thesunandthesea | morning after.

The night before had exhausted her, and it all caught up with her so suddenly. She remembered when he had rolled off of her, that he had gotten up to get something for them to clean up with after the new mess she had felt between her legs, and maybe something to drink.

But the minute she was able to stretch out comfortably, her head in the pillows and the warmth of the fire over her skin - she was asleep. Her body tired and aching in new ways she did not know, and the lulling dark let her slip away after weeks and weeks of anxiety that finally left her.

It's not until the sun came through the windows well after the dawn and she felt the heavy arms wrapped around her, that she remembered where she was, what had happened. Broad and strong, there was no pretending it was her sisters or maids that had crept into bed. Instead, it had her tucked in close to a broad chest behind her, soft puffs of breath on the back of her neck.

Sore as she still was, she did not feel a need to move in a rush, no, she was comfortable, and if the world had duties for them - it was the day after her wedding - they could wait. Instead, half asleep, she tried to put it all off for another minute, rolling over in his arms to burrow into the chest of - her husband. Her husband.

Facing him, she dared to crack her eyes open as she yawned more awake, peering up at him with slow blinks. Curious now, to see him in the light of day after the festivities, that there wasn't the world watching them, their work was done. There was just them.

Sweeney had gone to bed with more intent, having washed himself at the basin before making a careful pass at her. He didn't want to wake her after having already asked so much of her, but he did make the effort with what he could.

As she moves, it becomes immediately apparent in his nakedness that he is quite erect. He doesn't mind the shifting, thought it does cause him to stir as he compensates for the new position. Waking up to someone against him is not new. Lots of lasses will slip out after an encounter is finished, but when there's a prince in the bed, plenty of them stay until morning.

In his grogginess, he doesn't think to translate, and it's only complicated by his mumbling.

"It's not so late. Just stay. For a while."

After a deep breath to resettle, he realizes the foreign scent and snorts himself more awake. Sweeney blinks his eyes purposefully, trying to right the world. He leans his head back a little, not that he can see much more than a mess of blond curls. That's enough.

"Mm." He hums in acknowledgement, then lets his head rest forward again. Sweeney nuzzles the top of her hair and gives some form of vague squeeze to pull her closer. This time, he does remember to translate, he just doesn't have many words.

"Awake?"

Obviously, she is. He just wants to know if she's looking to stay that way. The door is still latched, so there's no rush to dress. After all of the effort put into the day before, Sweeney is more than happy to laze for a while. Especially if she's going to do it pressed against him.

She doesn't intend to move more than an inch more than she has too, as she felt him stir beside her. Maybe she cannot understand the words so well, but the intention between the grogginess of his voice and the hold he has of her does the rest of the translation for them.

"Awake." She whispers back, and this time, wriggles up a little bit more, so that she can turn her face up, and see him better now. Blue eyes looking up at him curiously. "Good sleep?"

He loosens his grip some so she can move more easily. His prick delights in the shifting, and there's the idle musing as to if physiological response might eventually yield way to something more purposeful. Sweeney's not there yet, but she may not know that, since she's presumably never woken up next to a naked man.

"Good. You?" Truth be told, he's still working to escape it. He leans back again to better meet her eyes, even though his are still struggling for focus. Only then does it strike him, and a small crinkle of worry finds his brow.

"Hurt?" His gaze dips between them in suggestion; he obviously can't see all the way down.

"Still?"

Edited (Spelling correction) 2024-08-28 06:56 (UTC)

She turns her face away as another yawn creeps out her, her body arching in a stretch into him, not quite aware what that sort of contact might do to him. Comfortable and open, and still with the same trust in his presence. He was her husband, and she knew he would take care of her.

Though his question does not make much bar of what he was worried about, and - she did not know she could blush first thing in the morning, but there is a pinkness on her cheeks as she shakes her head in answer.

"Not - as much." There was a pull, an ache, but it was no longer the stinging pain of the night before. More like having worked her body too hard in a new exercise, all her limbs were that day old sore but not pained. Tentative, she moved a hand out from under the blankets, to gently place it against his cheek and began this strange and new process of getting to know her husband. "Happy, husband? Good - good wedding?"

