fanfic: Wings of the Storm Crow

[bellaknoti]

Series: Wings of the Storm Crow
Title: Blessings (Chapter Seventeen)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Lily/Zevran
Summary: I love my life. I am so, so blessed. It's all the little things that make it worthwhile... and I am so happy that I can share these things with him, that I can give him even a particle of happiness... it... I can't ask for anything more. Everything I want is in the palms of our hands.






It’s after dark one night, about two-and-a-half weeks after our handfasting, when I’m going out to the truck, ostensibly to fetch my cell phone. I purposely ̒forgot’ it, so that I’d have an excuse to come out here. What I really did is order Zev some special food. I stumbled across a website offering Spanish and Italian homefoods, and... I just couldn’t resist.

I’ve never got him a present before... not technically, because it was Lily Mahariel who gave him the gloves, and the boots, and all the other stuff. I got him four pounds of torrefacto coffee beans, two big bottles of what I hope will turn out to be ̒proper’ olive oil, and a box of some confection called turrón that’s made with honey. I know he’s a sucker for honey, so maybe he’ll like that, too. I wrapped the whole box in several layers of taped tissue-paper, so hopefully he’ll even have to tear into it.

I am opening the door and looking up at the sky, reaching behind the seat and digging around by feel, when I realize that I’m looking up at the waning crescent of the moon. The full moon has come and gone, without my marking it. I stand there, box in hand, staring up at the sky in disbelief. Oh, do I dare to hope? One thing at a time. I’ve got a box of pregnancy tests stashed in the bathroom, under the sink. First the package, then the test. We shall see if I’ve got news on top of presents, soon enough.

Coming back into the house, I plop down on the couch next to Zev and lean against his shoulder, distracting him from his book. “I’ve got something for you,” I say, a little nervous, but mostly excited to see his reaction. Before he can say anything, I set the box in his lap. It’s got to weigh nearly ten pounds.

“What is this?” He lays his book aside and picks it up, turning it around in his hands.

“A present.”

“Yes, but what is it?”

I laugh. “That’s the nature of a present, honey. You have to open it to find out.”

I giggle as he tugs on the ends of the paper, and it rips instead of coming loose. He gives up trying to be careful and just tears open the tissue paper, revealing the box with the website’s logo across it. He gives me an arched eyebrow, but I just smile. He reaches down next to him, his hand dropping behind the box briefly, and coming back up with a knife that he flips open quickly, parting the packing tape. The knife folds and disappears just as easily – I still have yet to figure out where he puts them, even though he’s let me search him before, laughing at me all the while. I suspect that he kept moving them while I did that, but I’ll never know for sure.

He peels open the lid and pushes aside the bubble-wrap, revealing four green sacks on top, labelled ‘Spanish Coffee’.

“Spanish? Not Italian?” he asks, a tiny bit of confusion crossing his face.

I laugh a little. “Just open a bag and smell it! You were saying that what we get here is too sharp, weren’t you? Just– go on, go on!” I encourage him, waving my hands at him happily.

He complies, sceptical at first, until he gets the bag open and takes a sniff. He leans back, surprised, then takes a full breath, practically burying his nose in the bag. “Ah, cara, how did you know?” he purrs, and I giggle.

“I was researching coffees with low acidity, and came across this. Considering how Spanish-influenced our diet is, I thought maybe the coffee you’re used to might come from Spain, too.” He smiles, and I wave at the box. “There’s more. Keep digging.” I am practically giddy, as he glows with poorly concealed glee. Really, I should have done this sooner... It’s so easy to forget, because he never asks for anything, but, like he said to me a few weeks ago, just because he doesn’t ask for things, doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve them.

Under the coffee is the box of turrón, resting neatly on top of the two large bottles of olive oil. “Ah!” he exclaims, seizing the box of honey candies. “Torrone! Awesome! Oh! And oil?”

“Is it green enough?” I ask, a little nervously, as he pulls out a bottle and holds it up to the light.

