Gifts From Sune

CW: Impregnation

--

He arrived one evening late in spring, as the bright colors of flowers and birds were fading into the darkness. I had finished serving dinner to the few patrons my inn had received, a group of three halflings headed all the way for Baldur's Gate, when I heard shouts and the creak of a damaged cart outside.

He had almost reached the door when I stepped outside. He stood at the head of a group of refugees--a dozen humans and tieflings with a half-burned cart and a weary old horse. I couldn't see much of him in the dim light, only that he was tall and dark-haired and bloodstained.

"Trouble on the road?" I asked.

"A carrion crawler attacked them a few miles east," he said. "Some of them were wounded."

He was wounded, too, but there would be time for that later. "Did it follow you?"

He shook his head. "It's dead."

"Well, get them inside," I said. "There's hay enough for their horse, too."

"They have very little coin-"

"I didn't ask how much coin they had," I said. "I told you to get them inside."

He smiled. "As you wish."

--

The sun had gone down by the time we got the horse and wagon into the stables and the refugees inside. I threw some vegetables into the soup to build it up a bit, then surveyed the group.

They'd been traveling for at least a fortnight, by my estimation, and had been sleeping outside for most of it. Their cloaks were muddy and torn, their faces were lined, and their boots were thin enough to feel the floorboards through.

The paladin had been traveling for some time, too, but he wore it differently. His shield bore the symbol of Sune, the goddess of love, and despite the dust of the road it shined in the firelight. He was weary, but something gleamed undiminished in his eyes. He sat up straight, sitting taller than most of the refugees even if you counted their horns, and he nodded as I handed him a bowl of soup and a chunk of bread.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm Sheridan, by the way."

"I'm Mira, and it's my pleasure," I said. "Now tell me more about what happened. If monsters are nesting near us, we need to know."

One of the refugees, a blonde human who couldn't be more than nineteen summers old, spoke up before he could. "He saved us," she said, her blue eyes glimmering with the most poorly concealed lust I'd seen in months. "The crawler came at us just past a big stone bridge, and it stung three people before he jumped out and slew it!"

He didn't object to her version of events, but between his suddenly awkward stance and his unwillingness to meet her gaze, he looked like he'd prefer to be fighting another carrion crawler instead. I was tempted to tease him, but something held me back.

"Did it sting you too?" I asked.

"Once or twice," he admitted.

"Well, finish eating," I said, "and then we'll get you a healer."

"Will he be alright?" the girl asked. "Does he...need someone to watch him tonight?"

There was just a note of absolute panic in his eyes as he looked at me, and I could barely keep a straight face. "That's for the healer to decide," I said, watching him silently take a grateful breath.

"Should I come and find the healer?" he asked.

"You should finish eating first," I said. I tried not to smile mischievously, and he was perceptive enough to see it. He gave me a look of wounded reproach, but still nodded his thanks, and I stepped out before he had a chance to say anything else.

--

It was another fifteen minutes before he stepped out of the dining hall. I'd put each of the refugees in a room, and had put the blonde girl in with her parents in spite of her insistence that she should be around to help Sheridan.

He met my gaze, which was an accomplishment. My dress was cut low enough to reveal a distracting amount of cleavage, and most of the adventurers who passed through the inn couldn't help but look.

"Thank you," he said.

"You already said that," I replied. "And you're still welcome. Let me take you to the healer."

"Am I allowed to thank you for it?"

I looked back at him sharply. His expression looked flat at first, but I could see just the hint of a smile on his lips, and a glimmer in his eyes.

"I suppose," I admitted. "Come on."

I led him down the hallway and into the master suite. I'd covered the main bed with a spare sheet, and made the chaise into a makeshift bed. I tried not to think about the last time I'd slept there; tonight was supposed to be about Sheridan's scars and not mine.

"Here," I said. "Go ahead and take your armor off."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you the healer, too?"

"It's a small town," I said. "Plenty of us have two jobs. The mayor is also the village idiot."

He chuckled, then reached for the pauldron of his armor. I turned around, arranging the salves and cloths even though I'd already set them up as I needed them.

"If you'd be comfortable," he said, "your help would make this go quicker."

