neotoma: Neotoma albigula, the white-throated woodrat! [default icon] (aughisky)
([personal profile] neotoma Nov. 19th, 2006 09:29 pm)
For [livejournal.com profile] mini_nanowrimo

ha! Actual sex, instead of just implied sex. From Iros' POV no less. It's embarassing how much I write when I'm doing a sex scene. I don't think this advances the plot much, though I think there are some good character/world-building bits in here.

previous

Morning came, cool and grey. Rain permeated the air, the distinctive smell creeping into the room and making everything feel colder. It would break soon, falling and making traveling miserable. Iros thought about rolling over and going back to sleep; it wasn't like they'd be able to leave today, unless he wanted to risk the horses in the foul weather.

Spring, ugh, Iros thought. Early spring was more miserable than winter, in his opinion. Warm enough that it was rain instead of snow, but too cold to be enjoyable rain. Even an aughisky would freeze in the current weather, and even hardy Dogs couldn't travel far. How humans survived this horrible season, he didn't understand. Bundling in layers of clothes, and not moving far from their nests, not that humans ever did much of that given a choice. They were as stuck as trees, most of them, sunk and rooted; it seemed a miserable way to live.

Turnspit turned a little in his sleep, rolling closer. Iros petted his head, enjoying the plush feel of his Dog's bristling hair. I like it like this he decided, I'll miss this feeling when it's grown out. As tempting as it was to keep it short so he could always pet his Dog like this, it wasn't fair to Turnspit. Keeping him cropped would only give anyone they met the idea that Turnspit was in disgrace, and his Dog didn't deserve that. He wasn't just a war-captive anymore, and he shouldn't look like one.

Iros tried to think what he'd look like with proper braids – not that Turnspit could wear them with such straight, fine hair – or maybe with his hair long and tied at his neck. Iros traced his fingers over Turnspit's temple and down behind his ear, following where long hair might fall. It would be straight at hackled linen, I think, he decided, and as dark as straw

Turnspit twitched, his shoulders rolling under Iros' hand. He was waking up, maybe. The pale light before dawn creeping in made his cloud-pale skin glow, and the clockwork traceries gleamed dull and intricate over his back until they disappeared into his hair.

So beautiful, and mine. Iros leaned down to lick over curved throat and the sharp-cheekbone. For all that he was colored like a pariah dog, Turnspit was tall, and slim and graceful in his bones, and had the classic raptor face; if he had the proper coloring, Iros could never have claimed him as Dog, since Magpie would have placed him to her best advantage. Probably given him to the Stormbringer. The thought of his shy Dog producing get for the intimidating Lord made Iros grimace.

Iros licked Turnspit's throat again, and smiled as Turnspit batted him away, his hands dumb with sleep.

"Don't you ever get tired?" Turnspit mumbled.

"Not of you," Iros laughed. "Wake up." He prodded Turnspit, until his Dog opened his pale eyes to glare at him.

Iros responded by grabbing Turnspit behind the neck and holding him still as he licked over eyes, cheek and neck. His Dog squirmed and growled a bit, but it was all good.

"Now?" Turnspit sounded exasperated.

"Yes, please."

Turnspit rolled his eyes, but obligingly rolled over. He turned his head to look at Iros and said, "Test-to-Destruction was right."

"About what?" Iros asked as he crawled over

"Aughisky. Said all you did was 'fight, feed, race, and fuck'."

Iros paused. "And?"

"Don't you think that's enough?" Turnspit propped himself up on his elbow to look at Iros in the face.

"What more is there to life? Except singing and traveling and waiting for the Queen to wake?" Iros asked.

Turnspit dropped his head to his hands in exasperation.

"Anyway, you like the fucking."

"Iros—" Turnspit tried to get up, but Iros grabbed him by the neck and pressed him down flat against the bed.

"Shush," Iros said, and licked up Turnspit's spine as his Dog squirmed. Iros could feel the clicking as his tongue ran over the clockwork, like a numbed limb waking it up. He wondered what it felt like to Turnspit -- different, he supposed. The Dog reliably reacted to it, whenever Iros managed to make the clockwork do something.

Finally, Turnspit sighed and relaxed. His skin flushed, warm under Iros' hands. He breathed steady, loud and deep.

"Turn over," Iros said, releasing his hold on Turnspit's neck.

Turnspit froze for a second, then did as he'd been told. Iros sat back on his knees, to give his Dog room and to better enjoy the sight.

Turnspit sat up, leaning back on his hands, his eyes down and his face flushed. He was dusky pink everywhere, even the old scars bright. His cloud-pale skin was like frosted glass; everything shown through it, if dimly. Only the clockwork, and the belonging marks on his thigh, were dark. His prick was heavy with blood, and hard; the small mutilation made no difference to its function, however grotesque it looked. He was wholly beautiful.

"My Dog," Iros purred, and crawled up the bed. He put a hand around Turnspit's neck, and brought their heads together. Turnspit obligingly spread his legs, giving Iros room to close with him.

Iros smiled, and licked Turnspit's cheek. His Dog responded, tiny shy licks that Iros loved, and set his hands on Iros' shoulders. Iros reached down with his free hand, encouraging Turnspit to wrap his legs around Iros as well, and then grasped their pricks together.

Turnspit whined, just a soft sound. He was always quiet, but it didn't matter. He kept making little noises as Iros rubbed their pricks together – delightful little noises that became needier the longer Iros made it last. In the end, Turnspit had his head pressed against Iros' neck, his tongue flickering out in time as he ground against Iros' hand.

Iros held Turnspit a long moment after they each released. He let his long fingers play over Turnspit's spine – the clockwork didn’t tingle now, but hummed along, soothing – until Turnspit flopped back onto the bed and tossed an arm over his eyes.

Iros grinned again, and leaned down to lick Turnspit's throat. Then he rose from the bed. He pulled the blankets over his Dog as the other rolled over and snuggled back to sleep. I'm hungry, he thought, dressing quietly, and I should find proper clothes for Turnspit.

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