Of Peacocks and Pirates 3
Warmth
Bare trees shiver in the cold wind that is whipping with ferocious intent and baying like a wolf, nipping and biting. Clouds, of violet gray, hang heavy with snowflakes that are just waiting to fly. Winter has arrived, and snow is a glacial blanket of white upon the fallow fields. Beyond the edges of the field, tower the pines, their dark green branches wearing their mantle of white with pride, standing silently, impervious to the sharp, wailing winds.
Winter is Leonie's favorite season, bringing back memories of hot chocolate and roaring fires, snowball fights with Perot and moments of stillness and grace while walking the snowy meadows of Jader, of time spent bent over her sketch pad, drawing a sleeping Riordan, his feet stretched out to the fire for warmth, his skin still tingling with pink from the winds.
The Hunting Lodge, a gift to the Grey of Orlais for services to Empress Celene, stands bravely against the cold, a plume of smoke stretching up from the chimney to scratch the underbelly of the clouds. They meet her here to celebrate the season, her Rivaini pirate and her playful Peacock.
Duncan stands huddled on the sweeping verandah, hugging his heavy cloak to him. He is not a winter person and snow is not a thing he enjoys. Still, he is laughing as he watches Leonie and Riordan.
Leonie, cheeks as red as harvest apples, is standing in the field, her fur lined cloak catching the wind, as she bends to craft the perfect snowball. Before she can aim, she feels the icy slap of a wet snowball on the back of her head and her voice is high with a shriek of surprise and laughter as the snowball slithers down her neck to melt against the skin of her back. And then Riordan is there, a hand filled with snow as he barrels into her and they fall gracelessly backwards into a cold white mound.
They laugh, the unabashed glee of children, as they roll around in the snow and then his lips find hers and they laugh as they kiss, Riordan's nose a cold companion to her own.
"Love you, lass," he whispers against her ear and it tickles and delights and warms her deep inside her. "Love you, Peacock," she whispers back, nuzzling his neck.
Once more back on her feet, she waves wildly at Duncan and then turns her face up as the fat wet flakes begin to soar and fly on the wind. They tickle her lashes and she holds out her tongue, catching first one and then another and then flings her arms wide, spinning with joy.
Riordan catches her up in his arms and swings her around, joining in her laughter and they are two children, wild and free in the face of the snow. He moves with a dancer's grace along the treacherous ground, handing his bundle to Duncan with a grin, all the while her laughter surrounds them.
Duncan's lips, so deliciously warm, suck and pull with delicious purpose as they capture hers. She willingly gives in to the warmth that spreads through her as his kiss deepens and lengthens, his tongue plundering her mouth. "I love you, my sweet Lion," he whispers against her neck and his breath is a zephyr, hot and caressing. "I love you my beloved Rivaini pirate," she whispers against his ear, nipping at his lobe.
And then Riordan relieves Duncan of his bundle and stands her on her feet, and taking her face in his hands, he kisses her deeply and the warmth of Duncan's tongue has warmed hers and now she is warming Riordan's.
His hands work to remove her cloak as he pulls her inside to the roaring fire. A large bearskin rug lies on the floor in front of the fireplace and the air is perfumed with the scent of oak and spiced wine, and alive with the crackling of burning logs and muffled winds.
"Let me warm you, Lion," he whispers and his breath is hot now, brushing against her cool cheeks. "I'll make you warm," he adds, his hands moving along the curves of her body. He captures her hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing each finger, pulling them slowly, one by one, into his mouth and warming each one with his tongue. "Let me warm you, Lion." Her body flushes hot with need.
And Duncan is there, his hands plucking at the woolen blouse with fingers that are long and tapered and soft and urgent. "Let me warm you, Lion," he whispers at the hollow of her throat, his breath stirring a fire against her skin before moving along the length of her neck, a trail of tongue and whispers of desire. "I'll make you warm, Lion."
She lets her hands wander along his muscled torso and down, down where the real warmth is and, dipping below his waistband, her hand wraps around him. She takes his groan into her mouth, her lips urging him on as he moves against her hand and she moves her hand along his length, stroking first softly and then firmly. He pulls her tight, one hand tangled in her curls, the other sliding along the edge of her blouse, tickling but not touching her skin. "Let me warm you, Lion," he whispers again, hot breath against her still cool skin. His growl tickles her lips as she continues to stroke him. Her desire is spreading, flowing hot in her veins, outward and upward and down to her center, now throbbing with want.
