#green team

Above them sat the crown of thick, golden hair, touched with the warmth of autumn cooper, falling in dense waves close to his brows. In stature, he was slender and straight as yew bow, lacking all clumsy bulk yet woven with a tight, corded strenght. Lean and wire-drawn for the swift agility of the tourney grounds, rather than the heavy burden of the siege. A silver tunic with some blue hues matching the faint color of his eyes like gentle riverbank amidst green vipers.

Carrying himself with a rigid, unbending grace, every movement closer to her echoed the disciplined poise of a seasoned highborn knight.

“I would humbly ask the princess to let her traces known to her sworn protector the next time. I am your sword and shield. Your shadow in honour and duty. I will not allow harm to befall you”.

“My sister, Rhaenyra, would have answered that you must have practised those words before speaking. Otherwise, a slip of tongue with wickedness, shared with your sister, the Queen, would cost your tongue”.

Her soft pink dress swayed on the marbled floor between lords and ladies, bowing at her sight. The princess at final reached the side of her older sister, only by one year, her pink disappearing behind the heir's red and black.

So, her newly appointed knight stood with his back at the wall and eyes guarding her from afar.

Gwayne's head was breaking into throbbing, eyes rolling with every pestering question from Otto Hightower for secrets of the second daughter of the King—he is her knight, not his soiled spy. 

He fretted not. Either when he was sent to impossible tasks, or moved as her pawn around the Red Keep for her childish acts. Even when she asked to go riding outside King's Landing, he followed dutifully. 

  Holding her face in his hands to dry the panic away from her eyes while her older sister and heir apparent was going through labor.

He accepted her request to sit behind her on dragonback. Even if the beast called Nightfury spined, rolled, flew from above and thundered through the skies to frighten his poor soul.

To the Vale to spend one year going through lines and lines of suitors, only for the Princess to announce to the King she would either marry Ser Gwayne or disappear to Essos with her dragon.

At last, the wedding was due.

A frown plastered at Elaena's templates as she rested by the window, awaiting the clock to strike. A white gawn with pearls over her chest. On the chair, the red and black cloak with dragon designs was laid gracefully, only for it to be exchanged with the cloak of Green High Tower.

The heavy door creaked open with deliberate slowness, revealing Gwayne in full wedding regalia. His dark green doublet shimmered with gold embroidery along the sleeves, matching his sister's eyes perfectly.

The high collar framed his face sharply. No charm today, just formal Hightower severity.

He stared for a moment through the distance of silk and silence. Then he stepped forward properly. He knelt before where she sat waiting in fawn white lace like some winter nymph of the North, carved from ice itself.

“Am I the only worried of the many eyes?” she uttered.

Every lord, every lady, every servant, even the gods themselves seemed to be observing this union.

“I see them too,” a slight tilt of his head toward where he knew windows lined corridors full of spectators outside these chambers. “Every single pair.”

His blue eyes flickered briefly downward to where her hands rested in lap before lifting again.

“But right now...” he reached out slowly as if approaching a skittish animal, “...all I see is you.”

His voice softened impossibly more as he murmured: “If you feel uncomfortable, look at me. Always look at me.”

And as if to illustrate this testament, his fingers delicately brushed against hers, not quite intertwining—just enough contact to make his presence tangible.

“I'll shield you from their stares if I must.”

So Princess Elaena, held by king Viserys' arm, did not flatter her eyelashes to any lord or lady. She did not peer at her stern sister or the rigid Queen. Not even a glance at the cunning nature of Otto and the rest of the Hightower family seated first among the other houses.

Her eyes shone his. Even when she tipped from one heel to smother exhausted as the Septon went on, her eye trailing to the side of his.

At the alter, he stood with focus. The weight of thousands of eyes burning into them, but he remained utterly still—a statue carved from Hightower pride and discipline.

Though the interminable Septon's droning prayers, though King Viserys' labored breathing by morning wine beside them, Gwayne kept his gaze on her like an anchor point.

At last, the High Septon asked for the vows to be given. They spoke words they had memorized for they were scripts of political alliances with a tiny blessing of the Seven. They both turned to each and Gwayne leaned to lause close to her lips.

For he waited.

Elaena moved her head then to a soft peck on his lips. Another void of distance as their eyes met, ears pierced with the deafening applaud of the bystanders.

She leaned at once again, their lips melting to each for a longer moment. At the end of the parting of lips for a second time, she would pick shock and disdain by some of the family members.

