#walnorth

Its a rare thing, Nessa knows, to find a jumper so ridiculously ugly that it outdid the monstrousity of the knitwear her father had forced upon both herself and Patrick as children and yet, after unwrapping the present from Olwen, she finds something that truly outdoes Arthur's creations. 

Dark green in colour with a giant golden N on the front, if it was just that the jumper would have seemed more classy and cute than a mess of additions, the various bells, buttons, beads and patchworks added onto it seemingly nothing to the lights that flicked to life when Olwen presses the bell of a tartan bat near her collar.

It was beautiful.

"Is it okay? You've not said anything since opening it..."

The worry in her girlfriends voice finally convinces her to speak, Nessa's voice barely coming out louder than an excite squeak as she speaks.

Skating over, Owen offers a hand to her, smiling and waiting for her to take it, even if she was still glaring at him like he was the devil incarnate for leading her onto the ice.

"Just take my hand, Rois, everything will be okay."

She takes it slowly, a little wobbly, his grip on her becoming tight as Rois slips, gaining a face full of the Welshman’s coat and Owen laughing as she swore into it.

He waits until she has her balance, not letting go of her hands as he knows damn well she will start a beautiful rendition of Bambi on ice, smiling and starting to move once she felt more confident.

"See you’re getting the hang of it, it just takes a little practise."

"Like dancing then?"

They come to a stop soon, stood in the middle face to face and sharing a breif kiss, Roisin finally returning the smile only for it to turn into sheer horror as her usually sweet boyfriend left her in the middle, laughing.

He silently hopes Patrick is still in the hotel room as he makes his way back, the red head having been wanted to leave and explore the city since they had arrived and Owen having told him no every time due to a fear the other would get lost on his own.

The hotel room is empty upon his return, or at least so the Welsh man thinks, dumping the brief case of meeting notes on the side and kicking his shoes off, slumping over to the bed and sighing. He pauses as he hears it, the clack of heels on the laminated floor, blinking at the black and gold heels before eyes slowly ran up stocking covered legs that lead to lacy underwear balanced on bony hips, his eyes staying there for a moment before eventually continuing all the way up to Patrick’s smirking face.

“Hello.”

 A thick swallow and a fumbled reply of hi, it’s hard to keep his eyes from trailing down as the other straddled and sat on his lap, arms draped over his shoulder and his vision is brought back to the others face, gulping at the look he was being given, cocky, smug and flirtatious all rolled into one, growing ever more flustered as the other leant in, whispering in his ear.

“Do you like what you see?” Patrick asks, fingers playing with brunet hair, tiling Owen’s head back slightly, leaning in as if to kiss him. “I thought you might.” And then he does, slow and teasing, allowing Owen to believe he was in control of the kiss, hands sliding up his thighs and finger tips slipping beneath lace before the younger man retook dominance.

The tie is the first thing to go, fingers making short work of the red tie, finding its place on the floor and closely followed by the blazer, kiss parting as deft digits make start on the shirt, Owen taking the moment to leave teeth shaped markings on the red head’s neck as hands finished with the buttons and began teasing his flesh instead.

It wasn’t a usual thing for Pat to take control, at least not in this manner, a taker not a giver by most means of the term when it came to the bedroom, so to have him do this was unexpected but by no means unwanted. He’s pushed back on the bed, bouncing slightly as back and mattress connect, the red head leaning over him and he swallows thickly as it becomes increasingly obvious just how tight his trousers were becoming.

His lover coos almost patronisingly, running a finger along the length of the bulge before bothering to actually finish undressing the other, leaving him bare to the cool air of the hotel room. Owen finds himself getting too into it when touched, the hand that wraps around him leaving only moments later, a patronising tut and a comment of how eager he was.

“On your front.”

A short brief order that he wants to argue against, pausing as he catches the other slipping the underwear over his hips, shimmying them a little as he undressed, swallowing thickly as Patrick catches him watching, the clack of the heel son the floor again and a whine as the inside of his right thigh as slapped.

