It’s incredible how much the act of making love changes depending on who is involved.
Most people that view Kierra and I’s relationship from a distance are horrified, seeing affection tainted by blood and violence. The violence and conflict is only a consequence of the true foundation of our union. Competition.
The whole of the elven race worships strength and the pursuit of it. My wife says it’s a part of who they are, just as much as their long ears and colorful skin. It seeps into every part of their lives, at every level. Kierra loves and respects me. As an immortal with infinite potential, I am the partner that can accompany her every step on the long road of her life.
Because she loves and respects me, she wants me to pursue strength with her. So, she pushes me to compete with her, even in the bedroom. When neither participant can be truly harmed, fighting becomes something different. It just so happens that to Kierra, it’s foreplay.
I rarely sleep with my succubi but when I do, it is a purely physical act. A selfish one as well. The elementals don’t care for me. Every sweet word or act of compassion is a calculated ploy. I understand a relationship where those involved use each other for their own ends, but at least with people, care and trust can be built. There is no trusting a succubus.
With them, the pleasure is not a means to an end, but the end itself. A worthy end but our times together have a fleeting quality. It may sound horrible, but I can treat them with an emotional disregard that would horrify me if I did the same with my wives. Sleeping with them is almost masturbatory.
Intimacy with Alana is the exact opposite. There’s pleasure but it’s all about emotion. Loving and being loved. My heart is more involved than my gift, though that changes little by little as she determinedly pursues strength. Though I doubt our dynamic will change even if she has the power to cleave mountains in two. As tough as she is outside, behind doors she’s as soft as the golden fur of Anna’s little pets.
I’m still exploring my dynamic with Talia, but it is already different from my marital relations or more casual affairs, while sharing similarities with both.
If Alana is soft, Talia is a glass sculpture. Beautiful but oh so delicate. I can hurt Alana if I’m not paying attention, but I could shatter our flower. If making love to my future wife is an exercise of restraint, touching Talia is an exercise in control. I’m not afraid to put a finger on her, like I was with Alana for quite a while, having already overcome that mental hurdle, but it certainly isn’t an act I can relax into it.
There’s a minimum of physical pleasure. Talia doesn’t have the strength my body responds to. Perhaps she could use her magic in some way, but I could never allow her to stick her pretty fingers into my mind. I can barely tolerate Geneva’s mental touch and that’s because I know she cannot work against me without being smote by a power greater than both of us.
But just like with Alana, there is emotional satisfaction. It is not quite the loving comfort I share with my soft knight. It’s a mixture of self-gratification, the ego-stroking of inducing pleasure in another, and the satisfaction of a job well-done. Or perhaps the pride of one who owns a particularly stunning pet. Like a prized stallion or the crazy bastards that keep manabeasts.
I imagine that my deep satisfaction feeling her tense beneath me, her lips parted and eyes squeezed shut as she endures my attentions, is similar to the feeling of a powerful noble wowing visitors to their estate with a diamond-maned lion lying in their gardens like an obedient ranch cat lounging on the roof of a barn after hunting pests.
Is it wrong to think of her as a possession? I don’t know. I don’t care. This feeling is beyond right or wrong and here, in this space reserved for us, no one else’s opinion matters. She surrenders herself, her will, and her body, to me, to us, and is elevated for it. That surrender makes me feel powerful and I’m coming to enjoy having power.
Alana returns to the room, dressed in a pair of loose pants and a robe, while we are resting, Talia weakly lying on top of me as my fingers trace the smooth skin of her lower back. Alana rolls her eyes as our gazes meet, stalking across the room to drop the ball of her dirty clothes in a basket beside the dresser. Then she takes the lone chair in the room and pulls it up beside the bed.
I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, one of her hands reaches out to play with a few strands of Talia’s inky black tresses. Inversed eyes open slowly, hooded with her languid afterglow, and our flower peers at Alana with lazy interest. Examining and evaluating both the situation and her target before determining how best to play her role. Which, amusedly, is to do nothing.
Their curious interaction continues until there’s a knock on the door. Alana pauses, lips twisting in annoyance as she prepares to stand but a sound from me stops her. I slip from underneath Talia and motion for Alana to take my place on the bed. She hesitates, but our flower is good at coaxing. It only takes a few moments before Alana is pulled onto the bed and the two are tangled together.
I’d love to take Alana’s chair and watch the two slowly grow comfortable with one another, Alana’s face flushed and demeanor unusually hesitant in the face of an expectant Talia, but our visitor is still at the door and isn’t going away. If it were just anyone, I wouldn’t bother but the snow bunny is family.
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On the opposite side of the door, Yulia stands with her hands interlaced in front of her, eyes gazing at nothing. Effortlessly graceful, though the long braid her dark hair is tied in and her light blue dress certainly help. At first glance, she seems unaffected by the early morning excitement but the tension at the corners of her mouth and how tightly her fingers are interlaced give away her concern.
Her smile is perfect though. “Lou! Good morning. I was hoping you hadn’t gone to bed.”
I lean against the frame of the door, making sure she can’t see past me as my ears pick up the sound of kissing. “Hard to relax with assassins lurking in the shadows.”
“Indeed.”
“…did you want something?” I prompt when the silence drags on too long.
