MARCH 2004

LACHLAN

The Temple.  Dea.  Sanctuary?  I hardly think so.  I have had my own issues with her for a long time and though I am aware she is an entity of some power, humbling myself before her sticks in my craw.  Even now.  I am here because I must be.  Because I know it is the only real chance we have.  I can't lose Heather. 

I will not lose another child.

Judgment?  Retribution?  Punishment?  Atonement?  Reckon it doesn't matter what name you give it.  I will take what I am due for the choices we made- but I will not cower.  I will bend if I must, but I will never break.  I feel the fire of righteous indignation burning within me even now as we stand outside the heavy doors of the sanctuary.  Foolish, perhaps..... arrogant, even.... but I have always tempted fate.  I cannot change my nature.  I am a man with all a man's failings. 

Fear.  

Do I feel it?  You bet your boots, I do.  Her hand rests in mind, cool and small.  I must protect her.  I must protect them both.  It falls on my shoulders and in this moment, the burden is heavy.  Almost unbearably so.  But it will not stop me.  Am I brave?  Not particularly.  Just determined.  And fucking pissed off. 

I vacillate between two extremes.  Part of me wonders if Dea isn't just fucking with us because she can.  Like a little boy who pulls the wings off flies.  Not like malevolence, exactly... almost like this ghost sense of cheeky mischievousness.  It's strange, but there are times when I almost want to laugh.  And then, on the other hand, there are the lessons of my youth about the power of the divine.  This ghost memory of my father telling me that God gives the worthy the hardest tests.  That is why life is hard.  Even unfair, at times.  Almost like a divine compliment, in a strange sort of way. 

Is Dea God?  Now, I dunno about that.  That flies in the face of just about everything I've ever learned or felt or thought, especially about God the Father.  And yet, I wonder who else might have the power to not only create an entire World but to pull us from certain death.  Myself.  Hando.  Maximus. 

I have felt the divine touch.  I have touched the extraordinary.  Slid through a portal out of time.  Met a living, breathing celluloid image.  I wear around my neck a lucky penny that has come back to me from across time, brought by the woman I love who now carries my child under her heart.  Pretty wild stuff, even for a crazy flyboy like me. 

Within my breast, this fearsome power seems to resonate.  Like I feel all the Brothers echoing inside me and yet my voice is the loudest.  I feel Hando's helpless rage.  Hear Maximus asking for divine guidance.  Hear Russ talking about walking with his own heart.  I hear the voices of the others, too..... and of men not yet with us; men not yet breathed into living and touched by the divine spark. 

It makes sense in a strange sort of way.  One man created us all.  Inside him, he carries the seeds that became each of us... and he carries still what will one day be other men who are not us, but who wear our face.  The closer we come to the end of this journey, to facing Dea, the louder they become.  I am none of them.  I am all of them.  I am myself. 

And I am ready to face what may come.   

I kiss my woman for what may be the last time and I feel her hand strong in mine.  Solid.  We made a choice and we are not sorry.  If this is the last- then so be it.  Some things are worth the price.  We will bear whatever we must.  We share no last words because there is no need.  Her love shines out from her like a beacon.  Whatever happens, I know in my heart that it can never be taken from us.  We will never truly be alone again.

DEA

Foolish mortals.  Arrogant and prideful, full of hubris even now when they should approach humbly.  The woman has some sense of the power I wield, entreating her mate with her eyes, even while quietly lending him her strength.  The man is stubborn.  Cocky.  I have always favored him.  He has been much tested in his life, and always, the harder he is rubbed the brighter he shines.  I wonder if that will be so tonight.  They have much to answer for.

//Enter//

It is nothing to me.  Not even a thought and the doors swing wide of their own accord, granting them admittance.  I feel a flutter of amusement.  She is thinking of The Wizard of Oz.  Who is behind the curtain, indeed?  Does she know?  Does he?    

She is respectful.  There is more skepticism in him.  Awe in them both.  My power is great and they will feel it swell further before this night is done. 

//Speak//

A look passes between them.  She defers to him.  Strange, in this World where the Sisters hold all the power that she would defer to a man in these last moments.  It pleases me.  Her path is divergent.  She makes... interesting... choices.  I find them entertaining.  I am not surprised often. 

I listen to his entreaty.  He is not as humble as he should have been.  There will be a price for that.  Still, they are here.  Neither begs for mercy.  Instead they stand together, ready to accept my judgment.  Brave of them.  Brave and foolish.  I will ask much of them for this act of solidarity in the face of my power. 

