Sea and Sky:
And This is My Beloved
Category: m/m slash
Disclaimer: All characters owned by DC Comics. No profit is realized from creation of stories based on these characters.
Timeframe: Sea and Sky series interlude
Dedicated to Kerithwyn, Dannell, and all Sea and Sky contributing authors
Summary: Garth gives praise to Pallais for his Beloved
Comments and feedback are welcome to SKHwrite@aol.com
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Shall I tell you of my beloved? Shall I tell you how he delights and charms me, sing the praises of the warmth of his smile, or weep for the chill of his scarred soul?
Let me tell you of my beloved, and how he loves me.
His eyes, at once mirthful and haunting, are bluer than the bright Caribbean, yet become dark like a hurricane sky at the height of his passion. And what passion! All the love -- and expression of it -- that has always been denied him by the one to whom he has always been so dedicated, and will be unto death, is poured forth for me to consume in great, heady draughts. Pallais, I am blessed when he is in my arms, my beautiful Richard.
He likes to make love in his big easy chair -- the one that reclines. I should say, he likes for me to make love to him in that chair. On those wonderful, rare nights when he’s not required to work, and chooses to stay at home instead of patrolling his city, our love moves from room to room.
He will pull me, smiling, into his arms. Lips meet lips, then necks, shoulders, and progressively more of our bodies, as our garments are shed like sea-snake skins. My beautiful Richard laughs, and whispers, and calls my name. And I tremble from anticipation of his touches and kisses.
He devours me. Every part of me is tasted and relished.
He will climb into my arms, as if trying to meld with my own body -- as if he cannot be held closely enough. He explores my mouth with his, as the great seafarers of old once searched the oceans, full of adventure and excitement. He runs his hands through my hair, plays them lightly across my skin -- so careful, so self-conscious of the roughness of those hands, their skin hardened by a lifetime of catching himself, in defiance of gravity’s beckoning call to the Earth.
He will coax me, with low words of need, to recline in that large, soft chair, as he lies beside me, on me, against me. Sometimes our passion is so impatient that we thrust against each other in that chair, his legs entwined with mine, his arms supporting him above me, his mouth on mine, drawing my breath from me in exchange for his. My hands sing a rhapsody along his body, that exquisite and perfect body. Made for lovemaking. Made for me. Given freely to me, time after time.
Or he will draw me inside him and lie back against my chest, legs tucked beneath him, inviting my hands to caress all they can reach. He shifts to one side slightly and turns that breathtaking face toward mine and takes my kisses from me, as he gives me his own. We will lie quietly, joined together, as only his strong inner muscles move, to milk me. My hands -- the hands he loves to praise so often -- in turn, milk him. Sometimes he will ride me furiously, cresting wave after wave of sensation until we are nearly drowned in the deluge of each other.
Then we will lie spent in that chair. I love to hold him in my arms and feel his heart beating against my chest, feel the moist warmth of his breath against my throat. And sometimes he will anoint me with his tears, little salt seas offered to me in testament of the happiness of his fulfillment. How he lived empty for so many years I cannot imagine. Ever only partially filled. He tells me his heart had dwelled in drought, and that my cooling waters have brought him to life.
Pallais, I love him. I love him. And he loves me.