thesunandthesea | Temper, temper.

Sweeney obviously doesn't have the answer, but he does have a few ideas. Most of them center around a generally obvious factor. He cautiously eases his grip, enough to place his hand over the swell of her belly, while keeping her close. His eyes remain fixed and unblinking.

"I suspect there're members of both our houses that see this as a threat they hadn't planned for."

That is to say, they were obviously meant to procreate; that's the point of most arranged marriages; but the practicalities have spread outside of the intended design.

"We were forced together," he explains softly.

"But we weren't meant ta be together." Sweeney hopes he's explaining it well enough.

"If you only bore my children--if you were tucked away, only fer that duty--we'd fulfill our obligations, an' it would be easy to gossip ta that fact." He wets his lip.

"My brother--he doesn't want me at home. With you. He doesn't want me wantin' ta come home ta you." His eyes search hers.

"If I'm out an' fillin' my bed with a string of pretty faces that don't mean anythin'--or worse, keepin' a proper mistress here--it's easy ta prove that there's one more reason he's meant ta be king."

As if he doesn't have his own stable of ladies worthy of that gossip. Sweeney lifts his hand to cup her cheek.

"But, instead, I love you an' you, me. What does that say, when we stand together, instead of you bein' nothin' but an oven?" His thumb slides over her cheekbone.

"We are one, where both our People meet. It leaves us stronger, 'specially if we're earnin' the love of those People by the purity of our union, an' the fruit it bears."

And that doesn't serve either of their brothers' designs of control.

She searches between his gaze, flicking between his eyes. Trying to catch up, wetting her lips as she tried to catch her breathe. His brother would do that? She had stayed out of their clear ... strained relationship. Not that she could speak on her own strained family relations.

"... He would do that...? Just because we are happy together? Love one another...?"

She doesn't want to believe it. How could she? Naive as she was, she knew that others were not always kind... but to make them be hurtful at each other?

He tips his head, as if weighing her question.

"I don't think the lovin' is the problem," he notes gently, letting a flicker of a smile sneak past before moving back to the topic.

"I won't swear ta who's doin' what or why." Sweeney's can't lie, after all.

"But where's the harm ta either of our brother's standin' if I'm labelled a philanderer, an' yer left ta be shamed by it?" It's a hard truth, but the truth, nonetheless.

"Neither of them lose anythin', whether or not folk believe it."

It's actually a pretty clever tactic, which might be a mark against the theory that it's his brother behind it.

She nods again, eyes falling and chewing on her lip as she works out the parts between. The details coming into focus - the gnawing old fear.

"... in my home... in my home it is... it is well known that I am... I am not so well thought of as my... my sisters."

It's a wound, and a well known one. That she might be found wanting. That he could easily choose to look somewhere else once duty was done.

"That this sort of gossip... it wound hurt me most of all."

Yeah...that's kind of what he was thinking, at least, in some regard. Sweeney dares to loosen his embrace; not abandoning her, but bending to kiss her tenderly. When he breaks from her, he keeps his face close.

"My love, I'm not gonna leave ya ta suffer it alone. We'll figure this out." Sweeney wets his lip.

"We'll track down this maid an' follow the rumor back ta the root." And punish whoever needs to be. A breath later, another idea springs up.

"I'll stay here 'til the babe is born. I'll send a general in my place." Back out into the field he'd just come from. He keeps his gaze intense, even as he walks through the plan as he makes it.

"I'll share our bed e'ery night. Keep a pair'a guards posted at the door." His eyes roll briefly beneath their lids, long enough to make his point. "Always some reason ta do that." One that doesn't involve 'serving as witness that he's not stepping out on her'.

"I'll see you attend meetin's, if that's what ya want." Even if it's not exactly orthodox. "I don't want anyone ta doubt I value you fer more than heirs." Sweeney pauses to tuck an errant curl back where it belongs.

"Yer my queen." His inflection implies that she's that because he chooses her, not because he owns her. "I don't need someone else, whether or not yer belly is full."

She looks alarmed, then taken, and - a different sort of tears cover her face. She loves him. She utterly loves him. More than she thinks she has loved anyone. Never felt so seen. Or wanted. Or valued.

