thesunandthesea | morning after.

That phrase catches him off-guard; not that he thought she'd been as miserable as the night prior, but it's still a far jump to 'feeling nice'. Sweeney leans back, enough to put her in clear focus but not so much as to part their hips. His eyes dance over her features, making sure they're both on the same page.

"Nice?"

His expression is a mix of unsureness, surprise, and hope; it makes him look a little younger for it.

"Really?"

She pressed back into the pillows to try and get the same space to seem him clearer.

It did feel different in the light of day - and now the playing and teasing was gone, and... she could not be exactly more embarrassed than before, when he was still inside of her. So with that courage, she meets his gaze, and nods.

"Nice." She repeats again. "Better." She clarifies to make him know that it was not like the night before when it had hurt. "Ache from - last night. But not hurt."

For a moment, he's practically giddy. Sweeney's quick to bury it in fresh kisses; not deep or rough, simply affection pressed and nipped and sucked over her skin, as if he's promising to devour her at some point, later on. Speaking of promises, he pauses, then looks up to meet her eyes.

"Do ya need ta wash up b'fore--" Sweeney catches himself. There's the sense that he wants to address the topic in her own tongue, out of reverence to the thing.

"Do you need to clean before bath?" He squints, unsure if that's clear enough. "Before fancy bath. St. Loe bath. Tradition."

It makes her laugh in surprise. A clear surprised sound that she had not done so far. His eagerness so boyish and glad, was so unexpected. Like any young man and not a prince, and all his kisses tickle.

She brushes his red braids back, smoothing against his temple. "We do, tonight. It takes- time. I dance for you, first. Then we do."

Sweeney's lashes grow heavy when she touches his hair, but he's promptly distracted by her answer. The smallest frown creases when his brow lowers. He's moderately concerned, but tries to sell it as caution.

"I not learn dance," he confesses.

"I was not told."

She grins again at she shakes her head.

"No, me, for you." She has to pause and try and get the words right. "I dance, for you. Show you - I am good wife, strong, to please you."

Oh, alright. Sweeney thinks he figured out where the misunderstanding was; she's going to dance, then they'll bathe, not that she'll dance and then he will also. That leaves him more confident. Enough that he's willing to slide back to a touch of wickedness.

"Oh, you please me," he assures her with a grind. She's so deliciously warm.

"Good wife." Sweeney leans in to kiss her, then lingers near her lips when he whispers.

"My very good wife."

"Ah-" her breathe catches, pulse fluttering as he rocks, her overstimulated nerves not ready as she tries to kiss back. Hanging onto each touch, her fingers digging into his arms with his teasing.

"You - please me ... too." She tries, but it is so hard to string words together in his language, when he's doing that.

He smiles wickedly even though she can't see it. It's not lost in the low velvet of his voice.

"I could again," Sweeney offers, nuzzling her cheek.

"B'fore we get some breakfast."

Fuck, if he had more food in here, he'd have been more than happy to hole up and make her squirm until she faints from ecstasy.

His voice is temptation without the smile, warm and rich, sliding against her senses like a invitation.

"But you... we..." she's a little surprised, or maybe just confused about the expectations she was told about. "I.... my maid - she said - men only want once?"

And then fall asleep, was the assurance.

Sweeney leans back enough to look at her, but not so far as to get her fully into focus.

"You...want me out?"

Sure, things are winding down, but he's far from flaccid and has been quite enjoying her warmth wrapped around him. But he's not going to force it on her, if she's done for the time being.

That was a good question, likely an important one.

"Do not... do not know?" But she lets her head fall back from their kisses. Meeting his eyes with not so much exhaustion as just curiosity. Confused perhaps but - trying to understand.

"How do - know if... done?"

He thought the question was relatively straightforward; either she wants it or she doesn't; but her answer puts a crinkle in his brow. It promptly melts into a dust of pink and a fall of his eyes. Sweeney looks for a way to explain that she might understand enough of, that also isn't too crass.

"Uh--well, it d'pends on what ya mean by 'done'." Decent start. He swallows, tilting his head slightly to each side as he continues, like he's noting two options.

"Normally, it's considered once I...spill." Okay, he's over the worst of it. "But just 'cause I ain't still thrustin' don't mean that I can't still pleasure you." He's quick to make an addition as his gaze darts back up to hers.

"That I don't want to."

Because he very much does. It's not the only thing, either.

"An' if we keep at it a while, I'll be buried in ya again."

Sweeney hopes that's clear enough.

It's such a sincere expression, the first she's seen. Hard to imagining him blushing when he's buried in her. She nods when it seems appropriate to let him know she understood. Spill was obvious. The warmth she felt inside of her as his pleasure seized him, that she felt trickle when he pulled free of her.

"If ... if touching me... lots... not get bored?"

That was the other concern. That men would tire of their wives, in warrior lands. Especially when there was an absence of courtship to foster something more sturdy to begin with.

The chuckle is short and ill-formed; more of a puff of air that accompanies his fresh smile.

"No." Sweeney wets his lip, though it doesn't stop the smile from springing right back after.

"Not get bored."

He teases her with a quick, intentional flex of his prick inside her, then shifts to rest on his elbow so he can cup her face. His gaze dances over her features.

"I like ta please you." Sweeney's thumb grazes softly over her cheekbone.

"You look pretty when pink."

If he could keep her bouncing between blushing and flushed all morning, he would be a happy man, indeed.

Her mouth parts soundless, he said he needed time - but oh. Even that still feels strangely good, and the inhalation comes out shakey, responding with a unintended clench of her core into where his cock is still snug inside of her.

Her cheeks are still pink, and between that and his words, she's certainly staying that way. Her eyes finding his with that simple trust. More than trust, he feels so alive, so bright, not just that their joined but this feels- safe, close, intimate like there wasn't politics hanging over the entire thing.