Though what stirred her heart was Gwayne seated beside her at the high table, filled with her favorite dishes—not a lemon cake in sight.

Thankfully, the King did not question why the newlyweds never rose from their seats to dance, every lord and lady did in their stead. The feast continued lively and warm until midnight.

Gwayne's fingers drumming against his thigh, while lords and ladies made a generous line to bow and pray for them to be blessed with many heirs soon.

“As if they will be there to aid us with that... Especially the pushing. I should have that lording hold one leg. He seems rigid enough not to let go. I should look for the other three now,” her tongue rolled tipsy.

“Do not burden yourself with this nonsense. I did say I am in no need of heirs. This hasn't changed because I am married to a princess,” his words warmer than any candlelight over the hall.

“I promised the King I will have one. Not immediately, of course. But one is one at some point.”

“Your announcement sounds like mule's auction...” he rolled his eyes before sipping some wine.

“Is it not?” she scoffed, eyes glistening suspiciously over the hightowers smiling at her with raised glasses.

“Certainly for them,” and he reached for her chin to set towards his side. “Though it shall be our child before an heir. I would not mind one identical to you,” fingers grazing the spot before he dropped it off at the greetings of another lordling.

Her eyes remained shining. Could it not be by her words but the yawn that almost escaped her mouth before she swallowed it down? She breathed out finally and with a nod, he rose taking her hand in his.

The newlyweds excused themselves from the festivities and by the time the doors shut behind them, they headed further away. His grip was gentle but firm, a reminder of his presence and promise to shield her from prying eyes.

The halls of the Red Keep were eerily quiet compared to the buzz of the celebration just left behind. Gwayne navigated the corridors without hesitation, steering them both down familiar paths towards the royal apartments.

“I think I have a headache,” Elaena grunted with a scoff dressed as a chuckle.

“You poor thing,” his murmured snickering, his thumb brushing deeper under her sleeve. “All that standing still for hours must have been torture.”

At that, she nudged his side with her elbow. He merely chuckled, the sound warm and unexpectedly genuine. He squeezed her hand this time with more affection than formality, before adding in a conspiratorial whisper:

“Wait till we get to our chambers... I'll have them bring up wine and honey cakes for your headache.”

The order to the servants first uttered by his lips as Elaena plopped abed, feet hanging off with her golden heels.

Gwayne approached, kneeling and carefully removing one of her heels first.

“Let me help with these,” he said gently as he worked the delicate strap free from around her ankle.

He placed both shoes neatly by her beside table, before massaging the inner spot of her leg from feet to her calves. The double knots of long standing coming undone under his gentle rubbing.

As he worked, his thumbs pressed and kneaded in all the right places, gradually easing the strain from her tired limbs. “Does that feel any better?” he asked without ceasing his ministrations even as he waited for her response.

“Stop that,” Elaena pressed her foot toes on his forehead and the door knocked with the servant with the tray at hand.

Gwayne gave an exaggerated huff rising, and he called “Come in”.

He took the tray from the servant with a polite nod, dismissing them quietly. The sweet aroma of honey and warm caked filled the chambers.

“Your headache remedy,” he announced, setting the tray on the mattress. He picked up one small piece of cake and held it toward her mouth—an oddly intimate gesture for two people who'd only been married hours.

Elaena frowned confused, “I can eat by myself.”

“Oh, I know you can,” Gwayne replied with a scoff, not letting go of the cake yet. “But it is my duty as your husband now to take care of you, isn't it? That includes feeding you your sweets.”

Despite his arrogant words, there was a glint of vulnerable softness in his blue eye, with cake at hand. “Humor me, Princess.”

Lilac eyes dancing in mockery and she opened her mouth.

“Lambkin,” Gwayne murmured, voice warm with approval.

He watched her chew for a moment before reaching for another honey cake. This time he dipped it slightly in the accompanying wine, just enough to soften it without making it soggy.

Then without asking, he brought this next one up toward her lips too. There was something oddly comforting, more tender than any ceremonial kiss could have been.

“Do not tire me with nicknames. It is Princess for you,” she dipped a piece on the honey spilled over the plate and pressed it on his nose once before disappearing it into her mouth.

He sat frozen for a second, with the sticky sweetness of honey smeared across his nose making him blin in surprise.

“Oh?” that single syllable dripped with playful challenge before he reached to touch the honey with two fingers, inspecting it. Without warning, he lunged forward and pressed those same honey-coated fingers right against her cheek.