Sweeney can't decide if she's rubbing against him to rile him up on purpose, or if it's just an ignorant accident. The temptation exists to wriggle his hand down between them and feel her out, but for the moment, he's able to restrain himself. It's not easy when she gets that pink in her cheeks. His mind swirls with half-formed wickedness, dozens of ways to deepen that pink to red.

But then she's being sweet, and returning such is the least he can do. A small, encouraging smile accompanies his nod.

"Good wife," he adds, an apt descriptor. His brow lifts in cautious tenderness.

"Happy?"

Another nod, and a smile that creeps out. Without the pressure of all the courtiers watching them, staring at them, and undoubtedly listening at the door, it came much freer than last night. No longer so stiff and restrained by position and title.

"Happy," she answers back. Her thumb brushed his cheek, and somehow, after everything else, it seemed so unimportant, and yet, the most important. Here, naked in bed together, they were not those other things. Or at least, she wanted to have a space where she could get to know him.

"Gilia." Gil-ee-ya, she rounds it out slowly, for him to learn it. Her name. Just her name.

It's a comfort to see her smile and assure him of her happiness. It makes him want to revisit that bath thing. Maybe almonds wouldn't be so bad today. But when she says her name, creases of confusion sink into his brow. He knows her name, of course. She'd even said it last night at the ceremony. Had he pronounced it wrong?

Only then does he realize he probably hasn't pronounced it at all, at least not to her. Or in front of her. Or to someone she knew. Alright. Fine.

"Gil-ee-ya," he repeats with a slow nod, as if asking for her confirmation that his attempt is satisfactory.

Her answer is another smile, happy to hear him say it. Little steps, to close an impossible space that all this madness of families and politics made.

Then waits, brushing the tip of her nose against his for their closeness. "Your?"

The question prompts another blink of confusion. Oh. OH. She really doesn't know? That seems even stranger, given the patriarchal nature of everything, but he's willing to rectify the oversight. He keeps her gaze as he breaks it down. Fewer pieces are required.

"Swee-nee."

"Swee-nee." She repeats back, watching his mouth as he says the words, making sure she learned it properly now. Like they would have, if they had been other kinds of people.

"Good to meet. Swee-ney. Now - we like others. Meet each other, just us. Not Prince and Princess. Swee-ney and Gilia. Husband and Wife."

There she wriggles in and kisses him gently. Just a peck, given it was morning and they needed to clean up, but like this was all normal, and they were in love, and did as lovers would do.

It's a sweet sentiment, and it earns her a small smile and nod of assurance. Though, no matter who or what else they are, they are still Prince and Princess, because they have to be. Sweeney isn't going to push the matter though. There's no need, especially on a golden morning that makes what bits of her skin are exposed glow warmly.

His affect takes on some cheek, and he nudges her nose before leaning back to buy him more space to see their bare skin. A dimple is seated by the time his gaze returns to hers.

"Pretty sure most folk don't meet like this."

Naked in each other's arms after a night of fucking.

That she can agree on, with another smile, and something that might be laughter, though it is quiet. Not for anyone but him to hear. Just a shy giggle she stops from going too far.

"No. We do - backwards." Most people are supposed to get to know one another, fall in love, and then get married. "Can... get to know each other?"

Good marriages, she knew, had more than just alliances and children, the ones that worked, that truly lasted, like her parents, had more in it than just the politics.

But she doesn't want to weigh it down with anything sad or pressing, just looking to know him, understand the circumstances they were in. "...Uhm. I - I..." yes that was how that sentence started. "I like- dancing. Like dancing and - singing. And - Up Bread?" There, that was a start, as she looked back at him, both to make sure she made sense as she tried talking in his language more and more, but also to say: his turn.

He dutifully listens, taking her words to heart, even as they put into stark contrast all the ways they're not normal people. That's not bad, per se, just different. But it's the last on the list that makes for a chuckle. Sweeney nods in concession.

"I like Up-bread." Inhaling slowly, he shifts, rolling her onto her back and rocking up on his side next to her. He takes a fist full of blanket, and with a flick of his wrist, he snaps it back to expose her. Sweeney's grin spreads wickedly.

Two fingertips start a delicate path at the dip of her throat, tracing their way down her chest.

"An' huntin'." They divert to follow the curve of one breast. His eyes remain fixed on the point where their skin meets. "An' ridin'."

