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Beekeeper: In Which Mieve Faces Old Memories

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which Amrit Takes a Run.

Please note: there are two chapters after “in which they stop kissing…” which have been deprecated.  This re-write begins from Amrit and Mieve ending up in bed.

This is another commission from @Momerath@wandering.shop for another chapter of Beekeeper, (there’s one more of about the same length coming, too).  Thank you so much to Momerath for your patience!

🐝 Continue reading

Warning

Warning (over a pile of squash)

This story is a follow-up to the sixth one to my Squish-Squash, Pumpkins and Gourds Prompt Call

This story is Fae Apoc, BeeKeeper – it is set before the Beekeeper series. The unnamed guy in this story is Amrit, and Roger is the sausage vendor.

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There were often strangers at their market. 

That was why they’d set it up where they had – the highway  might not be quite the hub of traffic it once had, but it was still a broad, easy way for people to move, and they still used it (once Roger and the others had cleared out enough cars to make 2 lanes passible again).  Continue reading

Squashed

Squashed

This story is the sixth one to my Squish-Squash, Pumpkins and Gourds Prompt Call

This story is Fae Apoc, BeeKeeper – it is set before the Beekeeper series. Sorry Momerath, I was being a bit of a brat (I prefer not to write continuations of extant long series as part of a prompt call. 🙂 )

What you need to know about the setting/story: Mieve is a hermit who can talk to/control insects; the apocalypse is rather recent; most trade right now is in barter.

🎃

She hadn’t left the clearing in almost six months and, as she walked around the market, Mieve remembered why.  Continue reading

Beekeeper: In Which Amrit Takes a Run

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which They Go To Bed.

Please note: there are two chapters after “in which they stop kissing…” which have been deprecated.  This re-write begins from Amrit and Mieve ending up in bed.

This is the actual commission: @Momerath@wandering.shop commissioned me to write another chapter of Beekeeper, (see the prequel to the commission linked above)

🐝 Continue reading

Beekeeper: In Which They Go to Bed

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which They Stop Kissing Long Enough to Talk.

Please note: there are two chapters after “in which they stop kissing…” which have been deprecated.  This re-write begins from Amrit and Mieve ending up in bed.

This is a prequel to the commission, more or less: @Momerath@wandering.shop commissioned me to write another chapter of Beekeeper, and in order to do that, I needed to go back and fix the spot where I’d stalled. 

Ahem. 

Where I’d stalled Three Years Ago.

This chapter mentions sex and involves two people being naked and intimate but in a mainly fade-to-black way; there is no on-screen sex.

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Beekeeper – in which pennies are discussed

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which There are Second Thoughts – and Third.

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THIS CHAPTER IS NOW DEPRECATED AND IS NOT CANON. 

In Which They Stop Kissing Long Enough to Talk is the last canon chapter before the rewrite begins.

See the rewrite beginning here – http://www.lynthornealder.com/2020/06/26/beekeeper-in-which-they-go-to-bed/

Her eyes were closed. He liked that; it let him watch her face. Her hands were on him like she was trying to pin him down – who was he kidding? She could pin him down without any hands at all – and her expression was somewhere else, somewhere reaching for bliss.

He brushed his lips against hers, then kissed her properly. He was on his back, and she was on top of him and…

He closed his eyes and stopped thinking for a while. She was moving above him and that was, for the moment, all that mattered.

When he opened his eyes, it was to kiss her again. Like this, he could feel the press of her collar against his neck. Her collar. Would it be so bad…?

Not the time to think about such things. He ran his hands up and down her back. He wondered, in a way he hadn’t for a while, what her Change was. He hadn’t Un-Masked for her; wouldn’t have if she had demanded it, might have if she’d asked it. She’d done neither, and her Mask was up, too. He kissed her collarbones, wondering.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she murmured. He grinned at her.

“Pennies, really? Those are pretty valuable now, all that copper.”

For a second, he thought he’d flustered her. Then she stroked his hair – gently, he couldn’t remember anyone being that gentle with him – and smiled.

“So’re your thoughts. Valuable, that is.”

