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by beetle
Rated: GC · Chapter · Gay/Lesbian · #2010528
Coitus? Interruptus. Most disastrously so.
“Bleddyn?”

“Yes, *fy un annwyl?”

I turned my head on Bleddyn’s chest to see his face. He was staring at the ceiling with a blissed-out smile on his face and I grinned, leaning up to plant a kiss on the underside of his jaw. Then, because I could, I trailed them up to his ear and nibbled on the lobe till he started to chuckle and try to catch my lips with his own. Eventually I let him, and his chuckles turned to moans, his hands roaming my back and ass as he pulled me even closer, tight against him.

(As narrow as the bed was, we were already pretty close and loath to stop touching each other, anyway.)

We kissed and kissed, and touched and touched, until Bleddyn, having rolled on top of me, caught my hand and brought it to his lips, and kissed it, too, lingering till I giggled. “What is it, **ngoleuni fy nghalon?“ His eyes were fond and content, and I wanted to see them stay that way . . . but considering what I had to ask, I doubted they would. I doubted the ease of this afterglow would last, and that made me both sad and frustrated . . . but I had to ask. I had to see Gwenllian, and Bleddyn was the only one I could trust to take me.

“One of these days, I’m gonna be able to speak Welsh, and then what will you call me?” I asked playfully, putting off the moment of my asking. Bleddyn smiled and pressed my hand to his cheek.

“Then I will still call you ngoleuni fy nghalon,” he said softly, gazing into my eyes. I blushed and cupped his face in my hand, my thumb running gently along his high cheekbone.

“Will you tell me what that means, then?”

Bleddyn kissed me briefly, but so sweetly, I almost forgot what we were talking about. “Ngoleuni means light. Fy means of my. And Nghalon means . . . heart.”

And with that, Bleddyn ducked his head a little, his face going up in flames of embarrassment.

That simply would not do.

I turned his face back to mine and smiled. “Ngoleuni fy nghalon,” I said, trying not to stumble over the words. Bleddyn nodded.

“Yes. That was handsomely said, Karthik.” He smiled gamely. “You’ll be a dab-hand at learning Cymraeg, which is the language of the Welsh. I doubt it not.”

I rolled my eyes. Bleddyn was being slow on the uptake. I blamed all the cripplingly good sex. “No, Bleddyn. Ngoleuni fy nghalon . . . as in, you are the.” And I hugged him close, just in case my meaning was still unclear. After a few startled seconds, Bleddyn embraced me back, almost panick-y tight, and moaned.

“You do not have to say such things simply because I say them,” he whispered quickly. “My intention was not to—to force affection from you.”

“Oh, you’re not forcing anything, butch, trust me.” I laughed and leaned back on my elbows to look at him. He had been wiping at his eyes, but stopped as soon as we were facing each other again. “I’ve only known you a day, and already, I’m gone on you. Absolutely gone.” When Bleddyn’s brow furrowed, I clarified. “I’m . . . I’m falling in love with you, Bleddyn. I’m addicted to the way your eyes light up when you see me, the way you talk—the things you say—and the way you touch me. You’re . . . my hero. My knight in shining armor. You saved me and have done so much for me, all without expecting repayment or even thanks—though I’ll say now, thank you for all that you’ve done for me.”

Bleddyn turned red again, and looked down. “What you feel is gratitude, which I appreciate and am humbled by. But it is easy to confuse . . . hero worship with adoration, when—”

“Bleddyn.” When he stopped talking and looked up at me, I sighed. “Don’t tell me how I feel. Or what I feel. I’ve already dated that guy, and I left him for a reason.”

“I do not understand.”

Wincing, I tried to smile. “Nothing, just—trust me when I say I know my heart. More fully now than I ever have. I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you. Not one tenth the passion, the power, the need, the desire, the—frustration, the impatience, the yearning, the worry, and the hope that maybe someday, you could feel the same way I do.” I shook my head and flopped back down to the pillow with another gusty sigh. “I know the difference between gratitude and the beginnings of love, Bleddyn. And I dunno about you, but my heart beats faster just at the sound of your name. I’ve traveled back in time four hundred years and yet the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me was . . . stumbling across you.”