“Pardon me. I don’t mean to stand here like a fool. My mind is…restless.” She takes a deep, calming breath before meeting my eyes. “I believe we need to change our strategy when it comes to the guilds. We need to move quickly and decisively.”
“Quickly and decisively?” I drawl, taking in the tension of her shoulders and the slight furrow of her brow. “That sounds very aggressive for a woman that’s supposed to be helping me solve this mess peacefully.”
She chuckles but there’s no humor in the sound. “Peace? Peace went out the window when a cohort of assassins tried to kill us. You heard Marcella. The guilds were never afraid of us, but of the thought of war. If they think Victory is in no position to wage a war, no matter how wrong that assumption is, there is no need to negotiate. Maintaining our position as is will only make us look weak and invite others to attack us.”
This must be some kind of joke.
I agree with her. After trying to kill us in our sleep, the guilds don’t deserve our consideration. But that’s the easy answer.
I don’t need her here to incite me to violence. I have a wife that always encourages blood as the answer to any problem and a second wife to chime in with the perspective of a northern warrior. Saints, my own beliefs lean toward violence. Her job is to walk us away from that. To be the guiding light down a different road.
What happened to changing the north’s reputation and repairing Victory’s broken relationship with the rest of the kingdom? Did the assassins spook her? Did the news about the fort unsettle her? Things start to go a little awry and there goes all her determination, huh.
“Are you alright, Lou? You seem—"
“I’m fine.” I am. I can’t even blame her, but it’d be a lie to say I’m not disappointed. Alana’s always had a problem with the fact that her sister only fought in a single campaign. Thinks Yulia is a coward. I didn’t agree, as I can completely understand not wanting to march into that winter hellscape beyond the Bleak Peaks, but I think understand how my knight feels now.
One brush with danger, not even a true one, we would have never had let anything happen to her, and her pretty ideals collapse. Her vision of a happy future where northerners skip through the fields of the south and their children aren’t immediately drafted into a losing war is nice but she’s not willing to put herself on the line for it.
The moment things become a little risky to herself, or perhaps she’s thinking of her son, she retreats, more than happy to hide behind the swords and bloodlust of the warriors whose ways she wants to correct.
Her way of doing things isn’t wrong or reprehensible. Saints, it’s even understandable. She can hardly enact change if she’s dead and it’s hard to negotiate with people actively trying to kill you. Still, my opinion of the northern rose drops considerably. She really is nothing like her sister. Alana doesn’t compromise. She doesn’t back down. She was willing to personally fight an entire village single-handedly to defend her justice while Yulia caves at a few assassins being in the same building.
Ah, how hypocritical. It wasn’t that long ago I was panicking at the thought of a prince being annoyed with me. If anyone should understand Yulia’s position, it’s me. But I think what I think and respect what I respect. Or rather, don’t respect certain things, even if I might do them myself.
“Things have gotten more complicated but I’m not giving up on peace yet. Questioning one of the assassins hasn’t given us any indication that the contract on our lives was sponsored by all the guilds.” Poor Winter was just a blade, too unimportant to have that kind of information.
“And even if it was, their failure might be enough to wake some of the hunters up. If information is getting out of Victory, that means they have accounts of the March.” Specifically, the fact that I lost my head but stood back up. “That combined with a Guiness behind us should be enough to bring them to the table and think twice before doing something stupid.”
“You being a wanted woman will make them more audacious,” Yulia replies, voice harsh. “I always thought as much but figured the guilds wouldn’t dare ask the crown for assistance. They value their independence, after all. Having to run to the king to solve their problems wouldn’t make them look good.
“However, now that you’re a criminal, they are in a position of power. They can criticize the king for enacting new laws but not enforcing them. It wouldn’t surprise me if a force from the army or royal guards themselves were on their way to the city right now. You want to negotiate with your own power but if you’re a target of the crown, no one will respect that power. They’ll assume you are a dead woman walking. We have to strike now, before they grow bolder.”
Her certainty only makes the reversal of her stance that much more annoying. It doesn’t help that she’s keeping me from what’s going on inside our room, the sounds of Alana’s and Talia’s exploration becoming more intense, though both are trying to keep quiet. I lean forward and she takes a subtle step backward.
“Thank you for the advice,” I stress, reminding her that she’s here to advise, not to give orders. “Geneva’s preparing breakfast. It should be ready soon.”
Thankfully, Yulia takes the dismissal for what it is. “That is something to look forward to,” she says with a strained smile. “Will we all be eating together in the dining room?”
“Mm. Sounds like a plan.”
“Then I’ll see you soon.”
I close the door with a frown and retreat into my room. Alana and Talia remain intertwined with one another, my knight amusingly beneath the flower that has determined she is supposed to take the more active role between the two of them. Blue eyes peer at me from a flushed face as Alana breaks away from their kiss, Talia shifting her attention from her lips to her neck. “What…did she want?” Alana asks between pants.
“Tell you later.” I smile at her glare as I take a seat in her chair. “We’ve still got plenty of time for you to enjoy yourself.”
“I’m not…I’m just…” I raise a brow and pointedly stare at the woman kissing along her collarbone. Alana huffs and turns away. I settle in, propping my chin up in a palm as I idly wonder if Geneva will interrupt with breakfast before I become less interested in watching and join them.