(no subject)
Since this journal seems to have become my smut archive . . .
Title: Wedding Night
Fandom: The Magician's Ward, by Patricia C. Wrede
Rating: S for Schmoop, Soulbaring, and Sex (in that order), and P for Purple Prose. AKA NC-17.
Warnings: Well, sex. And taking a long time to get to the sex. And first-time smutwriter.
“It’s traditional, you know.”
“If you try and carry me, I don’t think we’ll fit through there.”
“Yes, but nothing ventured . . .”
Kim folded her arms with a crinkling of silk. “You are not carrying me over the threshold.”
Mairelon - that is, Richard Merill, Kim corrected herself - smiled genially at her and swayed in time with the bumping of the carriage. “If you insist.”
The carriage drew to a stop before she could retort, and Richard was quickly out and offering her a hand down. She hitched up the skirt of her dress, which she thought was only slightly less ridiculous than the wedding confection she had been wearing a few hours ago, and accepted.
The driver tipped his hat to both of them. “G’night, Mr. and Mrs. Merill.”
It actually took Kim a moment to realize he was referring to her. Mrs. Merill still seemed like a stranger, and certainly not a title she had ever expected to wear. A moment later, she realized Richard was standing with his arm out, giving her a patient, expectant look. She smiled and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
As they proceeded up the front walk, Richard gave her a smile. “I promise I shan’t carry you over the threshold if it offends your sensibilities so.”
Kim snorted. “You make me sound like Hunch.”
Richard laughed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“It’s a good ting Aunt Agatha wouldn’t let him drive tonight.”
Kim snorted again, this time with laughter at the image of Hunch slouched atop the driver’s seat, chewing on his mustache and appalled at the thought of what his mast and “that girl” might get up to now that they were married. As for that . . . well, the thought of what they might get up to made Kim obscurely nervous, and she pushed it out of her mind.
They reached the front door, and Richard disentangled himself from her in order to unlock the door. Bowing theatrically, he opened it and gestured her inside. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
Our. Another term to get used to. Kim stepped past Richard and remarked drily, “I’ve been here before.”
“So much for romance,” he sighed behind her, and followed. Once inside, he put an arm around her, tilted her chin up and kissed her. She leaned into it happily. It ended sooner than she would’ve liked, but his arm was still around her.
“I suppose, since you’ve been here before, you remember the way to the bedrooms.”
Her stomach leapt, but she nodded, and smiled up at him. If he noticed her nerves, he didn’t comment.
What felt like a very short time later, she was standing in front of a full length mirror, wondering how long she could prim and fiddle with the dressing gown before Richard came to check on her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know what was about to happen. Living on the streets of London had taught her a fair amount about men and women. It was more that a questioning pat of her mind wouldn’t be quiet. What if it hurt? What if he didn’t like it? What if she didn’t like it? What if, somehow, it simply didn’t work? What if--?
She made a frustrated noise, pulled her dressing gown straight, and headed back into the bedroom she and Richard would be sharing.
While she had been hemming and hawing in the other room, Richard had undressed and changed into pyjama trousers. He was stretched across the bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, with one foot jiggling. Kim realized, suddenly, that he was nervous as well. He turned to look at her as she entered, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“. . . Kim.”
“What sort of a welcome is that?” Without waiting for a response, she came over to the bed and slid between the sheets. Richard rolled onto his side and cupped her cheek.
“Not an adequate one, evidently.”
Then he kissed her, and finally, finally, it lasted as long as she wanted. One of her hands came up and rested against his bare chest, while the other held her up. One of his brushed her cheek and then tangled into her hair, pulling her closer. She went happily.
When they finally broke it off, out of breath, he leaned his forehead against hers.
“Yes? I mean - are you ready?”
“. . . Yes.”
He moved back and looked at her seriously. She held his gaze for only a moment before dropping her eyes. The rustle of fabric told her he was undressing as she slid her dressing gown off her shoulders. It fell to the floor; it would probably be wrinkled in the morning, and there would probably be sharp words from Aunt Agatha about propriety, but for the moment, Kim couldn’t care.
She hadn’t worn anything beneath the robe. Baring her body was still an odd experience. Seventeen years of hiding her sex had not lent themselves to being comfortable naked in any case, and this was something else again from the relative privacy of changing clothes. She was exquisitely aware of the air moving across her shoulder, of her skin tingling as if she could feel it from the inside out - not to mention Mairelon’s eyes combing up over the scar on her side from an accident during one of her first housebreakings, and over her breasts, fuller than ever after nearly two years of regular meals.
He had frozen in an awkward and ridiculous position, with his trousers half off. He slowly settled back onto his heels when their eyes met.
“Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?”
Kim reddened. “I ain’t.”
