First attempt at lemon, whatever that's supposed to mean. A one-shot set some time after 'A Marriage of Convenience.' Enjoy! ;)

Kel Takes a Tumble

Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan strode down the hall with a flawless semblance of calm. Her face was smooth, her gaze direct, and the clip of her booted heels made perfect time on the flagstone floor. But anyone who knew her well could see that she was not herself. She licked her lips a little too often as she made her way through the labyrinthine palace, and her right hand fiddled absently with something on a chain around her neck, just hidden by the folds of her shirt. In the other hand, a sheaf of paper was clasped with a little too much pressure.

She arrived at her destination all too soon. Standing to one side of the half-open door, she smoothed the front of her blue tunic, making sure the charm around her neck was hidden in the front of her shirt. She hadn't worn it in years – the Scanran warfront was no place for canoodling, even if there had been someone to canoodle with – but the faint tingle of magic against her breastbone told her the charm was still potent. Not for the first time, she breathed a silent sigh of relief. She could justify wearing it – you never know, she told herself – but buying a new one seemed a little too much like asking for attention from Sayuko. That's the last thing I need, she thought wryly before stepping up and knocking briskly on the door.

Lord Wyldon looked up from behind his desk, and the slow, faint smile that appeared curled her toes. "Lady Knight. Come in."

She obeyed, wincing as she saw the state of his desk. "Forgive me, my lord, but I'm afraid I've come to add to your burden."

He glanced at the papers in her hand, and then at the desk already piled high. "A few more won't make much difference," he said mildly. Then, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I just never saw you as a desk knight, sir," Kel explained. Immediately, a picture leaped to her mind of him reclining on the desk in nothing but a loincloth, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep her mask in place. It held – barely.

Lord Wyldon grimaced, looking back to the papers stacked in neat piles before him. "It's only temporary, I hope. King Jonathan has given me some extra advising duties while Duke Gareth is on leave, not to mention the business matters that have piled up while I was on the border. Cavall is a large fief, and my man-at-arms can't cope with everything."

Feeling more at ease – and firmly telling her imagination to stop being naughty – Kel came to stand by the desk, rifling through the papers she held.

"I think these fall into the first category, sir. Raoul and I just finished up with the latest batch of Own reports, and he told me to bring them to you."

Wyldon arched an eyebrow. "Just Raoul, is it? As I recall, you always insisted on putting 'Lord' in front of it."

"I guess four years of fighting side-by-side changes things," she said, smiling. "For all our forts were a couple days' ride apart, we seemed to get thrown together in battle an awful lot."

"Indeed." He set down his quill and looked up at her, giving her all of his attention. She swallowed, wondering if he could see the charm beneath her shirt with that direct gaze. "Forgive me – you may have to refresh my memory on this point – but I believed we may have saved one another's lives on plenty of occasions. Surely that entitles you to drop this 'sir' and 'my lord' nonsense. We are betrothed, after all," he drawled, eyes falling to the diamonds that circled the fourth finger of her right hand.

Self-conscious, Kel spread her hand to look at the ring. It was simple, but obviously expensive. They had had a brief war over the thing – their first fight, though with considerably less shouting than many other couples experienced. Wyldon had insisted on something outrageous and extravagant; he didn't want to slink around with tails between their legs, he wanted to show her off as his future bride. Not to mention that he had the money to buy whatever she might desire. But Kel was equally firm that she wanted something simple and plain. She was a working knight, not a beautiful lady, and simple and plain suited her. That was when he really lost his temper, though she hadn't realized it at the time. A very thorough kiss, in her mind, was more a show of affection than a show of I-think-you're-beautiful-so-stop-being-obtuse-before-I-hit-something.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," she murmured, still looking at the diamond-studded gold band, so out of place on her scarred, calloused finger. "But I suppose I can bring myself to call you Wyldon."