Benevolence.... malevolence... it is a fine line.  Most cannot discern the difference.  Their forthright spirit pleases me.  I am moved to give them a choice.  My power is vast.  The portals reach far and wide.  I reveal my offer.  She may return to her old World.  He must remain in this one.  For this great price, I give in return long lives for each.  The babe will be born and live under my protection all its days and they will die, old and happy in their beds.  OR  I will withdraw my protection now and she may return with him to his time, where they must take their chances with the war raging there... but they may be together for what little time they can steal from my fair friend, the Piper.

She cries, predictably.  He is angry.  They talk over each other.  I see the first stirrings of fire in her.  She tells him she will not risk his life.  He states emphatically without her and the little one, there is no life.  I am curious.  She holds all the cards in this construct.  Her will can override his.  A test for her, perhaps?  She has tested my patience time and time again, giving the Brothers power over their own lives in a World where I have expressly chosen otherwise.  Let us see, now, if she is still willing to be so headstrong when doing so threatens what she holds most dear.  A true test of her integrity. 

I give them mere moments.  Just enough for him to express his wishes.  Not enough to convince her of them.  Her tears are bothersome.  I grow weary of their defiance.  I have been more than generous with them.  Did I not spare his life?  Did I not allow them to make a child in love?  Am I not merciful? 

//Choose//

One last look between them both.  I take the answer from her mind.  It is done.  

LACHLAN

I felt the familiar ripple.  Felt time bend and stretch.  I frantically reached for her hand and grabbed hold, desperate not to be separated from her.  Angry I had no say in the decision.  Afraid she would put my safety above our love.  Terrified the stresses of the portal would hurt her or the baby.  Oh, God.....   What if I never saw them again?  I had a flash of my life without them.  Existing, not living.  Waiting only to hold them again. 

The world swirled wildly.  I heard her cry out for me.  It registered in my mind that we'd made the jump together the same moment we were dumped out into a different reality.  A familiar reality.  Her knees buckled and I caught her, easing us both down to the hard ground.  She whispered to me she was OK, just disoriented.  And scared.  I held her close and looked around for my bearings, now that I was assured of her safety and the safety of our child.   

It was night.  I could see the silhouette of the dark craggy rock against the deep black of the night sky.  The wind was cold and sharp, coming in fast off the water in wild gusts.  It smelled of salty brine and the distinctive stink of artillery shells.  Over the roaring of the waves, I heard a familiar mechanical hum.  A trio of planes, two Spitfires and a Lancaster, sweeping low and fast over the rough terrain.  Adrenaline spiked.  God, I'd forgotten what a treat they looked, zooming through the night sky.   

In the distance, artillery fire bloomed high above over the water, illuminating us for a moment before the orangey glow faded.  Heather stared and gasped.  I cursed.  Loudly.  I knew where Dea had dumped us, now.  La Maddalena.  Fucking bitch. 

Her hand tightened on mine.  "Where are we, Lach?"

"Italy."

La Maddalena.  It's a small island located about 100 miles off of mainland Italy.  It might be located in one of the most gorgeous archipelagos in the Mediterranean, but for fuck's sake- it's no place for her.  Not now.  Jesus.  It's about as remote as it gets.  Small population of locals and an Allied airbase, from which we can easily strike at the mainland and stand guard over the naval base nestled in the cove made by the natural rock formations of this little island.

She held me tight.  "When.  When are we......?"  Her voice was so soft, like a little child.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Summer.... 1943, love."  I heard her sharp intake of air.  1943.  The Naples-Foggia Campaign.  Our squadron had been assigned here in August and we'd remained until just after the New Year, flying armed reconnaissance and providing air support to the Allied invasion of mainland Italy.... to say nothing of knocking out damn near every enemy radar warning station within 150 miles.  Not too shabby for a pack of cocky flyboys, hey?     

I didn't have to strain my memory to recall this place.  It was burned in my mind forever.  It was a place of wild, rugged beauty but living conditions here were harsh.  Base 'housing' was a fucking joke.  You couldn't even drink the water here.  It had to be flown in and there was never enough to go round, especially in the summer.  Food was little better, to say nothing of heating oil and other amenities. 