Gilia wets her lips, trying to keep steady as she figures this out. "Feels... feels... nice." Better than last night had, to start with. "Want to please... you too? Be... be happy?"

"Ya do please me," he assures her with an easy smile.

"Do ya want me out so I can prove it?" As if they aren't both perfectly aware of what he's left inside her.

'Nice' is good. Sweeney celebrates 'nice'. Given the soreness she's undoubtedly dealing with, that seems like a huge step for what's to come. That said, he isn't sure she'll be ready to take him again anytime soon. Eventually, her flush will fade and tenderness will set in. He's dealt with that before, even with women far more experienced. A man his size is just one who leaves a lasting impression, for good and ill.

It's a well timed question, because it wasn't exactly discomfort that she is starting to feel - but even with the little bundle of arousal that sits in her belly, so too does tiredness fill her limbs. The afterglow settled heavily into her body like a thick blanket.

Which comes with a pointed yawn, having to turn her face away. "Maybe... maybe more... in little?"

Doesn't want to discourage him, not at all - this was better than she hoped. But all of it so new that it was wearing her out.

If she's tired and the day is just starting, she might be in for a rough go of things, especially if she has to do her dance so they can have their bath. Sweeney smiles softly and pecks a kiss on the tip of her nose before seeking her gaze to hold.

"Rest. We will have time later." The whole of their lives--that's a lot of time for fucking. He takes a slow breath, illustrating that she should do it with him, and as he exhales, he withdraws with a silent wince. The cold air makes him miss the warmth of her sex all the more.

He starts to shift away, pulling the bedding back as he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. It leaves her exposed down to her thighs, and he takes a quick peek over his shoulder at the expanse of exposed canvas. With a private smile, he turns back and rises.

Unashamed of his nudity, he simply crosses to a table and pours some water into a basin. A towel makes quick work of washing up. Sweeney drapes a fresh cloth over his forearm and carries the basin back and sets it on the floor. He intends to make a pass at her as well, if she'll allow it.

Just like the time before, she follows his instruction and takes a slow breath out, the little hitch inevitable with the movement and her body protesting the movements. Her thighs ache, her core feels full and empty all at once, and she feels - the mess with an unsure squirm.

At least there will be no doubt they had both done their duty.

His gaze falls on her and she - feels her cheeks warm up, as the brief glance down reminds her that she is covered in kiss marks, the grip of his fingers, and that the warmth of her embarrassment flushes pink down to the tops of her breasts. It doesn't go away as with such casualness when he strides about naked as the day he is born. Torn between hiding her gaze and just staring. He is her husband, comes the desperate reasoning, surely she is allowed to look. Instead, settling for little furtive looks as he goes about cleaning up, feeling the shiver against the cooler morning air. Not as cold as home, but cooler in his absence.

But he comes back, and she pushes up on her elbows to try and help him. Unsure if she should get up or stay still, but waiting for his cue. How did they do these things here?

Truth be told, it's nothing fancy for them. He just figured she'd want to clean up, given the whole 'messy' issue from earlier. Sweeney dips the cloth and wrings it as he sits on the edge of the bed, but when he twists to find her looking at him expectantly, he freezes for a moment.

"Do ya wanna--" For the momentum he'd gained and how well she'd be doing, Sweeney had forgotten to remember the language barrier, somewhere along the way. Well, the way of being inside her. But now he thinks better of it, and tries to be more courteous.

"Not sure how your people do." They seem to have bath-focused stuff, so he probably shouldn't assume it's not A Thing. Sweeney lifts the cloth in illustration.

"Do I, for you? Or just--" He moves it towards her, silently asking if she rather just take it.

There is no delicate way to go about it - and what is more, where she wants to clean most, she cannot rightly see.

They're both naked, just laid with one another, surely this cannot be more debauched? That is what she tells herself, anyway.

"... could... could you?" Timid as ever, she pushes up on her elbows and shyly curls her legs in front of her and begins to part them. "Can't... see..." is all she manages with her nervous words, as her knees fall open and shows the mess he said he did not mind.

Mess it is, still wet and smeared on the inside of her thighs, and as she opens herself, she feels the trickle that was him, dripped out of her between her thighs. The mess he had left, twice now, in her. Her face will never be less pink, she's fairly sure, it's just her state of being now as she displays herself like that.

"The rest... I go to bathhouse, can clean..." They were nobles after all, she had ladies to attend her and take care of her more seriously.

Her request sounds easy enough, and with a soft smile and small nod, he lifts the towel to start to wipe the sweat from her throat. Sweeney hasn't had the chance to properly start though, before the rest of her comment is made.

He pauses. Then blinks. His gaze follows hers down. There's logically only one destination. But that seems strange for a lass who was shy enough to blush when he simply cast the bedding back enough to expose her. Now she's asking him to help because she can't see what she's doing? Sweeney swallows.

"Ya want me ta--"

Right.

"You want I look?"

Surely, not. How could she bear him examining her sex so blatantly?

Look made it feel too lurid. Is that what she meant? Probably not. She nearly ducks her head away and shuts her legs again. But it feels tacky and sticky on her skin.

"Messy." She says again, her eyes lowering shyly again, and maybe slowly starting to curl up again, worried under his gaze. "... can do self... if..." if she's asked too much, been too bold.

Sweeney isn't discouraged, though he tries to minimize his smile. He twists further to get a leg up on the bed and face her more fully.

"Come."

He hooks his hand under her knee, and with a fluid bend, he ducks his head under while lifting it over to set it on his lap. The position leaves her spread wide, but more importantly, unable to fully lock her knees together, no matter how much she squirms.

"Let me see."

Sweeney's already looking; not staring yet, just tilting to get a better peek at her.

morning after.

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