"I'm glad to hear it." His voice was suspiciously sarcastic, but when she looked up his face was smooth and unassuming. He looking pointedly at the papers she still held. "I can take those, if you like, or you could keep them for me for a little while."

Kel glanced again at the desk, laden with paperwork, and chewed her lip. "Why don't I help you, sir? Wyldon," she corrected herself immediately. "New Hope got me used to paperwork. Between us it should go faster."

He seemed surprised, but the sarcasm faded as he looked down at the stack of papers in front of him. "That would be most welcome. Perhaps you could deal with these," and he pushed several sheaves in her direction, mostly having to do with post-war matters or daily regimental tasks, "and I'll handle the fief."

"Very good." She pulled up a chair opposite him, but before sitting, she went to the door and peered out. "Excuse me, page –"

The boy emerging from Sir Myles' office bowed. "Alan of Pirate's Swoop, my lady."

She smiled. "I thought I recognized that hair. If you would, find Tobeis Boon for me – he's probably in the stables – and ask him to bring a tray of green tea to Lord Wyldon's office."

"Stables, tea, milord's office," he repeated, bowing cheekily before running off down the hall.

Wyldon raised his eyebrows when she returned. "What was that about?"

"I can't do paperwork properly without Yamani tea," she informed him. "It helps clear the mind and prevent headaches."

"Ah. Sounds… miraculous."

He's doing that on purpose, Kel grumbled to herself as she sat and pulled the nearest stack toward her. Talking in that lovely, low voice, with just the right amount of bite to make me shiver…

Trying to focus, Kel gripped the quill a little harder that necessary, and it snapped, spraying ink everywhere. "Oh no!" she cried, scrambling to mop up the soiled pages.

Wyldon chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "Relax, Mindelan. It's just a list of supply prices for the blockade in Marchcross." He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and a glass decanter of whiskey from beneath the desk. "Emergency purposes only," he explained, meeting her curious gaze. He tipped the decanter against the handkerchief, wetting it, and leaned across the tabletop to dab the splatters of ink.

He was very close, suddenly, and Kel swallowed. The fire in his office warmed the room in spite of the cracked-open window, and he had undone the collar of his shirt; he was bent just far enough that she could see the hard planes of his chest, and the sparse, curling hair that his severe clothes usually concealed. She could just make out the paler skin that cut a swathe across his tan, a scar from some long-ago battle.

She realized belatedly that he was watching her. Scrambling for her Yamani mask, she found that, for the first time, it had completely deserted her. Kel looked up unwillingly, and found that his brown eyes were inches from hers. The look on his face told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Briskly, he gathered the kerchief into a ball and let it fall to the ground as he sat back again, breaking the spell. Kel looked down at the papers again just in time for Tobe to enter, tray in hand. Seeing the look on his mistress' face, he set out the things silently and left, closing the door behind him.

Kel fixed the tea, and found her head clearing as the aroma reached her nose. With considerable more presence of mind, she turned her attention to double-checking the sums to determine whether or not the funds for the blockade had been fairly distributed.

Time passed. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the coals and the scratching of quills on parchment as they worked. Wyldon didn't say anything about the tea, but he drank several cups – a silent appreciation, Kel felt, for a ritual that was sacred to her. The idea made her smile, and she moved from funds to troop redistribution and border patrols with something resembling eagerness.

She was hunched over a paper written in spidery scrawl, trying to determine the placement of Group Askew so she could compare it with the latest mage-sent reports of summer hail in the eastern reaches of the border, when something brushed her foot. Letting out a strangled gasp, she leaped upright, nearly upsetting her tea and making a black slash across the top half of the report with her quill. She glared at her ex-commander.

"Now look what you made me do!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, lady knight. An innocent mistake, I assure you."

She sat back, massaging her temples. "I'm sorry. I despise people who can't write plainly."

