plowing the fields
The issue was indelicate and felt at times unnecessarily detailed: Blades assigned as conventionally female-presenting when first awakened to rarity (and these traits were a sliding scale over the course of any preceding awakenings and associated lifetimes) retained human female genitalia. No matter how or what they eventually determined their true gender to be, those traits stuck, assuming a path taken without dramatic surgical postfix modification.
Minoth honestly didn't mind it. The hole, such as it was, was just there, sterile (he had enough other sources of miscellaneous chronic pain without the bleeding, thank the Architect [except not really, but whether by design or not, the convenience proved]), and thus much more unobtrusive than the corresponding male part would be; obviously, it didn't affect how he was perceived as masculine or not, because he wore a leather leotard (and had a long mane of hair) anyway. People probably tried very pointedly to look away from his crotch at all times. Suited him just fine.
Addam, too, affable glass-half-full sort that he was, didn't really suffer from the condition. No one asked the bastard prince fourth in line about bearing an heir, and he had never been quite that kind of bastard, slinking about the streets looking for a girl to date and otherwise because the desperate desire was just so high, so what did it matter?
There was only one point at which they, the cowboy-prince pair somewhat happily partnered as Blade and Driver and then not only that, resolved to contention. There were only so many things you could do, when you were doing, without one instrument that made entrance into another, made impact and impetus upon the tilled and tiling plane. Sure, you could use fingers, and tongues, and all the rest (noses, if you were into that, or anything else even more creative, one supposes), but it wasn't the same as...
Well. Only, only, only. Not as if they'd know, now, would they? But they imagined, they supposed, and they were both more and less clever and intelligent than they might at most times let on, so they were fairly accurate in their collective guess.
Still, either's actual desire for penetration was just as limited.
In the early morning (call it, say, 0630?), Minoth awoke, slumped atop Addam's chest ass-up as usual. The inn beds weren't quite sparse, but they weren't luxurious either, which made it all the more fortuitous that the Blade preferred his prince's plush (call a spade a spade!) features to a pillow. He stretched from the waist, leaving his lower half to bear the reciprocal force and his bare arms to brace around Addam's chest.
Minoth yawned, and seeing Addam's eyes crack minutely at the disturbance, moved back down to kiss him, tender but intense. That was probably about as domestic as he felt like getting, for the rest of the day, but he knew Addam would take what he could get.
"Something you want to tell me, Minoth?"
That, of all coy and curious questions, was not the one Minoth expected to interrupt him in his catlike recoil back down to a horizontal position. He shuffled side to side, considering, which had the confounding effect of only making Addam's grin grow wider.
Action, gerund. Action, gerund. Now Minoth sat up, swinging his legs out to dangle on either side of the bed.
Ah. Sitting in this position made it more obvious that he was sitting on Addam's crotch. He allowed himself a grin, too.
"Not in the room with everyone else."
The summation of "everyone else" did not, of course, actually include everyone, but Jin and Aegaeon and Hugo were plenty, no matter where the boys had slipped off to by this point (across the hall, up the stairs...Addam had by now long handed Milton the metaphorical keys to the kingdom when it came to exploring his surroundings - with a buddy! which he had). Gave Minoth more than enough reservation for polite shame and reservation, whether coquettish or not.
It was Addam's finger at the corner of his mouth that did it. "Not out loud in the room with everyone else, maybe you mean. But it's already past time to get to plowing the fields, my dear."
A Minoth by any other state of mind would have rolled his eyes - what did Addam want him to do, wear out his trigger finger casing the joint down there for a bit of coy wordplay? They were both old enough to know that fingering was rarely the move. Hands could be used for, oh, so many better things.
But a Minoth meeting the morning with princely hands cupping his ass and that damned beatific smile coaxing him that way was all ears, eyes, and creaking joints.
"I thought plowing the fields was supposed to be difficult work," he murmured lazily, just clear enough to be audible even as he tried to keep the subsequent creaking of the bedframe down. "Seems to me-" he bent over and accompanied the next roll of his hips with an eagerly accepted kiss "-you could do it lying down."
"Mm," came Addam's affectedly distracted response, his fingers reverently stroking each facet of Minoth's left hand, with a particular emphasis on outside ridge of index finger down through web of palm. Minoth would indeed, it seemed, have to work just a touch harder to get a reaction. "Maybe for some, but not for uH-"
Wide-eyed, the bastard prince was, and all the more for contrast when his arousal-dilated pupils shrunk in tandem with his hitching, pleasure-dense breath. Gentle, Minoth, gentle. You've got to be kind to your steer. And as soon as Addam's eyes returned to lock with Minoth's, so too did his smile and air of divine comfort.
"Not easier with different tools?" Minoth pondered. His right hand wandered mildly over to the region between Addam's chest and underarm, then up and around to generous shoulder and bicep. Addam sighed, yielded, groaned. Different tools? Who needed 'em?