“Sì; sì, cara mia, it is beautiful, perfect. Thank you,” he assures me. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he leans in and kisses me softly, pulling me tightly against his side. I can’t help but melt into him, as always, but I am also impatient, tonight, and wriggle free after a moment.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, as he arches an eyebrow at me. I practically scamper back to the bathroom, and lock the door. Not that this will be a deterrent to him, if he is determined to come in, but I doubt he’ll think of it, not as quick as I intend to be. I whip out the package from under the sink and quickly do the deed. I stand there, watching the little windows with stuttering heart as the ink darkens, solidifying... into two lines. The world spins around me, and I grab the edge of the bathroom counter, losing a breath.

Oh gods, we did it.

I run into the door, forgetting I locked it, in my haste to bolt for the living room, cursing as I fumble with the latch and yank it open. Zev heard me in my irritation, and is already halfway to me when I burst out of the bedroom, dashing toward him. “Cara? What is wrong?” he asks, before seeing my face. He stops, looking at the test in my hand. “What is that?”

“It’s a pregnancy test,” I say, practically jumping up and down. “Look, it shows one line for me, and then there’s a second one, if there’s a baby,” I explain breathlessly, pushing it into his hand.

He sways, eyes going wide, before I am crushed to his chest. “Cara, aie, grazie Maker, gifts, aie, oh...” he babbles, incoherently. As suddenly as he yanks me to him, he pushes me back by my shoulders, smiling goofily down at my hips. “I suspected... but...” I bite my lip, beaming up at him and giggling. This causes him to squish me again, but I notice that he’s careful to not press his hips too close to my stomach, as though such a little thing would hurt me or our child. Our child. Gods, I think I may just fall over. Good thing Zev’s got his arms around me.

After the last time with Tommy, and the time before that when he forced me to go to that butcher... I had been frightened that this may not happen. I had been told that this probably wouldn’t happen. Oh, I am blessed... so blessed. For anyone other than him, I don’t think I’d be so happy – in fact, I’d be terrified, but right now, the only thing I fear is that I may lose my feet. I’m filled with joy, and I’m clearly not the only one, because Zev – my Zev – is giggling, like he ate a whole pan of Sofia’s brownies, downed some of Elric’s mead, and then smoked two joints in fifteen minutes, oh, and the pride in his eyes takes my breath away.

It only takes another week for me to start feeling sick. He finds it strange that I am happy to be throwing up, until I explain that I can be happy about it because of what it means, even though it makes me miserable. And oh, if I thought I was pampered before, hah. He practically hovers. It takes me all of that week to convince him that I’m not going to shatter if I sneeze, and, reluctantly, after I show him half a dozen articles all corroborating my stance that continuing my normal life is not going to put us at risk of anything, he finally lets me get back to work. I have to swear to him that I will not try to move any of the furniture myself, but at least I can get back to building, and he settles back down into our old routine. Mostly.

He takes to randomly showing up in the shop and grabbing me about the hips, spreading his hands over my stomach, where my jeans are starting to get just the tiniest bit too tight. So September fades and Jack comes ’round to help Zev pour a slab for the foundation of an addition he’s suddenly decided to build onto the house. He’ll brook no argument about it. “Your sewing room must remain a sewing room, cara, or where will you do that work, hm? No. We need a nursery, and so I shall build one.” I know how to pick my battles by now, and this is his way of nesting, I think, so I leave him to it. I know Jack will keep him in line with the right permits and whatnot. I actually kinda look forward to picking out wallpaper and carpet.

Oh man, I’m such a girl. Who knew.

