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I have always scoffed at adventure plays in which the intrepid heroes find themselves trapped in a shrinking room full of spikes. In my experience there are many more practical options for booby-trapping a room; this one owes its popularity in fiction to how much fun it is to portray on stage.
That said, in a metaphorical sense I was reminded of the trope when I woke in the dead of night to my dearest Kip embracing me from behind, with an unmistakable hardness digging into my buttock, all in his sleep.
"Erm, Kip?" I ventured, hardly daring to whisper, deliberately keeping my muscles relaxed.
He snuffled adorably and wound his arms tighter around my torso, entwining me like a python (no, like an octopus - more oceanic). I was vividly aware of the heat of his erection, like a brand against my skin.
I felt trapped by points advancing in all directions. I should wake Kip up, because he would never choose to behave like this if he were in his right mind. But on the other hand, for this very reason he would be terribly embarrassed, and I was loath to cause my love - my fanoa - pain. On the third hand, to be touched and handled in such a manner by Kip was the stuff of so many of my frothiest fantasies that I could barely think, and a conscious Kip would be instantly aware of my state and might be further discomfited by it.
Would he be discomfited? I suspect the question originated less in my head than in my loins, throbbing in time to the gentle pulses of Kip's flesh where it prodded me, and yet I could not help but pursue it. He writes down the filthiest erotica I can bring myself to dictate to him without flinching, just the occasional slight blush almost invisible on his brown cheeks, and always that look, that small smile and those shining eyes, so happy for me to be composing again, so pleased to be included in the process. Writing alone, holding the pen myself, feels abominably cold and sterile by comparison.
Unsurprisingly in my state of increasing response to Kip's sleep-grappling, my fevered imagination drew a line connecting writing alone to the discreet, solitary hand relief I employ to keep my sanity intact now that I have Kip for my own every day, in my life, in my arms, in my bed, but not as a lover. As something more than a lover, I reminded myself fiercely, better than a mere lover, and I would not taint what we have with some - dutiful accommodation, and oh, there, that did cool my ardor somewhat… until Kip shifted in his sleep, grinding against me. He grunted quietly, deep in his chest, an animal noise of pleasure, pleasure he was taking from touching me. I had to add a fourth-hand concern: if this kept up I was liable to spend, which would certainly increase the awkwardness if Kip woke up and smelled it. On the fifth hand (and this was entirely too many hands to expect a simple poet to manage mere minutes out of sleep himself) there was a real risk that Kip was going to spend on me. That thought finally broke my composure; I tensed, and my breath rushed out of me as a harsh whine, so of course Kip woke up.
"F'zzroy? Wha's-" he moved to orient himself in the dark, and his wrist bumped into my cock, which was hard as iron. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut as Kip came fully awake and the friendly, mindless rocking of his body stilled into tension. "Oh. I'm sorry, I-" he made as if to begin disentangling himself, and I suddenly couldn't stand it.
"I don't mind," I blurted, and we both froze as my choice of words sank in.
("I don't mind," Kip had said, on the vaha in Sky Ocean, my hand on his face, looking warm and eager but also anxious, eager to please, and my mind had hissed dutiful and accommodation and I had pushed him away - and then nearly ruined us, and was it really so surprising that we had both left the topic behind to find our wondrous accord without it?)
"Fitzroy," Kip started to say, and his tone was so cautious I might have fled, had he not still been holding onto me - in fact his arms tightened, and he was still hard.
I couldn't bear to have this conversation in this moment, so I choked out, "Please," and he surged up and over me like a wave.
Kip is so sturdy, his body broad and solid and strong from dancing and sailing, strong enough to carry a world on his back or dance the fire of his people - the first time I witnessed the latter was like being set alight myself, and I have burned for him ever since. He tipped me from my side onto my back like I weighed nothing at all (and, it must be said, I was only too eager to move with him). One of his thighs - his thighs - nudged mine apart and I arched up against him, pleading with my body as my words deserted me. He heard me - he always hears me - he brought that glorious thigh close enough for me to rub up on, once, twice, and then it was sliding away but only because he was moving down to press the whole solid warmth of his body to mine. Skin to skin, from our chests down to our feet, his cock every bit as hot and hard as my own. I became aware of a vibration and realized it was me, shaking.
"Is this okay?" Still so cautious, far more composed than I, but there was a hushed urgency in his tone that said he was not unaffected.
"Mmm," I responded eloquently, "mmhmm - haaa- aaa!” This last was all but punched out of me as he shifted his weight onto one elbow and reached down with his free hand to take hold of both our cocks. Had we been alone in the house I might have shouted.
"I didn't explain myself well, before," he began, rushed and a little unsteady even as he rolled his hips, rhythm regular as a drumbeat, smooth as a dance. He knew what he was doing.