A gasp before chuckling. Elaena felt the flutter in her heart ready to break of the cage and soon she licked over the honeyed spot on his nose.

Unexpected thrill running down his spine. An involuntary hitch when her warm breath ghosting against the skin of his nose. A challenge for the knight and his tongue found the spot of honey on her cheek.

Swiping over in one smooth motion, his voice came out hoarse and low, barely above a whisper: “You taste better than this honey.”

“Did your elders teach you how to swive too?”

He merely shot up his eyebrows in feigned innocence, though his eyes glinted with laughter. “My elders?” he repeated with amused interest, leaning back on one elbow. “You mean my father? I don't think he ever gave me a guidebook on... swiving” the word was dragged deliberately, a twitch at her crude language.

Gwayne's head ducked closer to her with voice lowered, “Maybe you could give me a private lesson, Princess.”

“Mmm... I am not capable at courts and silver tongue. But I am a master at riding,” Elaena stated with a smug.

A slow, wolfish smirk spread across Gwayne's face at her boast.

“Oh really? A master at riding?” his thumb traced idle circles along the fabric of her wedding gawn. On a huskier tone, he followed, “Perhaps you'd like to... show me just how skilled you are, my lambkin.”

“Help me out of this dress and in my riding attire and I can show you,” she scoffed with a pout at the repeating of that nickname.

His fingers already moving to the intricate laces of her wedding gown before she'd even finished speaking. Carefully he worked each tiny pearl button loose, sleeves slipping off first. Evey motion patient as he peeled away the gawn pulling it off her arms with sighs breaking out of their mouths concurrently.

Once freed from the constraints, Elaena's chemise seemed to glow in the dim light, unblemished and smooth—or was it her skin he envisioned beneath?

“You're... breathtaking,” he murmured quietly.

“Hush, you are a knight, not a flushing doxy,” she placed her finger on his lips before she straddled his lap.

Her weight settled comfortably against his hips. His large hands instinctively came up to rest on her waist, warm and steady despite the rapid thudding of his heart.

His lips could not even part with her pressing thumb on them. Instead he stared up at her with those piercing blue eyes that had charmed so many courtiers and ladies. Only now they held something far more vulnerable than flirtation.

The kiss followed with sudden fervor, hands sliding and clutching on each other's hair as moans mingled between panting breaths.

“Must I drink moon tea?” she broke apart.

Yet his hand rose to cup her cheek as he spoke with absolute certainty. “I won't spill my seed inside you,” he vowed. “No moon tea needed,” his thumb brushed gently along her jawline.

Turning their bodies over, Gwayne carefully laid her over the mattress. He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, bringing mischief and tease on her features.

Yet she pushed his chest away climbing off bed and ordering for more Arbor wine. “I want something from your home,” she explained pouring the glass full and drinking it down with a grimace.

Then she purred another and came to sit beside him again.

“Something from home, aye?” and he reached out to take a sip of his own. The familiar taste of home rolled over his tongue , bringing with it a sense of familiarity.

He glanced sidelong at her with that same playful grin. “And what, may I ask, would you like from the Oldtown?”

“Arbor wine, lemon trees, the Beacon, and you” she took a sip, with the glass back in her grasp.

“That's quite a list,” he remarked, shifting so he could lean lazily on one elbow to face her more directly. His voice at last dialed with an intimate hush. “You already have me, Princess.”

Her hand paused pushing the glass on her mouth. From her lips, a trail of red ran down her throat.

That stray droplet of wine catching in the hollow at her collarbone was enough demonstration. Gwayne lunged his head deep on her neck as his tongue traced the path from its opposite side. Up to her jaw and lips at last, his lips skimmed over hers.

A distance between them bringing the glass to her. Elaena decided then to purr some droplets on her bossom.

With rapt attention, her husband tracked the perfect moon-kissed complexion now marred by red rivulets. He leaned in and dragged his tongue again slowly up the column of her throat where most wine had pooled.

Taste richer. Warmer from her body hear mixed with Arbor's tangy sweetness.

She also purred on her shoulder being left with pecks of his wet tongue until her ear. Another purr as the red trailed lower her chemise, turning white to red between the oath of her breasts.

A glance before his hands lowered the sleeves off her shoulders. His auburn hair dragged with the clothing down over the spilled red between her breasts.

“Gods,” Gwayne breathed out against her skin.