“You are.” He finished undressing and moved forward again, straddling her legs. “You are.”
He kissed her again, holding her face between his hands. Uncertain what to do with her own, she put her arms around his neck. His fingers traced down her jaw line, and made their way down to her breast. The other hand skimmed over her collarbone, her belly, and slipped between her legs.
Her entire body stiffened. She pulled away, appalled at her own reaction. The moment she moved, Richard moved back, giving her a worried look. Blushing furiously, she rolled onto her side, away from him.
“Kim? What’s the matter? Kim, I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be,” she whispered. “Ain’t your fault. ‘M just . . .”
There was a pause. Then she felt the bed shift, and his arm curled around her waist - carefully away from any more sensitive areas - and his chest was pressed against her back.
“What is it?” he murmured in her ear. “Do you not know what to do? Is that the problem?”
She snorted softly. “Don’t be a noodle. I know what we’re about, well enough.” She paused, and finally continued, “I ain’t had much experience with . . . down there. Didn’t have much chance to find out anything on the streets. Not for myself.”
“Do you not want to do this?”
“What’s that matter?” She shifted against his crotch, and heard him gasp slightly. “You want to. And I seen enough,” she added, rolling over and tracing her hand down his chest to between his legs, “that I could prob’ly make you happy . . . .”
She wrapped her fingers around him, and the gasp this time was much more pronounced. She stopped there as Richard began speaking again.
“But that’s not a marriage, Kim. That’s not love. I don’t want you to satisfy me at your own expennnngh--” He broke off and gave her what was supposed to be a stern look. “C-could you not do that? I’m trying to talk.”
She grinned faintly. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure.” He reached down, gripped her wrist, and pulled her hand up to his mouth. He kissed the palm and continued, “We can work this out.”
Kim hesitated, but Richard didn’t break the silence. He simply watched her closely. Finally, she nodded.
He kissed her palm again. “Talk to me. Let me know if something’s wrong. All right?”
“All right.”
Still facing her on his side, he reached out and pushed her gently onto her back. This time he moved much more slowly. His hands took the time to explore her skin, and she tried to relax and let them. It got easier after a few minutes, as his hands warmed up and her body began to respond.
She couldn’t help tensing up again when his hands traveled lower, though. He paused, kissed her, and parted her legs. Kim found herself staring up at the ceiling, jaw clenched - right up until his fingers stroked her.
He had always had such nimble fingers. He couldn’t very well have made a living as a stage magician if he hadn’t.
Kim sucked in a breath, but stayed still as his fingers explored again - only more gently, more minutely, more thoroughly. And after a few minutes, when his thumb brushed just there, she couldn’t bite back the “Oh--”
He stopped immediately, though he didn’t move his hand. “Kim? Are you all right?”
She glowered at him. “If I’m not all right, you’ll hear about it.”
A relieved grin spread across his face. “All right.”
He twisted his fingers, somehow -- twisted and pushed and slid -- and she arched her back, squeezing her muscles around fingers suddenly inside her.
“Mairelon--” She took a deep breath and whispered, “Richard. Lord, I-”
“You can call me Mairelon, Kim,” he said softly. “I think I prefer it, in fact. Still all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, why’d you stop?”
He chuckled and moved his hand again in some way that made her grunt, inarticulate and unladylike. Some part of her was amazed at how just a few twitches of his fingers and twists of his wrist could have her in this state. It reminded her of lock-picking, almost. She suspected it took as much skill.
Then his hands were moving faster on her and in her and she couldn’t think of much of anything for a few minutes.
As she rode back down into relative reality, she felt Mairelon positioning himself between her legs. She knew what came next, and tried to hold onto the relaxation she had just been given.
When he pushed into her, it didn’t hurt as much as she’d feared, but it did hurt. She let out some small sound and tried again to relax. Mairelon stopped, and looked down at her.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.” She shifted a little, trying to relieve the pain, and winced. “A little.”
“Would you like me to stop?”
“. . . No. Go ahead.”
He nodded, and rolled his hips. Kim winced again, bit her lip, and endured. He moved slowly at first, letting her get used to the rhythm and feeling, and after not too long, she felt her body responding without much input from her. He sped up, and ended soon after, back arched, head back.
They disentangled themselves, and Kim curled up against him.
“That was . . . quick.”
Mairelon blushed, and gave her a look. “Did you not enjoy it?”
She kissed his cheek, and traced his collarbone. “I enjoyed it well enough, don’t worry.”
“Are you sure?”
She rolled her eyes and lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. “Sure.” Mairelon, somewhat mollified, lay his cheek against her hair, and a short time later was breathing deeply in sleep.
She wasn’t worried. Perhaps it hadn’t been perfect, but she wasn’t worried. After all, they had a lifetime together ahead of them to perfect things.
