A Torrid Affair

By Saphron

A/N/Warning: I wouldn't exactly classify this fic as "erotica," but remember that it contains a wealth of sexually explicit material, so please read with caution. Thank you.

PS: Thank you, madam reviewers :)

Chapter 2 – Insecurities

Alanna trotted away from the training courts after besting Douglas in an impromptu duel feeling vaguely…unsatisfied. Of course, she had performed nearly perfectly, executing all her sword moves with grace and speed, and yet…she didn't feel like she had accomplished much. Meaning no insult to Douglas, who was a perfectly capable squire and able fighter, but she still felt almost…bored, by their battle. She was the best of all the squires, that much was clear, and could even get the upper-hand on a few rusty knights. Training had become a little less exciting than it used to be, mostly because she had mastered the basics and then some, and now no longer had a challenge to face.

Unless I count the challenge off the training courts… Alanna mused to herself, fingering Lightning's hilt as she made her way towards her bedroom to retire for the evening. By which she was referring to Prince Jonathan, knight master and lover extraordinaire.

It had been nearly a week since her birthday, (lately it seemed like Alanna had fallen into the habit of measuring all her time since that one eventful day…as in, it's been two days since my birthday, today is the fourth day after my birthday, tomorrow will be the fifth day after my birthday, etc.), and things were going…surprisingly slowly. She had still snuck out of his bed the morning after the second and third nights they had slept together (a fact which annoyed and possibly insulted Jon to no end), still feeling a tad awkward and embarrassed by her nudity in the harsh glare of the morning sun, but by the fourth night she had deemed to stay (a fact which made Jon very happy indeed—and very happy to show his gratitude in the form of a plethora of light butterfly kisses.)

They actually hadn't had sex though, since that first night. They had just been sleeping together. There was a qualitative difference.

After experiencing the gambit of Jon's emotions—from mere friendship to brotherly love to ardent passion—Alanna was a little shocked by his newfound tenderness, previously unseen before except perhaps for brief moments during the Tusaine War. The looks he gave her now across the room at balls and meetings seemed to gleam with secretive thoughts, and yet when they were alone together, he was all gentleness, all…coddling. It was strange to hear him laugh and tease her mercilessly—i.e., treat her like just another of the guys—while they were among the company of others, and yet when they were alone…it was like he became an entirely new person. The teasing, the laughter in his eyes, was still there, but it was softer, lighter…sweeter. It scared her, just a little bit.

Alanna had no way of knowing that Jon was nearly as freaked out by what was developing between them as she was. He could tell she was lost, which was only natural. Before him, she had been entirely innocent in the ways of love, and he didn't want to scare her off. He decided to approach the whole torrid affair like he would an injured wild horse—softly, so as not to frighten it, with kind words and soothing hands, taking things slowly. Very slowly.

It was difficult at times for him, when the newfound passion he felt for his squire flared up inside him, and he couldn't help but react as a man to her womanoly conture. He had to restrain himself from grabbing her and pushing her against a wall to deepen his kisses and express the heat he felt inside. But almost instinctively, perhaps after years of being friends with her, he knew how she'd react and back away if he came on too strong. So he retreated, reigned in his feelings (feelings he was still figuring out—love, or mere infatuation? Who knew? He was surprised as sin to find his "boyish" squire so attractive), and merely cuddled with her at night, letting her get used to his presence beside her in bed. Giving her time and space to adjust, as any respectful lover should.

Of course, Alanna had no inkling of these churning thoughts behind Jon's cloudy blue eyes. She was simply confused. One day, he had insisted that sex was "meant to happen" between them, and had tugged away at her bodice strings like they were the wrappings of his new Midwinter present. The next…he just wanted to spoon.

Spoon. She had learned that word from him. That word that meant tucking her folded body, back side pressed against his chest, underneath the light pressure of his arms, so his chin rested near the back of her neck, and her butt pressed delicately against his thighs. It was a sweet embrace, something she had never experienced before, and she liked that fact that it didn't involve eye-contact. Eye contact was scary. It rang of a degree of intimacy she still wasn't comfortable yet, despite having already exposed every inch of her body to Jon's scrutiny.