He traced with slow open-mouthed kisses. The sweet scent mixed with something uniquely her —warm and intoxicating.

His blue eyes had turned blurry in haze of drunkenness called passion. Elaena gave him a soft caress on his cheek and he dipped on her solace. Yet it was for long.

His auburn hair fell forward like curtain around them both as he worked lower between her breasts. The chemise clung now where red soaked through white—an abstract painting only he had the honor to appreciate.

His fingers ghosted over the spot, blue eyes stormed at hers. He saw only acceptance and his fingertips skimmed over one nipple before pressing it. He awaited to hear the deep breaths, her stomach shaking along with every part of her body. And it only got worse as his head dipped on her nipples, each given time spent with reverence.

His breath grew uneven hearing the echo of her hitches and subtle tremors running through his arms where they cradled him. He savored every second of contact like a man memorizing scripture with piety. His tongue swirled experimentally before pressing down gently with just enough pressure to test her sensitivity.

Only the auburn could the Princess spot while he trailed lower to her stomach, tongue passing over her naval. The chemise had stretched to its lowest parts.

Unhurried, almost languid in how each brush of his warmth against her skin was meticulous and reverent.

“Gwayne?” she asked uncertain and he reached her face again with a caress and a kiss.

“I am listening,” he encouraged softly. His eyes searched hers, seeking an answer, even as her heart lurched with anticipation.

“It feels weird. Does it feel weird to you?”

His thumb continued stroking her cheekbone, his expression softening at her admission.

“It does feel strange... This is all new to us,” a small smile touched his lips and he pressed another gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. “But not bad strange. Just unfamiliar.”

“Weirdly warm...” she whispered. “Help me out of this,” she finally raised her hands from her chemise to be gone in an instant.

His calloused hands slipped beneath the fabric and when the clothings was gone, they found her sides. Revealed skin to his heated gaze, he poured every ounce of his growing passion into kissing her.

“Trust me,” he uttered with the most sincere plea, stripped of all courtly bravado.

Elaena nodded and at once his face disappeared from hers. His fingers were placed on her knees, with a look of patience. Her eyes trailed away embarrassed, legs being spread before him.

Though the feeling was fleeting before a gasp shook her alive. Lips silk and pert moving over her clitoris. Body rumbling to friction while the tongue played along. She thought it would not last long. It would end soon—she had heard whispers by married ladies advising to close eyes and it will go away soon.

She shut eyes but an arch of her back opened them wide. Gwayne's tongue had slid in her deepest parts. The warm sensation had exhilarated above ceiling. Blank in her mind and she gripped that auburn hair.

Rather than away, she let him closer between her thighs. The grip would only loosen when a moan would break out of her lungs and Gwayne would rise his head with lips glistering on the dim lit room. His hair in disarray from the silk back tended by the servants.

A smirk before his tongue licked it away with all its light. He leaned again to some kisses on her inner thighs.

“I have seen a man pleasing his woman like so... I thought it would do us no harm,” Gwayne huffed with amusement, pushing some sweaty tuffs back.

“I do not know if I must curse you-

“Or?..” Gwayne prompted, voice dropping to low register, and raised his head close to her face, sliding his slender, yet well built, body between her legs.

His muscular frame caging her in effortlessly, Gwayne hovered above her. The word hung between them like an unspoken dare—heavy with implication.

“Help yourself out of your attire.”

The command simple, more of a challenge. Efficiently, he sat on his knees and began undoing the laces of his formal doublet.

The fabric slid off first, revealing the tight linen shirt beneath. Hsi fingers moved to unlace that next. His chest was on fire with that auburn color that trailed down his naval.

Elaena's hand reached tracking it and only halting before his trousers. The man sucked in a sharp breath, the warm of her touch sending soarks skittering across his skin.

A beat of sweat trickled down one side of his neck.

“So?..” Elaena looked up.

“Should I?” he echoed softly, voice rougher than usual from restrain. The lower clothing came undone, breeches unknotting with less patience than he had shown with the other layers.

It was not only the sight of her lord husband's now unhidden throbbing, but the fiery hair around his loins. Her eyes could not gaze away, and with an order to herself, her index finger pressed once and twice on his high tower.

“Is it always up?” she raised an eyebrow.

He could not answer, just grunt instantly at the slighest touch. It took every ounce of knightly duty not to rock forward, seeking more contact.

“Only when it matters,” he finally rasped, voice dropping dangerously low. “Does it... displease you, Princess?”

