Feeling Thancred's hands against him is an instant balm to the flames licking at his core, and Urianger's sigh is almost one of relief as his eyes slide closed for a moment. He follows the sensation of his palms as they slide down either side of his chest, then move to the growing swell of his belly, and lets his his lashes flutter open again to watch his partner as he marvels over what they've created together. It's certainly true that Urianger seems to have "popped" in Thancred's absence: what had started as a vague thickening of the hips is now a clearly defined roundness, and he places a large palm over Thancred's hand as they stand there together.
"Aye, the child doth demand more room inside me with each passing day β let alone each moon," he chuckles, letting his thumb stroke against the curve of Thancred's. When the other man leans up and in for a kiss Urianger accepts it with a soft moan, his free hand sliding up to cup Thancred's cheek, then the back of his head, so he can tangle his fingers into his hair.
"Our child," he hums when they part, guiding his lover's hand down to sit low on his belly. He kisses him again, that desperation creeping back to the fore as their lips move against each other, before forcing himself to pull away so that he can take a slow, calming breath. Urianger rests his forehead against Thancred's for a moment as his hands drift back up to curl around his shoulders, and all of a sudden he finds himself struck with the sudden need to explain himself.
"While I am loath to shackle thee to my side without pressing need β I have managed perfectly well thus far, and Y'shtola hath surprised us all with how readily she hath offered her assistance β I cannot deny 'tis thy presence that most effectively comforts me." He clears his throat, his ears flushing pink as the haze of need finally lifts enough for him to feel mildly embarrassed about his needy behaviour. "For myriad reasons."
There's a momentary pause as Urianger debates over whether to continue, then presses ahead:
"Mayhap some small compromise could be reached when thy business doth allow for it?" A wry smile touches his lips: "A night in my company, perhaps once a week, that my fingers and wrist might be given an eve of respite."
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Feeling Thancred's hands against him is an instant balm to the flames licking at his core, and Urianger's sigh is almost one of relief as his eyes slide closed for a moment. He follows the sensation of his palms as they slide down either side of his chest, then move to the growing swell of his belly, and lets his his lashes flutter open again to watch his partner as he marvels over what they've created together. It's certainly true that Urianger seems to have "popped" in Thancred's absence: what had started as a vague thickening of the hips is now a clearly defined roundness, and he places a large palm over Thancred's hand as they stand there together.
"Aye, the child doth demand more room inside me with each passing day β let alone each moon," he chuckles, letting his thumb stroke against the curve of Thancred's. When the other man leans up and in for a kiss Urianger accepts it with a soft moan, his free hand sliding up to cup Thancred's cheek, then the back of his head, so he can tangle his fingers into his hair.
"Our child," he hums when they part, guiding his lover's hand down to sit low on his belly. He kisses him again, that desperation creeping back to the fore as their lips move against each other, before forcing himself to pull away so that he can take a slow, calming breath. Urianger rests his forehead against Thancred's for a moment as his hands drift back up to curl around his shoulders, and all of a sudden he finds himself struck with the sudden need to explain himself.
"While I am loath to shackle thee to my side without pressing need β I have managed perfectly well thus far, and Y'shtola hath surprised us all with how readily she hath offered her assistance β I cannot deny 'tis thy presence that most effectively comforts me." He clears his throat, his ears flushing pink as the haze of need finally lifts enough for him to feel mildly embarrassed about his needy behaviour. "For myriad reasons."
There's a momentary pause as Urianger debates over whether to continue, then presses ahead:
"Mayhap some small compromise could be reached when thy business doth allow for it?" A wry smile touches his lips: "A night in my company, perhaps once a week, that my fingers and wrist might be given an eve of respite."