Leaning forward, Wyldon's eyes scanned the upside-down report. "Ah." He tapped his chin with his quill, and stood. "Perhaps a little relaxation is in order." With measured steps he came around the desk to stand behind her, and placed the tips of his fingers on her shoulders. "Close your eyes," he commanded, voice low and soft. She obeyed, and her world shrunk.

It was just the two of them, swathed in darkness, with his hands pressing lightly into the knotted muscles of her shoulders. She could feel her pulse thudding steadily in her chest, hear the ragged whisper of her own breath as it dragged in and out reluctantly. With the skill and finesse of a man who knew what he was about, Wyldon's thumbs moved to the thick muscles running down either side of her neck. Her mouth opened in a gasp as the pads of his fingers found an especially tight place just to the insides of her shoulder blades, and he moved instantly to soothe the ache. Feeling very warm and comfortable, Kel let her head fall forward. His fingers were roughly calloused on her neck, and they moved up into the light-brown strands of hair that fell over her ears in a tumble.

Then, something different touched the back of her neck: something warm, and relatively soft after the harder pressure of his fingers. A kiss. Her stomach clenched in response, and her eyes snapped open. A faint exhalation stirred the hair at her nape, and then he moved away, hands stilling on her shoulders.

"Forgive me," he said, a little gruffly. "I… don't know what came over me."

Slowly sitting upright, Kel turned in her chair to meet his eyes. They were dark and inscrutable, as usual, but some new tension stiffened the set of his shoulders. "I don't mind," she said softly. When he hesitated, she took one of his hands and pressed a kiss to the well-warn palm. His fingers curled in answer, brushing her skin, and she shivered. As though that kiss had been some kind of permission, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

He tastes differently every time we kiss, she thought fuzzily. Not that two kisses are really any indication… Then all coherence fled, and she was focused only on him. She was pleased to find that the saltiness of his mouth lingered, though the taste of dust and bitter armor were replaced with the light silkiness of green tea. The combination made her giddy.

He broke away suddenly, hesitation and desire warring for dominance of his strong features. The knuckles of his fingers were white on the back of her chair. "We shouldn't," he rasped. "Someone might come in…"

"So lock the door," Kel suggested, surprised with the lucidity of her voice as much as with the slightly flirtatious tone. He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tucked with humor. And then, to her complete surprise, he turned on his heel and did just that. The faint click of the tumblers falling into place sent an unwarranted chill scampering down her spine. In spite of herself, she raised a hand to touch the charm through her shirt. You never know…

Coming back towards her, he hesitated, watching her carefully as though searching for something.

"What?"

He cleared his throat. "Are you sure you…"

"Yes."

"Keladry…"

With a snort of impatience, Kel stood, and, reaching across the space between them, grabbed him by the front of his tunic and dragged him over to the desk. An unbidden thrill rose as he stumbled against her, catching himself on the edge of the desk – I like being the one to surprise him – but it soon changed into something far warmer. His mouth was firm and sure, and when her lips parted under the insistent pressure, his tongue slipped in with ease. This new sensation stole her breath, and she gripped his broad shoulders fiercely as his kiss grew deeper, his tongue stroking hers as he delved further.

When he finally dragged his mouth away, a small noise of disappointment escaped; but then his lips found her throat, and her breaths came quick and harsh in her own ears. Tentative, she sifted her fingers through his short-cropped, thinning hair, and fiddled with his gaping collar. When he felt her touch, his hands left her back to pull his tunic over his head. He was pressed to her so closely she could feel the heat burning into her skin, every muscle and contour flush against her. His eyes, dark and brimming with desire, bored into hers.

He traced the curve of her lips with his finger, surprisingly gentle. "Have you done this before, Keladry?"

She shook her head mutely. Her hands, resting on his chest, fingered the edges of his shirt.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her brow, slightly damp with perspiration. "You must tell me if you need me to stop," he murmured against her skin. "Promise?"

"Promise," Kel whispered, becoming more and more interested in the light brown hair that curled on his chest. She slid her hand into his shirt while the other began to undo the buttons. "But," she added, voice a little ragged, "I doubt I'll have to."

