Beloved

BY : Chelle
Category: A through F > Dragonlance
Dragon prints: 2421
Disclaimer: I do not own the book(s) that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Beloved

 

“Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,

and love thee after.”

--Shakespeare, Othello

* * *

The hungry, slick slide of metal.

A sound like paper being cut, like wet parchment stretched too tight -- that kind of splitting sound. Gentle, soft sound.

And Dalamar was kissing him, kissing him, tongue licking long, slow strokes against the roof of his mouth, loving the scrape of teeth. Loving the lush satin of lips beneath his, feeling the warmth of the body beneath his own -- skin radiating heat even through all that black velvet, yes. And--

And he was murmuring against Dalamar’s lips. Murmuring words of love, of eternity. Voice silent, lips moving, painting the words damp crimson against Dalamar’s mouth.

The whispered promises of a lover.

Dalamar was sliding the robes up, was pulling away from the kiss. Sliding the velvet out of the way, pulling it up under the backs of those hot calves, revealing the knees, hard, silky thighs. Spreading those beautiful legs, skin colored scarlet-bronze and dusted with soft, glossy curls in the light Lunitari threw across the room.

Shadows shaped like window bars, black crosses in the murky red, falling across the bed. Across the two of them. And Dalamar smiled, because the stains didn’t show, not even in the light. Not on the bedsheets, not on his lover’s skin. No, not a stain on his lover, not one.

His lover. Oh, he was beautiful, watching Dalamar through wide, glazed eyes. Golden eyes gone brassy, hard -- with lust, Dalamar knew. Lust, and love, just like Dalamar had always known. Just like he had known it would be. And gods, but Dalamar loved him. Would show him how he was loved, and then-- ThenThen things could be different. Not like they had been, no.

Now they would be... perfect.

Dalamar bent the knees. Pushed them out wide, moved, curled in between and then stretched out, gave a twist to his hips, and--

Gasped, the air hissing from between his teeth. Inside. He was inside, and it was slick and hot and almost too much, just then. Sweat slick and hot across the skin beneath him. Dalamar could feel his lover, still and patient, taking it all in. Dalamar knew he wanted more, wanted to give it to him. Wanted to give him everything, oh.

Pushing in and out, over and over, hands caressing, soothing, murmuring words of comfort. It’ll be all right, I promise, just-- oh, gods, just a little more now, just a little more and it’ll all be fine, love, just fine...

Dalamar came, seeing white, panting his lover’s name. Whispering “I love you” over and over, so many times he couldn’t count.

And when he was done, when the last of the shaking faded and he was weak and spent and the world was hazy with love and sleep, Dalamar curled up beside him. Drew the covers up over them both. Draped an arm across his lover’s stomach, laced their fingers together. Not hot now, that skin, no. And Dalamar almost panicked, wanted it to burn again, burn for him--

But no, it was warm. Warm, yes. And that was enough.

And Dalamar laid his head on his lover’s shoulder, twined their legs together. He nestled against the glistening wet skin, painted and splashed angry red in the light of the blood-red moon.

“I love you,” he murmured in his lover’s ear, one last time, to make sure he knew. To make sure they both knew. And then he was asleep -- the soft, dreamless sleep of the loving and the beloved.

 

 



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