Hush

Author's Note: (Blush.)

Okay, this is the wedding night story that I've been working on for quite some time. Really, there's absolutely no point to it except smutty fluff. As well, this is the first (the very, very first) story I've ever written...like this. If you noticed in Midnight Whispers, I refrained from even using the word "tongue"! So, this is a bit of a stretch for me. That being said, it's really not that bad. Not even worthy of an NC-17 rating, I don't think. In other words, I've read worse--much worse. But, if you're young and impressionable, or don't like reading about two people lovingly getting it on, then don't read this one.

Lots of feedback helps to soothe my fragile ego (hint, hint). Enjoy!! (I know I did ;)

The faint din of revellers could still be heard as the moon held itself high within the inky black firmament. The festivities had been joyful, celebrating the union of two beloved people within the village, and were made even more exceptional by the speedy recovery of one of them. New medicines had been bravely acquired and were then used to attend to the grievous injuries he had suffered at the hands of a supposed friend. As his new wife considered this, she gripped her husband's hand just a little bit tighter. The party would continue on throughout the evening until, finally spent, the mob would dissipate into their respective homes. None of this concerned Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Hunt, however, who had only just escaped the well-wishers and were en route to their new home—a wedding gift, one built especially for them in the long, arduous months of Lucius' recovery. A token of gratitude, enforced by Mrs. Hunt and carried through by Mr. Walker, with some help from the rest of the Elders.

A modest cottage, it sat just on the outskirts of the village—close enough to the others' so that it wouldn't rouse gossip and fear, but distant enough to ensure privacy for the two newlyweds. Thus, it was somewhat of a trek from the town hall to their new home, but one that Ivy and Lucius hardly noted. The newly appointed husband let out a subdued chuckle as he watched his bride lope towards the direction of their home, a carefree trill releasing itself from her lips. Both were eager to arrive at their destination, as only newlyweds could be.

Ivy did not venture far from Lucius, as both her heart and her lack of sight prevented it. She stopped her breathless sprint in mid-stride and impatiently waited for her groom to catch up. The moment he reached her, Lucius captured her hand in his own and then proceeded to lead the way, while Ivy merely placed her trust in him and allowed him to. Much to her surprise, it was mere seconds before he too broke into a run leaving her little choice but to hold on and fly behind him. It was the first time she had heard him break into such a hearty laugh, and she could think of no greater wedding present than this. It was not soon, however, before Ivy noticed her husband's shorter breaths and lagging gait and immediately forced him to slow down. Still weak from the ordeal he had endured, Lucius tired easily and felt twinges of pain often; and Ivy wanted nothing to be tiring or painful this night.

At that contemplation, a little thrill shivered up her spine. Truth be told, the extent of her knowledge concerning the wedding night was quite scarce indeed. She had been informed of the "goings-on" to only the smallest degree. Thus, she was truly an innocent in every sense of the word; and yet, she felt no fear because of the complete and utter trust she placed towards her new companion. Lucius would take care of her. She simply knew it.

They had reached the cottage at that point, albeit a bit slower than they had originally started out. Before Ivy could even turn to Lucius, she felt her feet leave the ground. She let out a startled yelp as she instinctively threw her arms around his neck.

"What are you doing?" she cried, laughing as he settled her more securely into his arms.

"What does it feel like?" he responded, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I am carrying my new bride over the threshold."

"Lucius, you are going to hurt yourself!" she admonished, although she couldn't help the matching grin that washed over her own countenance.

"A risk I am willing to take, wife," he returned, stressing the last word in satisfied pride.

Carrying the new Mrs. Hunt to their bedchamber, he placed her gently into the bed. A streaming bath had been drawn just moments before by some delegated women within the village, and he knew one awaited him as well in the next room.

"There's a bath about four paces to your left," he informed her softly. "Your carrying cases have been deposited at the end of your bed. I shall leave you now so that you may get ready, and will return when I have completed my preparation tasks as well. All right?"

She nodded jerkily and he could see the nervousness in her eyes. He sighed inaudibly, an affectionate smile crossing his lips as he bent forward and kissed her brow. A moment later, he was gone.

Ivy was certain that she hadn't allowed any of her newfound anxiety to show through her eyes and was pleased by this. However, there was still the fact that she was anxious, which caused problems to arise within her. Had she not been calm just moments before, reassuring herself that she trusted Lucius and that was all that matter? Why the change of heart? Oh, she still trusted him, of course. But there was a little niggling doubt, bred by inexperience and lack of knowledge, that caused her to naturally fear the unknown. She bathed slowly, her mind racing. What did this night hold in store for her? Would it be nice? Awkward? Would it hurt, as her mama had said it would? Would Lucius be gentle? Would he be pleased? Would she?

The thoughts spun her head in circles, and she hastily exited the tub realising she'd spent longer in there than she had intended. Fearful that Lucius would enter and find her in a state of undress, she quickly put on her nightclothes and robe, even though her skin and hair were still wet. As soon as she got herself settled back in the large bed, she heard someone enter the room.