It was a permanent base, but even those soldiers who'd been posted here for the duration weren't allowed to have their pregnant wives here.  There was only a crude military hospital.  The soldiers' wives who were near their time were flown off the island to the more equipped Allied hospital on Sardinia. 

The wind gusted heavily and Heather shivered in my arms.  The sheltering rocks made the naval base established here quite well protected.  Unfortunately, the arrangement of land and water made flying in and out of here a bit of a sticky wicket.  One of the most outstanding features of the climate here was the presence of strong prevailing winds.  Maestrale.  The local word for the particularly violent winter winds.  Scirocco.  Their word for the humid, gritty summer wind that frequently brought with it dust from North Africa.

The scirocco was strong tonight.  Wild.  I hoped those poor blokes who'd buzzed by a bit ago had been properly briefed.  Landing here was a bugger.  Taking off was worse.  Occasionally a gust would come and smack you back down on the runway.  As a matter of fact, that's how I'd-

A huge crackle of artillery over the southern shore interrupted my train of thought.  Heather trembled in my arms and buried her face in my neck.  It sounded fearsome if you weren't used it to but we were safe enough here- at least for the moment.  They were engaging well out from our position, over the Straight of Bonifacio.   Without warning, a plane exploded some distance from us and flaming wreckage fell from the sky.  Poor bastard.  The night glowed a warm orangey gold for a handful of moments.  I felt Heather gasp.

"Lach!  Oh, God!  Your face..... your poor face..."  She touched my face and started crying.  Fuck.  I'd forgotten about the scars. 

"Shhh.... S'alright, Blue.  Shhh, girl....I'm alright...."  For so long looking at my face had seemed wrong without them.  Guess I'd gotten used it seeing that young, unlined, unscarred boyish face looking back at me from the mirror after all.  The reality here was much different.  Over the course of the war, I'd I'd been wounded eleven times.  Shot down twice.  Crashed once due to mechanical failure.  Punched out once over enemy lines.  I'd had dysentery, trench fever and the clap.  Had reduced hearing in my right ear due to an artillery shell explosion that occurred at close range-

The scar she was talking about was my little souvenir from that encounter.  It was a thin pinkish-white scar that started above my right eye and cut through my eyebrow, skipping my eye before it picked back up on my cheekbone to curve around toward my ear - the one that didn't hear so well.  Makes a bloody bit more sense now, doesn't it?  Fucking German artillery. 

I tried to remember how much of that had already happened by the summer of 1943.  Most injuries happen early on.  Learning curve, I reckon.  Dysentery was coming next winter and trench fever the summer after that, but I could feel the ache in my leg from where they'd been unable to remove the shrapnel lodged in the bone and I could feel the other lingering pains, too.  Some of the scars I carried were pretty new.  For the first time, the thought of being naked with her shamed me.  I didn't want her to see me this way.         

"Your face...."  She pressed her lips softly to my cheek and traced my scar with her fingertips.  I felt my own eyes sting in response. 

The reality of this place was setting in hard.  For both of us.  I was a different man here.  A harder man.  One who lived much, much closer to the edge.  I felt different.  Looked different, older and more weathered.  Starting to go gray at the temples.  Twenty-eight going on forty-eight.  I knew, now, I felt different not because of the lingering effects of the portal's disorientation, but because my body had taken a beating over the course of this war.

I led her back from the beach, to a rock outcropping that sheltered her from the bite of the wind.  I needed time to have a quick think.  I had quarters here- a bit of money stashed away.  Not like I really had anyone special to spend it on, you know?  After Lil, the only girls I saw were the sort you take home for the evening, not the kind you take home to meet your Mum. 

I looked down at my clothes.  Jeans, a button down shirt and my favorite bomber jacket.  Not great but passable.  She was little better.  Knee length skirt, boots and a sweater.  I took stock of what was in my pockets.  Car keys for a car that hadn't even been invented yet.  Handful of change that was about sixty years too modern.  Little pewter flask I always carry.  Had a nip off that and gave her the stick of gum I found.  No wallet.  Wonder where the fuck that went? 

She still had her bracelet and I had the watch my Dad had given me the last time I saw him.  Gold little number.  Belonged to my grandfather.  Below his name, and my father's name, he'd had 'Lochie', my childhood nickname, engraved on the back.  The old memory made me smile.  I patted myself down one last time and smiled as my hand touched the ring hanging over my heart.  The wheels started turning faster as I settled back into my old self.  Been a long time since I was this weathered old pilot, but it came back easier than you could imagine.  I knew what I needed to do.

