Nine Shillings

Old Scars

London - 1842

'The leprechauns beat the dragons, I hear,' Bran said and closed his book.

'We little redheads are fierce.' I climbed into bed beside him. 'And nobody steals our gold.' I kissed him deeply.

He gave me his 'oh dear' smile, the smile he got when he'd been listening to himself too much and himself hadn't been saying anything good.

I snuggled down beside him. 'What's the matter, Bran?'

He settled on his back and folded one arm behind his head. 'Just thinking.'

'Hm?' I replied, stroking the hair under his arm with my fingertip, it was strange the things about a lover's body that became erotic.

He sighed. 'Wondering if I should shave my bristles off.'

'I don't think Elizabeth has any interest in your face, she wanted to upset you. If you want a shave, I'll do it for you. You can always grow it back if you change your mind.' I kissed his jaw.

He looked at me. 'Do you like it?'

'I love you bristly or clean-shaven. Long hair or short.' I grinned. 'Clothes or...' My gaze trailed over his body, clad only in sheets. 'No clothes.'

He blushed. Naked in bed said he wanted to play when he'd got into bed.

'And I love you nose.' I stroked it with the tip of my finger. 'It's a perfect nose.'

He didn't look convinced.

I propped myself over him. 'You have to be the only person who hasn't noticed my obsession with your nose and you're attached to it.' I kissed it. 'She wants to spite you, Bran. You have everything you wanted and she doesn't.' I caressed his rough cheek. 'If you shave your beard off, she'll know she got to you. If you don't, she'll say you didn't because she liked it.'

'How do you know that?' he asked.

I gave him a look; I'd survived a long time by calculating angles.

He pushed the sleeve of my nightdress back onto my shoulder. 'I know you love me but my head keeps telling me all the reasons you shouldn't.'

I rested my hand on his chest. 'I know, chuckaboo.'

'I can't be magically fixed.'

I kissed him softly. 'You were never broken.'

'It doesn't feel that way,' he murmured.

'If you ask me to kill her for what she did to you, I will,' I whispered. 'If you tell me not to I won't. It's your choice.'

He considered me. 'Don't.'

'Then I won't.'

He traced my lips with his thumb. I nipped the tip of it, he hissed and smiled.

I linked my fingers with his. 'It's always your choice, Bran.'

He nuzzled my nose. 'I want to do something for you I've not done for anyone else for a long time.'

'And what's that?'

He nudged my hip, I propped myself up on my side and he slid out of bed. I could see everything; he made no attempt to cover anything.

I'd seen him naked, slept beside him naked, snuggled on top of him naked. This was different. It wasn't clothes taken off in practicality or ripped off in passion. It was Bran choosing to let me look at him.

His fingers flexed nervously at his sides, a blush seeped from his cheeks.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him close. 'You're perfection, Brandon.' I slid my hands up the backs of his thighs and cupped his rear. 'And you have a fantastic arse.'

He smiled. 'Isn't that covered by perfection?'

'Oh, I could write a novel on your perfection.' I kissed a scar on his stomach. 'Of course, a novel would require thorough research.'

'Will you say it?' he murmured.

I swung him onto his back on the bed and straddled him. 'You're mine,' I whispered. 'My Brandon.'

He smiled and caressed my face.

It wasn't possession, it was trust. However vulnerable he was, he trusted he was safe with me. It was my promise he was.

I traced my fingertips down his chest. To trust completely and be trusted completely in return, close as two people could be.

His excitement was so sharp I could taste it. I put my face to the hollow of his neck and inhaled his warm whiskey and old book scent. I pressed the tip of my tongue to the base of his throat. He tilted his head back and bared his neck for me. My fangs scraped his skin.

'Mummy,' Mary called. 'You didn't check for monsters.'

I rested my face against his chest. 'I love our children,' I muttered. 'I love our children. I love our children.'

Bran chuckled and kissed my head.

'Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!' Mary shouted. 'Muuuuuummmy!' Experience said Mary could keep shouting one of us with increasing volume indefinitely.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he said.

'Five minutes.' I gave him a quick kiss, clambered off the bed and hurried out the door.

By the time I got back, one monster and two stories later, Bran had gone. To sleep.

I got into bed and lay on top of him with my head on his chest.

He sighed and put his arms around me. 'Sorry,' he said, without opening his eyes.

I kissed his chest. 'Go back to sleep, Brandon.'

He kissed the top of my head. His fingers played along the curve of my spine.

I waited. He kept gently stroking.

I smiled. 'Are you hungry, Bran?'

He slid his hand down to my rear.

'What are you hungry for?' I asked.

'Your choice,' he whispered, which meant his favourite he was too embarrassed to ask for.

I drew circles on his chest, pretending to think. 'Hm...' I shifted up him and nipped his lip. 'A little worship wouldn't go amiss.'

He grinned. 'My goddess.'

'Bit much, chuckaboo.'

He laughed.