“I thought I told you to get on your front, not to watch me undress.”

He does as he’s told now, tensing as a finger nail is run along his spine, stopping at the small of his back and finishing with a spank, Owen biting his lip to stop the gasp slipping past them, his grip on the sheets tightening as he was prepped and then entered, a kissing placed between shoulder bones as Patrick waited for him to adjust.

Slow at first but the pace soon picks up, at least for as fast as the other could manage in the heels he still wore, one hand for support and the other assisting in the pleasure, the slew of pleasured noises that left Owen’s mouth muffled by the duvet, nails threatening to rip into the sheets, Patrick’s own neither muffled nor ripping into fabric as opposed to skin, leaving long lines of red on pallid flesh.

The feeling of embarrassment blooms in Owen as soon as he reaches his point of orgasm, far quicker than expected, waiting for the inevitable laugh only to not receive one, just a withdrawal and a dip in the bed beside him. Stiff, sticky and breathless, he pushes himself up, ignoring the twinge of pain as he positioned himself before the other, ignoring the look Patrick gave him, unhooking one shoe and pulling off the stocking that had already started to slip from the previous activity.

Kisses start by the ankles, slowly working their way up, small red marks from teeth marking the way up long, slender legs, replaced by more painful, purple ones as Owen reaches the redhead’s inner thighs. Hooking his legs over his shoulders, their eyes meet briefly for one moment before the Welshman finishes this more on his own terms.

He’d been almost voyeuristic up until now, something he hated becoming and yet curiosity had nearly killed the cat when the redhead had resumed singing that evening and the satisfaction of what he saw just brought him back again and again. They had kissed, shared small and often timid ones that would sometimes escalate to something more passionate but they’d never gone as far as this.

In some unexpectedly bold move he had moved his hands from their usual place and, in another unexpectedly bold move, Patrick made no move to stop him, not even when large fingers tugged on ties to make removing his shirt all the more easier.  

But as hands start to tug it off, he finds himself pausing, either ignoring or simply unaware of the confused look on his wards face as his sudden inner crisis bloomed. Owain was supposed to be taking this prince home, kidnapping him from a kidnapper and returning him to his brother. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this, this was a mistake, he should just-

“Please.”

Owain snaps out of it at the mumbled word, his momentary reluctance remaining but soon forgotten as the red head kisses him boldly, something he had never managed before now. Shaky kisses, all sweet and brief, were all he’d give before look apologetic or scared, like he expected the worst from him in his reaction. Not like Owain was surprised, Garret hadn’t been the most…loving fiancé.

“I want you to.”

It was hard to refuse an offer like that, hands resuming in the removal of the others shirt and lips re-joining as his palms and finger tips explored flesh that only eyes had mapped out before, instinctively pulling the other closer as his bare skin became goose pimpled in the cool air of the inn ale house they were staying above.

As the kiss parts, there’s a small laugh and a sheepish smile, Pat not looking at him directly in the eye but more at his lips, chin and neck, swallowing before speaking. “I have no idea how to get your shirt off.”

Picking the other up and off of him, Owain leaves the bed and proceeds to the fire, removing the leather and chainmail armour and dirty black shit that once had been a deep blue, the light of the fire as the Welsh man bent to put more wood on it highlighting the scars and blemishes upon his skin, visible even with the covering of black body hair.

He shouldn’t look, Patrick knows staring will just make the other uncomfortable but he can’t help it, turning away ashamedly when he gets caught only to have his attention brought fully back to the other as he returns to the bed, pushed back gently onto the sheets, Owain climbing over him, an elbow by his head and a calloused hand resuming its exploration of pallid skin.

The kissing takes off back where it was once he’s sure the position doesn’t made the other uncomfortable, small hands pressing faintly against his chest, tensing ever so slightly whenever the older man’s hands brushed over and teased the others sensitive areas.

Hands slip further and further down towards his waist band, kisses slowing as fingers messed with ties, slender hands sliding up to his neck and fiddling with the fine hairs there, fingernails pressing in at the momentary surprise of his hand slipping between trousers and underwear, Owain hesitating until nails retract.

