magic and mystery. And his mouth cocks a smile. He pulls you to him, your skin and tee shirt flush to his skin. He's not as warm as Rhodri -- not as warm as he used to be. But there is warmth yet. And there is heat, even if it is not primarily physical.
     "Actually," his voice lilts over the word, deeply, as he peers at you, measuring you (all of you), and then he grins, lifting you in his arms with a sudden sweep. "... fuck the tea. I'm moving straight to cake..."
     You are taken in his arms. You are set upon the bed as if on a plate. Yes, my dear, the dessert is as the dinner. You.

Posted by rowan at December 11, 2004 10:55 PM