For Enaid...
The Flow of Water
She comes to perch on a rock that overhangs the boulder-strewn creek, a fine spray of water washing away the last vestiges of sleep. Above her, leaves cross and crisscross each other to form a canopy of green lace, golden shafts of sunlight streaming down to dance with the endlessly flowing water. Around her are the sounds of an awakening world: a bird trilling its morning greeting, the music of the creek burbling and babbling, and the far off rumble of water leaping off the mountainside with ecstatic abandon. It is a song as ancient as the mountains themselves and Leonie feels it, her heart soaring with that same radiant joy.
Riordan, bare-chested and hair unbound, stands on a promontory a short distance up the hill, caught in a sunbeam that lovingly illuminates him with an ethereal light. In a rare moment she sees a lifetime of scars etched along the hardened muscles of his abdomen and chest, struck in bronze by the sun's light, reminding her of a sculpture that resides in Celene's garden of a warrior surveying his battlefield.
She knows each scar by heart, has traced each of them with fingers and lips, reveling in the story they tell of a man who lives life without restraint. But there is more, this bright morning, something about his expression that causes her blood to quicken.
Her heart expands, traveling to stand beside him, loving him, and she rises, her green cloak sliding from her shoulders to fall and cling to the boulder like moss clinging to the stones along the creek's edge.
"Good morning, my handsome Peacock!" she calls as she approaches him while daintily holding the skirt of her nightdress high above the grasping flow of water in one hand. She hops from rock to rock, toes curling for purchase on the slick stones, her other hand held out for balance.
He turns, the light catching a wistful expression in his blue eyes before it is gone and he is smiling, a smile that speaks to her heart. She clamors over the boulders, feeling the cool breeze created by the flowing water tickle at her bared legs. A single rock in the middle of the creek forces the water around it, standing stubbornly, refusing to submit as water caresses it, cajoling it.
"That rock is like you, lass," he says, holding his arm out so she can tuck herself close to him. His skin is surprisingly warm and she clings happily to him.
"Stubborn and unyielding?" she asks and he laughs, whatever thoughts he has held closely and not shared, slipping into the shadows of the surrounding forest.
She rests a hand on his abdomen, fingers luxuriating in the soft, dark tracing of fur that runs down to disappear beneath the waistband of his low-hung breeches. She can feel his breath stir the hair on the crown of her head and she feels suddenly young and inept, as if she is a child still clinging to perceptions of youth. It comes to her, in a rare, bright flash of insight, that he is withdrawn, that something is troubling him.
"Tell me, Peacock," she whispers, turning her face up and smiling at him, her joy now tempered by concern.
"You are as constant and immutable as the rock, Lion. You simply are, and long after Duncan and I cease to be, you will continue on."
It is the forbidden topic, the one thing the three of them do not discuss. Death. As Wardens it is there, a part of every breath they draw, every drop of blood that flows through them. Her heart unfolds, embracing her Peacock as she speaks.
"You and Duncan are the water, flowing around me, caressing me, slowly reshaping me. I would not be who I am without the currents that influence me and you will always guide and shape me, Peacock. Always."
They stare into each other's eyes for long moments and she hopes her eyes convey what she feels. He is as much a part of her as the air she breathes and he will not die as long as her heart beats. She reaches out a tender hand, brushing his dark hair back, letting her fingers drift through the silky locks.
He laughs, his mood shifting and she feels him shrug off the moment's melancholia, the light in his eyes brightening until she sees the spark of mischief in their blue depths. "You are my canny lass," he replies, bending to capture her lips.
His kisses are endless, silken; as tender as the gentle flow of water around the rock; his kisses hold nothing back but do not demand so much as suggest. She adores her handsome Peacock, her mentor and friend, and tells him so in a whisper against his lips. He replies with a low rumble of laughter and another kiss, deeper and more dedicated to plundering her mouth. A warmth spreads from within and her hands tighten their hold on his waist, dragging him closer until the length of her body is warmed by his and she can feel his arousal through the thin muslin of her nightdress and the linen of his trousers.
Breathless moments later, standing arm in arm, they discover Duncan has awoken and found his way to the creek, standing a short distance away, wearing a sleepy smile, his dark hair loose and brushing against his shoulders by the gentle breeze, a blanket wrapped around him.
"I love you, my beloved Rivaini Pirate!" she calls out with an inviting smile. She bends down and dips her fingers in the water before bringing them to her mouth, slowly sucking the moisture from them, her eyes locked on Duncan as she does so.
She smiles, seductive and sweet, whispering, "I need you."
He makes his way to them quickly, his voice rough as he whispers, "I love you, my lovely Lion, and I need you." His eyes move to Riordan and he adds, "And you, my friend," in a voice that is raw with emotion. Riordan reaches out and pulls Duncan close, kissing him fiercely and the two men turn, in unison, and begin to unlace the ribbons of her nightdress, their words of love and want tingling along her nerves.
Her clothes, and theirs, are on the ground in a tangled heap as their fingers move to explore her body, Duncan's lithe, dark, slow and thorough, Riordan's light and graceful, dancing quickly and softly along her skin.
Riordan turns her to face him and she can feel his hard length press against her belly. He finds her mouth in a kiss that makes her blood turn thick and languid, heat spiraling out from her inner core to every part of her body. Her knees give way to the sensation as a moan mingles with the morning call of birds and the low thrum of the creek rushing over rocks.
Duncan is there, holding her upright, his breath, followed by his lips, flowing along her skin like water around a stone. Her senses snap to life, every nerve radiating heat and still Riordan's mouth is on hers, as warm and sweet as brandy, intoxicating.
