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Feb. 15th, 2013 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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loathlylady“By the time I pulled Mal out of the pond, he was coated in about forty pounds of mud, and the only part of him you could still tell was human were his eyes.” Deret widened his own slightly, in imitation of the look that had been on Mal’s face nearly two decades in the past, before his face broke into a wide grin at the memory.
“How old were you?” Evi asked, eyes bright with amusement.
“Nine,” Mal said. He took a sip of his brandy to mask his own amusement at how much Evi was enjoying these stories. They had been drinking and talking in his and Evi’s flat for the past few hours, while Deret and he told story after story of a variably spent youth. Evi sometimes joined in with one about something she and her brothers had done, but had mostly been happy to drink her hard cider and listen to stories of a younger, stupider Mal.
“That’s how old I was when I got this,” she said, tapping one of her front teeth. It was just slightly chipped on one corner. “Three of my brothers rolled me down a hill in a barrel. It did not end well for them.”
“Were your parents upset?” Deret asked. Mal resisted snorting. His friend had yet to truly understand about Evi’s relationship with her brothers. He didn’t quite himself, and he had observed them all together, on more than one occasion.
Her smile turned into a smirk.
“Not about the barrel. I gave two of my brothers black eyes and chipped my tooth biting Mevlar. He was trying to run away, but I caught him.”
“You come by that lady grimbal epithet Mal uses honestly, then,” Deret said, regarding her with appreciation. He always had, Mal reflected, liked assertive women, and they did not come much more assertive than his Evi.
“She does,” Mal confirmed. “My lady is bloodthirsty.”
Evi rolled her eyes at him. Oh, did she blush? He thought she did.
“They deserved it,” she said.
“I don’t doubt that they did. I’ll thump them for you the next time I see them, if you like,” he offered.
“They’ve been thumped already, Mal.” Her eyes gleamed as she finished her cider. “More than once.”
Chuckling, he refilled her glass from the pitcher, tipping the last of the cider in. He had lost track of how many glasses she had consumed — he had started with cider before moving on to brandy, so he responsible for part of that pitcher — but they weren’t doing anything tomorrow, and he could tuck her into bed if need be. And if she got handsy like she usually did when she’d been drinking, then he could join her. He did not mind making that sacrifice.
“But what happened with the bees? Did you both escape them?” Evi grasped his hand in thanks, smiling at him affectionately and without reluctance. The chip lent great charm to her smile, he thought, and judging by the way Deret was looking at her, he thought so, too. Mal couldn’t bring himself to be jealous — Evi was his lady, but beauty should be appreciated where a person found it, and it would be hypocritical of him to object to someone ogling her, when she handled him being ogled as well as she did. Besides that, he and she had settled things; her heart was caught fast, as fast as his was. They had the chicken towels to prove it.
He tipped his head toward Deret.
“You’ll have to ask Mancrest and his backside over there.” He grinned malevolently. “How many days was it before you could sit down again, Deret?”
Deret gave him a cool look.
“Three. No doubt it would have been more if you had not so heroically filled my trousers with cooling mud.”
Mal toasted him. The sight of Deret waddling home with his trousers full of muck from the edge of that marshy pond had been the only enjoyable part of the entire escapade for him.
“Anything for a friend in extremity,” he said and finished what was in his glass.
An unexpected sound came from Evi’s side of the table. Both men looked at her.
“Oh, Deret,” she choked out. “Your poor butt.” She snorted, and that released a torrent of laughter.
“Grouch, you’re drunk,” Mal said.
“Oaf, I’m not,” she replied.
THEY KISS, DERET GETS TURNED ON AND EMBARRASSED, AND THEN LEAVES.
He followed Evi to the sofa and watched her plop onto it without her usual coordination. Too much cider, Mal thought with amusement as he took in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Just enough to make her chatty and relaxed, judging from experience.
He sat down next to her, feeling a bit relaxed himself and even more so when Evi immediately curled into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He slid his arm around her and sighed as he stretched his legs out and slouched into the cushions. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her, but he enjoyed these moments almost more than sex, all weighed down with warm and sleepy and trusting Evrial Yara.
“I like Deret,” she murmured into his shirt.
“Mmm. He’s a nice fellow,” he agreed. “I’ve known him most of my life.”
She was quiet for a long time, and he was about to suggest that they head to bed, when she spoke again.
“Why isn’t he with someone? He’s so handsome he shouldn’t have a problem finding a girl.”