I turned around. He gestured to one of the attachments for his remaining pauldron, and I reached for it.

"How do you do this every day?" I asked, setting one metal plate on the side table.

"It just takes time," he said with a shrug. Slowly, with each plate and length of chainmail, he emerged from beneath the armor. He was leaner than I expected, without all of the leather and padding, which probably came from his elven side. His curly hair was long enough to spill out onto his shoulders, which were just about at eye level. His green eyes flickered in the light of the fireplace, and the freckles that covered his cheeks spread down his arms and chest.

He crossed one arm across his chest, and I tore my eyes from his chest to the wounds on his side. The carrion crawler's tentacles had pressed through the chainmail, and left two ragged lines arcing towards the top of his hip.

"Go ahead and lie down," I said.

He wrapped a towel around himself and laid down atop the sheet, trying to keep his breath even. Without the armor, though, there were motions that gave him away no matter how he tried.

I dipped a cloth in warm water and pressed it gently against the injury. He drew his breath in, and I couldn't tell if it was from the warmth or from the touch of my fingers.

"You don't have to be silent for my sake," I said. "I don't want to hurt you, so tell me if I do."

"I..." he bit his lip, then nodded. "I'll do my best."

"It's okay," I replied. "I know it's probably an old habit."

"It is," he said. "You have sharp eyes."

I felt a barb pressed against his side. Silently, carefully, I traced the edge of it, figuring out how much was still embedded in his skin. I wrapped my fingers around it, my movements slow so he wouldn't tense up.

"There are some things I can't figure out, though," I said. I pulled the barb free, and he gave a rather distracting gasp. To avoid thinking about that sound in other contexts, I kept going. "Paladins can heal by touch, can't they? So why didn't you heal this yourself?"

He took a deep breath, and I felt his chest move against my hands. It felt like I was unexpectedly trespassing, as if a building I was walking past had expanded until its door enveloped me.

"I can only heal so much," he said. "And some of them were hurt worse than I was."

I nodded, and put a bit of poultice onto a cloth. I pressed it against the wound, and he hissed, the sound ordered but rough like the stones of a new foundation.

"So you healed them first," I said.

"That's my job," he said.

"If your job is taking care of the people you meet, why didn't you want to take care of that blonde girl?" I asked. "Your goddess wouldn't mind. She's into that."

He sighed again. I grinned, and he could see the mischief in my eye, but he could see that there was more beneath it, too.

"My oath is to preserve the beauty in the world," he said. "She needs to be kept safe, and to find a home. She doesn't need to be pregnant by a stranger."

"You don't know," I said. "Some people want that more than anything else."

"That's not how we find out," he said.

There was something else, something he wasn't saying. I could see it, and he knew it, but I let him keep the silence and he seemed grateful for it.

"That's fair," I said. "And more conscientious than plenty of men."

He fell silent for a moment, save for an occasional sharp breath when I applied the poultice. The edges of the wound were pale, which was good; if they'd been red neither one of us would sleep much.

"Well, I think you'll be fine," I said. "Although I won't go far, just in case."

He glanced around. "Is that why you're treating me in your room?"

I blushed, and immediately felt foolish for blushing. "I don't have a lot of room," I said. "I'll sleep on the chaise, and that way if you wake with a fever you won't die."

"That's practical," he admitted.

"Your honor is safe," I added.

He glanced at my cleavage, then looked away swiftly. I wondered, for a moment, if he wanted his honor to be safe. But before I saw any other clues, he nodded and gave me a wry smile.

"Thank you," he said. I wasn't sure what I was being thanked for, exactly, but I nodded and turned to get ready for bed. By the time I stepped back out in my nightdress, he'd closed his eyes and drifted off into an easy sleep. I laid down on the chaise and tried to follow.

--

In my dream, I found myself ten years younger, in this same room when it belonged to my ex and I. He slept there, close enough to touch and yet a thousand miles away. Then suddenly, he was awake, and his hatred filled the air around me until I could barely breathe. I called out to him, begging him to touch me as he once had. I knew it was hopeless, useless, but I could never let it go.

"Mira-"

"Come back," I cried.

"Mira!"