The full moon of October wanes and waxes toward half again, putting us a week away from Hallowe’en, and Zev becomes thrilled with the idea that we celebrate one of the same holidays, almost, as it coincides with Satinalia, and he insists that we attend some kind of masquerade, so I’ve been working on a couple of costumes for us. He’ll be a pirate, and I’ll be a wench; a little bit of cheating, but I don’t quite have enough time to make all-new garb for us, so mainly I just make a couple of masks and rearrange some of our existing stuff. I find myself thankful that I usually make everything draw-string, because all my skirts are just a bit too tight, where they’re tied, and I have to loosen them to make room for my little bump.

I am deliriously happy – no, scratch that: we are. It seems like we are constantly kissing and snuggling, his arms always around me, his hands across my stomach, murmuring to me every day about how proud he is to watch it curve, and, though I am still sick with it, I know I am glowing. I have never felt more loved and, with Zev, that’s kinda saying something.

On his typical Saturday foray to the park, I’m in the shop, painting a coat of varnish on a table when my cell goes off, playing ̒Fat Bottomed Girls’. I laugh, knowing that he’s changed the ringtone for himself again. I step outside, taking off my respirator (can’t let the fumes get to me, not when I’m pregnant), and flip it open. “Zev?”

“Caraaa – could you... come get me from the park? As in... now, if you please?”

I am already in motion, heading for the house and my keys. The tone in his voice is odd, and makes me nervous. “What? Why? What’s wrong?” I toss my mask down on the chair inside the door, and grab my keys off the hook.

“Oh, do you remember that woman of no good repute who made eyes at me at the market?”

“What, the second day you were here?” I ask with sinking heart, knowing that it has to be Maria. I lock the door behind me, heading for the truck.

“Yes. She is bothering me, and will not go away. She apparently thinks that I must be unhappy, as I do not wear a ring. She seems to believe this is some sort of signal that I am looking for easy pussy.” He snorts as he uses some of the dirtier words he has picked up from living here, and I curse under my breath.

“Yeah, her and her ̒mossy grotto’,” I say, bitterly, and he laughs. I open the truck door and slam it behind me, pushing the keys into the ignition.

“I do not wish to make a scene, but the other women at the park are starting to become angry with her, as well. They know I am taken, and she does not seem to get the hint, no matter how often they come over with their children to speak with me, in the clear hopes of making her go away.”

“I’m on my way, honey. Gotta hang up.” I kiss the mouthpiece, even as I hear him doing the same, and then fold it up. That fucking whore. I’ll skin her ass for lampshades.

I have to force myself not to speed. Arriving at the park does nothing for my fury. She is standing way too close to him, trying to rub up on him; he’s got that carefully relaxed stance that is far too still, the one that tells me he’s working at keeping himself opaque, and he’s just never quite where she expects him to be, so she doesn’t manage to actually touch him. She’d have to throw herself on him just to get anywhere, but the very thought makes my blood boil. I close my eyes, white-knuckling the steering wheel, trying to get a grip. “I do not wish to make a scene,” he said, and I can see the sense in it, but gods, oh gods, give me strength, because I feel positively murderous right now.

I take a few deep breaths and wipe at my face with my shirt cuffs, then finally get out of the truck. I wave to a few of the mothers nearby. One of them winks at me, and another looks smugly at Maria, expecting her to be put in her place. I have no idea what I’m going to say to the bitch. I don’t know if I can trust myself to even open my mouth, at this point.

Her smug, superior look alights on me with disdain, and she condescends to me, pretending to be friendly. “Oh, hiiiii Lily. I was just saying to Zev here--,” Ooh, bite your tongue, you whore, you don't get to call him that! “-- that it’s so strange...” She makes the word have two syllables. 'Stray-inge'. I try really hard not to twitch. “...you not being in the park with him, like, ever. Do you share any interests, I wonder? Seems so... neglectful.” She actually has the nerve to ̒tsk’ at me. That’s how she got River away from me, oh, a few years ago, when I tried to date one of the boys from the Quinault reservation. I stand right next to Zev, needing to feel his warmth against my side, just to steady myself enough that I don’t leap on her like a heathen and try to beat the shit out of her.

