Chapter Text
Marie wakes up in the arms of the man she loves. Vasco is curled around her like an affectionate cat, his chest pressed to her back, one arm wrapped around her. He’s awake, she thinks – he’s holding her, not just draped over her – but his breathing is slow and even. Dozing, perhaps. His skin is soft and warm against hers, his breath light on her neck, stirring the fine hair at her nape every time he exhales. The sun has laid itself down all over her bedroom, a vivid, golden morning tossed over them like water, like gossamer silk. “I love you, Marie,” she hears again in that rough burr of his, words whispered against her lips last night as he kissed her fiercely and gathered her into his embrace. “I love you so much." She couldn’t stop smiling if she tried. Never in her wildest dreams had she even thought to hope for this – for him. Marie fully intends to lie there for awhile and savor the moment, but Vasco shifts against her a little, then sighs and kisses her hair. Not dozing after all.
“Good morning,” she says, her voice husky with sleep. She looks over her shoulder at him.
Vasco sighs contentedly. “Good morning, my tempest.”
“I’m still not used to hearing you say that.” Marie rolls onto her back and Vasco shifts to give her space, propping his head on one tattooed hand and smiling down at her. His hair is as wild as it ever is of a morning, and this time she gives into temptation and reaches up to run her fingers through it, tidying it a little; he leans into the touch, then bends his head to kiss her. His lips are soft and slow on hers, a promise of a long, lazy morning spent between her silk sheets. She is entirely willing.
“I’m just glad I get to,” he murmurs when they break apart, stroking her cheek with his thumb, and then kisses her again.
“So am I,” she says. And there it is again, that handsome slash of a smile, wider now than she’s ever seen it before. She beams up at him, taking his face between her hands. “I love you, Vasco,” she says, every word like nectar on her lips. The look in his eyes is five hundred fathoms deep; her heart has never felt so full.
Vasco kisses her passionately, his fingers threading through her hair as he cups her head in his hand, his tongue in her mouth, his lips hot on hers. Marie catches her breath and arches into it, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer. Their legs tangle together under the covers, Vasco’s toes sliding up the arch of her foot; she curls a leg over his hip and pulls him down on top of her, wanting to feel every inch of him.
“I love you too,” he rasps, then kisses her again so fiercely, as though he’s trying to show her exactly how he feels. Marie rather thinks she has some notion, given that she wants to twine herself into him and never let go again. Vasco runs a slow hand down her side and then grips her thigh, pulling her leg higher against him. Marie can feel him starting to get hard, his cock stiffening between them, pressed against her belly. She gives a little moan, rocking her hips up against his thigh to get some pressure on her cunt. Saints, he feels so good.
“Marie.” His voice is rough with desire; it makes heat prickle pleasantly over her skin.
“I want to fuck you,” she says. More specifically, she wants to watch him while she fucks him, wants to see him come undone, wants him to lose himself in it. He’s saying her name freely now, and she wants to hear it from him as he gets lost in the pleasure she gives him – she wants to hear him beg the way he so often does, Please, Marie – just the thought of it is making her wet.
He chuckles a little breathlessly. “I’ll make a mess of your sheets.”
“Not if you clean up first.”
“I’m not going back to the docks – oh, wait.” Vasco has slowly been leaving more and more of his things at her house – a flask of oil, a length of silk rope, a sash he keeps forgetting, and most recently a douche, which was the entire reason she was able to bend him over the bed and fuck him senseless as he shouted himself hoarse into her pillows one delightful morning about three weaks ago.
“It should still be in the privy cupboard where you left it,” she says, a little teasingly.
“Right,” Vasco says, his voice dry. He rolls off her and sits up; Marie reaches for him, propping herself up on an elbow and pulling his head down for another kiss. The trouble with this plan is that he has to get out of bed. She doesn’t want to stop touching him. He kisses her back, still smiling.
“You’ll never get to fuck me if you don’t let me go,” he tells her.
