Wedding Bells (AU, for gunslingerqueen) (NSFW)

[toweredingly]

Roland had woken with a headache and a sinking sense of cold dread, and neither were because of the large amounts of whiskey and graf he'd drunk the night before. It was a familiar feeling; the same steady almost-fear settled into his bones whenever he saw a battle looming. But battles could be fought with gunfire and cold rage, with all thought pushed aside and the world coming at you moment by moment. Today was worse. Today was politics.

He'd set aside his usual jerkin and jeans for more formal gear. The suit itself wasn't so bad, but he felt naked without his guns at his hip. It would have been good to have their comfort, even if he had no intent of using them. Their weight had always been like having a part of his father still with him, and all the gunslingers of their line before him. Now, when he most felt need of that reassurance, he had to set it aside. Clean-shaven and well-heeled, with his hair pulled back into a queue and his feet rubbed by the hard leather of new shoes, he felt like another man - and one even less capable of facing all that lay ahead.

The wedding was in the morning, before the real Fair-Day began. Then things would take their usual course; the castle flung open to the people, the feasting and singing and Fair-Day riddling, with raucous good humour and doubtless a few fights. That was manageable. He had lived that every Fair-Day for his whole life. What frightened him, more than he would ever admit, was the part that came before and after.

"You look more like a man going to put a noose around her neck than a ring around her finger," Bert commented in his ear, bringing him back to the present. For his part, Bert looked perfectly at ease in formal wear, sauntering about and regarding Roland with a critical eye. Whatever dark mood had been slithering about under the surface, he seemed to have excised it for now.

Roland answered with a grunt, looking back ruefully at the gunbelt hanging over the back of his chair, and closed his eyes for a moment. "Is there a difference?"

"Dinh or no dinh, I'm not beyond punching you. Just for once, Ro', try to stop living in whatever darkness is going on in that bony head of yours, and relax." For once, Bert wasn't smiling. He slung an arm around his friend's shoulders, looking at him closely. "She's not Susan. I kennit, Ro'. But she's what Susan would have wanted for you. Carry that with you, at least."

"Thankee, Bert." Patting Cuthbert on the back, Roland shook his head and started towards the door. Towards the Hall of the Ancestors, where Burtock Hattlen waited in lieu of a dinh, where Alain was standing by with a ring.

The hall was filled, to a casual eye, but Roland saw the empty spaces more than the full. No Cort, no Vannay, no Stephen Deschain in the high seat. Many who should have been seated in the best places were gone. Somehow, that made it easier to settle his mind, straighten his spine, and wait steady and watchful at the front of the hall for his bride.

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[gunslingerqueen]

It was a necessary reminder but she hardly wanted to give up that easily. "So if I'm not distracting there's a better chance? That seems awfully backwards, Roland." For both their sakes, or rather because he took it upon himself to remind her of what she needed, too, she didn't hold it off any longer. "There really has to be some sort of trade we can work out."

By now she talked just to see how long she had before he felt the need to quiet her for good, she was genuinely curious but honestly it wasn't more important than riding him in short, controlled movements.

[toweredingly]

It wasn't long at all before he felt that need, judging by how soon he put one finger to her lips, his breathing coming in low, hoarse little jolts as he rutted up against her. Dropping both hands back to her hips, he urged her to speed up, letting his head fall back against the damp mattress. There was a degree of urgency in the sounds he was making, low and quiet though they were; he had, after all, had a while for his need to build back up.

[gunslingerqueen]

She would never tell him so, but he looked good this way, and maybe at some other point in time it might have been fun to draw things out a while longer, but as she took in those sounds, suddenly messing around didn't seem as appealing. One hand braced on his lower stomach and she started off slow and deep, allowed herself to moan freely, but for as patient as he had been Roland didn't seem to need slow, he needed completion and that was just as easy to give. The only talent she had that rivaled her aim with a gun was the way she could move her body and it was only right to put the skill to use, rocking up and down, taking him as deeply as she possibly could. And despite the fierce speed she worked up to she didn't lose control, or take pleasure away from either of them.

[toweredingly]

He held out for a while longer, his breathing coming sharper and shorter as she went. He wasn't really in the mood for holding off too long, though, and given how vocal she'd been, he didn't see much need to hold back. Unlike her, he wasn't loud; the loudest noise he made was the occasional muttered curse. But he did move plenty under her, his fingers digging into the tops of her thighs, his hips bucking in time. He watched her face as she rode him, right up until his eyes unfocused and he came, hard, with a wordless groan spilling from his parted lips.

He fell back against the mattress, breathing heavily, his eyes fluttering open but heavy-lidded. For a moment, he just lay there, breathing slow and heavy, and then he reached up to pull her down on top of him.

[gunslingerqueen]

Most angry horses weren't as loud as Nariko could be when she was overwhelmed with pleasure, so that Roland wasn't an immovable slab of cement was more than enough for her. Besides, the fact that he moved with her and held onto her made her smile - Internally, of course, since she wasn't unaffected by this, she only needed to feel him come to do the same, just half a step behind. When he pulled she giggled and went along easily.