"You would do that - just for..."

But he keeps going, clear that he would make sure. No matter his own discomfit. She follows the first kiss with another gladly given.

Then resolves, her hand lifting to wipe her face as best she can.

"You do not... not have to do all that. I want you here because I do not want to do this without you-" she hoped, she prayed, and like all women she wished for the best. But they both knew what the risks were.

"... If your men need you, that must come first, I will never resent that." Trust given as she turned to nuzzle into his cheek. "Forgive me, for being so angry. I never want to be cross with you."

His gaze doesn't stray, but he gives her the time to wipe at her tears. Then he dares to loosen the rest of his grip so he can bring his other hand up and cup her face between them.

"My wife needs me," he corrects with warmth.

"There are other who can handle the field. Only I can handle her."

There's a sense of resolve that he isn't willing to let her find comfort elsewhere any more than she is with the idea of him doing it. Sweeney isn't going to entrust her heart (or her sex) to someone else, just because he's busy with other matters.

"I'm gonna be here, with you." He shakes his head slightly, but his eyes remain fixed.

"'nless the army's on the cusp of fallin', I'm needed here far more."

The thrumming in her heart slowly settles, little by little, with each of his words taking the edge off the hurt and the fear that gripped it for the last day. That he took it as seriously as she felt it was - so new. Undid all the pain of the days before.

"I missed you." She admits. "I've been so afraid, that you would not - make it back."

But most of all, in the time he was gone, one important thing had started to happen.

She took the hand that held her cheek and guide it down - down to the growing bump was now so clearly showing. Settling his palm over the swell to cup the child that took up more space by the day. "He missed you."

And there, right on cue, was that first kick, the straining twitch that was faint.

But could not be mistaken.

Sweeney had been ready to offer soothing assurance that he is here now, safe if somewhat worse for wear, but the way she moves his hand causes the words to die before they fully take shape. His focus follows it down, and a small crinkle cuts into his brow as he tries to understand.

Then he feels it.

His eyes flicker wide, bouncing from her belly to her face and back a few times. Looking for some other sign, now that he has the context, the next kick is far more noticeable, even as small as it is. Sweeney's smile blossoms, riding on a soft sound, like a laugh that surprised itself quiet before it gets rolling.

A second later, he drops to his knee, the pain in his side only pinching for a moment. Sweeney barely notices the weight of all his layers; the whole of the world is her and her belly and the treasure inside. His other hand moves to cradle it.

"Hello, little one," he murmurs with affection. Sweeney kisses the swell delicately, though it's out of reverence and not concern. This is his. Theirs. How could a man not be struck dumb in that realization?

She cups his head as he kneels in front of her, and the tears that sting now are different. A happy, loving well that bubbles up as quickly as the rage had. Washing it away with that warm reverence for the babe growing more and more, day by day.

"He is well. Stronger by every day." She cards back red strands of hair from his brow. "He started moving a week ago, and has not stopped since. I am not getting much sleep. I told him you would be home soon, and not to be impatient, but..."

He looks up to her with a knowing smirk.

"...he takes after his mother," Sweeney teases, finishing the thought. With one more kiss, he comes to a decision and stands. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, he lets his eyes wander down the length of her.

"I wanna see you."

The thought isn't out before his fingers are plucking at her clothes. One hand plays for show along the gown's neckline while the other slips to a more functional role, tugging at the lacing beneath her arm.

It doesn't matter that he's still dressed for riding in the rain; the same that still clings to the fur of his heavy cloak; his focus is on getting her naked in short order.

Edited (Punctuation) 2025-06-18 06:55 (UTC)

"You just came home!"

The protest would probably be more believable if she in anyway stopped him, and in fact, did not go to help him. Hooking her fingers to her other side, and begin to loosen the ties that held her dress snugly to her.

Turning her face up, she takes a hungry kiss as readily, tear-salt on her lips still bleeds between them, washed away between each one. "You should rest." And another kiss follows it, as the dress loosens to start falling over her shoulders, catching only when her arms wind around him, wanting another and another.

