[Bel's smile is notably softer than the usual ones. That edged, angry humor evaporates, leaving an almost new set of features: a simple, wistful happiness.]
Lets make it count. [Even as they lean up on one elbow, pressing their lips against Miles' again, a finger hooks in his collar, tugging at the clasp.]
[What follows is anything but rushed. The only real hiccough was the moment of quiet anguish and reflected pain at the new scars, new lines from the last time they'd seen Miles (the far less interesting circumstance of kitting up in space armor for a mission). After that, they took their time warming Miles up. Lips, fingers and the occasional graze of teeth found every inch, as if trying to memorize him by touch.
It was only when Miles became emboldened by frustration, eagerness, or both, that a fair portion the cycle passed in pleasurable experiment.
Promises and vast enthusiasm aside, there's a limit to what the body of even an athletic herm can sustain. (Or a recovering Barrayaran.) It's still quite some hours later that they lay next to Miles, that pleasant, warm wrung out they hadn't had in years on years. A certain catlike drowsiness takes their tone,]
[ Meanwhile Miles is, perhaps, more worn out than he looks. He'd met Bel with his usual fervor, his awkwardness bleeding away in anticipation of the newness of all of this. As soon as Bel had properly warmed him up, anyway. He's deliciously warm now, if also feeling like his bones are the consistency of gelatin. He curls in closer to Bel, leaning his head on their bare chest. ]
Just a start, eh? [ His voice is soft, exhausted. ] I'm not sure what else I can manage this cycle.
[ Because Miles is truly and ridiculously exhausted. But it's a different sort from his gray seizure haze, and he's glad of the distinction between the two. ]
[ It's quite short, both from his usual cropped cut as well as what the Duronas had to shave to operate on him. He shifts hi head a bit closer in response. That ... is the real question. Can they do this again? Do they want to do this again? ]
Quinn and I are done. Taura and I ... [ Have always been in their own category. A beat. ] No hope of marriage with you, I suppose.
Not the first time. [Bel's eyes closed, content at that idle gesture, no matter what nerves it came from.] Forward, I imagine.
... We could call it off. Just head the fleet out into space. You'd have Quinn back in an instant. [And Bel wouldn't lose THIS... they can almost feel it, as unfair as it was, the amount things are going to change when they make landfall.]
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We're not short on time.
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[ Miles looks down at Bel rather fondly himself. ]
You did promise a whole cycle.
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Lets make it count. [Even as they lean up on one elbow, pressing their lips against Miles' again, a finger hooks in his collar, tugging at the clasp.]
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It was only when Miles became emboldened by frustration, eagerness, or both, that a fair portion the cycle passed in pleasurable experiment.
Promises and vast enthusiasm aside, there's a limit to what the body of even an athletic herm can sustain. (Or a recovering Barrayaran.) It's still quite some hours later that they lay next to Miles, that pleasant, warm wrung out they hadn't had in years on years. A certain catlike drowsiness takes their tone,]
That's ... was a good start...
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Just a start, eh? [ His voice is soft, exhausted. ] I'm not sure what else I can manage this cycle.
[ Because Miles is truly and ridiculously exhausted. But it's a different sort from his gray seizure haze, and he's glad of the distinction between the two. ]
Was it everything you hoped it would be?
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Their voice gentles though, fingers sliding over Miles' hair.]
Yes. [It's simple, the love present there. They let it out on a breath, memorizing this contentment.]
... If you'd like to again sometime...
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Quinn and I are done. Taura and I ... [ Have always been in their own category. A beat. ] No hope of marriage with you, I suppose.
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Not that I wouldn't. But I know planets that rain liquid glass that seem more hospitable than Barrayar. If I could interest you in somewhere else....
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It's still home. I'm still ... at least, I think I still need to go back to my district.
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I don't know where anything is going next, it seems.
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... We could call it off. Just head the fleet out into space. You'd have Quinn back in an instant. [And Bel wouldn't lose THIS... they can almost feel it, as unfair as it was, the amount things are going to change when they make landfall.]
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These people view me as family. And they thought I was dead for weeks. No matter what happens, I owe them a moment's peace.
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We'll deal with Barrayar when we make orbit.
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