“Karthik, I—” Bleddyn swallowed, his Adam’s-apple bobbing. “I . . . I am not worthy of such sweet words or such deep affections.” Bleddyn held up a hand just as I was about to gainsay him. “But that does not mean that I will not try, with every breath and every day given me, to be worthy of them. And of you.”

“Ditto,” I settled for saying, then added for Bleddyn’s benefit. “That means I’ll do the same.”

Bleddyn caressed my face, his fingers gently brushing my lips, chin, and throat, and he came to a stop at my collarbone. At the necklace my mother had given me when I was eighteen.

“What does figurine depict?” he asked, running his finger carefully across the {a href= http://www.rubylane.com/item/510967-KAx20Parvatix20Charm/Vintage-14k-Gold-Charm-... }gold pendant. I smiled and held it up for him to examine in the flickering lamplight.

“Where my parents come from in India, we have . . . different gods—many of them—than you do here in Britain. Our religion is Hindu. And this—” I shook the pendant a little “—this is the devi, or goddess Parvati. Goddess of beneficence and love, among other things. She is the wife of Shiva, the Transformer; sister of Vishnu, the Preserver; and mother of Ganesh, the deva of intellect and art, and a lot of other good things.” I scanned Bleddyn’s face to see how he was taking this: me talking about my heathen gods. His face was a study in concentration, but otherwise unreadable. So I went on.

“Anyway, this pendant depicts Parvati. She’s a symbol of many kinds of love. This pendant was originally a gift from my father to my mother on the day of their wedding. And it was given to me by my mother on my eighteenth birthday, four years after my father passed away.” Now, I was the one to swallow. It’d been eight years, but the pain of my father’s death still affected me deeply. “It was her way of telling me she’d love me forever, just as my father had told her, once upon a time. If my family can be said to have an heirloom, it’s this. It is . . . precious to me beyond words.”

Bleddyn placed the pendant back against my skin, then leaned down and kissed it and me.

“It is as lovely as its bearer,” he said quietly and I smiled, wiping my eyes.

“Oh, go on, Charmer.”

Bleddyn chuckled and settled next to me, pulling me into his arms so that we were spooning, his breath warm and moist in my hair. “Tell me, ngoleuni fy nghalon, do all the gods of India have so many arms?”

I burst out laughing. “Some have even more! Parvati only has four! You should see Krishna or Ganesha!” Snorting and giggling, I leaned back and settled further into Bleddyn’s arms. “See, all the arms are so they, the devas, can have different mudras, which are symbolic gestures that involve the hands and fingers, mostly. This mudra—” I held up up my hand and made the Kataka mudra “—means ‘fascination’ and ‘enchantment.’ Parvati always uses one of the front two hands to make that mudra. And this one is Hirana, and it symbolizes the power of nature and the supernatural. And for the two back hands, there’s Tarjani (always done with the left hand) and Chandrakal, which represent contempt, and the moon and intelligence, respectively.”

I let go of Chandrakal with a graceful flourish, and Bleddyn caught my hand, pulling it to his lips again.

“Is there nothing about you that is not graceful and lovely?” he murmured on my palm, and I snorted.

“Oh, honey, there’s plenty about me that isn’t graceful and lovely. You’ve seen me try to mount a horse, right? So much for graceful. And you’ve seen me first thing in the morning, too. So much for lovely.” I laughed, and Bleddyn squeezed my hand and kissed my shoulder blade.

“I have seen you handle hours of riding with grace and patience. And I have seen you fresh out of sleep thrice, now. Each time, you were more beautiful than the last,” he breathed, hot and fervid on my shoulder, draping his arm and my own over my waist.

Boy, have you got it bad, Buddy, I almost said, but then I shut my mouth. Yet I couldn’t stop the huge smile that threatened to crack my face in two.

“Well, maybe I’ll take your word on that,” I finally replied, and Bleddyn swept his hand up and down my chest.

“That is well, then,” he said with a sigh. “Now, tell me more about this Devi Parvati of yours. . . .”

I groaned. “What is it with you Welshman and your love of stories?” I asked, half-teasing and half-serious. Bleddyn’s smile was warm and wide on my shoulder.

“’Twill keep my mind on other things, rather than on my unslakable desire to have you again and again and again.” And with that, he pushed his cock against my ass. He was getting hard once more.