Sweeney's all too ready to bend down and make the kiss more comfortable for both of them. It stutters a little because it keeps cracking when he smiles too much, but it's still a good thirty seconds before he breaks enough to answer.

"So should you."

He leans back to let his eyes drink in her features as his lips curl wickedly.

"But here we are."

The sentiment is punctuated by a light tug of the fabric, more of a request than a demand.

That he's all too right, comes when she finally relents enough to let the dress fall off her. Pooling at her feet and baring her to her stays and shift that she begins to hastily untie just as she had her dress.

"I need you." The shameful admission falls from her lips all too readily. "I try to - to -" the blush picks up on her cheeks as she admits it, but yet she cannot help herself. "But it's not the same. Not your hands, your lips."

And she steps in again, grasping for him as her stays come loose, slipping them down and off.

Wait a second. The words start to catch up with him, but then he loses the thought again when her stays loosen. Fuck, her breasts look even bigger. What's a Fellow supposed to do about that?

But then things come back around, and he finds his breath shortening.

"You try to..."

The way it hangs makes it obvious that he's nudging her to say the words. If there's one thing she's learned in their time together, it's that her giving her Wants their full name makes him harder than a broomstick.

He still likes them? She worried, in the way that everything felt awful at the moment - that she was getting too round, too full. Her breath rises and falls in hitched movements. His prompting though makes her bite her lip. It still takes her a minute to work past her nerves, her shy want to hide away from herself.

But oh he craves her saying it, watching his eyes hunger as he looks over.

"Put... put my hands on my skin.. over... over my... breasts. Between my... my thighs. Into my... myself." Her cheeks were burning, as much as the rest of herself. "I cry your name and twist about and try to imagine it's you... but..."

It's not him, not him driving into her, biting into her skin.

God, there will never be a day he doesn't delight in her flush. Sweeney sucks his lip slowly, trying to paint the picture in his mind. Then it occurs to him that there may be another option. His expression softens, even as his temptation grows more wicked.

"Will you show me?"

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

It is certainly nothing she would have thought of, and perhaps normally she'd be terribly embarrassed - but... given she had just yelled at him horribly, she could brave it this once when he looks so excited by the idea.

Even if it takes all her courage.

"If you like..." she giggles in nerves, unsure. "... but only if you undress as I do. I want to touch you everywhere."

And to make it all the sweeter, she leans in, pressing her body into his, where her breasts would be pressing into his chest to feel, if his riding gear was not in the way.

He can't help but fall for that blend of shy indulgence. If she's willing, shedding his clothes is an easy price to pay. Especially when they're between him and those exquisite pale tits.

Sweeney's hands raise to hurriedly unfasten his cloak so it can fall to the floor. Unless otherwise deterred or assisted, he's looking to make short work of the task. His eyes are keenly focused and unblinking as he keeps his mischievous smile tightly reined. After the cloak, his fingers take to the buttons of his doublet.

She is distracted momentarily as he starts to undress. Her hurt and tears replaced with a guilty giggle she bites her lip to smother, though she can't stop smiling.

But - right. Her part of the deal. With more giggles, she scurried away to the bed. Climbing onto it, and then rolling onto her back as she nestled into the pillows and blankets. Needing as she started to grow bigger to have support behind her back. Then propped her legs up, and yet more giggling, soft and sweeter and still guilty at the indulgence, she began to shift her knees apart with her hands sliding up the inside of her thighs to part them.

There she settled one hand between her folds, gently, carefully parting them to slide her fingers against where she started to grow warm and wet with a faint sheen of slick. The sigh falls from her lips as she let her eyes fall, letting herself relax. Not as easy as it was for one problem - having to curve around the new swell that started to fill out her belly. Sooner rather than later, she wouldn't be able to reach herself at all, but for right now, she could still begin to take slow, thrumming strokes over her clit with a little breathy hum.

Shucking his doublet, he's quick to move to the foot of the bed when she crawls up on it. He wants the best view. And that view is fucking exquisite. For a moment, he gets stuck in it, just staring with a slack jaw. God...and she's his wife. His Beautiful Wife. How did he get so fucking lucky?