His only reply was a groan she could feel in his chest as her fingers found his hardened nipples. Tracing them curiously, she lifted her chin to kiss his neck, and was rewarded when his large hands slid down her back to cup her backside, lifting her onto the desk. Grinning, she lifted her face to his, meeting his mouth in a fierce kiss as she fumbled more quickly with the buttons on his shirt. Finally reaching the waistband of his breeches, she tugged the white linen free and pushed it off his shoulders.

She sat back, letting her eyes wander over him. She'd seen plenty of half-naked men before – it was an occupational hazard, in her line of work – but none quite like this. His chest and abdomen were well-muscled, for all he was no longer in his prime; scars, dark and puckered, crisscrossed his naturally tanned flesh. Kel was gratified to note the way his torso rose and fell as he panted slightly from their… their what? Canoodling? she wondered, trying not to laugh. Instead she ran her hands lightly along his collarbones and then down, taking her time, feeling the way his stomach rippled at her touch. Then she found, with some delight, the trail of hair that began at his navel and moved downward; following it to his waistband, she was rewarded with a low gasp.

He caught her wrists just short of his breeches. Using the leverage, he pushed her to lay back on the desk, and climbed up to straddle her waist, hands pinned above her head. She could feel the hard ridge of flesh pressing against her pelvis that told her he was very much aroused, and squirmed beneath him, wanting to feel his weight between her legs.

He leaned forward and nibbled her ear. "Patience," he hissed through his teeth, making her shiver. Letting her wrists go, his hands moved to the laces of her tunic – it was off and on the floor in record time. Then his long, clever fingers were at the buttons of her shirt, and before she could draw two breaths, he was untucking it from her breeches and pushing it away from her belly.

Kel swallowed hard, feeling the blood pounding in her temples, and watched nervously as his dark eyes, unreadable as ever, swept over her bared torso. He took in the scars that peppered her own stomach, her small breasts that strained against the fabric of her breastband… and smiled.

"Has anyone every told you just how beautiful you are?" he asked, voice low and deceptively mild. "And by beautiful, I mean…" he trailed his calloused fingers up her stomach, playing with the bottom of her breastband, "…beautiful." It was a hoarse whisper that prickled the back of her neck, and melted all her insecurities. She caught his hand and moved it so that it was cupped around one breast.

"Not lately," she murmured, eyes glittering wickedly.

He leaned down, and slipped his hand inside the thin cotton to stroke her nipple. "I'll take that as a challenge," he breathed, and kissed her again. This time it was hot, slow, languid. He took his time exploring, tasting; and all the while his fingers moved against the sensitive flesh of her breasts until she was moaning, breathless, hands moving restlessly in search of something more.

When he finally broke away she gasped for air, and when he helped her to sit up in order to slip her breastband off entirely, she murmured his name against his chest. She could hear the rumble of his laughter deep within him, and she clutched the hard planes of his back, relishing the feel of his textured skin against her bared breasts.

"Lie back," he instructed, coaxing her down to the desk top. She was dimly aware of him sending papers to the ground, and the clatter of tea-things as he pushed them roughly onto his abandoned chair; the rest of her attention was focused on him as he moved above her, tracing the contours of her breasts, the sweep of her ribs that moved beneath her skin as she arched at his touch, the firm smoothness of her belly. By the time he found the laces of her breeches, she was panting again, gripping both sides of the desk in her hands as she struggled to cope with the pressure building between her legs.

Still he had her pinned under him, sitting on her thighs as he concentrated on folding the loose fabric down her hips. At last, impatient, she bucked, sending him off-balance. Taking advantage of her temporary victory, she rid herself of her breeches and pushed him back to straddle his hips. There wasn't enough desk for him to lie down, so he braced himself against the edge as she brought her own hips flush with his and pressed down, nearly frantic to soothe the ache that burned hot within her.