I looked over my shoulder at him again, eyes wide. “You really are insatiable.”

Blushing, Bleddyn’s eyes skittered away from mine in shame, and I kicked myself for not thinking before I spoke. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, Bleddyn. I meant only that—thank the goddess that Parvati’s at last blessed me with a man who can keep up with me!”

Risking a glance at me, Bleddyn’s furrowed brow slowly smoothed out and he ventured a quiet: “I do not mean to continue to . . . push my unseemly desire upon you—”

I turned in Bleddyn’s arms, till I was facing him, and pushed him onto his back. He gazed up at me with wide eyes as I straddled his thighs and stroked him, nice and slow. It didn’t take long to get him flagpole-stiff, and when he was, I got to my knees and inched up the bed, till his cock dragged past mine, and behind my balls. Bleddyn hissed and placed his big hands on my thighs, gripping them hard enough that there’d probably be bruises, later.

Since he already had such a steadying grip on my thighs, I felt free to reach behind me and hold myself open. I let my knees slide farther apart and myself sink slowly down, until the head Bleddyn’s cock nudged at my asshole.

“Or would you rather hear the tale of Parvati?” I asked, letting myself sink onto his cock despite the protests of sore, aching muscles; Bleddyn, his wide eyes still on mine, shook his head vehemently and bit his lip as he was engulfed by my body. Then his eyes fluttered shut, tight, for the rest of the time it took for me to slowly impale myself on his cock. But when they opened, bright and mesmerized, I smiled and, balancing myself with my hands on Bleddyn’s spread legs, I levered myself up off him as much as I could. When my arms began to shake with strain, I sat back down hard, and we both hissed.

Then Bleddyn surprised me by bucking his hips up hard and fast, and I threw my head back and yelled hoarsely in pleasure and pain that were so intertwined, I couldn’t tell where one left off and the other began.

That was how I was starting to feel about Bleddyn.

*


We were only slightly late to supper.

Lord John, however, welcomed us as if we were not, as did his sons, Owen grinning at me so winsomely that if I wasn’t so stuck on Bleddyn, I might’ve been tempted to see just how much he really liked me.

Meanwhile, Rhys was glaring at Bleddyn and me for no reason I could tell. Then Bleddyn hastily let go of my hand, which apparently neither of us had realized he was still holding from when we’d sneaked out of the guest room together.

Rhys looked away from us, scowling.

*


After dinner, when Lord John’s men went off to discuss the business of running the castle and smoke their pipes, Bleddyn and I excused ourselves and took a slow walk back to the guest room. The halls were empty—not surprising. By 17th century standards, it was pretty late—and Bleddyn took my hand in both of his, clasping it with one and covering it with the other. When we took the turn-off for the guest room, he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

I smiled and stepped closer to him. And closer still, till we were in each other’s arms and gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Spend the night with me,” I said, and Bleddyn’s brow furrowed yet again.

“I . . . should not. . . .”

“And we’re back to this again,” I said only half-jokingly, rolling my eyes. “I promise your god won’t smite you for cuddling with me and keeping me company tonight, Bleddyn.”

“On my word, Karthik of Nayar, if I were to spend the night in your bed, I would get up to more than merely keeping you company,” he whispered, leaning our heads together and swaying us both, his hands fanning out on my ass. I smirked and kissed him.

“That’s entirely the point, Master Bleddyn.”

“I see,” Bleddyn breathed, and kissed me deeply, intently. Before I knew it, we were leaning against the door to the guest room and Bleddyn’s hand was down the front of my borrowed trousers, stroking me till I got hard—which I did embarrassingly fast, despite having last made the beast with two backs just two hours ago.

Bleddyn broke the kiss to look into my eyes for long moments while still stroking me, then sank solemnly to his knees, taking my trousers with him. I felt my eyes get saucer-wide as Bleddyn pushed my shirt up—I obligingly held it up and out of his way—and gazed at me for the better part of a minute.

“Meditating?” I inquired sweetly, and he smiled a little, running the tip of his finger along my dick to my balls and cupping them in his hand. He squeezed gently and I moaned.