At this, my ever-so-smooth Antivan wraps an arm around my waist. “She understands that I like to have some private time, as so often we are inseparable. There are only so many hours anyone can spend with the same person and still be overjoyed by their presence. But ah, I am blessed with my wife...” An almost painfully saccharine smile crosses his face. “Which has resulted in her current condition, and, so to not stress her, I do find myself shooed from the house at times...” His grin turns genuine as he looks down at me, seemingly unable to stop himself from gently laying his palm over my stomach. “Besides,” he murmurs, “I find that if she misses me a little bit, things get very... interesting.” Oh, how his touch puts the fire of crazy-jealous-bitch right out. I smile up at him, stupidly happy once more.

My stomach growls, audibly. “Ooh, I suddenly need curry, like, now. And raspberry ice cream. We have to go.” My mouth waters at the prospect of grabbing some take-out from the Indian place on our way back home. I’ve almost forgotten Maria’s presence; that is, until she says something else.

“Hmh, yeah, ’cause that’ll keep you skinny. Well, honey, you know where to find me, when you’re ready for a thoroughbred, yeah?” She bats her (long, fake) eyelashes at Zev and turns, thrusting out her chest, swaybacked to pop out her ass, as well, showing off her little tramp-stamp. Ooh, that bitch, bringing up my mixed blood. No, I’m not all Native, you whore, but at least I’m not a chola.


I tremble as she walks away, summoning a monumental force of will to hold my tongue as Zev steers me back toward the truck. “Can I throw up on her?” I whisper, my hands flexing as I try to stop their shaking.

He chuckles. “Unwise. That would require being close to her long enough to do so.”

I snort, climbing into the truck again. “It might be worth it. I’m sure her perfume could inspire a great display in short order.” He shuts the door and gets in on his side. “I hate her so much,” I seethe, pulling out of the lot. “She did that on purpose.”

“Hate is such a strong word; she is far from worth it.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Bitches like that, they do not even get paid for it, and I doubt they even enjoy it that much; I do not know why they waste their time and everyone else’s.”

“You’re still the first man of mine she hasn’t been able to get her hands on,” I say, quietly.

“Ehh...” He shudders. “I might catch something. I feel diseased just standing in the same area.” That says a lot.

“Yeah, no joke. I caught the clap from her once.” He applauds, and I refrain from banging my head on the steering wheel as I groan-laugh at his horrible pun. He is in rare, saucy form today. “Yes, well, I didn’t find it so funny at the time.”

“Shall I do something unpleasant to her?”

This gives me pause. I want to say ̒yes’, but... “Uh... like what?”

“Nothing illegal, I assure you... Unless, ruining someone’s life is... illegal?”

Oh, this is interesting. “Uh... it depends entirely on how you go about it. What have you got in mind?”

“Oh, maybe I pass on the fact that she spreads sexual diseases... maybe tell a doctor... I have read that this is illegal. Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “I know: I could tell Jack.”

“Hmmm... it’s only illegal if you do it on purpose, and it’s hard to prove intent. Besides, I don’t exactly want it spread around that Maria’s managed to bang my boyfriends up to this point.”

“Mmm-yes, good point.” He chews on it for a minute while I pop into the Indian place and pick up a couple of curries. When I get back, he says, “Perhaps a... prank, yes? Elric is always up for a little bitch bashing.”

I laugh. “Ah, okay... I’m not going to complain if some minor misfortune befalls her. In fact, I’m willing to bet that a lot of women in the area would thank you.”

“Oh, nonono. You know Elric... his preferences aren’t really toward women, so there are a lot of very attractive men in the Barbarian Horde... I’m sure she could have a series of unfortunate boyfriends. So attractive, and so unattainable. Oh, dear me. They invite her out for coffee...”

“Yeah?”

“And then not... ah... you know.”

“Close the deal.”

He laughs. “Exactly.”

I gasp, hardly daring to believe it. “You would sic the Horde on her?”