He kissed her, his hand low enough down on her back that it wasn’t holding her and high enough up that she knew what he wanted. And for a while, he didn’t have any thoughts to give, for a penny or for a whole hive of honey.
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In Which There are Second Thoughts… and Third

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which They Stop Kissing Long Enough to Talk.

🐝

THIS CHAPTER IS NOW DEPRECATED AND IS NOT CANON. 

In Which They Stop Kissing Long Enough to Talk is the last canon chapter before the rewrite begins.

See the rewrite beginning here – http://www.lynthornealder.com/2020/06/26/beekeeper-in-which-they-go-to-bed/

She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. As far as she could tell, Amrit was still asleep. His breathing was even and he made little noises, sometimes, that did not quite sound like speech.

He was warm next to her. It was a petty concern, but she liked it. He was warm — and it was stupid, but she was coming to trust him.

Not stupid, she argued with herself. He’d made promises. Oaths. He hadn’t had to do that. And here they were…

Here they were, in bed together. Warm together, although it would be months before that was a real necessity.

She shouldn’t let herself get attached.

Too late.

She shouldn’t let herself trust him. He might be wearing a collar, still – he hadn’t said a word about that, and maybe he understood that it helped her relax – but he wasn’t Kept and he was far too fae to accept slavery without Keeping.

Too late.

She found herself thinking with his help, maybe I could sell some food at the market and not just honey, and wouldn’t it be nice to have fresh meat more often? and even hot baths. Hot water and what he’d said the night before,

If everyone could heat things up like I can, they wouldn’t need firewood.

He’d be useful. That was why she’d bought him, wasn’t it? Because she wanted someone useful around the place. Because she wanted someone to keep her company and it was hard to get a cat to do enough work to balance out their keep, and besides, cats weren’t great conversationalists.

He rolled over and looked at her, eyes still half-lidded with sleep. “You’re thinking very loudly,” he commented, his voice a soft rumble, like there was someone he didn’t want to wake up.

“Don’t tell me you’re a telepath, too.” She smiled a bit, even though he had no Keeping bond pressing on him to think that might be an order, no reason for her to need to soften it.

He smirked back at her. “Ha. No, it’s just something about your body language. Something’s saying ‘deep thoughts’. It’s kinda early in the morning for those, isn’t it?”

“Best time for ‘em,” she countered. “Before it’s light enough to get anything done, when it’s still a little chilly even most of the summer and I don’t feel like I have to start moving yet.”

“I suppose you have a point. Me, I never woke up before I had to until — well, I suppose even here I woke up when I had to.” He smirked and waved his far arm around demonstratively. “Nice to not be tied down. Nicer to be here with you.”

“Glad you approve.” She hesitated and then, because it was honest if not kind, “I’m glad you made the promises. I’m not sure how long it would have taken me to trust you, otherwise.”

“I’m not sure you would’ve. I’m not sure I would’ve trusted me,” he admitted. “I was pretty nasty when you brought me here.”

“You were pretty angry when I brought you here. You haven’t told me to fuck off in days.”

He smirked at her. “Well, I was pretty sure you’d gotten the point. So… I’ve still got almost three weeks on that set of promises. What do you want me to do with that time?”

“Oh, do I have to plan three weeks ahead?” She smiled lazily at him. “I was thinking more about the next ten minutes.”

His eyebrows lifted and he grinned widely at her. “You don’t say? Only ten minutes, though? I think I could fill at least the next hour.”

“I suppose the woodpile will still be there in an hour.”

“And the bees, and the garden. Yeah.” He leaned towards her to kiss her – and froze as he was suddenly half-over her.

Mieve froze as he did. Was he – no, he was frowning. She caught the back of his neck, above the collar (the collar, they’d have to talk about that sometime) and pulled him down. “You were saying?”

He grunted, startled, his lips barely an inch from hers. “I was saying that the chores would wait.”

“You know, I think you’re right.” She held on to the back of his neck and kissed him, long and hard and not at all scared.