“Merely appreciating,” he said, meeting my eyes. His own were heated and hungry. I nearly came just from the look he was giving me. Then I nearly came again when he kissed the tip of my cock, his tongue flicking out to taste me. My head fell back against the door with a loud thunk and a short, strangled laugh sounded. It must’ve been mine, since Bleddyn’s mouth was already preoccupied with the top third of my cock.

“You ever done this before?” I asked breathlessly, and Bleddyn hummed around my cock, scraping his teeth down the shaft and across the tip before pulling off altogether.

“A time or two,” he said wryly, and I laughed again. I wondered if the time or two had been with William, or with other men. Or both. And in wondering, felt my own surge of jealousy. Not that other men had had my Bleddyn this way, but that William had had him first.

But luckily for me, Bleddyn put his mouth back to work and promptly erased every thought and feeling that didn’t have direct bearing on the hummer he was giving me. I ran one hand through his dark curls, gently thrusting my hips forward, moaning as I slid deeper into the warmth of his mouth and his agile tongue swirled around me, always returning to the tip as if he couldn’t get enough of tasting me.

Getting a good grip on his hair, I tested the limits of his endurance by pushing my cock further in, toward the back of his throat. When I felt minute twitches on the tip of my cock, like Bleddyn was going to gag, I quickly pulled back some, murmuring: “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay . . . don’t stop. . . .”

Bleddyn groaned around me, and I looked down at the top of his head, and my hand clenched in his curls. “Look at me, baby.”

It took a few moments, but Bleddyn did, and without pulling off me. His eyes were watering and he was drooling, which should’ve looked ridiculous, but was sexy as Hell, on him. I licked my lips. “Touch yourself, Bleddyn,” I commanded, letting go of his hair to wipe at a tear-track with my thumb. “Touch yourself while you suck my cock.”

Bleddyn groaned again, blinking as another tear fell, and his hands, which had been on my calves, were gone, to scrabble at his waistband.

I couldn’t see much of what he was doing from that angle, but I knew when he had himself in hand. His eyes closed again and his tongue and lips went still for a few moments . . . then he was stroking himself and sucking again, with renewed fervor.

“You like having my cock in your mouth?

Bleddyn nodded and made a moan I took to mean yes

“You like the way it feels on your tongue . . . and pushing at the back of your throat?”

Another nod and moan.

“I can tell you like it. You’re so fucking good at it.” I smiled and leaned my head back against the door. “If you like taking my cock so much, one day soon, I’m gonna have to switch things up: lay you down on my bed, on your stomach, spread those strong legs of yours and. . . .”

Bledyyn whimpered and moaned around me and the wonderfully obscene sounds of skin on skin and flesh in flesh grew louder and more urgent. I smiled, my own eyes closing as my orgasm uncoiled from my balls and from the base of my spine.

“First thing I’m gonna do when I have you on your stomach, Bleddyn, is taste you all over. And I do mean all over. I’m gonna taste your tight little hole and tongue-fuck you until you’re screaming for me to give it to you hard and fast. Then I’m gonna hold you open and fill you with my cock—” another startled whimper-moan from Bleddyn “—and fuck your gorgeous ass until you can’t come anymore. And then I’m gonna keep fucking it till I can’t come anymore.”

With a muffled shout, Bleddyn went still around me, every muscle, even his tongue, tensing . . . only to release with Bleddyn’s still muffled groans as he started gasping for breath around me. I pinched the base of my cock between two fingers and let him catch his breath for a few minutes, thinking neutral thoughts while gazing up at the ceiling.

He’s so much fun, I decided as—breath apparently caught—he began sucking my cock again with real vigor, his hands locked around my calves once more.

“I’m gonna come soon,” I told him calmly, letting go of my cock and letting my oncoming orgasm pick up right where it left off. Balls tingling? Check. Base of the spine thrumming? Check. Cock painfully hard and burning from the inside out like it was about to combust? Double check. “Gonna cooooooommmme. . . .”

Bleddyn grunted and speed up the tongue-swirling, letting go of one of my calves to take my balls in hand. He squeezed and tugged in time with his sucking and I looked down from the ceiling, at him. Just the sight of him that way—on his knees like a supplicant . . . or a submissive—was all it took. I could count the time left to my endurance in nano-seconds. “Fuck—Bleddyn . . . coming. . . .”