When the kiss finally breaks, she is light-headed and craving more, but she steps aside, fingers trailing along Riordan's skin as Duncan moves closer and tastes his friend's sweet, warm mouth. Her breath catches at the beauty in their embrace, the unspoken passion between the two men. She stills, watching them, afraid to move lest the spell be broken.
A groan escapes and she is unsure who it came from, as dark fingers trail along pale scars and pale fingers tangle in dark hair. Dampness floods her as she watches the men grind against each other, their kiss deepening as they explore each other. She bites back a moan of want and then they are turning to her, their expressions mirroring their desire and Duncan reaches for her, pulling her close.
"I love you, Lion," he whispers and brushes a strand of hair from her face, dipping his head to capture her lips in a sultry, passionate kiss. She can feel the hot hardness of him pressing against her and there is another surge of moisture when Riordan moves, his hand sliding between them until his pale fingers wrap around Duncan's distended flesh, a wicked, wanton smile lighting his blue eyes.
"I love you, Lion," he whispers, turning to Duncan. "And you, friend," he adds in a rough, emotional voice before he claims Duncan's lips, his fingers continuing to stroke. When the kiss ends, Duncan is breathless and Riordan's manhood is stiff, pressing against Leonie's hip.
Duncan leans forward, resting his forehead against hers, a question in his eyes that she loves him for asking. She opens her arms and gathers both men close, hoping the song in her heart sings loud enough for them to hear…she loves them and for the moments they share, a lifetime of joy is created, a place and time her heart can recall when the distance and the future press upon her. That they want to share those moments more intimately with each other only adds to the joy she feels. Duncan nods once, his smile soft and for her alone, his lips returning to Riordan without restraint.
A low growl rumbles in Duncan's throat and Riordan drops to his knees, pulling Duncan into his mouth with a groan of pleasure that instantly ignites her core, molten honey replacing her blood as she watches Duncan's supple fingers guide Riordan. His head lolls back, his eyes heavy-lidded as his hips respond to the pressure of Riordan's mouth and Leonie knows how talented that mouth is, and that thought sends a spike of sensation into her, eliciting a low moan as want turns to need.
With a shout of pleasure, hips bucking, Duncan spends himself in Riordan's mouth. Riordan's hands clutch at him, pinning him in place as he continues to suck and another shout, feral and low, is wrenched from Duncan before he slips to his knees, panting, shuddering, spent. Sated and loved.
Her heart soars as she watches the tenderness of Riordan's last kiss and then he turns to her, his lips curving up in invitation as he stands. He pulls her close, his lips dancing along hers, softly persistent and she can taste and smell Duncan's musk. Her mouth opens under his skillful persuasion as he lifts her up and she wraps her legs around him.
Duncan's fingers are there, teasing her swollen wetness and then she feels Riordan slide into her with a slow stroke that makes her cry out. He thrusts again and she lets out a moan that settles in Riordan's mouth as he pushes deeper and deeper. And still his lips are on hers, moving softly as if tasting every bit of her through that kiss alone and her breathing hitches and she feels Duncan's fingers tugging gently at her nipples.
Together, with Duncan's help, they sink to their knees and Riordan lies back and she straddles him, squirming against his hot length that fills her and sends heat pulsing through her. Riordan breaks the kiss finally and she gasps for air but then Duncan's lips find hers and she leans back, her arm winding behind her to pull him closer, biting down on his lip as waves of pleasure tighten in her, making her grind against Riordan for relief.
Riordan's hands move to her hips, his eyes locked on her as he continues to fill her and move with the precision of a dancer. She leans down and bites his chin, his stubble prickling her skin and he growls, a low groan of need, pausing to nip at her in reply. The heat of his gaze sizzles along her nerves and he begins to move again. The rhythm is slow and sensuous, a river flowing, unhurried.
"I love you, my playful Peacock," she whispers, her voice husky with desire. She turns to Duncan who watches her, his eyes warm and loving. "I love you, my beloved Rivaini Pirate," she adds, reaching out fingers that brush with loving strokes along his cheekbones. He captures her hand and turns it over, his tongue swirling along the lines of her palm and she gasps, her body arching at the added sensation.
"Sing for me, Lion," Riordan commands, sitting them up as his thrusts become more insistent, his voice washing over her and through her. She feels fingers brushing against her nub and the tension in her begins to uncoil, expanding and contracting and she is sailing over the edge with a sharp, wordless cry as Riordan continues to thrust into her. He shudders as her muscles convulse around him and then he joins her, his voice hoarse as he shouts, only to have his words captured by Duncan's mouth.
She collapses against Riordan, who settles back on the thickly carpeted ground, and she drags Duncan down to them until they are in a heap and her breathless laughter is caught on the wind, filling the woods with her joy. Drowsy and happy, sated and loved, Leonie murmurs softly of her love for her Pirate and her Peacock.
Both men doze off as they lay in their tumbled heap, arms thrown around each other, and Leonie smiles, thinking of Riordan's earlier comment as she listens to the water burble and tumble along, and the deep, contented breathing of the two men who have always been her guides.
She is the rock, shaped by the flow of the water and shaping the direction of that water. And they are the water, shaping her and being shaped by her. A sense of timelessness fills her, and she knows no matter what life has in store for them, she will love them with the constancy of the rock, just as they will love her with the devotion of the water.
A/N: First, thank you, Lisa! Your beta goodness is very much appreciated.
The inspiration for this came from a beautiful piece of art by jbird123 on deviantArt (Currents) and olivegbg's wonderful depictions of Riordan and Duncan, which are also on deviantArt.