“You think Deret’s handsome?” Mal jostled her playfully and grinned down at her.
“Anyone would,” she retorted, just a little too casually to be believed.
“Some women object to the limp, you know. That’s one of the reasons he’s not with anyone.” There had been a couple of women he’d dated after Amentar who had made that all too clear, when they weren’t trying to coddle him like an infant or a feeble old man, so Deret tended to be fairly selective nowadays. It was why Mal had tried to set him and Amaranthe up — Amaranthe wouldn’t have rejected him because of that. Only for a stone-faced assassin, but that was old news.
“Any woman who thinks his injury makes him less attractive doesn’t deserve to have him,” Evi said firmly and then blushed. Mal felt like laughing. Oh, so very chatty, his Evi.
“So you do think he’s handsome,” he teased.
She glared at him for a moment before saying in a low, gruff voice, “You have to admit that he’s easy on the eyes.”
Mal had admitted that many times, both in his head and out loud. He had, in fact, admitted it to Deret himself a couple times. When they were younger and less inhibited. Well, when Deret had been less inhibited. Mal had never been much for denying himself anything enjoyable.
“And what exactly makes him so ‘easy on the eyes’?” he asked, returning to the incredibly enjoyable armful of Yara he currently held.
Instead of getting huffy or making some sharp retort, Evi pressed herself against him and said, “He has a nice smile — his eyes crinkle around the corners. And wavy hair. You know how I like wavy hair.” She released a pleased breath and pressed closer. “And then when he turns around, it only gets better.”
“Oh, yes?” he prompted.
“His ass is nearly as nice as yours,” she said and shivered. Pleasurably, if he was not mistaken. His Evi was just a little drunk and maybe a little aroused.
Mal chuckled in a way that he knew usually made her heart speed up and wasn’t disappointed when he felt it do just so.
“I should probably be happy that I met you first,” he commented dryly.
“Maybe.” She patted him on the thigh and let her hand stay there. “I did say nearly as nice, not nicer.” Her hand creeped a little higher. “But if I had met him before you, I wouldn’t have said no.”
“I never did,” he said, without really thinking. As soon as he realized he had said it, he cursed internally. How many drinks had he had?
Evi’s hand stopped its upward drift.
“What?” she asked in a soft, neutral voice.
“Um.” He cleared his throat. He and Evi didn’t do secrets, so it would have to be the truth. “Deret and I messed around a little when we were younger. Not much more than lads, really.”
“Oh.” She moved her hand infinitesimally farther up, very warm through the fabric of his trousers. “Define ‘messing around’.”
“Kissing, mostly. Some, ah, touching. Nothing beyond that.”
“I’ve thought about that.”
Maldynado reminded himself to breathe.
“Touching Deret?” he asked. Squeaked. Asked. Men did not squeak.
“You and Deret. Touching, kissing. Each other.” She hesitated, hand tightening on his leg, and very quietly added, “Both of you doing the same to me.”
Men also did not faint when women said things like that to them, he reminded himself. Even if all the blood had just left their heads in a rush and headed in a trouserly direction.
“When was this?”
“The last couple times you’ve been out of town. When I get impatient for you to get home.” She wiggled her other hand between them and worked a finger under his belt, easing it out of the buckle. “It’s . . . inspiring.”
“It would be inspiring. Watching you and Deret.” He swallowed thickly, painfully aware of her hands now that images of them were running through his head. He could see her long body moving over Deret’s, his stroking hands making her moan. “You know I like watching you on your own, but watching you with him, getting to see all the things I’m too distracted to see when we’re together — things I can’t see when we’re together . . .” He groaned and dropped his head against the back of the sofa. She had managed to undo his belt and fly, and now the thin material of his undershorts was the only thing between him and her hand.
“You’re distracted when we’re having sex?” she asked, not moving to undo any more buttons.
He rolled his head toward her and smiled at her, more relaxed than he felt.
“You’re very distracting. Very inspiring. You make it hard to concentrate on anything but you, but eventually my concentration is focused on one area in particular.”
She bit her lip, quirking an eyebrow at him, and the chip in her tooth caught the flesh of her lower lip, emphasizing its softness. He couldn’t help himself — he pulled her toward him with the arm around her back and kissed her. He liked this part almost better than sex, too. That moment of pleased surprise before she kissed him back, mouth parting, letting him in.