Even from the corner of my eye, I can see that grin. “Why not? Like I said, they like a bit of bitch bashing when it’s justly deserved. Besides, no one crosses their baby.”

“You’re not their ̒baby’...”

“Of course I wasn’t talking about me,” he retorts, rolling his eyes and laughing.

I can feel my cheeks heat up. “When did I become the ̒baby’ of the Viking Horde?”

He shrugs. “By association with Sofia.”

I blink. “Ah. Weird.”

“Well, and because you’re my baby.”

I nod. “Mmh. That makes more sense.”

“Association with Sofia would make far more sense,” he protests. “...Though Elric did threaten to make me into pudding if I ever upset you,” he adds wryly.

“He what?” How the hell do I inspire this kind of loyalty in people?

“He said he would make me into pudding if I ever upset you,” he repeats, chuckling at my surprise. “He was just discharging his duty; it made me like him much more, actually.”

I shake my head. I get it, I do, but... “Men are strange creatures.”

He snorts. “You say this, and you bleed from your crotch for five days out of every month.”

My brow furrows. “Uh... how did we go from ̒men are strange’ to ̒I’m having my period’?”

“There is a rule amongst the Crows: trust nothing that bleeds for five days and doesn’t die. Some of the most ruthless masters and guild-masters were women. They were truly terrifying.”

I think of the most famous female murderers and torturers in history and shudder. “I believe it. And yet, you trust me.”

“What can I say, I put your pussy on a pedestal. Besides, all the better for me to be able to get my face in it.” I choke, turning off the engine, and look over at him in disbelief. He just laughs at me; he says these things simply to break my brain, I know it, and yet it still works, every time.

“So, we’re home now,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt, but he only sits there, sprawled in the corner, eyeing me with a smirk on his face.

“Do you feel the sudden need to mark your territory, my dear?”

Oh. “Ah...” I giggle, in spite of myself. Actually... “Yes.”

“Good,” he purrs, his voice dropping to that sexy rasp that makes me shiver. “I hope you rub your scent all over me. I wish to be inundated with it.”

I bolt from the truck before he can decide that the front seat is a prime location.

The curries are cold by the time I remember them.

Hallowe’en sees us at Elric's place, where I am pretty much waited on hand and foot by the entire Horde, despite my protests. Elric made a special pitcher of “Lily Juice” specifically for me, because I can't participate in the alcohol, and I have to admit, whatever he put in the punch is really, really tasty. One of the boys puts a paper crown on my head, dubbing me 'Queen Wench', and I am then carried about the house – inside and out, up stairs and down – in a big, heavy-armed chair to preside over the various contests, where I am the one who must judge the winners.

Mostly, this entails me pointing imperiously at one or the other of the two left standing at the end of the contests, and then Elric gives them something shiny and cool. So, one guy gets an old-style pirate’s treasure chest for singing the most bawdy song, and another guy gets a chess-set – oh, man, it’s one of mine – for being the most fleet-footed in a race, and then I award ‘best costume’ to this group that came dressed as the crew of the Serenity, from ‘Firefly’. Man, their Zoe and Wash are spot-on. Elric awards them each a bottle of Persephone mead.

When I express my disbelief in the entire situation to Sofia, she just laughs, leaning toward me, and says, “Well, hey, enjoy it, o thou goddess of the harvest.” I snort as she pats my tummy gently. “Think of it this way: how many of these men do you think have ever vied for a woman's attention, hm?”

“Ah, you're right. It's kinda weird, when you put it that way.” She laughs.

“No, it's not weird at all! You're the Harvest Queen this year. Revel in it. How many times will you be able to say that?”

“True enough,” I concede.

The boys finish their sparring contest, leaving just one Barbarian standing, and I have to admit, he really does fight like Alistair. It's a little disconcerting to watch, but he's all fluid motion. Not nearly as fast as Zev, but they'd make a hell of a good team, and I'm extremely impressed.