We talked quietly for a little while.  I made sure she was safe and as comfortable as I could make her.  Gave her my coat and told her I'd be back for her as soon as I could.  This was a simpler time.  Slower.  Money was worth less but went a hell of a lot farther.  I was no green boy.  I knew what I was about and where to get the things I needed.  Stopped by my old quarters.  Changed my clothes and picked up a few bucks.  Spun a fucking huge pack of lies to my CO but despite my irreverent nature, he likes me.  I'm exceptionally good at shooting things.... and I've got enough experience that I have (for the post part) kept my arse and several of my friend's arses from becoming a smoking crater in the ground.  He granted my request.  Grudgingly.  He knows when a good man is down. 

He also knows desperation when he sees it.

I returned three hours later.  Found Heather curled up in the sand at the base of the craggy rocks where I'd left her.  She'd made a sad little sand castle, decorated with bits of stone and broken shells.  A memory of our holiday in Oz assailed me.  I shook it away.  Now was not the time.  It would be dawn in a few hours and I needed to get her off the beach.  I already knew how bad it was going to look bringing back a heavily pregnant woman when I'd only been stationed here for five weeks.  They would think her a slut, trying to pass off someone else's brat and me a dupe for falling into it. 

I knew it was going to be hard, but I simply did not care.  I would not hide what we had.  Not now.  Not ever again.  And especially not now that she was mine and mine alone.  I had grown to love some aspects of our old World, especially grown to love some of the women in it... but I could not help feel the ecstatic joy in my breast that I would never again have to share my woman if we were to live out our days in this place.

I knelt beside her and softly woke her.  Not with a kiss.  With a simple touch to her cheek, cradling her to me.  She was cold but not shivering.  My coat had kept her warm.  Her eyes widened when she saw me.  Again, touching my face so softly I thought my heart would break.  I think it will be a long while before she gets used to this new me.  She fingered my uniform collar next, this soft little smile on her face- somewhere between sad and prurient. 

She groaned as I helped her to her feet.  Poor little girl.  She's only 26 weeks but she's getting more and more awkward every day.  I wished I could have brought a lantern back with me but kerosene is scarce and I have no wish to draw enemy fire like a moth to a flame.  She's strong.  She can make it. 

There were only a few last things we needed to do.  She could hardly take her eyes off me.  This face.  This uniform.  Not exactly the Lach she was used to.  I felt like kicking Dea in the arse.  If we were going to have to be here for always, the least she could have done was let the portal heal me as I passed through.  But then again, she'd told us if we'd chosen this path that she would withdraw her support.  It made me worry about Heather.  She says she feels fine and we've both felt the baby kick since we've come through... but the thought of them being subjected to the power of the portal without Dea's protection frightened the fuck out of me.

I gave her some water that I'd brought for her.  She drank it gratefully and then I handed her my handkerchief and told her to wet it and use it to wipe her face.  Women in this time and place didn't use cosmetics as they did in more modern times.  Heather didn't wear much but she was going to be a hard sell already.  When she was finished, she tucked it into my jacket pocket and I turned up the collar around her face and kissed the tip of her nose. 

There was only one last thing to do.  I held her eyes and reached into my shirt to withdraw the ring I wore against my heart.  I removed it from its leather cord and tucked it into her palm, revealing the smaller plain gold band I'd concealed in my own.  The only reason we hadn't worn these symbols in our old World was because we shared with others physical and emotional intimacy.  We did not hold ourselves apart solely for each other.  It was not a marriage.  But here, we could give each other that most precious gift of celibacy.... and there, on that craggy rock-strewn beach, I pledged myself to her and she to me and we slipped the rings onto each other's fingers and sealed it with a kiss.

HEATHER

I can't even begin to impart how trying those first days were.  I'd always imagined myself as a person who'd sort of been born in the wrong time.  Imagined that I'd have found living in Lach's time or Cort's or even Max's time something that I'd adjust to with ease.  That I'd find peace and pleasure living simply.  It was so very much harder than I imagined it to be.