With great effort, I summoned words again. "Ngh, later," I gasped, "kiss me now- mmph!" This, too, he knew how to do; his mouth on mine was like water in the desert, swallowing the moan that quivered out of me, his tongue stroking mine, hot nighttime breath puffing into my face - into my lungs - I teetered on the razor's edge of orgasm for a breathless instant, just long enough to know it was about to happen, and then I went over.
It was like raising Navanoa, a roiling eruption that went on and on. Dimly I hoped the snaps of lightning I felt were only in my nerves. Kip stayed flush with me, steady as I clutched him and quaked through pulse after pulse.
At last the storm subsided. I opened my eyes and then squinted them almost shut again; my magic had flooded the room with light. I squirmed, the touch of Kip's hand suddenly too much on my oversensitive cock. I twitched and whimpered as he released me, and he shushed me with another kiss, then lifted his hips just enough to stroke himself without touching where I was too tender.
"Fitzroy," he breathed, pressing his forehead to mine, "was it good?" His beautiful brown eyes gathered up all the light in the room until they glowed, like sunshine through tea, or like smoldering coals. "Was it good?" It sounded like a plea.
"Yes, dear heart," I sighed, abruptly near tears, "it was so good. You did so well."
He moaned, a noise as striking as the first time I plucked a harp string. His hand was moving fast, his hips stuttering as he hurtled for his own peak. One of my hands crept to the arm that was still propping him up, muscles hard-bunched with strain, thick and thrillingly powerful under my fingers. With my other hand I cupped his cheek, a conscious mirror of the last time we had approached this horizon. He turned into it, kissing my palm, his eyelashes fluttering against my fingers. I wanted him all over again, even as I was having him.
"Come for me, beloved." His mouth fell open as his face creased and turned red. His expression as he panted through his release, and the heat of his spend joining mine on my stomach, made my cock give one last sympathetic twitch, like the aftershock of an earthquake.
At last he collapsed, squishing me delightfully. He realized it too soon, and began to roll off.
"A moment," I wheezed, and threw my arms around his ribcage, hugging him so tight something made a popping noise in his back. I felt glutted on touch, on physical joy, on a new intimacy with my most precious person. I was also getting lightheaded. I loosened my grip and Kip slid to lie beside me, leaving us both staring at the ceiling where the fishing floats swarmed with sparks. They flickered in time with the echoes of pleasure in my body, little pulses in my lips, the crooks of my elbows and knees, and of course in my genitals.
"We should probably have that talk now," Kip said at last, sounding almost as reluctant as I felt.
"Do we have to?"
"We never have to. But - we should. There are some things it was wrong of me to leave unsaid." And if there is one thing my fanoa cannot do, it's leave a wrong unrighted.
I tried not to feel like I was still in a theatrical spike box with the walls closing in.
Talking Kip around to at least cleaning up first was easy enough once the spunk started to cool on our bellies. I managed to further procrastinate our way into some dressing gowns and down into the kitchen to make coffee - it was so late it was early, predawn light a weak slash of distant grey out the eastern window - but finally Kip patted the spot beside him where he sat in front of the flame he had brought back from the House of the Sun.
"Will you sit down? This will be easier to say if I can hold your hand while I do it."
Oh, that was a masterstroke of manipulation. I was so impressed I forgot to be offended, and plopped down beside him to take his free hand in mine. He squeezed it and took another sip of coffee, then took a deep breath and consciously relaxed his shoulders.
"I like sex. I enjoy it. In and of itself, I enjoy it."
I nodded. I had recent and vivid proof of that.
"And I like - that it's something nice I can do for someone. With someone. Like a gift I can give, except it's for both of us."
He squeezed my hand again, and his gaze shifted from his coffee cup to my face. "I especially like giving gifts to you."
I thought about all the wardrobes I had commissioned for Kip over the years, and my shopping sprees to furnish the house, and the glow of pleasure I feel when I make the coffee and Kip - or anyone in our household, really - has some. "I can understand that," I murmured.
Kip nodded. "What doesn't happen, for me, is thinking about sex when I'm not having it right then. I don't think I've ever had it without my partner first saying something like, 'Kip, I would like to have sex with you now. Would you like to have sex with me?'."
"That's not how it happened this morning," I pointed out.
"Yes, that was… new. I'm not sure what happened there." He faltered, then shook himself. "But we can't count on it happening again. I would very much like to have more sex with you, Fitzroy, but truthfully, you will have to do most of the asking."
I sat with that for a moment, Kip warm against my side, sunshine from our hearth warm upon my face. Rather than voice just how daunted I was by his final point, I said, "That was a very organized list considering sex 'doesn't come to your mind'."