“I know,” she says, and kisses him again. Vasco pushes her back down onto the pillows, his tongue delving into her mouth; Marie moans. His hands wander over her, cupping her breast and teasing her nipple, stroking her side, her hip, her thigh; he kisses her neck, sucks a love bite into the tender skin, makes her gasp and clutch at him. Then he kisses her mouth again lightly.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, and sits up.
“Vasco,” Marie complains.
“Just a few minutes,” he says, getting out of bed. She props herself up on her elbows to watch him walk to the privy, admiring the lean muscles of his long legs, the delicious curve of his backside. He is so handsome, she thinks.
As promised, it only takes him a few minutes. He’s back again soon enough, leaning in the doorway to her privy and grinning at her. She can’t remember the last time she saw him smile so much.
“You look quite pleased with yourself,” Marie teases.
“Maybe I like it when you fuck me,” says Vasco, ambling across the room to get back into bed.
“Really? You do? I hadn’t noticed.”
He just laughs and kisses her, his mouth sweet and hot, his hand cupping her jaw as he draws her closer. Marie slips an arm around his neck and curls a leg over his hip, pressing herself against him.
“Will you tie my hands?” Vasco asks her.
“Of course,” she says. That first night with Vasco, she never would have guessed how much he enjoyed being tied up. There’s something about it, though, that blows him wide open every time, and the intensity of his need and arousal never fails to thrill her. It’s been months, but the thought of that first time she took him, the way he looked up at her, “I want to please you” – it still makes her stomach swoop with excitement. “Now?” She can’t keep the anticipation out of her voice.
“Yes,” he murmurs, and kisses her again.
The trouble with sex that requires things like ropes and harnesses and oil is that Marie is going to have to stop kissing Vasco long enough to get the rope and harness and oil out of her bedside table, and she doesn’t want to. She wants to hold him close and never let go, wants to feel his mouth on hers, his strong hands roving over her body, wants to map the stubble on his jaw with her fingertips and slip her tongue between his lips and never let it end. Vasco seems to be of a similar mind, at least for now – he holds her close, half under him, his thigh between her legs, one hand on her waist and the other in her hair, and kisses her slowly, blissfully, like they have eternity to spend in one another’s arms. And perhaps they do, at that – does she dare consider that this might be the start of a lifetime of mornings spent with Vasco in her bed? She might dare, she thinks. If he keeps kissing her like this, she very well might.
“You’re very distracting,” he tells her.
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
“Mm. As well you should.” He nuzzles against her neck, kissing the love bite he left there.
Marie sighs contentedly. “I suppose I ought to get that rope,” she says.
“I’ll do it.” Vasco leans over her, reaching for the nightstand – he has to more or less lie down on her in order to reach it.
“Oof,” says Marie.
“I’ve got it – ” Vasco sits up at the same time she does, and they knock their heads together.
“Ow,” he grumbles with a smile on his face; Marie laughs.
Triumphantly, Vasco lays the coiled length of undyed silk on the coverlet. He always insists on rewinding it, she thinks, her own work never tidy enough for him. The rope is twisted up and tied off, precise enough to please an Admiral, no doubt. “There,” he says.
She kisses his cheek. “Thank you. Now, give me your hands.”
It takes her some time to get his hands bound properly, mostly because he refuses to stop kissing her – or she can’t stop kissing him, she thinks wryly. One of those. She sits half in his lap, winding the rope carefully around his wrists, several loops to distribute the pressure properly, then a twist of the rope and she pulls the soft, silken cuffs together and ties them off (not too tight, never too tight – she checks, then checks again, her lips soft on his jaw, his ear, slipping two fingers between the ropes and his skin, making sure she’s left him enough room.) “How does that feel?” she asks him. Vasco tugs against his bonds experimentally, his eyes dark with arousal and warm with – with love, she thinks, with tenderness, or even devotion. She runs a light hand over the twists of rope, mostly just to touch him.
“Good,” he says.
“Not too tight?”
“No.” He presses his lips to her temple. Marie leans into the touch, smiling to herself.
“Shall I tie you to the bedstead?” she asks.