Lach had informed his CO that he'd married and had been (grudgingly) moved into 'family' quarters, if you can call it that.  It was beyond spartan... minimal furnishings- a bed, a small table and two chairs.  It had only the most rudimentary plumbing and it was so tiny it was nearly impossible to turn around without getting under each other's feet.  And I was glad to have it.  The land was beautiful but the war was beyond anything I could imagine- far surpassing even the most 'realistic' wartime films I'd seen.  Everything was so bleak.  It was like the people had stopped being the vibrant flowers in the garden and had become the rare bits of color peeking out here and there, like weeds poking up stubbornly from between the cracks of a drab sidewalk.  I hated how it made me feel... like I knew I should be thankful to even have a roof over my head and food when so many did not... but I dreamed of our home, of long hot showers and of our cozy down comforter. 

We slept under a thin worn blanket and bathed by heating water in a small pot and dipping a washrag into it.  Drinking water was rationed and food was little better, pasta and potatoes made up the bulk of it.  Bland but edible.  There was little else. 

We owned next to nothing.  Lach had what all transient pilots had; one seabag full of clothes and shoes and what few personal items he could carry.  A pack of cards.  Old letters from home.  A small Bible.  I cried that first night when I realized he'd sold his precious watch to provide what little comfort for us that he could.  Some serviceable, period-proper clothes for me, a pot to heat water for bathing, a sliver of soap, an extra blanket for our bed and a small bottle of lavender oil.   

It just killed me that he'd given up his treasured watch... and what for?  Soap?  Uncomfortable, ill-made clothes?  Homemade perfume?  I wanted to march them straight back and get back Lach's watch, but his pride would never stand for it... and the truth was we desperately needed those meager items.  I felt so guilty- hating that he'd given up his watch even while I wished for something finer.  Comfortable clothes.  A soft bed.  My strawberry milk.  Sometimes, I think I am the most selfish woman alive.       

That first night was so hard.  The walk back to the base was long and it was difficult to navigate in the dark.  I was cold and tired, feeling nauseated from the crossing and so scared.  Even though I was wearing his ring, when we walked into the military complex, I felt the weight of so many unkind stares.  I felt like Betsy from his film, like everyone was staring and whispering 'whore' behind their hands.  Why wouldn't they think it?  War brides were hardly uncommon, but Lach had barely been here a month and now he was returning 'married', with a heavily pregnant woman in tow? 

It lessened his worth in their eyes, and even though he marched us straight through the center of it all, bold as brass, his color was high.  I felt ashamed.  He wasn't embarrassed to be seen with me anymore than Zeke had been ashamed to be seen with Betsy, but he was also just as aware of what was being said about us both; that he was a fool for having been wrangled into 'marrying' a girl like me and that I was a desperate whore who was trying to pass off on him some other soldier's brat. 

Men looked at me without respect.  What few women there were, gathered in small knots of twos and threes and whispered when they saw me or cut me dead, turning away in disgust.  It wasn't just my belly.  Everything about me was wrong.  I wasn't from this time.  My clothes were wrong, my hair... The way I spoke.  My mannerisms.  Just everything.  I wasn't one of them.  And I never would be no matter how hard I tried.     

I felt so alone.  Nobody wanted to be my friend.  I ached for Lachlan, too.  He never said, but I know it wasn't easy for him either.  More than once he came back to our little room with bruised knuckles or a split lip from brawling.  No doubt defending my honor- or lack thereof.  I would cry.  He would just shrug and give me that silly grin and the same lame excuse: 'Well, would you look at that?  The bloody plane bit me again, love...' 

We didn't have any ice but I would tend to him with a cool, damp cloth and he would just sit there quietly, holding me close while I stood between his spread knees and tried to smile at his teasing through my tears.  It was hard, especially on those nights, not to wonder if we'd made the right decision.  Maybe things would have been better if I'd returned to my time and he'd remained behind in PW, safe from harm and surrounded by people who cared about him.  When I whispered to him of my concerns, he would simply put his hands on my stomach, touch his forehead to my sternum and whisper against my heart, "I want you with me, Blue.  Ever and always... wherever life takes us."

Everything was so hard.  Even the things we'd both taken for granted, like intimacy.  His face was different.  His body was different.  He was scarred.... stiff and sore at the end of a long day.  My youthful Lachlan was gone and in his place, a more weathered, world-weary Lachlan who had seen too much and had lost more.  I wanted to kiss all his scars away but that first night when we were readying ourselves for bed and I reached for him to help him undress, he turned away from me.  It was the first time he'd ever done that.  He shrugged off the hand I put in his shoulder and hung his head a little.  His body was rigid.  Tense.  He spoke only one word, so softly and yet it hurt so much to hear it.  "Don't."   