Title: Wedding Night
Fandom: The Magician's Ward, by Patricia C. Wrede
Rating: S for Schmoop, Soulbaring, and Sex (in that order), and P for Purple Prose. AKA NC-17.
Warnings: Well, sex. And taking a long time to get to the sex. And first-time smutwriter.
“It’s traditional, you know.”
“If you try and carry me, I don’t think we’ll fit through there.”
“Yes, but nothing ventured . . .”
Kim folded her arms with a crinkling of silk. “You are not carrying me over the threshold.”
Mairelon - that is, Richard Merill, Kim corrected herself - smiled genially at her and swayed in time with the bumping of the carriage. “If you insist.”
The carriage drew to a stop before she could retort, and Richard was quickly out and offering her a hand down. She hitched up the skirt of her dress, which she thought was only slightly less ridiculous than the wedding confection she had been wearing a few hours ago, and accepted.
The driver tipped his hat to both of them. “G’night, Mr. and Mrs. Merill.”
It actually took Kim a moment to realize he was referring to her. Mrs. Merill still seemed like a stranger, and certainly not a title she had ever expected to wear. A moment later, she realized Richard was standing with his arm out, giving her a patient, expectant look. She smiled and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
As they proceeded up the front walk, Richard gave her a smile. “I promise I shan’t carry you over the threshold if it offends your sensibilities so.”
Kim snorted. “You make me sound like Hunch.”
Richard laughed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“It’s a good ting Aunt Agatha wouldn’t let him drive tonight.”
Kim snorted again, this time with laughter at the image of Hunch slouched atop the driver’s seat, chewing on his mustache and appalled at the thought of what his mast and “that girl” might get up to now that they were married. As for that . . . well, the thought of what they might get up to made Kim obscurely nervous, and she pushed it out of her mind.
They reached the front door, and Richard disentangled himself from her in order to unlock the door. Bowing theatrically, he opened it and gestured her inside. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
Our. Another term to get used to. Kim stepped past Richard and remarked drily, “I’ve been here before.”
“So much for romance,” he sighed behind her, and followed. Once inside, he put an arm around her, tilted her chin up and kissed her. She leaned into it happily. It ended sooner than she would’ve liked, but his arm was still around her.
“I suppose, since you’ve been here before, you remember the way to the bedrooms.”
Her stomach leapt, but she nodded, and smiled up at him. If he noticed her nerves, he didn’t comment.
What felt like a very short time later, she was standing in front of a full length mirror, wondering how long she could prim and fiddle with the dressing gown before Richard came to check on her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know what was about to happen. Living on the streets of London had taught her a fair amount about men and women. It was more that a questioning pat of her mind wouldn’t be quiet. What if it hurt? What if he didn’t like it? What if she didn’t like it? What if, somehow, it simply didn’t work? What if--?
She made a frustrated noise, pulled her dressing gown straight, and headed back into the bedroom she and Richard would be sharing.
While she had been hemming and hawing in the other room, Richard had undressed and changed into pyjama trousers. He was stretched across the bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, with one foot jiggling. Kim realized, suddenly, that he was nervous as well. He turned to look at her as she entered, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“. . . Kim.”
“What sort of a welcome is that?” Without waiting for a response, she came over to the bed and slid between the sheets. Richard rolled onto his side and cupped her cheek.
“Not an adequate one, evidently.”
Then he kissed her, and finally, finally, it lasted as long as she wanted. One of her hands came up and rested against his bare chest, while the other held her up. One of his brushed her cheek and then tangled into her hair, pulling her closer. She went happily.
When they finally broke it off, out of breath, he leaned his forehead against hers.
“Yes? I mean - are you ready?”
“. . . Yes.”
He moved back and looked at her seriously. She held his gaze for only a moment before dropping her eyes. The rustle of fabric told her he was undressing as she slid her dressing gown off her shoulders. It fell to the floor; it would probably be wrinkled in the morning, and there would probably be sharp words from Aunt Agatha about propriety, but for the moment, Kim couldn’t care.
She hadn’t worn anything beneath the robe. Baring her body was still an odd experience. Seventeen years of hiding her sex had not lent themselves to being comfortable naked in any case, and this was something else again from the relative privacy of changing clothes. She was exquisitely aware of the air moving across her shoulder, of her skin tingling as if she could feel it from the inside out - not to mention Mairelon’s eyes combing up over the scar on her side from an accident during one of her first housebreakings, and over her breasts, fuller than ever after nearly two years of regular meals.
He had frozen in an awkward and ridiculous position, with his trousers half off. He slowly settled back onto his heels when their eyes met.
“Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?”
Kim reddened. “I ain’t.”
“You are.” He finished undressing and moved forward again, straddling her legs. “You are.”
