My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose
March 16, 2262
Delenn laid down the tablet she'd been reading and pinched the bridge of her nose. The small type and intricate language of the proposed treaty practically had her eyes crossing. She wondered if it was the unstable nature of the new Alliance or her transformation that had gifted her with this propensity to painful headaches. She could not remember being prone to them before, no matter how stressful her working day. Perhaps it was lack of time to properly meditate, or then again, perhaps it was due simply to lack of sleep.
As Delenn considered the reason for her failure to obtain sufficient rest, she smiled a slow and slightly wicked smile. It was worth any secondary effects to take the time that John needed to 'settle down' to sleep as he put it. Sex with a human had proven to be an ever-shifting array of place, position, and duration. Her mind wandered off to consider each variation, from the quick surprise attacks to the long, lingering evenings where their mutual passion built to a crescendo. She enjoyed it most when they both had the time to take their time.
Perhaps it was excessive, indulging nightly in this ritual. She considered that for a moment, then abruptly giggled, and quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard. The conference room was empty, except for a cleaner who was gathering the empty glasses and tidying away leftover papers and plates. It had been a luncheon meeting, an idea she was still coming to grips with, although they seemed a common enough Earth custom. Mixing meetings and meals seemed like a dilution of both occasions to her.
The reason for her laughter was thinking of the farewell gifts, doubling as wedding gifts, that she had received from Susan Ivanova. As eye-opening as the instruction manuals had been, the note with the other gift was the more amusing memory. As humans measured it, John was much younger than she was, and Susan had written in mock concern about Delenn's ability to 'keep up' with him. The note had accompanied a years' supply of licong, a noted herbal sexual aid prized by the Drazi. It had been eagerly adopted by other races for which it performed similar functions of heightening arousal and increasing stamina. Her mind wandered even further afield. Why did humans enjoy double entendre and subliminal suggestion when it came to discussion or demonstration of physical affection? Delenn had no idea; but secretly she rather enjoyed the game- almost as much as they did.
A member of her staff was standing patiently in the doorway, shifting from one foot to another as he waited for her to notice him. "Come in, Ushan," she said warmly, hoping her face was not as red as it felt. "I am sorry to keep you waiting. What is it you require of me?"
"I am to give you this note from the President," replied Ushan. "He said there was no need to wait for a reply," he added uncertainly. Then he stood there, obviously waiting to see whether Delenn agreed.
Delenn opened the slip of paper, which had only a few words in John's hand-writing. 'Come home at once.' Concerned, she looked up at Ushan who was still standing at attention in front of the table at which she was seated. "Do you know what this is about?" she asked. Ushan shook his head, and she pressed him again, "Was President Sheridan all right when you left on this errand?" She tried to quell her unease. It was not like John to summon her so imperatively. Possibly she had forgotten some appointment or another; not likely, but possible.
"The President seemed in fine spirits, and in good health as far as I was able to tell," replied Ushan, striving to disguise his curiousity. "He called for a messenger, I was available, and so I brought this note to you. That is all I know."
"I see," said Delenn. "Could you gather this material for me, and have it delivered to my quarters?" Tonight was to be spent at John's place, so they would not be interrupted by the delivery. She could pick them up from her apartments later. Ushan nodded, and began to bundle together the scattered folders and transparencies for transport. Delenn stood and bowed slightly to him, then left with some haste for home.
"John?" she called as she entered his quarters after keying in the lock code. He didn't normally have the door privacy-locked, and her unease increased as she entered and saw that candles were the sole illumination in the room. The window looking out on the central core gardens was darkened. It was long before they normally ceased working for the day; and not yet time for the evening meditations. Proceeding further into the apartment, she saw that the table had been set for dinner, and covered dishes were gently steaming on the counter. There was a large empty container marked with the logo of the Fresh Aire restaurant, and Delenn smiled. It was good not to have to prepare a meal, or face one prepared by her enthusiastic if untalented husband. She did not mind eating out or fixing dinner herself. John had other talents, and no one could excel at every task in life.
The door to the bedroom opened, and John emerged, dressed in casual slacks and a loose grey sweater that clung to his shoulders and fell in soft folds to his waist. His hair was wet, beard neatly trimmed, and it was obvious that he had just emerged from the shower. "Hullo," he said, coming over and taking possession of her lips in an unusually ardent greeting. "You're just in time." Gesturing at the table, he said, "I ordered dinner."
Delenn looked at the carefully laid out place settings, glossy black china illuminated by candles in tall silver holders, a wedding gift as she recalled, and roses, white and red, in a crystal vase. Impressed but uncertain what was going on, she said, "This is wonderful, John. But why call me away so abruptly? I would have been home soon in any case."
John had gone over to the counter and was busy checking the containers, which were insulated, and fitted out with self-contained heating units. Delenn came over and examined the selection. All the options were familiar, but then they had eaten at the restaurant dozens of times over the past few years. He turned to her and announced happily, "They didn't have everything I asked for, but they managed to pull together most of it."
