Who: Jet, M’tan, Kyramith, Sirhyth
When: Month 4, 204 AT
Where: Court of Shadows, Honshu Territory
What: Jet has some news.
For Jet, who has ever seemed to find pregnancy a frustrating period of time, there are some small mercies. Though she has found exhaustion sinking in as the weeks have gone on, she’s thus far been spared any serious sickness, suffering from nausea only here and there in a particularly telling way when closest to the kitchens or food. It’s got much of the Court talking before she’s even broached the subject with M’tan, leaving ladies to gossip and chatter about the happy prospect of a new baby born into the Court, eager to see how she and M’tan will handle it, having missed the earliest months of their leaders’ other children. This afternoon, she’s taken some time away from the goings-on inside the main Hold and hidden away with Kyramith and her cooling units to get some sleep, dozing in the crook of one of her lifemate’s forearms with a hand resting atop Kyramith’s nose in a rare moment of peace and connection between the two.
M’tan, the women have gossiped with smiles, winks and nods, is the typical ‘male’ – oblivious to the changes of his wife’s body. Speculation claims he has no knowledge of the workings of his wife’s body – for he //seems// oblivious to it. He’s yet to comment on the look of nausea on Jet’s face, has yet to comment on her exhaustion, and has quietly picked up the tasks he can without her knowing he’s //covering// them for her, giving her more time to rest. Sirhyth’s mind is always leaning in to Kyramith’s and so he signals to M’tan where Jet has gone. He strides into the section of the Hold that has become the largest – and rightly so – focus of the Court’s growth for the dragons that help lead them. He pauses inside the area, noting Jet’s hand on Kyramith and not wanting to press them for attention. There are far too many firelizards claiming them for such a thing to be happen – his own greens the ones often to pop into the room and raise a ruckus. It is Fickle who pops from Between, mid-fight with Sugar, over a cookie before Cookie pops in shortly after them with a larger weight of a bag containing the cookies in her grasp dragging her straight to the ground. “You soddin’ stupid, ‘lizards,” he grouses at his trio, “I should’ve tasked the bronzes with this.” Fickle screeches her defiance at such a statement, abandoning Cookie to gobble the prize to zip to M’tan’s shoulder to claim it.
Whether prompted by the noise from the firelizards or M’tan’s voice, Jet cracks her eyes open and peers over at the lot of them, Kyramith likewise opening her eyes before giving a dismissive huff upon seeing the trio of greens and closing them again. Jet reaches her hand towards M’tan, gesturing to the bag of cookies that have weighed down the aptly named of the three en-route, and murmurs, “Bring your long suffering wife and child one of those?” with a sleepy smile faintly curving her lips. “I love you, but your baby is a demanding creature already.” She stays where she is, seemingly with no intention of uncurling and getting up, but that she most definitely reaches for M’tan and Kyramith does not move in the slightest is perhaps signal enough of her intention to pull him down to her.
“I had thought you were with child again,” M’tan comments, face brightening at the ‘announcement’. He closes the distance between them, swooping the bag from Cookie as he walks by the green. He tosses the bag down and folds himself to the ground so that he can swoop his arms about her and hug her against his chest. “You’re amazing, wife.” He kisses her forehead and then captures her face gently between his roughened palms. “An absolutely amazing woman,” he kisses her, slow and sweet, before he presses his forehead against hers. “What shall I steal for you to celebrate? Shall I sneak into a Hold and rid them of some of their expensive things?” He grins as he pulls back and settles further down on the ground beside Kyramith. He passes Jet the cookies and rests a hand on her knee. “I hope it’s a girl,” he decides, “it’d be nice to have a little princess.”
“Expensive things in reds and golds and purples,” Jet warmly requests, her fingers toying with the very ends of M’tan’s hair as she claims a tender kiss of her own, unable to keep from smiling into it. Shifting, she settles so that she can lean against both husband and lifemate, about to bring a cookie to her lips when Kyramith opens her own mouth a fraction and she promptly supplies her green with it instead. “If not, I suppose we’ll have to spend some time trying for one,” she murmurs, finally claiming a bite of cookie. “What a hardship that will be.” It’s a low hum of laughter that she lets free, tilting her head back to nuzzle along the line of M’tan’s jaw. “Maybe it’s being in another time or all that we’ve done, or having the Court around us… But it feels different. I think some of the women are already knitting hats and boots and little outfits. It feels like this is a safe place to have children.” Upon realising that that may play into why she hasn’t found the idea of it uncomfortable, she utters, “That’s probably something awfully feminine and primal, isn’t it? I’ve succumbed. Bring me my sword.”
“Our people love us because we love them,” M’tan reflects with Jet, drawing his fingers to capture hers and twine his with hers, thumb rubbing along her hand in an idle gesture. “It is safer here. Because we have claimed the underworld and how it should be. We can do… what needs to be done, and as may our people, but we don’t have to treat ours that way. Or those who are suffering at the hands of power.” He kisses Jet’s earlobe, “I very much like the idea of having us try for a daughter until I get one, but I don’t want to burden you with such things. I am content with the daughter I already have.” In Safiye, “Though I wonder if she wouldn’t like a little sister herself.” He bursts out laughing at her announcement of needing her sword, finding a way to wrap her into his arms and tug her close against his chest – even if it pulls her from Kyramith. “Shush now. You’ve tamed me, why shouldn’t I tame you?” he nibbles at Jet’s earlobe, “If taming you means… //that//, well,” his hand finds Jet’s breast, “I can’t complain.”
“Well, I will do my best to give you another daughter and Safiye a sister,” Jet decides, pressing a kiss just below M’tan’s ear. “Even if she may one day meet Arlet, I doubt having a grown-up sister is the same as having one that you can teach all kinds of sisterly things to yourself.” For just an instant, she goes limp, pretending the end is nigh and it’s all over for her, but that she’d rather be in his arms than resist, even in play, is her undoing. She snuggles herself close, hands sneaking beneath the tail of his shirt to find skin, a nip delivered to the underside of his jaw as his hand wanders, even as she hums her approval. “I think you can consider me mostly tamed,” she murmurs. “Only you, mind. I used to think that women with a herd of children at their heels were obedient and obliging their husbands… I never stopped to think that maybe they wanted their husbands so badly that they couldn’t help themselves.” And she can’t keep herself from taking his hand and guiding it lower while she tugs his bottom lip between her teeth.
M’tan laughs, “You’re the only one who can have claimed to tame me, aside from Sister. She’s getting older, have you noticed? Sleeping more and more… and those rowdy puppies.. They aren’t puppies any longer.” He nuzzles along Jet’s neck, inhaling the smell of her. “I never thought I’d have a… wife. A mate. A partner in everything. Someone to lead where I’m not able to, someone to let me lead when I am. It’s… special. Sort of like how we Impressed. You never know who is in the world, made just for you.” He lets his hand wander lower and huffs a hot breath of air against her neck. “I’ll never want anyone but you,” and that much has always remained true, as his hands and teeth begin their pursuit to helping her find pleasure. He seeks none of his own, focused only on her. Later, once they’re home, perhaps he’ll be convinced to do more than pleasure her… but for now, it is only about her. “I love you, my sweet Jet. Thank you. For everything.” Sirhyth’s mind is a swirl of shadows that reach around and tuck Kyramith close. << Always. >>