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Some soft sound woke Celyn, and he groped for the knife under his pillow before he opened his eyes. “Who’s there?”
“Because that’s a useful thing to say to a potential assassin, is it?” a familiar voice said, and Celyn sighed and relaxed, letting the hilt of the knife go. Sjurd.
“What did I do this time?” he complained sleepily, happiness rising through him in a warm haze. “I thought you’d given up wanting to throttle me?”
“It’s always tempting,” Sjurd muttered, and Celyn could see him in the dim light now, kicking off his boots and starting to shed his clothes. The moonlight was shimmering through the curtains, but the night was quiet, even here in the center of Holmebury. It had been well past midnight when Celyn had finally made it back to their room in the palace to settle into a bed that was far too wide and empty for his tastes, and his body was limp and comfortable enough that he must have had a good few hours sleep, at least. Sitting up, he pushed some of the pillows he had purloined from Sjurd’s side of the bed back into their proper place and asked, yawning a little, “When did you get back? I thought you had another four days up at Belton Fort?”
“Misthound incursion at Scotter,” Sjurd said, pulling the leather tie out of his hair and tossing it across the room. “We put them down, but not before the Gylfinir had to divert away from the border on her route home. Brought her into Belton early.”
“She safe?” Celyn asked, watching as the moonlight caught on the pale cloth of Sjurd’s shirt as it went sliding to the floor.
“All fine. Docked above town not long ago, and all the crew are still tucked warmly in their bunks.”
“But you came here,” Celyn said gleefully. It was a nice feeling, being wanted. “Did you miss me? How sweet.”
“I missed having a bed which didn’t sway when the wind blew,” Sjurd muttered and he must have got rid of the rest of his clothes because he was moving towards the bed now. “Wasn’t expecting to find it already occupied.”
“You did marry me,” Celyn pointed out. “Repeatedly, if I recall correctly. Did you really think I’d stay in the guest quarters after that?”
“No such luck,” Sjurd muttered, but then the mattress was sinking under his weight and he was pressed against Celyn and his mouth was brushing Celyn’s, soft and warm. Celyn sighed into it, all his relief coming out in one great breath as he wrapped himself around his husband and kissed him back. Sjurd was a warm and weary weight against him, still smelling of the front: sweat and metal and leather. His mouth was sweet though, tasting of aniseed and alisander, which meant he’d taken time to freshen his breath before crawling into Celyn’s bed. So many ways for Sjurd to show him tenderness, Celyn thought in amusement, sliding his hands down Sjurd’s bare back to check every inch, and none of them used words.
Sjurd pulled away from him. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” Celyn asked, groping Sjurd’s ass on the way to his thigh.
“Feeling for new scars. I’m not hurt.”
“Oh, and you’d tell me if you were, would you?”
“Yes,” Sjurd snarled, and Celyn shivered happily. He’d missed being growled at.
Relenting, he pulled his hands back up, and patted Sjurd’s ass affectionately. “Well, in that case, this is just for fun.” And he slipped his hand round to wrap around the lovely jut of Sjurd’s cock. “Hello, soldier. Standing at attention for your favorite ambassador, are you?”
“Shut up, Celyn,” Sjurd said fondly, but pushed forward to nestle his cock against Celyn’s palm. “Mmm.”
Funny how shut up could sound so like I love you from this man. Celyn’s own cock was rising now, trapped under his nightclothes and he squirmed pleasantly as Sjurd bit his ear and breathed, “This is why you should sleep naked.”
“Wasn’t expecting company,” Celyn managed, stroking Sjurd’s cock as he lifted his hips for Sjurd to push up his nightshirt. A moment later, Sjurd’s hand was on him and he sighed happily, turning his face into the crook of Sjurd’s neck. “So glad you’re here. Oh.”
Sjurd twisted around to kiss him, his hand slow and relentless, and they moved against each other, their mouths grazing softly. Every time one of them gasped or shuddered, the kiss fell apart and then they had to find each others’ mouths in the dark again, soft and sloppy. The heat gathered slowly under Celyn’s skin, and it wasn’t until Sjurd slipped his free hand up to pinch his nipple softly that he realized how close to coming he was. “S-Sjurd! Oh!”
“Celyn,” Sjurd said back, and his voice was so glad and warm that Celyn lost it then and there, snapping his hips up hard and coming with a slow groan, the world going loose and easy around him. He had enough wit left to loop his arm around Sjurd’s neck and hang on as Sjurd pushed him flat and pressed him down, his cock shoving through the slick heat on Celyn’s belly as his breath came hard and hot. Celyn clung to him, gasping as the echoes of his own coming shivered through him with every gasp Sjurd let out.
“Celyn!” Sjurd groaned again, his voice shaking, and went taut above him, wet heat splashing out over Celyn’s belly. Then, with a groan, he slumped down, rolling them over so they were tangled together in each others’ arms, the pillows soft and cold under their cheeks.
Celyn cuddled against him until he could breathe again, his hands splayed across Sjurd’s back. Then, when he could form proper words, he murmured, “Mess. Let me get a cloth.”
Sjurd didn’t release him, just breathing slowly into Celyn’s hair.
Suspicious, Celyn poked his shoulder lightly. “Sjurd?”
But his husband was asleep.
“It’s a very good thing I love you,” Celyn told him sternly. Then he pulled the blankets up over their shoulders and cuddled back against Sjurd. They could clean up in the morning. There would be time enough for that, at least (and perhaps a few more kisses, and there was a jar of oil under his pillow, next to the knife, and one of the few things they didn’t argue about was the importance of lazy morning sex…)
Still plotting, Celyn slid back into sleep, locked warmly into his husband’s arms.
© Amy Durreson 2013