I'm not an Aly/Kyprioth fan, because he's very inhuman - recall when Aly got angry at him in Trickster's Queen because he was so careless about the lives lost (especially Elsren) as long as he got his islands back. But this approaches the idea from a different angle.
His Greatest Trick
Kyprioth was not like his brothers and sisters. Their melodrama, their thirst for power, their epic quests in search of things to add to their might – all this was insignificant to him. However, they did have one thing in common: a fascination with mortals. In their own puny, backwards way, humans had great power over the gods. Their prayers, their sacrifices, their temples and rituals, fed the gods and gave them great power. Kyprioth's recent victory in the Copper Isles was certainly proof of that. And yet mortals also had a strange, quaint way of getting on with one another that tickled Kyprioth no end. They fought, and raged, and betrayed one another; these things were not unfamiliar. But they also loved, felt duty and honor, and these things often bewildered the Trickster. And if there was a human who loved, raged, and felt more deeply than any other, it was the slim girl with strawberry-blonde hair who called herself Aly Homewood.
She hid herself well. She was a master of disguise, pulling a cloak of subterfuge around herself, restraining that wild spirit from the sight of all but a few. Kyprioth was one of those few. One of those rare beings, mortal or immortal, who had experienced the full brunt of Aly's sarcasm, her anger, her biting wit. So he watched her. Even after she had set Dovasary Balitang on the throne, after she had established herself as spymistress of the Isles, after she had bound herself in matrimony to one of Kyprioth's own people – the crow-man – he watched her. And laughed, and frowned, and puzzled over her.
"I can never predict what she will do next," he had told Dawn Crow once, shaking his bejeweled head back and forth. "She is always surprising me."
So Kyprioth kept a close watch on his little mortal girl, and found endless amusement at her antics. But watching someone so closely has hazards of its own. Time had little bearing on him in the Immortal Realms, but after watching her for nearly three mortal years, Kyprioth found himself wondering about her crow-man. The Trickster prided himself on staying away from the baser mortal tendencies. As an elder statesman – or so he told himself – he was above such animalistic rutting and carrying-on. But curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself watching curiously as the crow-man and his Aly "carried on" as so many other mortals did.
It was quite fascinating.
A healthy curiosity was the trademark of a trickster, and the Trickster was no exception. With the eye of a student learning the tricks of the trade, Kyprioth scrutinized his little mortal girl – woman, really; she had three children now, after all – as she sighed and sweated and writhed beneath her crow-man. Or sometimes on top. Or sometimes other, strange, almost impossible contortions that made Kyprioth's brows lift in grudging respect. Who knew mortals could be so flexible?
His watching – stalking, really, if he were honest with himself – soon gave way to something else: an insatiable curiosity to know what it was like. Canoodling with Immortals had lost its charm eons ago. What would it be like as a mortal? Kyprioth pondered the idea for all of two seconds, and made up his mind. It wasn't as if she had to know. Her crow-man was due back any day now from a trip to Carthak, and she would be eager to see him. Kyprioth knew for a fact he was held up on a small outer Island, and wouldn't be back for another week. But she didn't know that – not yet, at least. If he wanted to catch her before her spy network gave her the news, he would have to act quickly.
Alianne Crow – formerly Alianne of Pirate's Swoop – turned down the covers and climbed into bed with a weary sigh. She had a splitting headache, one that threatened to linger long into the night. Burrowing into the pillow, she closed her eyes and tried to push the pain away. Over time she'd gotten better at ignoring these headaches, allowing her to actually sleep for a few hours; but tonight sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, feeling swamped in the enormous bed she usually shared with her husband.
Nawat. Something inside her warmed, and the pounding in her skull eased just a touch. How she loved her crow-man. If only he would come back from his assignment! She'd learned her lesson during the war. Nawat needed to be useful, demanded to be treated like any other of her spies, and she obliged him. But this parting had been particularly difficult, what with the newborn triplets and the running of the spy network vying for her attention. Just the thought brought the tension back into her neck and shoulders, and she sat up in the dark. Perhaps a little fresh air would help. She was about to swing her legs over the bed and go to open the window when her door opened softly, admitting a tall, lanky figure cloaked in shadow.
Aly was about to reach for the long dagger under her pillow when he stepped into the silvery light streaming through the windowpanes.
"Nawat," she breathed, headache gone. He was there, completely real, his clothes travel-stained and worn, his dark hair rumpled by the wind. Her husband crossed the room in three quick strides and met her on the bed, his mouth hot and urgent on hers as his arms held her tightly.
"Aly," he whispered, stirring her lovely red-gold hair as he kissed her temple. "Sweet Aly."