And for a while, that was all she wrote.

When I came back to myself, Bleddyn was standing up with another grunt, pulling my trousers up with him. He looked disheveled and drop-dead sexy: his hair was a mess from my hand and there was come in his mustache and on his lips.

I smiled lazily and put my nerveless, thousand-pound arms around his neck, pulling him close for a some fairly intenseive grooming.

***Fy nghalon, fy nghariad, fy dechrau a diwedd. . . ., he mumbled as I lapped at the come on his face. “****Pa sillafu wyf i mi o dan fy mod yn gofalu am ddim mwyach . . . dim ond hyn, a dim byd ond ti?

And with that, he scooped me up in his arms and, kicking the door open, carried me into the guest room. He kicked the door shut behind us and with me still licking his face, made for the turned-down bed and laid me on it, capturing my mouth in a kiss as desperate and yearning as if we hadn’t kissed in a year.

“Stay with me?” I asked—was practically begging—when he broke the kiss to lean our foreheads together. Bleddyn sat back just enough to look into my eyes, his own so full of so many different emotions, I couldn’t even begin to read them.

But he nodded, and for the moment, as suddenly sleepy as I was, that was all I needed to know.

Somehow, between kisses, we maneuvered each other’s clothes off. Once we were naked and pressed together, Bleddyn pulled the sheet and coverlet up over us and settled in my arms, his face on my chest, over my heart.

“***** Byddaf yn aros gyda thi am byth, fy swynwr hyfryd,” he murmured, kissing my chest. “Am byth ac yn oes oesoedd.

“No fair, if it’s in Welsh,” I yawned, my eyes closing in satiation and contentment. Bleddyn kissed me again. This time it was my right nipple, which sent sleepy arousal zinging through me. But even that wasn’t enough to wake me fully.

Soon, I was out for the count, murmured Welsh endearments winging me off to dreamland.

*


I woke up to strong arms around me and soft, even breaths puffing against the back of my neck.

Before I even opened my eyes, I inhaled deeply and smiled, enjoying the intermingled scents of the lamp oil and Bleddyn—who was a mixture of metal, horse, and clean sweat.

Whether I had dreamed the night before, I didn’t remember. But I knew they were sweet ones, if I had. How could they be otherwise, when sleeping in my lover’s . . . my love’s arms?

I snuggled back against Bleddyn’s ambitious morning wood and he sighed in his sleep, squeezing me tighter and burying his face against the back of my neck.

Smiling, I opened my eyes—meaning to turn over and wake Bleddyn up in a way I was fairly sure he’d approve of—and let out a startled scream.

There, standing over Bleddyn and me, glaring and sneering, was Rhys ap Thomas.

I lay there, wide-eyed and frightened, unable to move even to cover myself—Bleddyn had hogged the covers, leaving me to give his father the full Monty, however unintentionally—for what felt like an eternity as his eyes raked over me, then Bleddyn.

Bleddyn. . . .

I started to reach behind me to shake him, but I needen’t have. Bleddyn’s hand caught my own and he sat up behind me.

“Father,” he said softly, without inflection. And Rhys’ eyes drifted to me, from his son, his eyes further hardening, if that was even possible.

“Ye and yer catamite get dressed, Bleddyn. Lord Owen wishes ye t’ break yer fast with him,” Rhys spat, and with another death-glare for me, turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

“Father—wait!” Bleddyn called hopelessly, but it was already too late. The door was slamming shut behind Rhys, leaving Bleddyn and I alone in the ostentatious silence.

A silence I was unwilling—no, afraid to break, even by breathing. Even by moving.

Finally, Bleddyn let go of my hand and rolled away from me to stand up.

As one released from a spell, I could finally move. The first thing I did was bury my face in my hands and listen to the sounds of cloth rustling as he got dressed quickly and strode to the door.

It opened and, after a long moment of hesitation, shut quietly.

When it did, the first sob took me by surprise . . . but the ones that came after it were rather expected.

TBC


*My cherished one.
**Light of my heart.
***My heart, my love, my beginning and end. . . .
**** What spell am I under that I care for nothing any longer . . . nothing but this, and nothing but thee?
*****I will stay with thee forever, my lovely enchanter.
© Copyright 2014 beetle (beetle at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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