Riordan slides a hand along the same trail as Duncan's and she feels the heat of them on her skin as he leans into her, tongue hot along the shell of her ear. "Let me warm you, Lion," he sighs, and she reaches for him, turning to meet his lips with hers as Duncan slides her leggings down, every inch of her legs caressed by his hands, a blazing path of hunger.
"Oh yes, lass, touch me," Riordan groans, eyes closed and head tilted back and her fingers tease and stroke and she sees him shiver, causing her knees to weaken and her own need to answer with a whimper.
Their clothes are dispensed with and they all sink to the bearskin rug, the fur tickling and teasing and gliding along her skin. She pulls Duncan with her and the fur of his chest and the fur of the rug cause her blood to sizzle as she moans, wanton and waiting. His body on hers, he enters her and she moves her hips in invitation and their groans float to the rafters. His rhythm is slow and hard, as she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him deeper.
"Let me warm you, Lion," he whispers and his teeth sear the flesh of her neck and there should be pain there but her breathless moan begs for more and he gladly obliges, dragging his teeth along the edge of her collarbone and her moan turns into pleas and yearning as the fire that grows deep inside her begs for release.
And then she feels Riordan's mouth from above, stealing the kiss she has intended for Duncan. His lips are warm and his breath is sweet, tasting of spiced wine and when she opens her mouth to share her tongue, she finds instead that he shares his wine, infinitely sweet. A drop escapes, sliding down her chin and there is Duncan, licking it off and the three of them share the wine as Duncan continues the push and pull of a rhythm that is primitive and ancient and sings of need and want and ignites a response in her with every thrust.
Eyes closed with pleasure, she reaches up to caress Riordan's face and it is not his face she finds and she wraps her fingers around him and he brings his hand to cover hers. "Let me warm you, Lion," he demands and with a shift and a turn and the sinuous grace of a cat, he is filling her and Duncan is kneeling above and behind her and she moves her head back to take him into her mouth as he reaches out to touch Riordan's shoulder, guiding him, helping him please her.
Sizzling, scorching, her blood pulses on, seeking release and her voice hums along Duncan's engorged heat. Time compresses, loops, spins and she is breathless as their bodies become slick with sweat and the fire is flickering across their skin, dappled now and glistening and still she hovers on the edge as Riordan arches back and she leans forward to coax Duncan closer to the edge with her. She leans back and he moves with her, Riordan now guiding him, and still, still this endless pull that threatens her sanity and begs for relief.
"Yes, lass," Riordan says, bending down to pull and nip at her breasts with his teeth and lips. She can feel herself tightening, drawing him in, she can feel every bit of him and her body is hot, desperate as he worries her breasts with his tongue and teeth.
The bearskin is caressing and tickling as she moves her body with each thrust from Riordan, making her grasp his hair and tug with need, nails scraping across his shoulders and down his back and she must find release before she spirals outward and away but Duncan is there, his fingers and Riordan's tongue teasing her nipples, pinching and pulling and sucking and nipping. The pain is there but the pleasure is greater and then she reaches up and cups Duncan as her mouth flows around him. It is his growl, low and rumbling and insistent, his muscles tensing and shuddering, that finally sends her over that edge where she has hung with an agony that is absolute bliss for so long now and she swallows her cries and his seed. Just as she is sure she will scream from the intensity, Riordan tenses and follows them over the edge and she is once again writhing with another release, pulsating and powerful and she cries out, low and feral, and Riordan howls his pleasure and then they all collapse, side by side by side on the bearskin rug that now tenderly strokes their heated flesh. She cannot help the laughter that bubbles up, thinking that Duncan's growl and Riordan's howl belong to the bear whose skin they now rest upon.
She is panting and breathless and sure she is still spinning but they all cuddle close, listening to the wind moaning and wailing with frozen abandon but the bearskin and their bare skin keep her warm and she is drifting, eyes closing.
It is Winter, her favorite season, and nestled snugly between her beloved Pirate and her playful Peacock, she knows now it will always remain so. And there is Riordan, shifting and murmuring, "Let me warm you, Lion." And Duncan, erect and pressing against her, tickling her skin as he whispers, "Let me warm you, Lion."
It is Winter but she is warm.