He kissed her again, holding her face between his hands. Uncertain what to do with her own, she put her arms around his neck. His fingers traced down her jaw line, and made their way down to her breast. The other hand skimmed over her collarbone, her belly, and slipped between her legs.
Her entire body stiffened. She pulled away, appalled at her own reaction. The moment she moved, Richard moved back, giving her a worried look. Blushing furiously, she rolled onto her side, away from him.
“Kim? What’s the matter? Kim, I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be,” she whispered. “Ain’t your fault. ‘M just . . .”
There was a pause. Then she felt the bed shift, and his arm curled around her waist - carefully away from any more sensitive areas - and his chest was pressed against her back.
“What is it?” he murmured in her ear. “Do you not know what to do? Is that the problem?”
She snorted softly. “Don’t be a noodle. I know what we’re about, well enough.” She paused, and finally continued, “I ain’t had much experience with . . . down there. Didn’t have much chance to find out anything on the streets. Not for myself.”
“Do you not want to do this?”
“What’s that matter?” She shifted against his crotch, and heard him gasp slightly. “You want to. And I seen enough,” she added, rolling over and tracing her hand down his chest to between his legs, “that I could prob’ly make you happy . . . .”
She wrapped her fingers around him, and the gasp this time was much more pronounced. She stopped there as Richard began speaking again.
“But that’s not a marriage, Kim. That’s not love. I don’t want you to satisfy me at your own expennnngh--” He broke off and gave her what was supposed to be a stern look. “C-could you not do that? I’m trying to talk.”
She grinned faintly. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure.” He reached down, gripped her wrist, and pulled her hand up to his mouth. He kissed the palm and continued, “We can work this out.”
Kim hesitated, but Richard didn’t break the silence. He simply watched her closely. Finally, she nodded.
He kissed her palm again. “Talk to me. Let me know if something’s wrong. All right?”
“All right.”
Still facing her on his side, he reached out and pushed her gently onto her back. This time he moved much more slowly. His hands took the time to explore her skin, and she tried to relax and let them. It got easier after a few minutes, as his hands warmed up and her body began to respond.
She couldn’t help tensing up again when his hands traveled lower, though. He paused, kissed her, and parted her legs. Kim found herself staring up at the ceiling, jaw clenched - right up until his fingers stroked her.
He had always had such nimble fingers. He couldn’t very well have made a living as a stage magician if he hadn’t.
Kim sucked in a breath, but stayed still as his fingers explored again - only more gently, more minutely, more thoroughly. And after a few minutes, when his thumb brushed just there, she couldn’t bite back the “Oh--”
He stopped immediately, though he didn’t move his hand. “Kim? Are you all right?”
She glowered at him. “If I’m not all right, you’ll hear about it.”
A relieved grin spread across his face. “All right.”
He twisted his fingers, somehow -- twisted and pushed and slid -- and she arched her back, squeezing her muscles around fingers suddenly inside her.
“Mairelon--” She took a deep breath and whispered, “Richard. Lord, I-”
“You can call me Mairelon, Kim,” he said softly. “I think I prefer it, in fact. Still all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, why’d you stop?”
He chuckled and moved his hand again in some way that made her grunt, inarticulate and unladylike. Some part of her was amazed at how just a few twitches of his fingers and twists of his wrist could have her in this state. It reminded her of lock-picking, almost. She suspected it took as much skill.
Then his hands were moving faster on her and in her and she couldn’t think of much of anything for a few minutes.
As she rode back down into relative reality, she felt Mairelon positioning himself between her legs. She knew what came next, and tried to hold onto the relaxation she had just been given.
When he pushed into her, it didn’t hurt as much as she’d feared, but it did hurt. She let out some small sound and tried again to relax. Mairelon stopped, and looked down at her.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.” She shifted a little, trying to relieve the pain, and winced. “A little.”
“Would you like me to stop?”
“. . . No. Go ahead.”
He nodded, and rolled his hips. Kim winced again, bit her lip, and endured. He moved slowly at first, letting her get used to the rhythm and feeling, and after not too long, she felt her body responding without much input from her. He sped up, and ended soon after, back arched, head back.
They disentangled themselves, and Kim curled up against him.
“That was . . . quick.”
Mairelon blushed, and gave her a look. “Did you not enjoy it?”
She kissed his cheek, and traced his collarbone. “I enjoyed it well enough, don’t worry.”
“Are you sure?”
She rolled her eyes and lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. “Sure.” Mairelon, somewhat mollified, lay his cheek against her hair, and a short time later was breathing deeply in sleep.
She wasn’t worried. Perhaps it hadn’t been perfect, but she wasn’t worried. After all, they had a lifetime together ahead of them to perfect things.