The dream broke like a fever, and I fell gasping back into reality. I'd twisted myself until I'd almost fallen off of the chaise, where I would have joined my blankets on the floor. Sheridan knelt at my side, one hand on my shoulder, the other reaching up to touch my cheek. For a moment, in the last embers of the nightmare, I cursed myself for waking him up.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I should have known. I'm sorry."

He glanced around in the dim light of the waning fire. "Is this water?" he asked, gesturing at a cup I'd left on the bedside table.

"Yes," I said. He handed it to me, and I drank like the desert drinks rain. When I finished, I gasped for breath, looking off into the distance and trying not to think of the past or the present. He stood, his eyes down, trying to pay attention without staring.

"Are you alright?" Sheridan asked.

I met his eyes. I could tell he wasn't going to be put aside by platitudes, and I sighed.

"No," I said. "I...I haven't slept in the chaise in years. Since I was married."

Sheridan nodded. "Did he die?"

"That would have been easier," I said, shaking my head. "He left. We...we tried for years to have children. And when we couldn't, when it didn't work for us, he got bitter. I slept here when I couldn't bear it. And, when he couldn't bear it either, he left. Without a word."

"I'm sorry," he said, and I couldn't doubt that he meant it.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," I said. "I'm supposed to be letting you sleep so you can heal."

He glanced at the bed behind him. I noticed, suddenly and keenly, that he wore nothing but his smallclothes.

"I'll sleep on the chaise, then," he said. "We can both sleep that way."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're too tall for the chaise, and you're healing."

"I can sleep with my feet hanging off," he said. "You can't sleep if it gives you nightmares."

"You'll fall off."

He shrugged. "I could fight you for it."

I laughed, my ire fading away as I saw his concealed smile. I considered how much I wanted to argue with him and his frustratingly persistent sense of honor. It occurred to me, though, that his honor gave me a solution to my problem.

"We can share the bed," I said.

He frowned in concern, and the contrast between his worry and his obvious strength almost made me laugh again. "I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I'd be more uncomfortable if you took the chaise," I said. "I swore I'd heal you as best I could. You wouldn't want me to break that oath, would you?"

He narrowed his eyes. He knew that I was pulling his chain, but as long as I played the part he couldn't call me on it. His discomfort was still there, but he was so used to solving other people's problems first that he couldn't help but set it aside.

"Alright," he said. "Which side is yours?"

"This side," I said.

He walked around the bed and climbed into the opposite side, careful to take up as little space as he could. I laid down next to him, choosing not to brush against him as I slipped under the covers.

I glanced over. He was lying on his back, studying the ceiling.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome."

I sighed. Trying to sleep next to him was like trying to sleep next to a coiled spring.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes," he said, tearing his eyes away from the ceiling to look at me. The dim firelight flickered across his face, casting his concern into high relief.

"Why does this make you uncomfortable?" I asked. "Are you worried about what people will think?"

He stared down the blade of the question for a moment, then shook his head. "Sune watches me, and as long as she favors me I don't worry too much about what people say."

He sighed. "No, this is just...unfamiliar."

"Because I'm a bit older?"

He shook his head. "No, in general."

The pieces suddenly fit together, and I raised my eyebrows. "You've never been with a woman?"

He shrugged. "At first I was busy training to be a paladin, and then, well, I've been busy."

"You are tall and heroic and kind and achingly handsome, and you've never had sex."

"I'm also technically a prince," he added.

"Fuck's sake," I muttered.

"It's alright," he grinned. "Sune will guide me, not just to where I can save people, but to where I'll find love."

I could have nodded and accepted this declaration, and my life would have gone very differently. But I figure that even the gods need help sometimes.

"How do you know Sune didn't guide you here?" I asked.

He narrowed his eyes.

"For one," he said, "You asked me here so that I'd heal. I can't assume you want anything else when you haven't said so. And don't say so just to make me blush," he added.

I rolled towards him. I knew that my nightdress was not the best at containing my bosom, and he glanced at my cleavage for a moment before looking away. I reached out and put a hand on his arm, a gesture that would have seemed merely friendly anywhere but in my bed.

"You blush beautifully," I admitted. "But that's not why I'm asking if you want me."

He looked at my hand, first, then met my gaze. He looked apprehensive, but I could see affection beneath it.