It wasn't vanity.  I found out later he was worried his scars would upset me, and in truth, he was a little self-conscious.  Concerned he would be less attractive in my eyes.  Men are such silly creatures.  How could those marks of honor he earned to buy the freedom of others ever do anything but make him more beautiful to me?  I told him so.  He was skeptical.  So I showed him.

What passed between us that night was one of the most intimate, as well as one of the most surreal moments we ever made together.  Outside our tiny little room, I could hear the sounds of waves breaking and of planes taking off and landing.  Fainter still were the sounds of military engagement out over the straight.  The low, almost subterranean thoomp of heavy artillery and the lighter ratta-tatta-tatta of smaller guns.  The wind carried unfamiliar smells, foreign and exotic.  I was disoriented and feeling a bit lost in the world.  Even the man I loved was different... and yet, there was one thing neither of us could deny.  For the first time since we'd met, the way he looked on the outside matched how he'd always felt on the inside.  And in that was an unexpected peace.  For both of us.   

He was so very beautiful to me.  I spoke to him softly until he finally turned around, telling him how proud I was of him.  How strong and good and brave I thought him.  I traced the deep lines in his face and then his scar and whispered to him that it bruised my heart to know that he'd felt such pain.... but that he'd never been more handsome to me than he was in that moment. 

And for once, he had no smart comments.  No sharp wit to deflect my heartfelt words.  He needed to hear them and I needed to say them.  A waxy yellowy light filtered in through the small dirty window by the door.  I undressed him slowly, unfamiliar with the intimate workings of his uniform.  He'd never worn it for me before.  I'd never asked him to, aware the memories it carried might be the kind best left undisturbed.  Piece by piece, I stripped it from him, learning the placement of the buckles and zips and buttons.  Wool and cotton and leather, rough under my fingertips as I reverently set aside each piece. 

He watched me in silence, his face remaining unreadable until I knelt to remove his boots.  At that, as solemn a moment as it was, he grinned at the look of confusion on my face.  I had never seen boots like that in my life; a buckle at the top of the fleece-lined shank, a long zipper, and then a bottom part that laced up like a man's shoe.

"'S'bloody cold in the cockpit, love," he said.  His smile faded.  Mine did too.  Seeing his scars was hard enough without thinking of him risking his life high above the earth in a small fighter plane.  Oh, my beautiful Lachlan.  How much time did we have left?  I didn't know- but I was determined to savor all the precious moments that I could. 

I relearned his body that night, first with my eyes and then with my hands and then finally with my mouth.  Nine scars in all.  Three of them looked to have been from injuries that had been life threatening.  Right cheekbone.  Right leg.  Left shoulder.  I traced them all, feeling the rough, uneven skin under my lips.  Some scars were silvery-white, others were still an angry red and tender to the touch. 

I never stopped whispering against his warm flesh how beautiful he was to me.  He said nothing but when I looked up from planting little kisses up the inside of his knee and saw him sprawled out on his back on the small bed, his eyes were closed but there was a wet trail leaking from under the corners of his lashes. 

"Selkie Man...."  I called to him and his eyes opened.  Kissing his fingertips, I guided his hand between his legs and closed his fingers around the thick shaft rising so proudly from the dark thatch of curls.  "So beautiful," I whispered, encouraging him to stroke himself.  "Let me see you....."  I was at peace with this new different body of his, but I also wanted him to be at peace with sharing it intimately with me, as he had always been before.

I smiled as his eyes flicked from my face to his groin and he gave himself an appraising look.  Cradled in his familiar touch, the moist tip of his penis rested in his open palm.  His thumb brushed over the sensitive head and he shivered.  Our eyes met and he smiled back at me as he gave it a squeeze and widened his legs slightly in invitation as he began to stroke himself.  My hand found his warm wrinkled scrotum and caressed it gently as his other hand wound around me and stroked my belly softly.  I tugged lightly and he groaned, wetting his lips as he tightened his grip and stroked harder.  He was rougher with himself than I ever would have been, but watching it was intensely erotic for us both.