"Oh." She swallowed hard, meeting his smoldering dark eyes as his hard length, encased in breeches, pushed up through the fabric of her loincloth. One side of his mouth turned up.

"Do you like that?" he asked huskily, one hand following the upper edge of her underthings. Before she could gather the presence of mind to nod, his hand was gripping her waist hard enough to leave a bruise, and he bore her down, grinding their bodies together.

This time she cried out, caught off-guard by the desire rolling rampant through her. Eyes gleaming wordlessly at her reaction, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her thoroughly. She skimmed her hands along the taut skin of his shoulders and down his chest, seeking the place where their bodies pressed so fiercely as to almost be one.

"Let me," he murmured, breaking away long enough to transfer his mouth to her breast. She lifted an arm in time to bite down, hard, trying to keep from groaning too loudly. His lips pursed around her nipple, sucking hard, and his tongue swirled around the nub, sending barbs of pleasure shooting through her. No sooner had he elicited another gasp than he moved to the other side, teeth grazing her skin lightly. She was so absorbed with the way his mouth played with her breasts that she didn't protest as he slid her off his lap and pushed her back onto the desk. He broke contact long enough to rid himself of his breeches and loincloth, and then impatient fingers were tugging at her own underthings. She lifted her hips willingly, and he tugged the last barrier off and threw it to the ground.

"Goddess, you are beautiful," he whispered, kneeling above her, eyes raking her body from head to toe. They lingered especially on the damp, pink flush of her breasts and the pale golden-brown hair that curled mere inches below her navel. Her own eyes wandered, and she liked what she saw. He was muscular, but lean, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrower waist and hips. His entire body was a three-dimensional map of scars, interspersed with the darker freckles that spoke of a man who spent much time in the sun. She especially enjoyed the interesting, twisting scar that ran across one pectoral and over his upper arm: the scar he'd received at the claws of a hurrok while defending the royal children. As she'd known from the very beginning, he was a hero: a knight hardened by years of battle and service to the crown, but every battered inch still strong and handsome.

"I could say the same of you," she murmured at last, and blushed, expecting sarcastic mockery. But instead he caught her hand and kissed it, a slight smile deepening the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

"I'm glad somebody thinks so." His dark eyes fell to the rune that glimmered on her breastbone, and he touched it with a curious finger. "Anti-pregnancy charm?"

"Yes." She grinned impishly. "Though it's the first time it's going to be of any use."

He stroked the top of her thigh thoughtfully, coaxing her legs apart. "I know it's terribly hypocritical of me, but I can't help but be… grateful. You are not conventional, Keladry – I was not expecting you to bear children right away, or to forgo your knighthood, or even to be a virgin." As he spoke, his fingers slid up the inside of her leg, brushing her curls; it took a lot of concentration to focus on what he was saying. "But I'm still glad, unfairly, that I will be your first."

She canted her hips towards him, coaxing his finger to slip right at the heart of her. "And my last," she added, softly, eyes bright as she watched his face. "I'm sorry if I… mess up, or make a fool of myself…"

"Hush." As if to reinforce the word, he bent down and kissed her sweetly. "You know very well what you do to me." A wicked gleam appeared in his eye as he took her hand and guided it along the hard length of his arousal. Feeling the rigid flesh beneath her fingers, Kel felt her breath begin to quicken again. "Just relax," he whispered, pressing the tip of one finger just inside her.

"I know you won't hurt me." She was going to say something else, but it completely skipped her mind as his finger slid all the way inside. Her mouth opened in a soundless cry, and she tensed around him as another finger followed the first. It was slightly uncomfortable, but the pleasure far outweighed it. "Wyl…" His palm fetched up hard against her, and she gasped.

"More?" he inquired, his mild voice a powerful counterpoint to the way his eyes burned.

"Yes… yes – oh!" She bit down on her lip as he left her, fingers dragging along a spot that made her head swim with desire. "Can you do that again?"

