As A Stranger Or A Friend?: The Swallow And The Drowned Sailor

Mariel - 8 Sun's Dawn, 1246 A.D.

I woke to many happy kisses and the feeling of his loving arms around me. His sleepy laughs met my ears and I responded with groggy giggles of my own, letting myself be overtaken by his gentle affection.

"Good morn', wee cream puff." He whispered.

"Good morning." I replied as I stroked his cheeks gently.

What little light seeped into the room from between the drapes made him appear more handsome than usual, making it sufficiently difficult not to admire him. I let my fingers and eyes pass softly over his scales, feeling and seeing how they twitched and shivered under my touch. Despite them not being soft, there was still something comforting to me about how they felt. Perhaps it was because they belonged to him.

"Canno admire me as so and expect me no to do 'nythin' 'bout it." He said, with a sly look on his face before attacking me with kisses once more.

I laughed between them as he crushed me underneath his weight pleasantly and greedily grabbed handfuls of my thighs into his hands. I blushed and squirmed in his grasp as my sleepy hands ran over his firm chest and broad shoulders, enjoying how they curved beneath my palms. Suddenly, the air became heavy between us, and that familiar nervousness, which appeared in moments like these, returned.

"We nay have to do anythin', no till ye be ready." He whispered softly.

I nodded.

But wasn't I ready? What was I waiting for? I wasn't afraid of him, and we desired one another, that should be more than enough reason to act on that natural impulse, right? But how? Back in The Deadlands, I just waited after making myself attractive to him, but I could hardly depart to fix myself up as I'd done then because I was firmly pinned beneath him. And our dreams were hardly helpful either since most of the time, things progressed in that direction when one began to undress the other, but he was already dressed down to trousers and nothing else. And the thought of reaching down in an attempt to remove them was too nerve-wracking to even entertain. I was hardly sure my hands would be steady enough to manage something like that anyway. Surely not.

He gave me a small peck on the forehead, then pulled away, returning to lay on his back on his side of the bed. I burrowed under the covers to trap the heat he left behind and watched as he propped himself up to prepare a pipe. It surprised me how he could smoke so soon after waking, but he'd smoked for many years, so it was likely an easy thing to do. He reached for his box of matches and picked one out, doing a double take upon noticing that I was staring at him.

"Be somethin' the matter?"

"No. It's nothing." I replied, pulling up the covers just a bit more.

"Do ye nay want for me to smoke in the bed?" He asked.

"No, you may..."

He studied me for another moment longer, then got up. "Be fine, will do it on the terrace, ey?"

I nodded and let him kiss me on the forehead, watching as he departed to take his morning smoke outdoors.

I was newly frustrated by two things: his handsomeness and my inhibitions. Why couldn't I just say or do things when he was close to me? Now that he was further away, I felt some boldness return, but I knew it would vanish immediately when he directed his focus back at me. At any rate, the opportunity felt missed, so I would just have to be braver the next time it presented itself. For now, I simply committed to admiring him from my place on the bed. It was the easier thing to do, especially now that he wasn't looking at me.

But was that odd? To be observing someone with impure attention? Did that make me a pervert? I blushed and suddenly felt wrong for looking at him this way, but it was hard not to. Especially when he took a drag of his pipe... I dropped my head to one side, wondering how he could make something so ordinary appear so lewd. And the way that pipesmoke escaped his nostrils... Why did I like it? He took another few puffs and let his mouth hang open ever so slightly to expel more smoke, revealing his sharp white teeth for a few moments. Then, with a single hand, he reached up to itch the spikes on his chin gently. My skin puckered and a shallow breath escaped me. Why did I feel like his claws were against my skin? I stroked my chin and throat gently but to what end I wasn't sure. My hands were hardly a substitute for his... My eyes raked over his back, admiring the way the sun created narrow shadows upon it, when he dumped out his pipe and turned around to come back inside. I flinched as if I'd just awaken from a dream; I needed to pretend I hadn't just been gawking at him! I dove under the covers and hid there, mostly because I didn't know what else to do. The door shut, and I heard him halt his steps rather abruptly.