Speaking of exposing her body…that was another thing Alanna had a hard time reconciling. Normally, she had simply thought of her physical body in terms of its capacity to fight as a warrior. I.e. coolly recognizing the fact that she had skinny arms and legs, which meant less strength yet more dexterity and speed while in battle. Her thinness had only bothered her before in terms of feeling inadequately strong compared to her peers in training. Now she wondered about the more aesthetic aspects of her body—was she too skinny for Jon's tastes? And in the places where she wasn't skinny, her butt, for example, did Jon find that appealing or merely too…round?

She had noticed (discretely, of course), what men's unclothed bodies looked like when she used to sit on the banks by the river where her fellow pages and friends used to swim, and she couldn't help but observe that men's butts were quite a bit, well, flatter than hers. And (she had recently gained from textual experience), much firmer. She knew, of course, that women in general had more body fat then men and curvier figures, but she had had little experience seeing naked women. All the court ladies were swathed in layers of fabric for their overdone ball gowns, although some of the flower sellers in George's rogue court had a tendency to dress mighty scantily. In truth though, she had little idea over how her body compared to other women.

Reaching her room and shutting the door with a satisfying click, she contemplated the enigmatic world of court love affairs. Beauty was something altogether different than sexiness, she realized, tugging off her boots and tunic. The court women, with their elaborate hair coifs, sparkling jewels, painted faces, and perfect breeding, were undeniably beautiful, in the classical sense of the word. Like ancient paintings perfectly preserved, they imbued a sense of aesthetic wonder to all who beheld them. But their bodies…while clearly slender and petite (thanks in no small part to the restrictive hold of whale-bone corsets), were altogether a mystery to Alanna. Dresses hid blemishes, wrinkles, stretch marks, moles, hair, freckles, and a myriad of other potentially unattractive items. Alanna had vaguely found herself wondering—and if she had admitted it to herself, hoping—that Lady Delia had such flaws, for back in the days before the Tusaine War when Jonathan and her had been sleeping together, the woman never seemed to come into his bedroom during daylight hours. Once, when they had been particularly loud in the room next door (a time when Alanna had no choice but to grimace in jealous agony and clutch a pillow over her ears), she had overheard Delia shriek, "Jon! Blow out the candle, I don't like that harsh light…" before they had lapsed into their usual moans and murmurs.

Thankfully, Alanna was graced with smooth skin, a slender build, and only a smattering of light bronze-colored freckles along her arms (the body part most exposed to sunlight). Her body had still changed a lot, however, since the days her and Thom were virtually indistinguishable. She figured her breasts were probably a tad smaller than average (a fact she was normally grateful for), and her arms and legs too muscular to ever really be called delicate. But she liked the firmness of her thighs; they were a testimony to her strength, and there was no way she'd trade muscle for larger breasts or softer limbs, not by a long shot. Still, she wondered, scrutinizing her naked form in the mirror before her, does Jon care that my hair down there is red? I wonder if brunette women have brown hair, and blond women blond hair…

It was while she pondering such musings that she heard the secret knock on the shared door between the squire and knight master's room that meant Jon was not alone. "Are you decent, squire?" He bellowed out, just in case Alanna had forgotten the knock code and truly was indecent—which of course she was, at the moment.

"Just a moment!" she gasped out, frantically rushing to throw on her breast band and tunic. "I'm still getting dressed!"

"Oh, no one cares Alan," Gary bellowed from Jon's side of the door, "we're all guys, it doesn't matter if you don't have your shirt on. We're coming in—hey! Jon, what gives?"

She dimly heard a slight scuffle that indicated Jon had physically prevented Gary from entering, which Alanna was overwhelmingly grateful for. She couldn't risk her secret being exposed!

Faithful mewed as she nearly stepped on him while hoping on one foot to get her other foot through one pant-leg. She gave up on wearing shoes and burst through Jon's door looking slightly flushed but all together presentable. Her loyal cat trotted along behind, scooching through the swinging door before it fell shut. Faithful couldn't help but notice that his mistress had been absent from her bed for a few days now, and if she was going to be moving into the Prince's room he'd make sure she didn't leave him behind! Maybe I should get Alanna to move my catnip into here… he purred to himself, twining his tail around Raoul to say hello.