"Why are you asking, then?" he said softly.

I raised my hand to caress his cheek, gently so as not to be pushy. "Because you give a lot of yourself, and someone should remind you that you deserve love too," I said. "Because I can guide you, so your first time is good. And because it'll help us both sleep well--eventually."

He shifted beneath the sheets, and I could tell that his body was urging him towards one particular option, but I waited.

"I don't...want to leave you in a bad spot," he said.

I smiled. "Whatever spot you leave me in," I promised, "it will be good."

He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what to say. I reached up and drew my fingers across his brow, as if brushing his worry away. Then, when he smiled, I leaned in to kiss him.

He was not afraid to let me lead, as our lips pressed together and I put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself. I could feel a bit of hesitation in the motions of his lips, but it wasn't out of reluctance. He was trying to move carefully, to learn through observation.

It was sweet, then, watching his desire get in his own way. He broke the kiss to gasp for air, his breath hot on my cheek, and dove back in after two breaths. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to understand it all as he did it, yet he couldn't stop from falling in.

Perhaps I should have gone slowly, so that he wouldn't be overwhelmed. My blood was rising too, though; I wanted to overwhelm him and show him that this sort of pleasure could never be orderly. I drew closer, pressing my chest against his.

He drew back from the kiss to gasp as he felt my breasts against his chest. I smiled, somewhere between warm and cheeky, as I lifted my ankle across his.

"You don't need to know exactly how it's going to go," I said.

"Okay," he said. Then, with a glance at my face, he grabbed my hip with one deliciously strong hand and rolled me onto him.

I laughed softly. His smallclothes were barely anything, and my nightdress had ridden up to just below my hips, and for a long moment we had room for nothing but the sensation of our hips pressing together through the fabric and the look of each other's eyes.

I moved my hips slowly down, grinding them against his. He was already stiffening beneath me, and I marveled at the swiftness of youth, but I had to do it between marveling at the way his shaft pressed against me and the way his breath caught.

I wanted to kiss him again, but I wanted to tease him first. I reached down to grab the bottom of my nightdress and pulled it off, grinning at him as I tossed it aside. He didn't know where to look, but was clearly trying for everywhere--I could see his eyes flit between my teasing smile, and the curve of my hip, and the swell of my bosom.

I leaned forward, propping myself up just above his face, with my body pressed against his. I could feel every breath he took and feel his heat rising with mine.

"Goddess," he murmured. I knew he meant Sune, but drawing a prayer from him was flattering. I hoped Sune was looking down on us and smiling, at the very least.

I gave him a kiss, swift this time so that I could watch his expression. He grinned, excited yet bashful.

"I don't know where to put my hands," he admitted.

I glanced down at where they rested on my hips. "That's not a bad spot," I said. "But...I could guide you, if you want."

"Yes," he said.

I straightened myself up a bit and set my hands on his. I could feel a scar across the back of his right hand, feel his strength and his gentleness both. Slowly and deliberately, I guided his hands up to my breasts, holding them until I felt him cup them both.

"That's a good spot," I said. "Some girls like it more than others."

"I'm only worried about one girl," he said. He caressed me, his fingers circling my breasts, trying to hold all of them and seemingly unconcerned with the difficulty of the task. I sighed with pleasure, and the sound stirred him; I felt him rise up to meet it, and felt his manhood press against me through his smallclothes.

Abruptly, I felt him pull me up so that I straddled him above his hips and my chest was level with his face. He pressed my left breast to his lips, and I grabbed his head to steady myself, my fingers sliding into his curly hair. He wasn't an expert, but his lips were warm and his tongue was eager to taste me. I moaned, and he chased the sound, my pleasure teaching him more directly than I could have.

It occurred to me, in a moment of blissful clarity, to wish that I'd put the blonde girl more than two rooms down, so she was less likely to hear anything. If I was lucky it wouldn't matter, and I certainly felt lucky.

My wandering fingers reached Sheridan's ear. I'd never been with a half-elf before, and I couldn't help but follow the arc of his ear up until I was caressing the point. Sheridan paused in his ministrations, his breath coming sharply, and I grinned even though I knew he couldn't see it.