Seeing Lucius' vibrant colour caused her heart to speed up and her palms to grow damp. However, he merely entered to inform her that he was removing her bathwater from the room before leaving one tub out for the Elders to retrieve and bringing the other back inside, as it was theirs to keep. She knew he was only telling her this as a means of distraction, but it was still working.

When he returned a second time, this time shutting the door behind him, her stomach did not drop nearly as fast, nor did her hands tremble as strongly. She greeted him softly, unconsciously clutching the sheets tighter around her body.

Lucius kept up a steady stream of chatter as she could hear him taking care of things around the room—lighting candles, closing drapes, moving baggage. It was the most she had heard him speak, ever, and it took her a moment to realise that he was doing this for more than just her benefit.

Her husband was nervous, too.

The thought almost brought laughter to her throat. Was the man not supposed to be the strong one, secure and in control of his wife's piddling fears? Was he not supposed to take charge and lead, while the woman had no other option but to merely follow? Somehow, the fact that her and her husband were on the same level was more of a reassurance to her than any words or distracting chitchat could possibly be.

She thought as far back as she could remember. Had there ever been anyone else for Lucius? She knew some of the boys, including her sister's foppish husband Christop, had all sown their wild oats before settling down. But, although Lucius was never wont for admirers, she had to admit that she had never heard of him being taken with any other girl in the village. Why, her husband was as innocent as she! Of course, the extent of his knowledge was probably more worldly and expansive, but as far as actual experience went, they were equals.

Now fully relaxed, she took pity on Lucius who seemed to have nothing more to do in the room, and instead stood awkwardly by her bedside. She held out her hand to him and he accepted, sidling in beside her. She quickly discerned that he was only wearing his trousers, as her hands came into quick contact with the heated flesh of his naked chest. Made steely from hours working in the blacksmith shop, she marvelled at how something so hard could be so warm. Overcome by her love and adoration for this man, she brought him down and embraced him tightly, holding his body close to hers. He returned her embrace, covering her from head to toe. Although it was restricting, Ivy had never felt so safe and protected in all her life. She brought her hands up to his face and softly stroked the features, memorising the crease in his brow, the fullness of his eyebrows, the silky softness of his eyelashes resting on his cheek. She ran her hands over the crook in his nose, the definition of his cheek bones, resting softly on the scar above his lip—the result of a careless snowball fight when he was but twelve. She stopped just shy of his lips. They both said nothing within the pregnant pause that followed, but then Lucius quickly broke it when he spoke.

"Why did you stop?" he whispered, as she weaved her hands in his still-damp hair.

"Because," she whispered back, "I did not want to feel them with my fingers."

"No?" His glance shifted towards her mouth as he willed her to make the first move.

"No." She rose up and captured his lips with her own, a sweet mix of urgency and shyness as she brushed his mouth with hers over and over. He stroked her cheek and didn't let go of her as he rolled off of her and onto his back. She lay on top of him—half on, half off—as their kisses grew more feverish. He gently pried her lips open and she barely had time to react before his tongue swept into her mouth and gently toyed with hers. By the time she realised what had happened, she was too enamoured in it to want him to stop. When she began to tentatively stroke his tongue with her own, it was practically his undoing.

Hands shaking, he pulled away from her and she regarded him with her dewy, bee-stung lips.

"Lucius," she murmured, leaning in again for more.

"Wait a minute, love, just a moment," he whispered, trying to get his hands to cooperate as he undid the buttons on her nightgown, one by one. When it was undone down to her waist, he again turned her over so that it was she who was on her back this time. He took in her dishevelled appearance, the gentle naked valley of her breasts down to her exposed navel and brought his head down to drink from her lips once more.

Ivy was trembling from head to toe, a result of the disconcerting passion coursing through her veins. What Lucius was doing to her was frightening, and yet she could not help but crave more. She knew she was being terribly wanton, but she could see nothing wrong with acting thusly in front of her husband. She barely even acknowledged the fact that her shift was open, exposing her naked flesh for him to see. She was aware that this act involved little clothing, and if it was as pleasant as his kisses, then she could be stark naked for all she cared. With that thought, she accepted his lips once more as he brought them crashing down towards her.

Moments later, she discovered something even more thrilling than her husband's lips upon her own—and that was his hand upon her breast. He kneaded the soft flesh, running his thumb over the nipple teasingly, until she wove her hands through his hair and pleaded with him to end this torment. A heavy feeling had begun to grow in her lower belly, and she moved restlessly against him although she didn't know why. As she shifted, she felt the evidence of his hard arousal pressed against her thigh. Her eyes flew open and the passion fled in an instant as she looked at him, all innocent worry.

He smiled at her lovingly. "Hush, love," he whispered, kissing her eyelids. Then he brought his mouth down her breast and—oh, what he did there! She was certain she'd faint with the pleasure his tongue was inflicting upon her, and only when he moved to the other breast was she sure she had died and gone to heaven—if not for the bothersome restlessness she still felt at her very core. She knew instinctively that they weren't nearly done, and that prospect both thrilled and frightened her.

He quickly rid her of her entire chemise and discarded his trousers while he was at it. Then there was nothing separating them and they both released a harsh breath at the feeling of their bare skin touching each other. Nothing lay between them—except his hardness, which rested suspiciously close to her most private area. She shifted again, and he groaned.