“I have not yet decided. What does it mean when it matters ?”

“It means when a man finds himself with his beautiful wife in the privacy of their bedchambers and time afforded to explore every inch of her.”

“You make it sound like this is your first tme but the confidence in your words seem to imply you have experienced this before,” Elaena's words ran up the air as her hand locked around his throbbing.

He sucked a sharp breath, his jaw tensing momentarily.

“I could control it before,” he admitted, voice tight. “With prayers. With discipline. I'd tell myself patience was virtue. Though I shared some comfort with the other squires when I was younger... Have you ever..?”

“With Lady Jeyne,” Elaena answered back with no fear.

There was more to understanding him in that moment. Both fearful of losing oneself to duty and honor, they had slid to a trusted's embrace and so, learn what pleased them the most.

Bit by bit, he for her and she for him could become that image.

”When I was in Oldtown... thought of you being my wife... it was beyond torturous and lonely,” he sighed out.

His hands flexed against the sheets beside her hips. “And judging by your grip, you seem rather curious yourself,” he added, voice thick with barely suppressed desire. “Go on. Explore,” he exhaled harshly at last.

“How do I..?” she rasped as her hand moved over it carefully.

“Like this,” he lifted one hand from bed to guide hers, showing how he preferred the pressure and pace.

His breath came faster. Every movement sending violent sparks through him. Each experimental squeeze or stroke making his muscles tense, solely because it was of hers.

“Does it...feel different than what you imagined?” he asked between shallow breaths.

“I thought it would take some minutes to be done with the consummation. A lord husband would come, take and then leave,” she murmured placing more pressure, one finger slipped over the tip.

He had no moment for his brows to knit together in indignation. His breath hitched audibly, the sensation overwhelming.

“Seven heavens,” he exhaled sharply through clenched teeth, head tipping back as pleasure shot through him.

Her eyes were on fire, rising her body up, for her face to reach his. Mingled breaths before they dived into another kiss. Her hands moved faster against him.

In his desperation, his fingers tangled into her silver hair, returning a kiss. It was all he could manage for now. Body taut as bowstring beneath her ministrations.

One second there were deep in the moment, the other his body jerked in a spam. Wave crashed over him with a strangled gasp escaping his lips before he could stop this. Her fingers and stomach were left with fluids.

When they finally had to come for air, he rested his forehead agains hers. For several heartbeats afterward, he was dazed and boneless.

“That...” he managed between breaths, “...was not supposed to happen yet.”

“That is your seed?..” she asked raising her hand close to her eyes inspecting.

Gwayne huffed out something betwen a laugh and a sigh. “It is,” he confirmed, voice roughened even more.

Voice now quieter, filled with a note of uncertainty he usually hid behind. “Does... does it disgust you?”

Her eyes were wide halting herself from bringing her hand closer to her mouth. “Should it?"

His shoudlers relaxed fractionally, reassured by her unbothersness, “No, it shouldn't.”

He took her hand in his and leaned over the mattress to reach for her handkerchief hidden in his pocket. Turning it palm-up, he wiped away the remnants from her fingers and stomach.

“You use my handkerchief for this?” Elaena asked amused.

“I have sinned using this same hankerchief before...” Gwayne admitted as the weight of his confession settled between them. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tosled auburn hair. “Back in Oldtown. When I was away and... couldn't have you.”

The words hung heavy with implication across the distance that had spread between them.

Elaena's lips parted wet. He studied the way the dim candlelight caught in her lower lip where she'd bitten it absentmindedly.

“Is it only one time a day you have seed?”

“No, not just once a day,” he replied truthfully. ”Though I will admit I was not expecting that to happen so soon. It is usually... more controlled.”

“My knight has crossed the line of chastity.”

The smirk that curled Gwayne's lips was equal parts smug and self-conscious. He had the decency to look slightly sheepish, though his blue eyes still held that playful glint.

“Well,” he began, voice smooth but tinger with amusement, “...it seems my chastity wasn't quite as unbreakable as I'd convinced myself it was.”

Then Gwayne hovered over her face with another kiss lowering her down. “Are you ready?” Gwayne asked gently, before his finger slid in her core.

Wetter than before, it seemed, Elaena reacted bolder.

An arch in reponse with less hesitance, and before long, he dug two with the next slip assessing her ease. A low and approving noise escaping his lips, subtle but there.

“Does it ache?” he murmured the question against her neck, lips brushing teasingly over sensitive skin.