I shifted restlessly against him as I felt an answering trickle of want ooze from me.  It seemed so unfair.  We hadn't made love in two weeks.  He'd only returned from Africa yesterday and the emotional upheaval of it all had hardly lent itself to romantic lovemaking, to say nothing of the exhaustion Lach felt after flying half way around the world.... and now we wanted to love- needed to, really... and we were both a little afraid of penetrative sex because we were still uneasy about what lingering affects the crossing might have had.  I felt fine and I'd felt our baby move several times since we crossed through the portal but neither of us was willing to take a chance until we knew for sure I wasn't in any danger of losing the baby. 

Lach tugged me down to lie on the bed next to him and we spoke of our fears in low hushed tones, afraid others might overhear.  The walls were thin and sound carried so easily... still, our emotional needs could not be denied.  We needed this exchange of intimacy and Lachlan's big powerful body trembled with the need for physical release.

I pushed his hair back from his sweaty face but we didn't kiss.  I wanted to watch him- to share the moment with him in a different way than we usually did.  I put my hand on his forearm to feel the muscles bunch and flex as he stroked his thick cock for his pleasure- and mine.  His breathing grew irregular as the sure rhythm of his hand began to falter.  I thought he would close his eyes as the pleasure took him but he didn't.  He wanted to watch too.  His body hitched and he grunted softly as he deliberately spilled himself on the rounded swell of my naked belly.  God, how I love to watch him when he's lost in his own pleasure, trembling, a primal mix of helplessness and raw power.

His grimace of ecstasy turned into a soft smile as he collapsed back against the bed, still cradling his spent cock in his hand like a proud boy.  He watched intently as the warm pearly fluid started to slowly creep down my soft skin.  Neither of us moved to wipe it away.  It was intimate- and proprietary.  I liked it.  He did too, if the look of satiated masculine satisfaction on his face was anything to judge by.  

Sighing in blissful contentment, he drew his forefinger through the wet trickle and used it to trace a heart on my belly.  "I love you, Blue..."  He kissed me then, slow and soft.  He didn't mean for it to be a kiss of joining, but it fueled the fire in my blood and the heat between my legs grew harder to ignore.  I rubbed against him restlessly and felt him smile against my lips.

"Want me to bring you to your pleasure, girl?" his teasing pillow talk became more serious as he spread his warm palm over my stomach and met my eyes.  "I won't hurt you, either of you...."

"Oh, Lach- I know you wouldn't."  

His eyes glowed in the soft light.  "I can make it gentle, Blue.... so gentle."  I had no doubt of that.  He knew my body as well as I did.  I touched his cheek and asked him to love me. 

With a bit of a wry smile, he plumped the two flat little pillows and arranged them before helping me to sit back against them.  He kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips and then left a little trail of kisses down my chest to my heart.  He skipped over the damp skin of my belly with a cheeky smile and settled himself between my legs with a contented sigh.  A look of love passed between us as I watched the familiarity with which he contemplated pleasuring me.   

Those are the real golden moments, you know?  Not the sex, that special close intimacy.  A man's face was inches from my most private, secret places and I felt nothing but comfort and love.  There was no haste.  No embarrassment.  Just a man and a woman looking upon each other with love and affection.  He teased my curls with his thick fingers while he talked to me and our little baby... love words and sex words.  A man's heart, exposed as nakedly and as joyfully to me as my sex was to him.

He gave me his most intimate kiss.  Not wildly to drive me up and up until I fell off the cliff into the violent swirling blackness of orgasm.  It was so much softer than that.  Coaxing me slowly towards the most gentle pleasure he could give me. 

Soothing me with his hands and voice as he smoothed his warm palms down my legs and held me to him as I drifted deeper into the hazy pleasure.  "Softly, love.... softly...."  His warm fleshy lips nuzzled against me and drew tenderly.  The world floated away so softly even our little baby didn't buck against it.  It was less like an orgasm and more like the most relaxing kiss I've ever experienced.  I felt... gentled, afterwards.  All the tension gone from me.  I sighed blissfully, too relaxed to even reach for him as he moved back up to lie next to me. 

He looked very smug.

He really is a Selkie Man.  I giggled quietly.  His smile grew softer and more serious as our eyes met.  His mouth was glistening, wet with the proof of my desire for him.  He traced the tip of his finger through the pearly fluid that had pooled in my navel and painted my lips with his essence- and then he kissed me.  Lachlan is an incredibly sensual lover.  We shared a deep kiss, ripe with the fecund flavor of love and life. 

A terrible war raged on outside... and there, inside that spartan little room, Lachlan and I found peace at last.