She clung to his shoulders, murmuring her husband's name again before lifting her face for a kiss. Kyprioth accepted greedily, letting the unfamiliar sensations wash over him in his borrowed body. One part of him was designated to keep aloof, to watch and take note of what happened here tonight. The rest abandoned all thought and reason, wanting only to feel each sensation that boiled through him.
"Missed me, did you?" he inquired in the crow-man's deeper voice, relishing the way her eyes darkened at his question.
"More than you know," she replied fervently, running her fingers through Nawat's hair. His only reply was another deep, hot kiss that seared her down to her toes. It felt like years since they'd made love, though it had only been a few months. With fingers that fumbled in their hastiness, she undid the buttons of his outer tunic, wanting to feel his bare skin on hers.
He moved to help her, shrugging out of the tunic and working busily on the laces even as he placed strategic kisses on her eyelids, jaw, and collarbone: her favorite places to be touched and kissed. However long he had been gone, he certainly hadn't forgotten how to pleasure her.
Kyprioth felt incredibly powerful as he moved over her, miming the touches and caresses he had observed so many times. The way she responded so readily made him feel heady, and coursing with a different kind of power than that of his godhood. It was the knowledge that she was under him, wanting him, focused only on him and what he was doing – the knowledge that her desire was his to command.
He wondered if this was how Mithros felt when ordering his siblings around, or the Goddess when her mortal servants carried out her orders specifically. But no. It was different from the raging power that had filled him when the Copper Isles were retaken only a few years ago. It was baser, more human. It was lust.
They were both naked now, their clothes lying discarded on the bed and the floor. Her body was still as slim as ever, though her breasts were slightly fuller from childbearing. With the swift surety of a man with experience – or at least knowledge, if not the first-hand sort – Kyprioth ran his hands and mouth over every inch of skin. From his snooping he knew she liked this foreplay almost as much as the act itself, and he took pains to see that she got what she wanted. The crow-man, after all, was ever attentive to his wife. She was not a sluggard in return, however. Her lightly calloused hands drifted along his chest and down his stomach, her pink mouth open as she panted at his touch. Kyprioth buried his tongue inside her, relishing the taste as much as her cries of need and the futile tugging on his hair. She was his.
Aly thought she might go mad. Her husband was a little shy when it came to using his mouth instead of… other equipment… but tonight he held nothing back. His lips and tongue swirled deep inside her, his fingers coaxing gasp after gasp from her throat. She clutched his head with trembling fingers, willing him to go deeper.
"Nawat!" she cried, feeling herself shudder. "Oh please, give me more!"
A prickle of irritation trickled down Kyprioth's back as she screamed her husband's name; but it was gone almost as soon as it had come. She was crying for more, and he would supply it. Licking the wetness from his lips, he rose above her, and for the first time plunged himself into a mortal body.
It was wild and fierce, and totally unlike anything he had done before. The rhythm was fast and insatiable, demanding harder, deeper strokes – it was a race to see who would finish first. She was so close he could taste it when his pride snapped. This was not Nawat above her, making her scream and pant with longing. This was a god, and he was damned if he'd bring her to the edge as someone other than himself. Breaths away from completion, his image shifted, blurring briefly around the edges.
And then he was Kyprioth, the Trickster God, fucking his Aly, and everything was perfect.
She was paralyzed. Suddenly her husband was no longer her husband. It wasn't Nawat drawing this deep desire out of her, it was Kyprioth, his bright eyes and white teeth flashing in victory at his greatest trick.
"No!" she sobbed, her pleasure turning itself into an ugly fear. She pushed ineffectually at his shoulders, angry and terrified, and hating herself. Because her body would not obey her mind. It leaped, thrilling, dragging her farther into ecstasy as the god's pace increased. However much she tried to rebel, some insane part of her only wanted more. She came with convulsive shudders, throat raw from suppressing cries of pleasure. She could feel him empty himself into her – the seed of a god – and he leaned forward to nuzzle her neck.
"Get off me." They were whispered, but bit out with a fury and vengeance of a shriek. Aly lay completely still, face turned away. "Get off."
Kyprioth's brows furrowed in disappointment, but the elation of his conquest buoyed his spirits. Kissing her turned cheek once more, he knelt and got off the bed, dressing himself in Nawat's clothes and body once again.
Her eyes blazed hatred at him from the depths of the bed. "Get out." She sat up, grabbing a pillow to throw, her next words screaming. "Get out, you bastard!"
He grinned, and blew her a kiss as he changed back into himself, complete in dazzling garments and opulent jewelry. "Until next time, my dear." Then he was gone.
Nine months later, Aly gave birth to a boy with large brown eyes that twinkled with mischief and hands that grasped at everything within reach. She named him Kyprin, and never told her husband why she resisted all attempts to make love to her. She'd be damned if she'd give the Trickster another chance to ruin her life.