Gary was rubbing his shoulder and glaring at Jon conspicuously, "geez Jon, you need to relax. Too much time in the stateroom has clearly stressed you out." Gary snatched Faithful away from Raoul's feet and held him up under the shoulders as if he were holding a human baby and didn't quite know what to do with it, "what, no greeting for me? First Jon practically knocks me to the ground, now you're favoring Raoul? When can a guy ever get a break around here?" He grumbled.

"Well you can start by holding my cat properly," squire 'Alan' piped up, "then maybe you'll earn yourself some respect. Put him on your shoulder, that's where he likes to sit best."

"I know, I know," Gary rolled his eyes, but complied with a smile. "Anyway, we just came in here to tell you guys some exciting news. There's going to be a new guest at the palace tomorrow morning, my father told me over dinner."

"Who?" Alanna asked curiously, perching on Jon's bed and swinging her legs.

"Oh, you'll see," Raoul intoned with a twinkle in his eye. "Someone I think you'll be very interested to meet!"

Inwardly, Alanna groaned—she had an inkling of what the boys meant by 'interesting.' Buxom, blond, and ruby-lipped, came to mind. "Great," she responded dryly, "can't wait."

"Oh cheer up, mate," Gary demanded, clapping one hand on her shoulder, "I promise you you'll like them. If not, I'll…lick Faithful's fur!"

Excuse me? Faithful yowled scathingly—if cats could yowl 'scathingly,' that is—um, no one, but no one, is licking me, got that?

Alanna tried to stifle a giggle as Faithful leapt off Gary's shoulders and retreated back to the safety of Raoul. I never should have left Alanna's room, he grumbled to himself, apparently doing so is just asking to be licked.

"Relax Faithful," Gary laughed, not being able to understand the cat's yowl but guessing nonetheless (Faithful had always been an unusually intelligent pet, after all). "I don't expect such a task will ever be necessary, so confident I am that little Alan here will simply adore tomorrow's guest."

"You really will, Alan," Raoul confirmed, standing up and latching a large hand on Gary's shoulder. "Come on now mate, let's leave these two to their peace, we've delivered our news."

With a shrug Gary followed, explaining under his breath that he obviously never intended to actually lick cat-fur…

Jon smiled and locked the door behind them, "what a riot those guys are. Still, I wonder who they could possible mean? I'm surprised they know court gossip and I don't. Why didn't my father tell me? Though I suppose if it truly is some beautiful court lady he couldn't really be bothered. That's something my mother would be far more interested to hear I believe."

Alanna picked up Faithful to pet him, trying to swallow her jealousy to hear Jon call some unknown, possibly nonexistent, court lady "beautiful." Without jewels, face-paint, an elaborate hair style, and flowing dress…could Jon ever see her as beautiful?

"So how was your day?" he asked, pecking her lightly on the forehead before beginning to take off his boots and disrobe. The question was perfectly benign and yet—it was almost too benign. It was the kind of small talk old married couples made, not young lovers conducting an illicit affair beneath the noses of the entire court. And a chaste peck on the forehead? Didn't exactly scream passion. Suddenly, Alanna felt awkward, like maybe Jon wasn't attracted to her physically after all, and that's why they'd merely been sleeping—as opposed to sleeping—together after all. She felt heat rise to her face in torrents—she hadn't exposed her body to him to be judged and found wanting!

She didn't need to say anything before Jonathan could read the anger etched on her face and in the way she violently jumped off the bed when he sat down on it, as if she wanted nothing more than to escape him. What was going on? All he had done was ask a simple question!

"I'm going to bed. My own bed," she snapped out, marching with long strides to the connecting door. "Come on, Faithful."

Good thing I didn't move my catnip after all, the cat purred to himself, following obediently for once in his life.

"Hey Alanna—Alanna! What's wrong, where are you going?"

"I just told you!" She bellowed from her own room, slamming the door shut.