Her hand slips over his shoulder as he rolls her flat onto her back. Though they do not linger as he yanks the blankets back, clear to her hips as she gasps, surprised at how casually and suddenly he does it. Then with what might at best be called a squeak she brought her hands to her face, hiding herself away.

It was one thing at night, the candlelight was forgiving. But another in the morning as she felt his gaze run over her, and followed it as she spread her fingers enough to peak between them. Watching him, watch her. All her body and it's reactions on display, pale skin, a freckle here and there, and the red marks his attentions had left on her the night before. Nothing was hiding now. What if he did not like her in the daylight?

The thought doesn't get further as he reaches to touch her again. It raises goosebumps on her skin, feeling the tension in her limbs again, as her nipples peaked with the sudden cold air, and the way his brushes felt pinning as much as his staring where he mapped. Unsure if she wanted to stay there or squirm away, the way he travelled it seemed the hunting and riding he was currently interested in involved traversing the lay of her curves, not the field and forest.

"Like... hunting." It's a lame attempt at pretending this wasn't terribly distracting. But she tried. She'd intended them to talk, how was she meant to know that somehow she'd seduced him again? She'd thought he had his fill last night, but clearly she was mistaken. Had her teachers taught her wrong and asking about these things was an invitation to bedroom matters?

"Have one... hunting hound... come with me." She tried to take a steadying breath but it only had the affecr of pressing her full chest up into his touch - and it was hardly unpleasant.

Any concern she has as to his approval of her shape should be put to rest in short order. Sweeney's touch spirals idly towards her nipple. Unlike last night, which had be urgent pawing born of too much waiting, this is gentle and meandering. He wants her squirming. Well, he wants to be inside her again; getting her squirming seems the best path towards that.

"What is his name?"

Sweeney only waits a moment before bowing his head to nuzzle soft kisses against her shoulder and up the slope towards her neck, though he doesn't follow it all the way up. He lingers at the point where they meet.

"What do ya like ta hunt?"

With that, his thumb grazes over the taut skin of her nipple before he presses it between that and the side of his finger. It's pressure enough to hold it, but not so rough as a pinch. A faint stroke of him thumb encourages further sensation while he awaits her answer.

Squirm she does, the attention so slow and meticulous, it's maddening how he gets closer and closer. Feeling herself shiver, trying not to wriggle away from him. Not that she could as he lent over her, his lips joining his fingers like an instrument he was learning the strings of.

"He - he's called Eimantas. It means - clever. Because he's-"

Oh that wasn't fair. How could he make her feel like this? It was just hands on her skin! But she felt the moan slip from her before she chokes it down, that pressure was barely anything on her chest, yet her toes curled up. Her eyes scrunch close, pressing her hands against her face. "Tha- that - "

He asked her something, didn't he? She pulled her hands away enough again. "Deer. Hunt - deer." Please have mercy, he was barely doing anything.

Oh yes, that will do just fine. Sweeney tries to rein in the smile that grazes her skin. "Ei-man-tas," he murmurs, not all that concerned about the pronunciation. It just gives his mouth cause to move and tickle her with his whiskers. Then mercy she is granted. Well, in the sense that he releases her nipple and starts a mirrored line towards the other.

"We have deer. Red." The circling draws tighter as he moves towards his goal.

"You use a bow?" It seems a proper lady's weapon.

He caps the question with a catch of her other nipple.

"Yes," her back lifted to his touch as he finds the other side of her body after the brief respite. She pulled her hands away at last, instead knotting up tightly in the pillow below her head. The answer is all too enthusiastic to have anything to do with his actual question.

"- A - recurve -" her uncle had made it for her, taught her how to aim. But the details hardly mattered as she furrowed her brow, peering down her body shamefully as if to see what he was doing was really happening, that something so little was making her stutter her words. "I could not - bring it."

Fuck, it's so hard not to purr at the first word on her lips. It echoes as his 'hunting' and 'riding' had, things to be enjoyed indoors. Instead, he murmurs softly as his kisses start to divert down her collar bone.

Sweeney pauses and hovers. "I'll have a new one fashioned fer you."

That's the only reprieve she's offered before his mouth continues in a similar path as his hand had. By the time it's traversing the swell of her breast, his affections are wet, sucking things, like she's a sun-kissed fruit to be savored.