"It's been coming to yours enough to keep me working on it." His eyes glinted amusement. "You forget that I met Elonoa'a too. He's handsome, and his thighs are alright, but they're not like that, and he doesn't have burn scars on his feet. Half of your epic about Auri and El is fantasies about you and me."
The first time I asked Kip if he ever dreamed of kissing, it took him half a day to parse that I had been asking if he wanted to kiss me. I arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Figured that out on your own, did you?"
He looked sheepish. "Jullanar pointed it out to me, when she and I were editing chapter 78. But once I saw the pattern it was everywhere." He leaned more of his weight against me. "The final thing I want to say is I'm sorry, my fanoa."
"You had better not be apologizing for being yourself."
"No, only for not making it clear how it is with me. For leaving this all unsaid because it was easier, because it's not a priority for me, when it is for you."
"I reacted very poorly the last time we tried to talk about this."
"You reacted honestly, and it led us to - to our current understanding." He set down his cup to finger his efanoa, a soft, wondering smile breaking out on his face. I love him so much. "Honesty has been very rewarding thus far."
"That it has." I kissed his hair, and breathed in the scent of it for a long minute as I summoned my own words, and my own courage. "For a long time I couldn't ask for anything without it being a command."
"I know. And you've come a long way. I love it when you ask me to comb your hair, or take dictation for you, or go somewhere with you."
"Sex is uniquely terrible to make into a command."
"Does it help to know that for me it's no greater than those other pleasures?"
"Yes and no. I don't feel the urge to ask you to comb my hair a hundred times a day, in a hundred different places and positions, some of which are physically impossible."
He blinked. "A hundred? Really?"
"Or more. You are so splendid, darling. I worry - I fear my desire for you turning out to be a deep current, deeper than you wanted to go, like when you tried to dive for a flame pearl."
"I didn't drown then. I stopped."
"It hurt you to stop. You felt like you should have kept going even though you didn't want to." That had been a unique horror, the day we approached Loaloa and he looked speculatively into the ravenous deep, where he had almost died doing something he hated, and said, I should dive again. "The last thing, the last thing I want is for you to get hurt trying to be someone you're not."
He huffed out a breath. "But I am someone who likes sex. I don't think to go looking for it but I'm usually pleased when it comes looking for me."
"And when you aren't pleased?"
"Then I say no." He lifted my hand and held it in both of his, turning it over and inspecting my fingers. "Can you trust me to say no, Fitzroy?"
Here we were, having found our way to the heart of it. "Tell me about times you said no."
"Well, I make a very poor sadist, and not much of a masochist either, bureaucracy aside."
I barked a laugh.
"I don't enjoy looking or being looked at without touching."
I shivered. "I think we both had quite enough of that."
He released my hand to turn and wrap both arms around me, and kissed my exposed neck, just above the cord of my efanoa. "Indeed."
My vision blurred and I swallowed hard. I remembered that I could embrace him back, and did so, grounding myself in Kip's chest against mine, feeling his heartbeat with my ribs. Here, not there. Now, not then. At length I cleared my throat. "Tell me more?"
"There's not much else to tell. Of the simpler acts, the things that mostly just happen between two bodies, I've liked almost everything I've tried."
"How much is everything?" He drew breath to speak, and I hastened to add, "I don't want a complete list of lovers. I don't think my vanity could stand to confirm that you've had more than I."
Gently, he said, "If you average it against years available you are doubtless well in the lead."
"Bah. Maths."
He chuckled. "Some other math, then. I would say that I've tried… perhaps 60% of the things in Buru Tovo's sex talk, and liked 90% of those I tried."
"...I'm sorry, did you say Buru Tovo's sex talk?"
"I had to memorize it as part of my training. Sometimes people come to the taná for advice they're embarrassed to ask of anyone they have to see everyday."
My smile was so wide it hurt my face. "This is amazing. I must witness this."
"It's all in language. One section includes a live crab."
I burst out laughing. "I don't believe you! Prove it!"
And that was how sunrise found me down on the beach, watching Kip Mdang declaim his great-uncle's sex advice in a tongue I could still only follow most of the time (I refuse to attempt a percentage).
Walking back, I reflected, "You were right. The bit with the crab is both harrowing and mystifying."
"It's not much better if you're fluent. I might omit it when I pass it on to Clio. It's not as if it's part of the Lays."
"No, only of getting laid."
He groaned. "Please, no Lays puns. I have heard them all."
"Sounds like a challenge-song to me."
"It really isn't." His tone was snippy, but he kept ahold of my hand. I could smell fresh pastries in the bakery up ahead. My blood was thrumming with the thought that I could be my fanoa's lover after all. It was going to be a good day.