Sweeney bends awkwardly, trying to yank his boots off without completely abandoning the sight of her. It is not the most graceful execution, but he manages to get both of them free and cast safely aside where he's not at risk of tripping over them. Next order of business is his trousers, which are much easier to handle. In the meantime, his grin is renewed, wide and hungry. Tugged off, they're tossed somewhere near his boots.

Without thinking, Sweeney raises his arms to pull his shirt over his head, but then there's unexpected fire, and it makes his hurry stutter as he has to take a more careful path to get the garment off. He's successful though, and he sees that it caps the pile of clothing.

His smile is weaker, but he pushes it through for her. Somewhere along the way of his wanting to see her, he'd forgotten that it would mean she'd also see him, and well...the campaign has been eventful.

Sweeney's scarred flesh is freshly colored; bruises and cuts over many areas of him. Most are par for the course, battle being unkind by nature, but he has a wide bandage around his trunk. It's stained, but not bleeding through. The more noteworthy part is the dark purple that creeps out from its edges. The blow had been brutal, but it hadn't bested him, and he'd made it home to his precious son and his utterly delicious wife. That's what matters.

She cannot help but eye him with worry as those injuries with concern. Running over him in as much appreciation. Well, it settled the idea anyway. Both to make up for being so furious when he had just come home - and to make sure he did nothing to hurt himself further.

And she knew when he got going, he could be too eager and forget himself. She was going to make sure he had everything he needed and not strain himself too much.

Her hand began to move again, more smooth with her arousal, and for his eyes on her, despite everything. How he drank her in like a man desperate. It made her body thrum to life in a way that was more than just her own touches. She felt - more than beautiful. Wanted, desired, consumed so readily and that he had to have more.

Her eyes find his, as she slowly brings her fingers back up, and timidly licks them clean. Then parts her legs further, opening herself completely under his gaze and bring them back down to press in the two digits. Little by little, inch by inch, until - it was enough to make her head fall back, her chest arch and the long moan fall from her throat with a ready sigh.

That on the edge of a breathe comes his name, bled out like she did when she was alone. The wet noise clear as she hooked her fingers and began to pulse them in and out of herself as best she could.

Hell, why hadn't he asked to watch this before? Sweeney subconsciously wraps his hand around his cock, but tilting it downward, with the back of his hand mostly obscuring the increasingly swelling flesh. It's not out of modesty; it allows him to more idly massage the blood in, instead of actual stroking.

The sight is utterly hypnotic, and he--OH NOW HER FINGERS ARE IN HER MOUTH. Sweeney stills and goes bright red. That? That he had not expected. He barely has time to think before those fingers are back in her, and she's got his name on her tongue.

Fuck. She's going to be the death of him.

The act makes him sacrifice his vantage to crawl up on the bed, aiming to get himself between her legs as he smooths his palms up them, starting at her ankles.

She couldn't account for what came over her, with him. Perhaps it was the pregnancy, making everything more intense - or maybe it was just his attention, his wanting that made her own so acute. Like something finally allowed, to be free and wanting and hungry all her own.

She stretches one long leg into his touch, flexing her muscles taught in his hold, and let her other knee fall further apart. Still her fingers twist, thrust into herself, quicker as he moved closer, her arousal starting to more freely drip around her fingers. With it the longer, clearer moan creeps out of her, driving her fingers in deeper that time.

Until the angle, and the bump she has to curve with, won't let her do more. There she stops, whines, a replication of her previous efforts she described. Only so deep she could get.

"Sweeney," comes the name again, but more in frustrated whine, breath hitched, trying to move quicker to make up for the lack of depth. That as he gets closer, sees for himself, she slips a third finger in.

What a fucking vision. Like an angel. Who is also a whore. And is so perfectly his. It makes Sweeney's skin tingle.

He continues his way up, but keeps more upright than he might normally; both for the sake of the view and his aching side. The way she says his name makes his prick bob, unsupported, and Sweeney can't resist sliding his touch higher.

His fingertips graze the back on her hand, silently requesting that she take it out of her cunt for him. Ideally, he wants to get it pinched between his thumb and fingers so hers are pointed up when he leans forward and brings them to his lips.

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