Elric hands me a drinking horn, nodding toward the warrior, as the man comes over to me and goes down to one knee. Ah! This contest must be more important than the others, because I didn’t have to actually ‘award’ the gifts, before this. What the hell do I say? Okay, I'm the queen, right? I straighten up a little bit and put on a campy air of regal-ness.

“What is your name, proud warrior?”

A smirk twitches his lips up to the side, but he plays along. “Halfdan Geirson, your majesty.”

“You have acquitted yourself heroically on the field of battle. As a reward for your valour, I present you with this... worthy drinking vessel.” I lay it in his hands and smile at him. He catches my hand before I can draw back, and kisses my fingers, giving me a rakish grin and looking at me from the tops of his eyes. I snatch my hand back, but he's an extremely handsome guy – exactly the sort of man I might’ve gone for, before Zev – and it makes me blush hotly. He laughs, and several of the Barbarians behind him groan. I look around, confused, until he is standing amongst them again, and the groaners are handing over five-dollar bills.

I bury my face in my hands and hear Zev laugh quietly by my shoulder. “That was embarrassing,” I whisper, as his arm comes 'round my shoulders, and I lean into him. He kisses my forehead.

“Ah, but it was good fun!” he chuckles, clearly remembering that bet he made with Alistair over Morrigan.

Which... also makes me remember about that bet. “You put them up to it, didn't you.”

He gives me an enigmatic little smile. “Who? Me? Surely, you jest.” I arch an eyebrow at him, completely unconvinced of his innocence. “Ah, so you have me all figured out, do you?” he purrs, leaning in closer to my ear and causing me to shiver involuntarily. “Then... I shall say no more than 'maybe', my beautiful Queen of Satinalia!” I sigh, exasperated, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

Elric declares it time for the Masquerade to commence, and cranks up the music. As people get a little further into their cups, Captain Lydia breaks out the Mardi Gras beads, and Captain MacIrvine – not to be outdone – hands out several cloved fruits. The Peckish Dragon, ever known for their spice. I watch happily as the dance becomes instantly more hedonistic, as people try to gather beads and give each other signals with cloves.

A young guy, fairly cute, apparently has steeled himself enough to come present the Queen Wench with a piece of fruit, and I laugh. I take it from him, looking between it and him as he stands there and blushes, weaving slightly. “Ah, sweet boy, how old are you?” I ask, as I’ve never seen him before.

He goes to one knee, bowing his head, and I struggle not to giggle. “Twenty-two, your majesty,” he responds, and I can’t help it now; I do giggle.

“It’s awfully brave of you to present the Queen with a cloved fruit, you realize.”

“Yes, m’lady, however, I’ve got a bottle of Devil Juice riding on it. The Horde believed that I wouldn’t be brave enough to hand an orange to Zev’s lady.” I arch an eyebrow.

“Well, you’ve done it. Now what?”

He bites his lip and is entirely unsuccessful in hiding his grin. “Entirely up to you, of course,” he replies, bowing even further. I snort and pull a clove out with my fingers. “Fair enough,” he says, nodding, and kisses the back of my hand before grinning wickedly. “Thank you, m’lady,” he says, backing away, and I watch him go, amused.

“Hmm, what is this game?” Zev asks, leaning over to take the orange from me.

“It is a game of offers,” I explain as he turns it over in his fingers. “You pass it to one whose favour you hope to win, and they remove a clove. I’ve heard that in most places, the game’s really simple: you take a clove out with your teeth if you want to be kissed, and then pass it on. But around here, it’s a lot more complicated, and what, specifically, is done with the clove indicates the invitation given. Removing one with the fingers and tossing it away is a flat rejection. It’s considered to be kind of rude, and I’ve only seen someone do that once, when it wasn’t a mutual understanding. With the fingers, but keeping it: a kiss of the hand. With the fingers, but then popping it in your mouth: a kiss on the cheek. With the lips, but spitting it out: an invitation for a chaste kiss. With the lips, but keeping it in the mouth: an invitation for the other person to retrieve it, shown by the clove being retained on the tongue...” I point, as I see one of the belly dancers do just that, and Zev’s smile grows just a little darker. “...And if they swallow it, well... that’s a clear invitation for far more than a kiss.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “So, then I must pass this fruit to someone else, yes?”