He didn’t move when she released him, just stared at her for a moment. Then his tongue darted out and he licked his lips, letting a short laugh escape him. “You’re something else. And you know what? I like it.” He rolled onto his back and held his arms out for her. “Come here, boss. Chores can wait, right?”

She could kiss him for that. She should kiss him for that. Mieve straddled him and did just that, one hand on his shoulder and the other behind his neck.

He ought to be swearing at her and trying to get away. He ought to be worried, or nervous, or angry or…

No. He wasn’t the least bit submissive. She didn’t think he’d ever be. But he was under her, and he was moving under her and…

“Oh…oh.”

And for a while, she wasn’t worried at all.
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In Which They Stop Kissing Long Enough to Talk

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which The Kissing Continues.

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He didn’t carry her to the bed, but not for lack of offering, trying, and offering again.

“I’m not a blushing bride,” she complained, “and, besides, I like my feet firmly on the ground.”

Amrit might’ve been – not exactly offended, but put out at how brusque she could be, considering where they’d been and what they’d been doing, but she kissed both his cheeks and then his lips, the affection clear in the gesture and her expression, and he gave in.

She liked him. Amrit didn’t know what to do with that. Sure, girls had liked him before, but not like – “You’ve really got no illusions about me, do you?”

“You like to work and like to keep busy but hate authority?” Something in her smile was challenging. It wasn’t made any less so by the casual touch of her hand on his chest. “You’re overprotective of people you care about but aren’t that familiar with the concept. You have a foul mouth and no tolerance for rules.”

“…I’m not a sweetheart.” He didn’t know what motivated him to say that. Some half-forgotten long-ago girl, perhaps?

Whatever his reasons, it made her smile. “I know. Are we going to bed or do I have to carry you?”

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Next: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2020/06/26/beekeeper-in-which-they-go-to-bed/
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In Which the Kissing Continues

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which They Have Nerves.

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The kiss was meant to be a promise, but it turned into an invitation. She liked the way he kissed, like he was taking he time with it, tasting her. She liked the way it felt when he put a hand on the center of her back to steady himself.

She twisted the rest of the way around, hands on his shoulders for support. His shoulders were tense; his brow was furrowed. His hands slid down her wet sides to her hips and held her there, delicately, like he was holding an egg, like he was afraid she might break.

She hadn’t lived this long in the end of the world to break easily. She ran her hand up the back of his neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him again. There was nothing delicate about her grip, and from the sound he made, he approved.
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In Which they have Nerves

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which They are Dirty.

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Some part of Amrit’s brain was still trying desperately to remind him she bought you at a slave market. She kept you chained and gagged and collared. She wants you to be her slave. Her Kept.

The rest of him was being pretty clear that those things were irrelevant. Certain parts of him — not his brain, no matter what the jokes said — were very intent on everything being irrelevant.
And some part of him was tied up in knots that made him feel young and stupid and very out of his element again. But he had her in his arms, he was not going to drop her, and he wasn’t going to conk her head into anything.

Her hallways were narrow. She was not a short woman – compared to him, sure, but not compared to other women he’d encountered and the one he’d carried once. He held her close to him and tried to ignore the way she was grabbing on to him. Holding his neck. Holding his shoulders, yes, that was far safer to think about. Amrit swallowed a noise like a growl, not wanting to frighten her again, and maneuvered her into the bathroom.

There was a water pump. He glared at the pump as if that would make it start working.

“Tempero Yaku,” Mieve started, and then followed it with a string of Greek he barely followed. Control Water, though, that he knew, and it quickly became obvious, as water gushed out of the faucet. The tub appear to plug itself, so Amrit took advantage of the moment to start heating the water up as it poured in.

“Eventually you’re going to have to put me down,” Mieve pointed out, when he had completed the Working. “Since you can’t take your clothes off while you’re holding me, and vice versa.”

“I might be able to,” he admitted, “but not and still have clothes when I was done. All right. I suppose I should put you down.” He was surprisingly reluctant to do so. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere, he knew, and yet… Slowly, he set her on the feet.

And now he had to strip in front of her. He turned his back a bit, not sure where this modesty was coming from. He had nothing he was ashamed of, nothing he wanted to hide. He pulled off his clothes slowly. He wanted to turn and look at Mieve, but somehow that seemed like it would be wrong.