Delenn nodded, still confused. She was missing something, but what? Moving back towards the table, she saw a folded slip of paper on one of the plates, her name written on it in bold script. Seeking more information, she continued to probe discreetly. "The flowers are lovely. Roses? That is what they are called, are they not?" Taking one long-stemmed white bud from the vase, she held it to her nose. "The scent is faint, but discernible."
John plucked a full-blown red bloom from the water and held it up to her. "The fragrance is stronger once the flower is open." Taking the bud from her, he twined the two stems together before replacing them in the vase. "Roses are symbols of love in my culture." He pointed to the plate. "That's for you, to commemorate the day. It isn't very good. I wanted to use a formal Minbari structure like tee'la, but that was really out of my league. So I stuck to a bastard form of haiku." He watched uneasily as she picked up the paper and opened it. "At least it's short!" he joked to fill the silence.
Delenn stared at the paper in her hand. Floral tributes, the provision of meals; she was used to these displays of affection, but writing poetry? This was something new. She had realized early in their relationship that John was a romantic, and she enjoyed both the subtle and obvious manifestations of his feelings, so she concentrated on the slip and read the three lines inscribed in his hand-writing.
pink petals wrapped tight
unfold, soft, under my tongue
revealing your rose
Looking up at her husband's face, now sporting a slightly anxious smile, she hastened to assure him with warm sincerity, "This is lovely. Thank you." Reading it again, a wrinkle formed on her forehead. "I am not certain what it means. What does the rose symbolize?"
John's smile widened and his eyes took on a mischievous glint. "I'll give you a hint," he said. "It refers to a body part. One of yours." He crossed his arms, watching her closely, enjoying the game.
In the spirit of things, Delenn thought hard, trying to think logically even as her heartbeat sped up and her brain stuttered. Paper dangling from one hand, she slowly moved the other to her face, touching her lips with a question in her eyes. John moved closer, gently putting his arms around her. He kissed her thoroughly, then shook his head. "Nope," he grinned, and then commented, "This will be even more fun if I get to kiss every place you guess."
His words were swallowed up as she captured his lips to return his kiss, suddenly quite overcome by his presence and the atmosphere in the room. The scent from the flowers was heady and strong now; perhaps the heat from the candles was affecting them. Pausing a moment in her caresses, with both arms hung loosely around his neck, she stretched up to whisper into his ear, "I have no idea what part of me you are likening to a rose."
John kissed her eyes, her lips, then moved his mouth down her neck, humming softly against the hollow of her throat. His beard tickled her chin as he said, "I suppose I could give you a hint." He paused a moment, taking the opportunity to unfasten her outer robes one-handed, a skill he was quite proud of, having worked quite hard at mastering it. His other hand was occupied gently tugging at her hair, so that her head was drawn back exposing even more of her throat to his roving lips. "It's a part of you that I quite like to kiss."
Delenn briefly directed her eyes downward to her partly exposed breasts, and John laughed into her skin, sending ripples of excitement over her. "Not those," he said, simultaneously parting her robe, letting it slide down her arms and onto the floor. Now she was standing in a thin shift, shivering slightly although not from the cold. Her nipples hardened as the material moved across her breasts. John watched in approval. "Like little rosebuds, but no petals," he said, cupping one breast in his hand and rubbing the nipple between thumb and forefinger. Delenn bit her lip, trying to focus on the puzzle he had set her. "One more clue," he said. "As I indicated, I have given it a good deal of oral attention." Leaning down he tongued her nipple through the silken fabric.
With a gasp, Delenn realized that she knew. Her cheeks flushed bright red, and John met her eyes and rose to kiss her lips once again. "Guessed it, have you?" he asked with a smile.
"I believe I have," said Delenn, a little embarrassed, but more than a little aroused. She gestured helplessly at the dinner table. "But John, what about dinner? Aren't you hungry?"
"Oh yes," replied John, slipping his arm under her and lifting her up. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, slipping the thin material of her shift higher, letting it settle in folds above her waist. "Starving." He eased off the remainder of her underclothes. Then his thumbs massaged the insides of her thighs as he parted her legs, gazing down at her partially-revealed rose. "I have been since the first moment I saw you."
Author's Notes: March 16 is the anniversary of John and Delenn's first dinner date at the Fresh Aire restaurant on Babylon 5. The title is from the poem by the immortal Rabbie Burns. The prompt referred to a poem by S. A. Sheets entitled 'I Love to Lick Your Rose', and requested that John write erotic poetry for Delenn's Easter basket. I managed to get my head around John writing poetry, and erotic poetry at that, but Easter was a step too far. So I looked for another occasion in Spring that would inspire him to do such a thing, and came up with this. Mid-March is just barely Spring; I beg indulgence!