With an exasperated groan, Jon pulled his body off the bed and yanked the door open. Mithros this was hard, he felt like he was always doing something to upset Alanna. And he thought she'd be easier to handle than other girls, knowing none of those ridiculous court games of playing hot and cold! Yet she was oddly more difficult in many ways—for instance, she was the only girl Jon had ever been with who had actually marched out a room he was in and stormed off. Girls had played coy, of course, slipping out with a sly wink, but they had never actually slammed doors in his face or bellowed at him. He found himself decidedly annoyed (though deep down, rather intrigued by the challenge).

"What?" He demanded, crossing his arms in front of his chest in a defensive stance. "What have I done now?"

"Uch, nothing!" Alanna hollered, glaring fiercely.

"Nothing? Nothing? So why are you mad?" Jon groaned, confused and frustrated.

"No, that's the problem! You've done absolutely nothing but, but treat me like your little sister!" she said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Jon blinked, "that's why you're mad? Because I haven't pressured you to move too quickly? Because I haven't been a total pig and insisted on sex every night? Is that what you want? Seriously?"

Alanna shifted her weight uncomfortably; once again, standing alone, the facts didn't speak in her favor. Her mouth hung open, but the words didn't come out. She was still reconciling her thoughts when Jon closed the small distance between them.

"Because if that's what you really want from me Alanna…that's what I can do," he intoned darkly, letting his heated breath alight next to her ear. In an instant his mouth was upon hers, kissing fiercely—too fiercely. His hands shoved her almost roughly against his hard body, as his tongue probed her mouth intensely. She felt heat stream from her face to her loins and back again, but she knew something felt off. With a shove she separated them, breathing hard, harder than him.

"Jon, stop it!" She squeaked out, frightened by his overwhelming masculinity. How was it that she wasn't the least bit afraid to get hit by a boy during swordplay, yet couldn't stand how unbalanced it made her to be handled the way Jon touched her? How could she feel both exhilarated and frightened by this man?

"But that's what you wanted," he droned softly, eyes half-lidded, "isn't it? You don't like when I'm gentile, when I take things slow. So let's speed things up."

"It's not that," she said quickly, rushing to get the words out before he closed the distance between them again, "it's just…I can't tell how, how, I mean if you like the way I…look."

Jon cocked an eyebrow, "that's what you think? That I haven't been making a move all week because I don't find you incredibly sexy?"

"I don't know," she murmured, refusing to meet his gaze.

A laugh erupted from his throat and quickly turned into a fit of mirth. She blinked at him—why was he laughing at her? This was a serious concern! "Mithros Alanna, I never thought you'd be the type of girl who'd be insecure about her body, like all the other court ladies I know! I always figured you'd be the kind of woman who would say, this is my body, go to hell if you don't like it!"

Alanna frowned, insulted that he had compared her to those whimpering women who obsessed over every superficial detail of their appearance. Then the irony hit her—she was acting like one of those insecure court ladies, judging and critiquing and viewing herself in the light of a man's opinion. It was incredibly stupid. Jon was right, it was her body, and if he didn't like it than tough cookies for him! She should love herself no matter what he thought, and she was being ridiculous to ever believe otherwise.

She matched his laughter with that of her own, grinning shyly at the absurdity of Jon pointing out the insecurities she didn't even realize she had had. They laughed together for awhile, until Jon strode over to her side and—gently this time—wrapped his arms around her. "For the record though…I do find you incredibly to my tastes." He wasn't lying just to make her feel better—he genuinely liked the well-toned contour of her body. She wasn't as soft as the other court women, but it was in a good way. She was still undeniably feminine—her butt and breasts and triangular base of her hips told him that much—but still strong. He felt like he could squeeze her without breaking her; a novel feeling he very much enjoyed. "But I suppose you don't believe me—I guess I'll just have to prove it."

And with a flourish, he swept her into her bed and proceeded to prove exactly how much he liked her beautiful body.

--Saphron

A/N: Who is the mysterious guest arriving tomorrow? Are they sleeping together now, or just sleeping together? What major problem will plague their affair next? Find out next chapter :).