thesunandthesea | (no subject)

She couldn't count for the mood she was in, the mischief and warmth tingling that ran up and down her. Perhaps it was that dinner was dull this evening, with many having returned with the spring weather to their fields, the bards taken off to the newly opened paths. Or just that he looked so handsome tonight, the gold in his hair glimmering off his red hair like fire, his eyes bright and warm that she loved so much when they roamed her under him.

But now they were engaged in conversation with the man beside him. Talking about one battle or another, or the trade expected with the new crops. Something dreadfully important, undoubtedly. But it was the last thing on her mind. Her ear half turned to the company on her side, listening to the woman next to her tell her about the new projects they were expected to need to make.

Gilia hummed, as her hand moved, sliding under the table to his knee as she kept her face turned away.

Just like their wedding night, comes the memory, when he had guided her fingers to his thigh. For now she gives an affirmed squeeze of connection, as she talks, he talks.

But then - innocent as it was, it drifts, bolder than she was on her wedding night by half, as it roams up his leg more pointedly. Still nothing changes, nothing to be seen on her expression as it goes further and further.

To curl so gently, yet so blatantly around the shape of his cock in his hose. Feeling him out, splaying her fingers just so, that she could brush her thumb back and forth in slow languid movements. Teasing circles around the tip, yet she gave nothing away but her pleasant calm expression. Wasn't she just known for it, after all? Long practised to a neutral calm her people were known for. Yet she learned well how he liked to be touched, not too much, nothing to make him choke on his mouthfuls.

For now, anyway.

That when she does hear that first little surprise, her gaze turn back in a practised concern.

"Everything well, my husband?" Sweet as the honey she once licked from his fingers.

When she touches his knee, it's a surprise, but not an unwelcomed one. It feels comforting that, even though they are both trapped in conversations that they rather not be, they are at least together during them. He smiles softly, glancing down instead of back. He rather not have to explain it to the ambassador.

Adjusted and recovered, he looks back up, making his smile passingly polite as the other man shoves food in his face. His lips part to offer a comment, but then she starts to creep up, and the words die before they escape. Sweeney blinks, trying to understand what's going on for a moment. Then he snatches up his drink so he can use it to hide some of his face, which is most certainly starting to go pink in the ears.

That seems to be going alright, at least--until she takes him fully in hand. She only gets a few seconds of teasing before he coughs on his drink. Sweeney strikes his fist against his chest a couple of times, as if to clear his airway.

Her sweet words cause him to twist back to face her.

"I, uh--" So, he hasn't fully recovered from the attempted drowning, so Sweeney raises his glass a few inches in explanation.

"Fine, just--fine."

So, now what?

He blinks at her, his brow crinkling in a silently pleading question of 'what are you doing?'.

"Goodness, my love, you ought be careful, our dear friends might think you are not yourself." Her eyes crinkle, so doting, so lovingly - so worried, wasn't she? Yet her fingers squeezed warmly below the table, firm even pressure that worked along the length with a slow stroke.

And with it she lowered her gaze to hide the tease in the corner of her smile, the little bite of her lip that said - her eyes raking over him warmly with it. Oh, she wanted him and that was the answer to the silent question.

But she took some mercy, with a brief excuse to her company, she ventured her voice across Sweeney to catch the ambassadors curious glance. "Please do not mind my husband, my lord, when he gets too involved in a story, he forgets himself. I think he has been couped up too long, he longs for a good long ride when the weather clears."

Yeah...he's the one that needs to be careful. Sweeney would say that she should know better, how she can get him riled to excess if she's not mindful. But he's well-aware that she does know better. And yet, her hand hasn't shown mercy.

He sucks the wine from his lip, lashes fluttering at the distracting squeeze. But when she leans to speak to the ambassador, Sweeney swallows and follows her focus to the man. His cheeks are pink, but that can easily be explained by the choking.

"Aye. It's been too long since I've had a ride," he agrees.

Of course, that's all he can think of, at the moment. How much longer he has to wait, what position he'll have her, where will they be when he finally gets what he wants? Sweeney's guessing they won't make it all the way back to the bedchamber.

"It's good ta get the legs stretched." He forces another swallow, but manages a polite smile in the wake. The ambassador nods in mumbled agreement, but pauses from his meal to tip his head further, trying to look around Sweeney to Gilia.

"And you, Your Highness? Is there something you are looking forward to?"

It's up for debate whether it's mercy that she can't be more obvious - can't stroke him more fully. Because instead she settles to touching all the places she knows he likes especially. Her thumb circling around his tip, neat little circles over and over. Slow and meticulous. Not too much, not too little.

And outwardly she hums, nodding in thought to the question. "Oh, to stretch my legs certainly." Is the ready replied. Though she's certain they would be after this effort. Strained to shaking, no less.

"Take myself out for a long stroll in the gardens, indulge in warmer activities for as long as I can. Perhaps even a ride with my husband, if he should permit my boldness of wanting his company." Her gaze switched back to Sweeney with a sweet look, utterly empty of all but the mischief in her eyes.

And below the table, she used her fingertips to trace down the underside in a long stripe, top to bottom and then back up.