Lips part, arms wrapping around Owain’s neck as he started to palm him, pace fluctuating between fast and slow as pleased little noises slipped from rosy lips, a whine when his hand stopped altogether to strip the prince entirely. Straightening up, a smirk plays on his lips at the slender body, chest rising and fall from breathlessness and skin flushed pink from embarrassment, eyes glaring at him heatedly, an invitation to continue where he left off or there would be trouble.

He’d like to see the redhead try, frankly, unlacing his own trousers and removing them, leaving him as bare as the other, smirk widening at the flustered look, eyes trailing down his body, pausing at his crotch before averting very quickly, knowing he’d been caught but not wanting to be.

Prepping his is easier said than done, silently thankful the woman had mistaken them for a married couple upon seeing the white the redhead was wearing, wondering if the oil would be enough. “Are you ready?” Owain asks as Patrick wraps his arms around his neck again, face hidden in the crook of his neck so he can feel the others tentative nods, feeling the other tense around him and a hiss of pain through gritted teeth.

“Am I hurting you?” There’s a pause before he shakes his head and mumbles no, the nails digging into his back easing off for the moment as he began to adjust to the size of the other. “Will you tell me if I’m hurting you?” This time a nod of the head and a mumbled yes, short breaths fanning across his collar bones as they started to move, pallid legs coiling around strong hips as Patrick loosened his grip around the Welsh man’s neck and fell back against the sheets.

Owain’s hands pin the younger’s above his head, another bruising kiss initiated as fingers intertwine and squeeze, the pace increasing and the kisses slowly coming to a stop as the otherwise silent room in filled with pants, gasps, moans and groans, little pleas made up entirely of the elders name that were all returned with grunts and short ragged breaths of his own.

It doesn’t last for long, Owain finding it almost bittersweet but then what had he been expecting? Patrick had never lain with Garret, it had gotten close but they’d never bedded and Owain doubts the other had ever been before then. Withdrawing and removing himself from him and the bed, throwing his dark blue shirt to the other with a gruff “so you don’t get cold” before starting to relieve himself, biting his lip as he mentally went over what they had just done.

At the pained gasps and the thud of a limp on the old wooden flooring, Owain panics at the sight of Patrick limping towards him, a look of determination on his face that seemed to grow with each step, stopping just before the giant and smiling. He silences the protest building in Owain’s throat with a kiss, having rose to his tiptoe and, even after that, having tugged him down to more his level.

“I want to.”

There’s something about how he says that which makes Owain believe it can convince him to let the other do as he please, bending so the other was in less pain, slender, soft hands taking over where his broad, calloused ones had been.

He’s teasing to begin with, as if mocking the way the other had been with him, it taking the dark haired man off guard as he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected confidence to bloom so vividly and quickly in the other, the quiet and shy teen he’d initiated this with seemingly gone and replaced with a more confident and cheeky man who took enjoyment from teasing and knew what he wanted.

Had he always been like this?

One hand against the wall and the other on his hip, Owain’s not sure when they changed positions, Patrick leaning against the wall and pressing small, fleeting kisses to his lips, ignoring the tug of the fabric every time Owain’s hands clenched, one pale shoulder having already been unveiled by the action.

It comes to a breathless end, Owain leaning over the red head still, head forehead against the others as he attempted to even out his breathing, Patrick seemingly to wait until the hammering had all but ceased before speaking in the same soft tone he had used at the beginning, as if the confident Prince had retreated back into his shell until the next time it took its time to shine.

“Will you come to bed with me?”

The news still hadn't quite sunk in yet, that his parents had passed on in a car crash, the usual thought process of how he could have been there, how he could have helped before realising how could he help? 

He ate up the light and swallowed everything in darkness, he'd have only served to make it worse. 

As with most of their late night rendezvous, Owain doesn't realise he's not alone until he starts feeling weightless, looking up to find the walking constellations smiling at him.