He barked a short laugh, and obliged her. Her eyes closed of their own accord as heat swamped her, and her back arched as he swirled his fingertips in all the right places; so she didn't see him bend until he was flush against her, mouth on hers and his arousal pressed firmly between her legs. Her eye popped open, and she gasped into his mouth as his free hand smoothed down her back to hold her hip.

It hurt, a little. He kept his eyes on hers as he moved slowly, nearly trembling with the strain of holding himself back. Trying to hide the discomfort behind her mask, she was surprised when he glared fiercely.

"Don't hide from me, Keladry," he ordered, stopping completely.

She lifted her hands to her face, mortified. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

"I know." He kissed her tenderly, and pressed into her slowly and steadily until they were completely joined. His breath was warm on her face as he whispered, "Are you all right?"

Whatever the discomfort, the pleasure boiling in her veins far outweighed it. She nodded, hands leaving the edges of the desk to grip his shoulders. "Yes. Please…" Her hips shifted, seeking further contact, and he responded, drawing away and then thrusting firmly as far as he could.

Then it was all she could do to hold onto her sanity. He set an easy pace at first, but as she grew more comfortable with his weight against her, their movements became quicker and harder. Kel held on for dear life, bucking up to meet him as they crashed together again and again, the heat of their passion making them rough-and-tumble, heedless of bruising or the way he ground her into the desk. She could feel the edge approaching, and grabbed his face between her hands for a final kiss as her body ran ahead of her and made the plunge into ecstasy.

Dimly, through the haze, she felt him pour his seed into her, and she held him tightly as he collapsed. Their breaths were mingled, hoarse and quick; the heat of their union slowly dimmed, leaving a thin sheen of sweat on their bodies. Eventually she could feel the unyielding surface of the desk at her back, sandwiching her between it and the very warm, very heavy body resting over hers. Yet despite the fact that he was quite tall and muscular, his weight was merely comfortable.

He probably couldn't rest all his weight on Vivienne, she thought, and immediately felt ashamed. To make amends, she ran her fingers through his short hair and kissed the side of his face. Her touch made him stir, and he braced himself on his forearms to meet her eyes.

"The desk probably wasn't the best place," he said finally, sounding rueful.

Kel burst into giggles, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder to muffle them. "I don't mind," she murmured, tightening the muscles of her core and delighting in the way his eyes widened at the pressure. "It's better than the floor, at least. Perhaps we could try a bed next time." She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. "We missed supper."

Stifling a groan, he moved away, and she felt a distinct pang of disappointment as he pulled out, leaving her empty. "We can beg something from the cooks – if you're hungry, that is." He sighed. "We made a terrible mess."

Relishing the soreness that sprang into being as she moved, Kel sat upright slowly, legs still parted. He was right. The remnants of their lovemaking puddled on the desk at the junction of her legs. She wrinkled her nose.

"Oh. I bled."

"Not much."

She raised an eyebrow. "Compared with…?"

He snorted. "Vivienne, though it's hardly appropriate to talk of her after we…"

"Why not?" She reached out a hand and trailed the backs of her fingers down his face. "Just because she's in the Peaceful Realms doesn't mean she never existed."

His face was impassive, but thanks sprang into his eyes as he caught her hand and kissed it. "We have years to speak of the past. Right now, all that matters is this." His lips found hers again, and this time the kiss was sweet and full of understanding and comfort. When they broke apart, he took her chin in one hand and kissed her cheek, whispering, "I love you."

She felt her heart glow, and almost looked down to see if the light was visible. Instead she leaned forward for another kiss, making no attempt to mask her feelings as she murmured, "I love you, too, Wyl."

He smiled. "I could get used to that. Vivienne…"

"Yes?"

"She barely called me Wyldon. Always sir, or my lord, as was proper." He sighed, and gathered her into his arms. "You must promise never to call me that."

"I promise," she said, and held him tightly as he let his wife go for the last time.