When he finally reaches its apex, he sucks her nipple softly, grazing it with his tongue behind his lips. The grip on her other pulls a bit more firmly in unison.

Her eyes shut, trying her absolute best to remember what he was saying and answer him, really, truly. Her hands twist, her knees pushing together tightly to do something with herself. What was she supposed to do? Last night had been hurried, for better or worse, to get the thing over with. But now he seemed to be taking his time.

At least reaction took over the rest of her confusion about what to do when his mouth found her breast. She curved, straining into his mouth as she reached for him at last, her body jolting. Her hands finding the base of his neck to pull him into her. She wanted to say stop, it was like - nothing else, she couldn't handle it. She wanted him to never stop, for him to go on and on. The hands that intend to tug him free end up clutching him close as it wins over. It spiked so hot between her legs , so suddenly, it made no sense, he was not touching her there, but it was like a ripple down her body.

The feel of her hands is like the song of a sharp scythe making the first swing in the ripe field; every bit of effort is worth it. Both fruition and promise, he's all the hungrier for it. Her and her Up-bread.

Sweeney sucks a touch harder, but can't maintain it when his smile cracks. Instinctively, he catches her nipple between his teeth, just long enough for him to think better of it as he tilts his head back to look up at her. It leaves the skin taut for a moment before release, like the bow string he'd promised her. His other hand eases the tension, but doesn't let go.

"You want I stop?"

He suspects that she doesn't; he just wants to hear her admit it. Of course, if she wants to cut things short, he'll abandon this course.

If only to regroup and try a different approach.

Pushing up on her elbow, she stares transfixed as he teases her skin. His mouth hungry like she was a meal he wanted every bite of. Let alone how he tenderly plucked at sensitive skin, and she whimpered to watch it, her heels pushing into the bed below, her eyes wide.

She shakes her head furiously when he pulls up, her chest rising and falling with her deep bracing breathes. The marks his kisses sucked on her skin blooming a deeper blush to the otherwise pink that flared down. Her flush staining from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts. Awash in the sensations, and that now more familiar way her body answered him. Embarrassing as it was, that she could feel that trickle of warmth fresh again, when she woke, before, she felt tacky and sore.

"Don't stop." It's panted between them, vulnerable as the night before, but more understanding now the wonderful things that could come from his attention.

How radiant she is, her skin flush. It makes him ache to be inside her. Not that such is concealed beyond the layer of blanket draped over them; his hard cock rested against her knee.

Sweeney sets back to his efforts, his touching and tasting more confident in the wake of her request. Eventually, his hand moves to brace on the bed so he can lean over her to get his lips and tongue on her other breast, the moist skin left to be tickled by a sliding veil of red hair and warm skin, clattering gold bringing the occasional speckle of cool metal.

The smell and taste of her are quite the encouragement, and though he fights to keep his restraint, his kisses seem to have more tongue and teeth, and the suck of his lips more firm.

She has more time to notice, more time to think about each thing, and there is no pretending in the light of day. If she would even want to. She had no idea he would want to play with her so much, lavish her so much. Granted her expectations were set in firm duty and gritty reality. Set up as gently as could be by her ladies, working with the rumours of the brutish warriors, they said it might all be quick and over, and she may not like it, but he would undoubtedly lose interest once it was done.

Not that he would devote himself to just burrowing into her chest, his mouth a brand everywhere it roamed, as if he could never have enough. If someone had told her that a man, let alone her husband, would want to play so much with what was usually just an irritation, or spend so much time doing nothing but kissing her all over, she might have not believed them. She certainly would not have thought it would feel like this, either, her skin on fire, somehow overwhelmed and yet in desperate need of more. All for what - playing kisses?

But sense clearly left, and it's not long until she's writhing below him, her hands alternating between pulling at his hair, or yanking at she sheets under her. Her knees falling open of their own accord, and that wet hot build more obvious now. Her voice a constant stream of little gasps, cries and pants, between each shallow inhale, the lap of his tongue earned the long longer moans, the graze of teeth shocked whines. It had hurt the night before, that she would not think to want it again so quickly. But the touch makes her forget what it had been, she craved him closer, to lie between her legs again, to chase that strange something from the night before that came with the pressure of his body on hers.

Edited 2024-08-29 07:40 (UTC)

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