Patrick is silent as he offers him the small bag, Owain taking it with a cocked brow, body tensing as the full force of gravity returned, knowing if he looked at the other that rich dark blue and black skin that was mottled with nebulas would be pale again, the stars and constellations replaced by freckles.

Hair that behaved like fire, alive with shades of yellow, orange and red would be a dark cherry colour and bright, glowing yellow eyes to some shade of green he imagined poets and rmantics would spend hours describing. 

Opening the bag he finds two of everything, two bottles of cider, two slices of the chocolate and vanilla cake Aeron had baked earlier, two bars of chocolate and, the only thing not doubled, a packet of cigarettes and the equivalent of them in the form of a packet of lollies.

"I figured you could use the company." He finally speak up, huddled up and tiny because it wasn't the warmest of nights and the kid had only come out in his pyjamas. "And maybe some cake, alcohol and cigarettes."

"You brought nothing to light them with."

"I can light them."

"I get high when you do that."

"Well, sometimes we all need to get a little high sometimes"

It all falls back into silence then, the red head seemingly giving up on looking human in a bid to keep warm and turning back into his alternate, more visually stunning form, some would argue. 

"Thanks." Owain finally speaks up after a few moments silence, lighting the cigarette off the fire that was the othes hair, ignoring the half annoyed look the others gives him because, honestly, there was just somethin weird about how being near the other just lifted his spirits.

Even without the fact he literally got high being near the other like this too long. 

He only comes out here to think, to get some time alone and be undisturbed by people looking for the champion or someone wanting to battle him not knowing who he was. Hell, he sometimes came out here to get away from Owen, a bit of peace and quiet to himself.

Though he’s never on his own, not really, his Xerneas never staying in a pokéball for too long, Patrick not sure if it was an escape artist or just hated them, either way they hadn’t tried running off yet and for that he was glad. It wasn’t every day you caught a legendry after all, never mind one as beautiful as this.

It doesn’t run around like usual, following Patrick until the other sat down on the boulder he always did, starting to pester the redhead for attention, gently nuzzling his shoulders and face before the champion finally gives in, stroking the fur under the animals chin, smiling gently at the pleased noises it let out.

“I still can’t believe I managed to catch you.” Patrick whispers it, smiling as the Xerneas responds by rubbing their foreheads together as the antlers slowly lit up, everything starting to feel a little more magical as colourful light filtered through.

Maybe this was why the Pokémon followed him here, still fussing the deer like it was an over grown puppy, though maybe over grown was an understatement with how tall it was.

"Repeat after me, Nadolig Llawen."

Patrick just gives Owen the blankest look possible, face screwing up a little before finally repeating what the Welshman had said. "Nahdoolig Clawehn." Close enough but not quite right, but he can tell the red head is trying. 

"No, try Na-doll-ig Hla-wen"

"Nadolig Llawen."

He grins as he gets it right, thinking over the next word, enjoying how pleased Patrick seemed with himself over this. Cute. If he'd nown how cute this was he'd have done it sooner. "Your next word is Cariad."

"Cariad." Patrick parrots him, getitng it right first time and bouncing a littel as he does. He's adorable when he's wrong and right with this, how is that even fair? Owen remarks inwardly before starting the last words.

"Dw i'n dy garu di."

"How the ever loving fuck am I supposed to say that? Doo In duh garuu die?"

He chuckles at the miss pronunciation, shaking his head before repeating what he'd said much more slowly. "Doo een duh garee dee." It takes three attempts before Patrick gets it completely right, owen smiling before cocludng their lesson in Welsh. "Now say it all back to me."

"You're kidding right?" Patrick replies, giving Owen a you've got to be kidding me look before rolling his eyes. "Fine, Nadolig Llawen, cariad, dw i'n garu di. Now what does that even me-"

He's cut off with a kiss, Owen having leant across from where he was sat on the bed, tilting the others chin up to make it easier on them both, laughing into the kiss a little at the squeak of surprise from the other. 

"Merry christmas, darling, I love you."