"Try not to do that," he rasped, giving her a pained half-smile.

She smiled at him mischievously and moved once more.

"You cheeky, little wench!" he gasped out, looking at her incredulously. She giggled and attempted to torment him further, when he grabbed her hips and stayed her. He was about to admonish her more when she silenced him with a kiss. It deepened and grew more involved, and all thoughts of worry vanished from her mind as she let herself become consumed by the kiss.

Lucius felt as though he was a parched man who was only now allowed to drink after years of denying himself. Passion warred with inexperience as he tried to make it as pleasing for her as possible. Being raised solely by a woman, he was gifted with being able to be more sensitive to their needs and knew now in this instance that her well-being and fulfillment came high above his. Out of some primordial impulse, his hand travelled lower down her body in an attempt to gauge how ready she was for his invasion. Within moments his fingers were slick, and he instinctively began to stroke the very heat of her. She tore her mouth away from his and her sightless eyes bore into him, somehow seeing into his very soul.

"Lucius!" she half-gasped, half-moaned, throwing her head back onto the pillow and writhing against his hand. "Oh, Lucius!" Almost as an after-thought, she tried to move his hand away, while contradictorily moving closer.

"I know, my darling," he soothed, his motions coming faster and more urgently. "Everything is all right, just allow it." He moved her hand away from his and brought both her arms up over her head, before stroking down the length of them until he reached her breasts once more, manipulating them with a gentleness he was amazed his callous hands could allow. He positioned himself above her, and looked down into her passion-filled gaze for some sort of approval before his invasion.

She regarded him hazily, her lips slightly parted, soft gasps escaping through them. "I love you," she whispered reverently, as though she had only become aware of the depths of her emotions at that moment.

It was all the consent he needed. He secured her lips in his as he simultaneously sunk into her, breaking through her virginal resistance until he fancied he was touching her womb. She let out a loud shout of pain and confusion, while he attempted everything in his power to refrain from releasing too soon.

"Do not move, sweeting," he whispered harshly, his head dropping to rest on hers, as her salty tears tore at his heart. "The worst is over now; hush, love."

"Lucius," she whimpered. "Lucius, it hurts."

"I know, my darling. I know. It is inevitable the first time. But it is not so bad now, right? Is it not feeling better already?" He kissed away the tears from her cheeks before softly kissing her swollen lips once more. "Hmm?"

She nodded, for in truth, the sharpness had already receded to a dull throbbing ache. He kissed her again, and soon, the painful ache turned into an entirely different ache altogether. The same ache that had been building within her for the entirety of their coupling, except this time, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. She knew, somehow, she was going to reach the elusive end that plagued her body. But, she would only reach it if Lucius moved just a little bit more...

She took over the task for him, shifting her hips and marvelling at the sensations it caused. Her husband let out a low moan that she took for pleasure, and so moved again.

"Ivy," he groaned. "If you are too sore, do not—"

"Do not tell me you have tired already, husband," she remarked teasingly, rolling her hips to meet his yet again.

His eyes met hers, and he saw the willingness there, the ardour, and so he moved as well. Ivy met him, thrust for thrust, as they slowly and gently began to reach their climax together. Slowly, because Lucius feared that any faster would be his undoing, and gently because Ivy was still a bit tender, although it had been considerably replaced by the growing consummation of that ache.

Ivy felt as though her body was separate from her spirit, and for a moment, she felt more out of control than she had when she had first begun to lose her sight. And God's truth, it frightened her. "Lucius," she whimpered again, in a voice that had little to do with pain and more to do with lust and confusion. "I do not—"

"Shh," her husband hushed her soothingly. "Hold onto me, love, just hold on and I will take care of you."

She did as he said, lifting up her knees and resting them on his hips to take him further within her, while she entwined her arms around his waist. Then, she allowed herself to be swept away by the emotions and simply enjoy it. When Lucius knew that release within the next few moments was inevitable, he reached down between their joined bodies to stroke Ivy into it first. The minute she cried out, and he felt her tightening against him, he allowed himself to let go. Their cries mingled together, and Lucius attempted to catch his breath while Ivy simply chanted "I love you", over and over. He had a suspicion she didn't even realise she was saying it.

They remained in the same position from long moments, simply touching each other, stroking arms and backs and hair and faces. He whispered the loving words in her ear that he had kept locked up so long in his heart. It was as though his voice was making up for all the times it had been held back. When he was spent, he rolled over to his side, taking her with him, and they merely held each other in content silence.

"That was beautiful," Ivy whispered at length. "Did you feel it?"

Lucius chuckled. "Yes, I felt it."

"No, no," she said with loving impatience, as he shifted positions again, drawing her head down onto his chest. "I mean that one part, did you feel that?"

"Sweeting, that part is simply what happens in the end. Everyone who does it should feel it."

"Lucius." She gave him a withering look. "I am not talking about the build-up, or even the explosion."

"Then what, pray tell, are you talking about?"

She gave him a stunning smile, full of awe, and the love and adoration he saw there took his breath away.

"The part," she told him, all starry-eyed wonder, "when our souls touched."