Minutia, noun
a minute or a minor detail
Just a few glimpses into their life…
NO, THANK YOU…
You are sitting in your bed, a book on your lap over the covers. The King slides under the blanket and stretches his tired back. He is settling in the cocoon of the blankets, puffing air peevishly, tossing and bunching the comforter, in a sequence of endlessly familiar movements and noises. Finally he curls into your side and nuzzles your hip. You chuckle and blindly tread your fingers in his hair. You scrape the back of his head, and he hums in appreciation. "Would you like me to put out the candle, my lord?" "No, thank you," his voice is sleepy, "I like watching you when you are reading..." You look at him sideways, but his eyes are already closed and his breathing is deep.
XXX
You are leaning on the door frame. The King is standing over the crib, his face soft and tender, large hands locked behind his back. His head is slightly tilted, and he is watching the sleeping form of his first born son. This is the second night since Thror's crib was moved to a separate room, a bedroom of his nursery maid adjoint to it. It is in the same passage as your chambers, only two doors away. You have sufficiently recovered after the delivery, and you two have returned to your marital intimacy. As it was decided, Thror was not to sleep in your bedchambers anymore, as neither of you is good at keeping your voice down during lovemaking. "Would you like to go to our chambers already, my lord?" A soft loving smile twitches the corners of the King's mouth, and he gently picks up the corner of Thror's blanket with two fingers. He pulls it over his son's shoulders and gently tucks him in. "No, thank you," his voice is warm and quiet, "I will stay for another minute..." You smile and leave for your bedchambers.
XXX
You are nodding off, when the King's weight presses on the other side of the bed. He slips under covers, and his hand decisively slides around your middle. The hot large palm splays on your stomach, and you feel his lips pressed into your nape. He pushes your braid to the side and nuzzles the back of your neck. You chuckle. Does he think he is being subtle? And then you sigh, "I am sorry, my lord, but not today… You will have to wait for a few days." The lips still on your skin, and he exhale sharply. "Are you certain?" He sounds grumpy. You chuckle. "Yes, my lord, it is rather hard to misunderstand." He rolls away from you, and you turn to look at him. He is staring at the canopy, face peevish, his obvious erection tenting the covers. You slide your palm on his stomach in return and murmur, "Perhaps I could..." He presses his palm over your hand. "No, thank you," he turns and looks at you with an unexpected loving smile, "I would rather wait. I would want to share pleasure with you." You press your lips to his cheek, and he sighs. He scoops you in his arms and kisses your temple. "Just a few days..." He sounds so wistful that you giggle. "Good night, my lord." "Good night, kurdu."