He growled. He wasn’t fifteen, damnit.

“You can turn around.” Mieve’s hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s not like we’re not going to be in the tub together in a minute or anything. I’m not going to be offended.”

“I know,” he grumbled. “I just… this is. It’s new. Different.” He twitched his shoulders. “Don’t want to end up fighting again.”

She made a small noise, a worrisome noise, and that was enough to finally make Amrit turn around. She had her hand over her mouth, and it was a moment before he realized she was laughing.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t bring any real heat to it.

“It’s not,” she admitted, still laughing, “and… yet… it’s a little funny?”

“It’s a little funny,” he grumbled agreement. Under the clothes, she had a much more shapely figure than he’d thought. A little skinny — they were all a little skinny, and anyone who wasn’t, you had to wonder a bit at their secrets — but gorgeous nonetheless.

He bit back whatever noise wanted to come out of his throat, not entirely sure what it would be, and only then noticed that she was looking him up and down too.

“Liking your purchase?” Some bit of ridiculousness made him lift his arms and suck in his stomach — not that he had a gut anymore; he was skinny like the rest of the world — and pose for her.

She ran her hand over his chest, sending shivers through his body. “Quite a bit,” she murmured. “Forgiving me for buying you?”

“Better you than Fineus the Whoremonger.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead tenderly. “But there’s this tub waiting for us…”

“It looks kind of tempting, doesn’t it? I’m glad you can heat water up. I haven’t had a properly hot tub in quite a while…”

“The tub isn’t what looks tempting.” He swung her up into his arms again and kissed her. He was fiercer than he meant to be, but he wanted to get it in before she stopped him. Before she came to her senses and remembered that she’d bought him.

“Mmm. Well, both you and the tub are pretty hot,” she teased, when they came up for air. “So let’s combine the two and see if it multiplies hotness.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” he murmured. “I’m not all that good-looking, you know.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t point out how rarely I see another sentient being, should I?”

“No… no. Let me have some of my pride, please.”

She chuckled. “You have nothing to worry about when it comes to your looks. But if you don’t get in the tub soon, I might second-guess the second half of this plan.”

“There’s a second half? There’s a plan?” He stepped into the tub and very carefully sat down, setting her in his lap.

“Maybe more of a concept or a hope,” she admitted. She shifted around for a few moments and leaned back with her head on his chest. “Although this is quite a nice result, I have to admit.”

He touched her arms cautiously. “You wanted this? Really?” What was wrong with him?

“You’re… yes. Let’s just go with yes, all right? You may be mulish, but you’re kind. Also,” she teased, “you really need the bath.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but so do you.” He picked up a sliver of soap she’d left on the side of the tub and started washing her neck and shoulders. “You know how good you’ve got it here, right?”

“Half of that is magic. I mean, if everyone could make water flow with their minds, they wouldn’t need running water quite so badly. And… ooh. That feels nice.” She leaned forward as he soaped up the back of her neck up into her hairline. “If everyone could heat things up like you can…”

“They wouldn’t need firewood. But you’re safe here, you’ve got food and water and shelter and, oh, man, I can’t tell you the last time I took a bath.” Much less one with a lovely woman. He moved his hands up into her hair. “It’s a pretty sweet set-up. I don’t blame you for not wanting to lose it.”

“I got lucky.” Her voice was quiet, and she seemed stiller, almost stiff. “A lot of people didn’t.”

“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “I know. Me, too. I won the Change lotto, and then even when I was stupid enough to get caught by slavers – I got bought by you, and not by some asshole.”

“You could’ve gotten free from some asshole.” She looked as if she wanted to relax, but her shoulders were still stiff. He ran the washcloth over her shoulders gently.

“Not if he kept me in hawthorn. And anyway, this place is better than – well.” It was his turn to go still, his hand on her shoulder. “…This place is the best place I’ve been since the world ended, and maybe before it.”

She twisted in his lap to kiss him. “Just you wait,” she murmured. “It gets better.”

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