“Are you paying attention now?” she asked, pulling away slightly.
FADE-TO-BLACK BLOWJOB? I DON’T KNOW. I HAVE BJ FATIGUE.
“How old were you?” Evi asked, eyes bright with amusement.
“Nine,” Mal said. He took a sip of his brandy to mask his own amusement at how much Evi was enjoying these stories. They had been drinking and talking in his and Evi’s flat for the past few hours, while Deret and he told story after story of a variably spent youth. Evi sometimes joined in with one about something she and her brothers had done, but had mostly been happy to drink her hard cider and listen to stories of a younger, stupider Mal.
“That’s how old I was when I got this,” she said, tapping one of her front teeth. It was just slightly chipped on one corner. “Three of my brothers rolled me down a hill in a barrel. It did not end well for them.”
“Were your parents upset?” Deret asked. Mal resisted snorting. His friend had yet to truly understand about Evi’s relationship with her brothers. He didn’t quite himself, and he had observed them all together, on more than one occasion.
Her smile turned into a smirk.
“Not about the barrel. I gave two of my brothers black eyes and chipped my tooth biting Mevlar. He was trying to run away, but I caught him.”
“You come by that lady grimbal epithet Mal uses honestly, then,” Deret said, regarding her with appreciation. He always had, Mal reflected, liked assertive women, and they did not come much more assertive than his Evi.
“She does,” Mal confirmed. “My lady is bloodthirsty.”
Evi rolled her eyes at him. Oh, did she blush? He thought she did.
“They deserved it,” she said.
“I don’t doubt that they did. I’ll thump them for you the next time I see them, if you like,” he offered.
“They’ve been thumped already, Mal.” Her eyes gleamed as she finished her cider. “More than once.”
Chuckling, he refilled her glass from the pitcher, tipping the last of the cider in. He had lost track of how many glasses she had consumed — he had started with cider before moving on to brandy, so he responsible for part of that pitcher — but they weren’t doing anything tomorrow, and he could tuck her into bed if need be. And if she got handsy like she usually did when she’d been drinking, then he could join her. He did not mind making that sacrifice.
“But what happened with the bees? Did you both escape them?” Evi grasped his hand in thanks, smiling at him affectionately and without reluctance. The chip lent great charm to her smile, he thought, and judging by the way Deret was looking at her, he thought so, too. Mal couldn’t bring himself to be jealous — Evi was his lady, but beauty should be appreciated where a person found it, and it would be hypocritical of him to object to someone ogling her, when she handled him being ogled as well as she did. Besides that, he and she had settled things; her heart was caught fast, as fast as his was. They had the chicken towels to prove it.
He tipped his head toward Deret.
“You’ll have to ask Mancrest and his backside over there.” He grinned malevolently. “How many days was it before you could sit down again, Deret?”
Deret gave him a cool look.
“Three. No doubt it would have been more if you had not so heroically filled my trousers with cooling mud.”
Mal toasted him. The sight of Deret waddling home with his trousers full of muck from the edge of that marshy pond had been the only enjoyable part of the entire escapade for him.
“Anything for a friend in extremity,” he said and finished what was in his glass.
An unexpected sound came from Evi’s side of the table. Both men looked at her.
“Oh, Deret,” she choked out. “Your poor butt.” She snorted, and that released a torrent of laughter.
“Grouch, you’re drunk,” Mal said.
“Oaf, I’m not,” she replied.
THEY KISS, DERET GETS TURNED ON AND EMBARRASSED, AND THEN LEAVES.
He followed Evi to the sofa and watched her plop onto it without her usual coordination. Too much cider, Mal thought with amusement as he took in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Just enough to make her chatty and relaxed, judging from experience.
He sat down next to her, feeling a bit relaxed himself and even more so when Evi immediately curled into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He slid his arm around her and sighed as he stretched his legs out and slouched into the cushions. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her, but he enjoyed these moments almost more than sex, all weighed down with warm and sleepy and trusting Evrial Yara.
“I like Deret,” she murmured into his shirt.
“Mmm. He’s a nice fellow,” he agreed. “I’ve known him most of my life.”
She was quiet for a long time, and he was about to suggest that they head to bed, when she spoke again.
“Why isn’t he with someone? He’s so handsome he shouldn’t have a problem finding a girl.”
“You think Deret’s handsome?” Mal jostled her playfully and grinned down at her.
“Anyone would,” she retorted, just a little too casually to be believed.