“No. Should it ache?”

His chuckle vibrated against her skin where his lips stil lingered. “Not if I do this right,” he assured her in sincerity.

He adjusted his fingers slightly inside her. Shifting the angle just to find that deeper spot he had read about, he requested, “Tel me if it feels good.”

“Do not ask me to answer that,” she barely whispered with flushed skin.

Her lips bitten, her arms barring his shoulders, breath shallow and quick.

“May I?” he shifted slightly—as if there could be any doubt at this point.

Her lilac eyes stared at him in approval. He opened her legs apart for his hips to fit between. The throbbing had returned before he guided his tip. A slip over her clitoris bringing a spam of whimper out of her throat.

He pressed another slow, open-mouthed kiss to her lips before shifting his hips slightly. The tip brushed over her again with deliberate care.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured against her mouth.

“No... It doesn't...” she barely said.

Relieved by her answer, he pressed fowards gradually. Millimeter by millimeter, he let their bodies adjust together.

When he finally slid in, he paused. His entire body rigid with effort not to move too soon. Time for her to acclimate despite how badly every instinct urged him onward.

His forehead dropped against her again as they breathed each other's air.

“Well that wasn't that bad,” Elaena breathed out,

A quiet chuckle at her blunt assessment. “Good,” his voice rough around the edges.

Then he moved, just a small roll of his hips to test how it felt for them both now that they were properly connected. His hands found hers on either side of her head, fingers intertwining as he hovered over her.

A gasp before her nails dug on his shoulders. “What are you...”

“Shh...” he whispered kissing her forehead. “I am making love to my wife,” the words loosened her grip on his shoulders.

He pulled once out again and slowly rolled his hips in, her chest rumbling with a grunt.

Softly were his moves and so, the rhythm between them became smoother now. Every gentle pondering of his hips deliberate, tender and reverent. The kiss matched the pace of their bodies—lingering and frantic.

A quiet sigh escaped him when their lips parted for air. Content just to be here with her.

“I think I have goten used to this.”

“Good. I am glad,” he kissed the tip of her nose with a murmur, warm blooming in his chest. “Tell me if you want this different,” he offered softly.

And so his hips swifted on the mattress for firmness and Gwayne pondered faster.

A low hum escaped his lips, eyes falling half-lidded and face buried in the crook of her neck. His skin nuzzled on hers there in a way that bordered in affectionate rather than erotic as he shifted his hips again, finding that deeper angle he'd sought.

Both whimpered out at the fraction, as if moth drawn to fire closer to each.

Drinking at the sight of each's pleasure-flushed face, their lips crashed together again messily. A soft groan on his chest which was stolen and escaped in the sound of moan by her swollen lips.

“Seven Heavens, Elaena,” his hand slid into hers with a kiss full of hunger that even surprised him.

The bed groaned beneath their combined weight, the wooden frame protesting each movement. His tongue explored every corner of her mouth while his hips kept up their steady rhythm.

“Peerless,” he breathed between kisses. “You are peerless.”

Her eyes turned hazy and one drop of tear slipped away the moment miriade of sensations overflowed. 

Gwayne froze momentarily, wide eyes in concern. And so, he quickly licked it away, the salt mingling with their shared breath. He caught enough of the taste of her—salt from sweat, tears and something uniquely Elaena's.

“Are you okay?” he whispered against her lips between gentle kisses.

“Yes... With you here,” she whispered and Gwayne rose away from her frame slipping off her, barely before his manhood sent his seed across the matress.

A shudder ran through him as he caught his breath afterward, chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, he simply laid there beside her, staring up at their canopy with half-lidded eyes. 

“That was...” he began but trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence properly.

Her shoulder crunched with a pout before a nod followed. A tired smile curving his lips in response. He reached trailing along her shoulder and bare arm until he found her hand. Threaded fingers together and Gwayne gently tugged her closer into his embrace.

“Come here,” he muttered huskily. It came out an order rather than a request.

“Ordering me now?” she raised her eyebrow.

“I am too exhausted to be polite at this point,” he lifted his chin in a playful challenge. “Humor your poor, tired husband and come here.”

Her skin found his as both melt into each other's embrace, bodies molding together. A contentment through them, deeper than any physical satisfaction.

Slow, almost drowsy in its delivery, there were lazy kisses he pressed along her shoulder and collarbone. Their eyes shutting in exhaustion before the slumber began.