thesunandthesea | morning after.

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.

It's much wider than she had started, spreading her open more completely to his gaze and the little nervous twitch runs up her limbs, her fingers curling up in nerves beside her to hold her courage in place.

But she nods, slowing her breath down to try and calm herself to the time of that inhale, exhale. It was just cleaning her up like he asked. What harm could it do? This is what the bathing ceremony was supposed to be, after all, a way for the new couple to see each other, begin touching without a rush into anything. It was just... happening out of order.

There's nothing overtly ritualistic to it, given that such a practice simply isn't a part of his culture, but Sweeney is dutiful.

He starts the wiping low on her belly, where they'd spent a fair bit of time rubbing against each other. Then over the top of her thighs, working down to the knee of each leg in turn. Easy part done, he turns his attention to the stickier business.

The strokes off the cloth are small and gentle as he works his way up the insides of her thighs. Sweeney only makes it to the upper swell of her them before he stops. He curls over to rinse the towel and refresh it, the position living her leg pinned firmly as he does so.

Her eyes flutter shut, and despite all the nerves and yes the implication of the whole thing, it feels good. Not in a rushing, sudden way, but in a slow, ebbing sort of way, made in contrasts. His touch is warm, so warm, as he manipulates her legs where and when he wants them. But the cloth is cool. A pleasant, familiar sort of tickling as he brushes her more carefully than even her maids might.

But as he goes higher, her eyes crack open, feeling the thump in her throat. Maybe this was a mistake. She didn't think just a clothe could feel so... so... when used this way.

Then he stops, and she isn't sure if she wanted him too, and an ebb of frustration crawls up her throat, making a soft little murmur of cut short wanting in her throat. But there was naught she could do, her leg trapped as he pleased. Her eyes watched his face, clear and bright, anticipation building in her throat.

She doesn't have to wait long; the delay is a matter of practicality. If he's going to get to the area that needs the most work, it seems logical to start fresh.

So, after the towel is wrung, he gets back to business. Sweeney wipes down each thigh, in turn, the tips of his fingers errantly tickling curls on the occasional pass.

Once there's nothing else to focus on, he gets to the most that which needs the most attention. The first pass is more about efficiency, but then he comes back around to do some detailing. Sweeney tilts his head a bit further as two fingers expose the slick, hidden flesh he'd left so abused. His strokes are delicate, mindful of her potential tenderness, as he keeps a keen eye on her most intimate nakedness.

Yes there is something erotic about it all. The touches. The care. The feeling of his eyes roaming her as no man had, or would, but him. Touching, coaxing, and so carefully cleaning her up.

But there is a relief to the cool, damp cloth as it swipes over tender, sensitive skin. Flushed and heated, it makes a sigh slip that distracted from the knowledge of where he was touching, where he looked. But the cool, mixed with the tickling and the surety of his firm hands made something uncurl, different to before - this let the tension in her shoulders loosen, her spine uncurl as she laid back into the pillows. Her breathe turning rhythmic and slow, her legs slipping apart further more out of relaxation.

Even if it's broken up with little hitched sounds as he spreads her more intimately, his fingers teasing faintly. But it was hardly as demanding as before, just a pleasant by-product that she doesn't even bother to fight the sighs and little breathless murmurs. Or the barely noticed cant of her hips up into his touch again.

Sweeney's careful; it's not hard to tell the abuse her sex has been subjected to when one is staring at it. Nothing seems damaged, just swollen and raw. He hopes he's not being unkind. He's trying really hard, but this sort of thing is new to him.

When she starts making sounds and shifting, he pauses, looking up to her face.

"You alright? Hurt?"

Her eyes flick open, slowly and contently with a quiet smile on her lips. For the first time since she arrived two days ago, she feels at ease. Herself.

"Good. Well." She answers in a soft warmth in his tongue. "Can stop... maid... maid will tend."

Though that follows an unpleasant understanding. "Should... be up soon. Be... expected." More was the pity.

For a moment, he's tempted to ask if she wants him to stop; after all, that's not the same thing; but in the end, he concedes to the facts she presents.

Carefully unhooking her leg, he sets it back down gently with its mate. Sweeney starts to twist to standing; instead of rising straight up, he turns and bows to place a soft kiss on her belly, as if it was the head of their unborn child. With any luck, it soon will be.

He doesn't linger, just collects the rags into the basin and returns to the stand they'd been on. Then Sweeney goes to a wardrobe, and from among the hanging garments, he pulls on a long robe. He doesn't bother tying it yet, but it manages to cover many of his scars. Then he brings her one of her own, clearly meant for her, shorter and covered with swirls of white on blue.

Sweeney offers it without speaking on it further, leaving it to his smile to encourage her.

The affection melts her, the smile pulling on her lips as she watched him get up, utterly unabashed in his nudity.

Well, he certainly had every reason to be proud of himself, in any matter. She'd have to be blind to not see the figure he made.

But then he turns back to her with a robe that - could only be for her, and that sweet warmth bubbled up again in her belly. Not the desire, but something kinder, her eyes softened with a little oh, as she sat up to take it from him.

"Thanking... thanking you." Her very best attempt to say it in his tongue, this time. Gently she put her arms through it, and stood up to let it fall and wrap around her properly. "... like... like home."

He must have had it made weeks ago for her in preparation, and she could feel her heart warm again, the smile staying where it was.

Edited 2025-03-22 17:19 (UTC)

(no subject)

madaboutit - 2025-03-23 06:45 (UTC) - Expand