“Some women object to the limp, you know. That’s one of the reasons he’s not with anyone.” There had been a couple of women he’d dated after Amentar who had made that all too clear, when they weren’t trying to coddle him like an infant or a feeble old man, so Deret tended to be fairly selective nowadays. It was why Mal had tried to set him and Amaranthe up — Amaranthe wouldn’t have rejected him because of that. Only for a stone-faced assassin, but that was old news.
“Any woman who thinks his injury makes him less attractive doesn’t deserve to have him,” Evi said firmly and then blushed. Mal felt like laughing. Oh, so very chatty, his Evi.
“So you do think he’s handsome,” he teased.
She glared at him for a moment before saying in a low, gruff voice, “You have to admit that he’s easy on the eyes.”
Mal had admitted that many times, both in his head and out loud. He had, in fact, admitted it to Deret himself a couple times. When they were younger and less inhibited. Well, when Deret had been less inhibited. Mal had never been much for denying himself anything enjoyable.
“And what exactly makes him so ‘easy on the eyes’?” he asked, returning to the incredibly enjoyable armful of Yara he currently held.
Instead of getting huffy or making some sharp retort, Evi pressed herself against him and said, “He has a nice smile — his eyes crinkle around the corners. And wavy hair. You know how I like wavy hair.” She released a pleased breath and pressed closer. “And then when he turns around, it only gets better.”
“Oh, yes?” he prompted.
“His ass is nearly as nice as yours,” she said and shivered. Pleasurably, if he was not mistaken. His Evi was just a little drunk and maybe a little aroused.
Mal chuckled in a way that he knew usually made her heart speed up and wasn’t disappointed when he felt it do just so.
“I should probably be happy that I met you first,” he commented dryly.
“Maybe.” She patted him on the thigh and let her hand stay there. “I did say nearly as nice, not nicer.” Her hand creeped a little higher. “But if I had met him before you, I wouldn’t have said no.”
“I never did,” he said, without really thinking. As soon as he realized he had said it, he cursed internally. How many drinks had he had?
Evi’s hand stopped its upward drift.
“What?” she asked in a soft, neutral voice.
“Um.” He cleared his throat. He and Evi didn’t do secrets, so it would have to be the truth. “Deret and I messed around a little when we were younger. Not much more than lads, really.”
“Oh.” She moved her hand infinitesimally farther up, very warm through the fabric of his trousers. “Define ‘messing around’.”
“Kissing, mostly. Some, ah, touching. Nothing beyond that.”
“I’ve thought about that.”
Maldynado reminded himself to breathe.
“Touching Deret?” he asked. Squeaked. Asked. Men did not squeak.
“You and Deret. Touching, kissing. Each other.” She hesitated, hand tightening on his leg, and very quietly added, “Both of you doing the same to me.”
Men also did not faint when women said things like that to them, he reminded himself. Even if all the blood had just left their heads in a rush and headed in a trouserly direction.
“When was this?”
“The last couple times you’ve been out of town. When I get impatient for you to get home.” She wiggled her other hand between them and worked a finger under his belt, easing it out of the buckle. “It’s . . . inspiring.”
“It would be inspiring. Watching you and Deret.” He swallowed thickly, painfully aware of her hands now that images of them were running through his head. He could see her long body moving over Deret’s, his stroking hands making her moan. “You know I like watching you on your own, but watching you with him, getting to see all the things I’m too distracted to see when we’re together — things I can’t see when we’re together . . .” He groaned and dropped his head against the back of the sofa. She had managed to undo his belt and fly, and now the thin material of his undershorts was the only thing between him and her hand.
“You’re distracted when we’re having sex?” she asked, not moving to undo any more buttons.
He rolled his head toward her and smiled at her, more relaxed than he felt.
“You’re very distracting. Very inspiring. You make it hard to concentrate on anything but you, but eventually my concentration is focused on one area in particular.”
She bit her lip, quirking an eyebrow at him, and the chip in her tooth caught the flesh of her lower lip, emphasizing its softness. He couldn’t help himself — he pulled her toward him with the arm around her back and kissed her. He liked this part almost better than sex, too. That moment of pleased surprise before she kissed him back, mouth parting, letting him in.
“Are you paying attention now?” she asked, pulling away slightly.
FADE-TO-BLACK BLOWJOB? I DON’T KNOW. I HAVE BJ FATIGUE.
