If You Want Something (PG-17)
"If you want something..."
As her words left her mouth, her husband had just opened his to make
some excuse about how he couldn't sleep because of a sudden rush of
inspiration, and would have excused himself to go get it down on paper,
as he often did. Of course his true intention would be to go to his
studio to find his hidden stash of dirty books and pictures that had
become his good friends on nights like these. He was pretty sure she
knew it, too. She couldn't really believe that even _he_ could find
inspiration that often.
But there was just something so degrading about having to find relief
from a picture when he lay in bed next to a woman that he knew many men
envied him. Even Vestian would readily admit just how beautiful she
was. He was well aware that there were men who would do anything to
spend a little intimate time with Porenne. For all he knew, some of
them might have had that chance, for she sure wasn't finding
satisfaction in sleeping with _him_. It was the kind of pathetic story
he and his mates used to whisper about at night when the lights had gone
out in the apprentice dorm.
Even now, he could remember covering his face with a pillow to muffle
his laughter as his friend recounted a story he had heard about a
journeyman weaver who had recently been caught stuck in an ovine. They
cracked jokes long into the night at the man's expense. When the room
grew silent and it seemed they were just about to drift asleep, from
some corner of the room a quiet "Baaaaa!" would sound, sending them into
another round of hysterics. How pathetic they found that man.
What would those apprentices have say about Vestian and Porenne, he had
to wonder. The Master with a gorgeous wife who found more action
between sheets of paper than he did between his own bed sheets. How
pathetic would he seem to them?
That thought more than anything made him take her up on her offer. At
least this night, he would do his manly duty with a living, breathing
woman. "Well... if you're not too tired... If you don't mind... I'd be
"Alright," she said softly and moved her leg to make things more
convenient. She long ago had given up trying to figure out what some
women found so wonderful about their marriage bed and chalked it up to
flights of fancy. Same with the novels she'd read as a girl. Though
she would never say it openly to anyone, Vestian's touch never brought
her any of the pleasures she'd been expecting. He certainly was
handsome enough to please any woman and many of her friends said as
much. Yet there was something missing, and she blamed herself when she
couldn't find pleasure in the act. Not that she thought about it with
anyone else either. No one had ever inspired her to lust or stray from
her marriage vows.
To her it was unpleasant at first and then simply messy though she was
thankful for the children she'd had because of it. That and she did
love Vestian in her own way, even though it seemed like he didn't
really care much for anything other than his craft. He provided her
with a lovely home, beautiful children and a position of which she
could be proud. So, if his heated looks were more about _it_ than
_her_, that was something she could handle by occasionally giving in,
even if it was far less frequently than he might have wished.
He turned on his side to face her, lifting himself up so he could plant
soft, swift kisses on her neck and collarbone. This wasn't for her. He
had long ago realized he could do whatever he wanted and he'd get no
reaction out of Porenne. But he had to at least pretend for a moment
that there was more to it than just doing his business. His hand
wandered down to the laces of his sleeping trousers. Vestian wanted to
make sure he was ready first. After all, the only thing more humiliating than
relieving his needs with a woman who obviously was just barely
tolerating his touch, was not being able to finish at all. That had
happened more times than he cared to remember.
It didn't take him but a moment to push her gown out of his way and
while he got himself ready she waited patiently. She felt so awkward
with him poised over her doing that, she had to turn her head and
think of something else. The strains of one of Master Oriaond's newest
aria's floated in her head and she mentally followed the music.
After rolling on top of her, Vestian's eyes locked onto a spot on the
headboard. He couldn't look at her, or it would be all over. Nothing
killed what little mood there was faster than seeing her stare blankly
up at the ceiling. Instead he imagined other times, other women.
Women like the niece of the Holder of Needle Point Hold. As he had
been putting the final brush strokes on her uncle's portrait, she had
been kneeling in front of him, working on techniques of her own. At
her uncle's anniversary party and after the great reveal of Vestian's
work, she had whispered in his ear that she wore nothing beneath the
fine dress she wore, and told him she would be waiting in his room in half a
candlemark. As his hands had slid up her thighs, slowly peeling back
the petals of her dress, he found she had not told him wrong.
As he quickened his pace the music in her head followed suit. Her eyes
closed and instead of his grunts she heard the deep bass, drums, and
viol's of the orchestra building to a crescendo.
While recalling that night in Needle Point spurned Vestian on now, it
was not the memory hot sex that made his heart beat faster and his
breath quicken. It was the feel of the girl's hands digging into his
back. It was the sounds she had made as he kissed her chest and
touched her most intimate places. It was the heat in her eyes as he
looked down into them. She had wanted him. That thought more than
anything helped him find his release in a long, shuddering breath.
She had _wanted_ him. And that alone had felt so sharding good.
Vestian relaxed down onto Porenne's body, his head resting against her
chest as his breathing slowed. He could hear her heartbeat, and it
brought him back into the moment. It was much slower than his own and
seemed to hold all the cadence of a tapping foot, almost as if it was
beating out a message loud and clear - "Aren't you done _yet_?"
Thankful he'd kept his promise to make it quick she put her hands up
to his sides while he recovered. This was the one time she could hold
him without him finding some reason to be somewhere else and pushing
her away. She softly stroked his back like she would have comforted
one of her children.
And now it was Vestian's turn to just lie there and take it. He hated
the way she touched him as he rested on top of her. It just felt so
much like a lie. One moment she could treat him like a pervert for
admiring her, turn her back on him when she knew he wanted her, lay
there like a lifeless shadow as he moved over her, and yet when it was
done, suddenly she wanted to touch him? He could not even guess what
might be in this woman's head. But this was what she liked. It was the
only pleasure she seemed to get out of her wifely duties. He would not
deny her. And yet he would never understand.
After laying there silently for a few minutes, he murmured softly, "I'm
sorry. You must be tired."
She patted his back in acknowledgement and after he'd moved she rolled
on her side again. This time facing him and closing her eyes.. "Good
night dear," she said.
"Good night," he echoed, settling himself onto his back, satisfied in
body, but little else. As he closed his eyes, his mind wandered back to
that darkened dorm room, and he had to wonder - had that journeyman
weaver been married, too?
Last updated on the May 31st 2013