He felt so many things, heart ready to leave his throat singing them--joy, shelter, rest, gratitude, and something too raw to be any of them, urgent and sharp. It was gentled, banked down quiet under the lovely, aching wave still shivering through him, but not gone. Clevon gasped hard and bright for the pretty flicker of pretty teeth and felt where his own face gave an answering grin.
His whole body ached for more, even as some distant part of him knew the odds of his leaving this bed in the same state he'd entered it had drawn slim and closed, nature drawing her nets on them both. He had a feeling he'd be a wife in role if not in registry before the sun was up.
"Promised?" It wasn't quite laughter, husky, smoky and too narrow. "Oh, aye? That's some handshake, love."
The thought of the idea of the wedding made him groan, a moment's glimpse of how it would look to be borne down the aisle in bursting brocade thick with kits and half-out of a bodice too narrow for him as it already was. Not that the gown would withstand that, but it was an impressive picture that shivered through him, drove him absolutely scarlet, and not all with shame.
"We should," low, hot, "Oh! O-or it's christenings first, and that, won't, do at all."
On this they were of like mind. There must be no question whose children these were--and there must be several, for the sake of the line--nor whether they were the true issue of a valid marriage. He wouldn't hurt them, or himself, or his future mate that way.
And as for the rest--
"Tradition," rough, half a growl, high in his teeth. Caleb kept touching him, and he hadn't known that could be so good; he'd had no idea what he was missing until his promise-husband showed him, and that just with his fingers. "Four long summers I dripped empty seeds in the dirt," coarse, hoarse, letting out a low, wanton hum for the radiant heat his promised mate was stoking him to inside-- "waiting for you. Burning for you, like this."
Caleb let out a rumble, near enough purring for him. He called him strong, valued his will, and that almost pushed Clevon down again into hot abandon. He shuddered, hips rolling, with a little sigh for the soft dark the fall of the bed curtains gathered in.
"I'll, oh--" They were safe here, this was a good defensible nest, and it felt so, so right to be full. "I'm, strong, I'll give you eight sons--!"
Clevon squirmed, dazed and hungry, and shivered apart anew.
no subject
His whole body ached for more, even as some distant part of him knew the odds of his leaving this bed in the same state he'd entered it had drawn slim and closed, nature drawing her nets on them both. He had a feeling he'd be a wife in role if not in registry before the sun was up.
"Promised?" It wasn't quite laughter, husky, smoky and too narrow. "Oh, aye? That's some handshake, love."
The thought of the idea of the wedding made him groan, a moment's glimpse of how it would look to be borne down the aisle in bursting brocade thick with kits and half-out of a bodice too narrow for him as it already was. Not that the gown would withstand that, but it was an impressive picture that shivered through him, drove him absolutely scarlet, and not all with shame.
"We should," low, hot, "Oh! O-or it's christenings first, and that, won't, do at all."
On this they were of like mind. There must be no question whose children these were--and there must be several, for the sake of the line--nor whether they were the true issue of a valid marriage. He wouldn't hurt them, or himself, or his future mate that way.
And as for the rest--
"Tradition," rough, half a growl, high in his teeth. Caleb kept touching him, and he hadn't known that could be so good; he'd had no idea what he was missing until his promise-husband showed him, and that just with his fingers. "Four long summers I dripped empty seeds in the dirt," coarse, hoarse, letting out a low, wanton hum for the radiant heat his promised mate was stoking him to inside-- "waiting for you. Burning for you, like this."
Caleb let out a rumble, near enough purring for him. He called him strong, valued his will, and that almost pushed Clevon down again into hot abandon. He shuddered, hips rolling, with a little sigh for the soft dark the fall of the bed curtains gathered in.
"I'll, oh--" They were safe here, this was a good defensible nest, and it felt so, so right to be full. "I'm, strong, I'll give you eight sons--!"
Clevon squirmed, dazed and hungry, and shivered apart anew.