Instead of speaking she kissed him almost lazily, and then took up her previous spot on his chest, head tucked against his shoulder. "One day I'll get that answer." Just probably not tonight because the only one more hardheaded than herself was Roland.

[toweredingly]

"Just as soon as I have one to give," he answered gravely, and half-smiled. For a while, he just lay there while his breathing steadied, one hand tracing idle patterns on the skin of her back, the other going up to push his hair back off his face. They were going to have to take another bath, he thought rather wryly, and they weren't even completely dry from the last one. Still, better to get it done while the water was still warm.

Only he didn't get up just then. It was comfortable to just lie here, with her warmth against him and the smell of sex in the air, letting his muscles go limp for the moment and thinking of nothing at all. It was only then, with old aches starting to reawaken but with a low contentment still seeping through him, that he realised just how weary he was. Even making a concerted effort not to fall back into his habits of not eating or sleeping, his rest had been more than a little disturbed over the last week or two, and the day had been long to say the least. For all that he wanted to keep this night going, there was something to be said for just taking the time to lie here, and do nothing at all for the first time in what felt like forever.

"When I watched you shoot, the second time," he said at last, his voice a little thick. "The first time, I was watching your aim. The second time, I was watching you. And you were beautiful." He said it as matter-of-factly as ever, his finger tracing down her spine. "Answer enough?"

[gunslingerqueen]

She pouted at first, rolled her eyes, and accepted that very Roland-like response with a kiss to his jaw. He relaxed underneath her in a very notable, clear way, so it hardly surprised her when they went full moments without speaking. What did get her was that he spoke again, and that he gave her what she had wanted so easily. When she had shot? Honestly, she hadn't even noticed him paying anymore attention to her than what might be expected and so it was almost hard to believe. That was when he had begun to see her as a woman he could be attracted to?

Honestly, it fit. "More than enough, thank you." She leaned up to kiss him shortly, and lifted herself up a little. "Come on, if we keep laying like this, we'll end up sick, these blankets aren't for show." There was far more to it than that, of course, but like his smiles this oncoming exhaustion appeared fragile to her. They could probably have sex regularly if not more than that but it wouldn't be often that Roland would have the opportunity to sleep, and maybe even sleep peacefully. That was far more important to her than anything else they could do in one night.

That was exactly why she took her weight off of him and tugged gently at his shoulders. He was far too heavy for her to move on her own, but thankfully it would only take a bit of adjusting to get under the covers. It occurred to her to reach back and get the blanket she had made, too. It was more than thick enough to make up for their still dewy state of being.

[toweredingly]

"We ought to clean up, not lay like this at all," Roland said, but he didn't make any move to stop her from getting the covers, or from guiding him under them. It might be slightly embarrassing to be so tired, but it would be more embarrassing to deny it and throw a tantrum over it like some little child. Still, for the first time since they'd started kissing, he felt honestly naked. Being tired, at least like this, felt horribly exposed.

But he was tired. He could feel himself slipping out of full consciousness, in an altogether less pleasant way than she had wrung out of him a few minutes before. Wrapping an arm around her, almost without thinking, he closed his eyes.

[gunslingerqueen]

"You can be not-so-responsible for once, I promise." She spoke evenly, using every ounce of control in her body to keep from laughing because he would definitely take it the wrong way. Instead it was far more important to get him underneath the covers and back to resting. If she found anything odd or out of place about it, then it wasn't obvious not that he was really in a state to notice anything more than the backs of his own eyes. She settled against him easily, all too aware of how easy it was to tangle her body with his. And for nearly five minutes everything was quiet.

"Roland?" She said his name in the way anyone would do if they wanted to test if someone was still awake, but he was probably gone for, and for all they had done and said to each other tonight there might not be another chance. "... I meant it when I thanked you, earlier. There was a part of it that hurt, that's true. Always playing second, never being enough or getting there in time over and over again, that's going to hurt. But of the friends who worry about you, everything you put onto yourself, relentlessly clawing forward even though you look like you're in pain for every second of it ... And you apologize to me? And tell me you're going to try? That if there's anything left I can have it? In what way could I ever deserve that?"

She shut her own mouth before she broke down into sobs, and kept herself perfectly still through some form of resolve she hadn't thought possible. "Honestly, no one has ever said they would even try for me, especially not someone who has every reason not to. So, one more time: Thank you, Roland."

It took one more heavy exhale before she could close her eyes. Tomorrow she would find a bit of time to herself and probably cry hysterically, but this was neither the time nor place. Instead she relaxed against him and closed her eyes, and though it took an extra moment or two, she eventually passed out into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

you can either call this an end to the thread or carry on from the morning, idk

[toweredingly]

Sure enough, Roland heard none of it. He was already fast asleep. He slept deeply, although that didn't mean dreamlessly; if she awoke in the night, she would find him tossing and turning, occasionally muttering something in the thick, slurred tones of dream-speak. What contentment he'd found in her didn't carry into sleep, it seemed.