I nod. “You hand it to someone whose answer you know, if you just want to get rid of it. Like, you could hand it to Jack, for instance, and he’d just toss one out, which wouldn’t be an insult, because you both know what his answer would be. Most likely, he’d then give it to Sofia, who’d probably swallow one, and then she’d give it to Elric or one of his boys, who would either toss one out, or, if they like her, might try to get her to give them a kiss on the cheek. It really gets interesting when you end up with a fruit that only has one clove left. That fruit is an invitation from the giver for... well, tent time. If the receiver takes the fruit at all, it’s a ‘yes’.” Zev arches an eyebrow, but before he can say anything else, we are interrupted.

Captain Lydia, dressed as an Arabian Nights concubine, stumbles over to us on the arm of the man dressed like Malcolm Reynolds. “Hey, hey Zevran.” She leans over the back of my chair and giggles, looking down at him. He arches an eyebrow. “The fire dancers are setting up,” she says, a huge grin spreading over her face, and I bite my lip, looking at him.

“Ahh... hmm.” He looks at me, smirking. “Do you wish me to play with fire, cara mia?” he asks, a knowing look in his eye. I haven't seen him do it but the once, at our handfasting, after he'd taken about half a dozen shots of rum, and had allowed himself to be talked into it. He'd let a stray comment drop about how the man with the poi needed some more direction, which led into a lot of pointed questions from Elric and Lydia, and eventually culminated in a display worthy of Dustfinger himself.

Well... Then again, I may be a little biased.

“Mmh... you're going to vie for the favour of the queen?” I tease him.

“Oh, I must vie for it now?” he asks, rising and kicking off his boots. “Well then, may my efforts be pleasing to you, mia regina.” And with that, off comes his shirt, which he tosses into my lap with a wink.

I gather it up, unashamedly pressing it to my face and giggling. The next thing I know, he's dousing himself in water – oh, I have to hide my face again, watching it cascade over his naked chest and stomach, and the way his shoulders flex when he turns his back toward us, talking with one of the fire dancers and pulling his hair back tightly. Sofia laughs at me. “Oh, you got it baaad, girlfriend.” What do I say to that? Guilty as charged. All I can do is giggle some more.

I watch the fan-dancers spin arcs of feathery flame into the night sky, and then two men with staves do mock battle with invisible foes. Three of them line up to breathe fire, and I watch – amazed, as always – as they pass a flame from one to the next, each blowing in turn. At last, I see Zev light the poi, and I know he's going next. I bite my lip, trying to control myself, but really, he makes me feel like I’m a cat in a catnip field, whenever he's anywhere near me; watching the steam rising off him while the firelight arcs around him in complicated patterns has me pressing my thighs together.

I stand up when he's finished, everyone clapping and huzzah-ing over all the fire dancers, and Elric's awarding Bethany a Tablero set for her fan dance. I slip around the outside of the crowd while everyone is looking at her, carrying Zev's shirt. He finds me when I’m trying to pick my way around the tables and chairs set up on the side of the patio and pulls me behind the stairs, where we're nominally blocked from the view of the crowd. He presses me up against the side of the porch, looking down at me with eyes drowning deep, and my heart picks up as he smirks knowingly at my sudden breathlessness.

I wrap my arms around his neck, arching into him, and the heat radiating from his skin goes straight through my shirt. “So, shall I consider your attentions properly vied for, hmmn, amora?” A too-hot hand is already questing its way into my panties, which makes me gasp, and him purr. “Ah, and so they are...”

I giggle. It's good to be the queen.