“Yes,” he breathes. So she does, and in the end Vasco is on his back under her with his arms over his head, his hands bound together with a length of rope tied to her headboard, looking up at her with fire in his eyes as she kneels there, straddling his hips. She can feel the growing hardness of him pressing up against her; she loves what a few minutes and a length of rope can do to him. Marie rubs her slick cunt against his growing length – once, and he gasps, twice and he moans –
“You’re so beautiful,” she tells him, feeling rather breathless.
“So are you,” he says, arching his hips up into hers. It’s so tempting to take him inside her, so tempting to bend down and suck him, but she said she wanted to fuck him and she meant it, so she clambers off him rather regretfully and digs in her nightstand for the oil, the harness, and her glass phallus that he likes so well. She has to get out of bed entirely to get the harness on; it takes her a moment to strap into it.
“Comfortable?” she inquires, watching him fidget.
“Now you’re just keeping me waiting,” he complains, smiling a little, his eyes hot on her body.
“Patience is a virtue, Vasco,” she informs him.
“Well then, I shall endeavor to cultivate it later,” he says.
“Oh? Not now?” She tugs on a strap.
“Patience is a virtue, Marie.” He’s fully hard, the head of his cock already a little slick, a little flushed.
“A lot of back talk coming from a man tied to my bed,” she jokes, though it comes out rather breathier than she intended.
“Shall I provoke you further?” His eyes are smoldering.
“Only if you want to,” she replies sincerely. The harness is comfortable, the phallus in place. She gets back into bed, pausing only to grab the small bottle of oil from her nightstand and drop it on the sheets beside her lover. She clasps the phallus in her hands, feeling the glass cold against her skin. The thought strikes her all at once.
“Would you like to warm this up for me?” she asks him.
Vasco licks his lips. “How do you mean?”
“With your mouth,” she says, her voice going suddenly husky. She fully expects him to say no – sucking on a glass cock probably doesn’t hold a lot of appeal for most people, but she wants to see him swallow it down, wants to watch him like it –
His pupils dilate visibly. “Yes,” he says.
Well. That settles that, then. Marie would feel a lot sillier walking on her knees to him across the mattress if she weren’t so aroused. She settles herself astride his chest, one hand on the headboard, the other wrapped around the base of her cock, angling her hips down towards his ready mouth. Vasco lifts his head and takes the head of the phallus between his lips and sucks on it – she can see the pink of his tongue through the glass. His eyes are locked on her face, his breath coming harder through his nose now as he takes her deeper and deeper. She wishes, not for the first time, that it were a real cock just for these moments, that she could feel what he was doing with that clever mouth of his. She reaches down and cups the back of his head with a gentle hand, not forcing him onto her cock, but simply supporting him, taking a little of his weight. Vasco takes her to the root with a groan that she feels in the harness, pressing the base of the phallus back against her pubic mound.
Marie’s glass phallus is not large – they make them much bigger, but hers is about the size of an average cock, perhaps a little longer than Vasco’s own. He takes it easily, swallowing it down with the ease of long and enthusiastic practice. She knows he’s sucking on it, knows his tongue must be moving against it, pleasuring it as if it were real – she would do anything to be able to really feel it, just for a moment. His eyes are hot on her face; his breath comes hard. She twines her fingers through his hair, grips a handful of it just a little, experimentally, and he moans helplessly, his hands flexing against their restraints, fingers wrapping around the rope that binds him to the bedstead.
“You like that?” she says – well, pants. She’s panting, just from watching him.
Vasco can’t speak with a mouthful of cock, but he manages a rough “Mhmm,” then takes her as deep as he can, sucking in a harsh breath through his nose. Marie grips his hair a little harder and he moans in the back of his throat. She wonders what he’d do if she really pulled, if she held him down and fucked his mouth the way she did his arse, if he’d like it. It rather seems he would. That might be worth discussing later. For now, though, she intends to err on the side of gentleness.
“Surely you’ve warmed it up by now.” She’s still panting. Saints, the sight of him sucking cock is so much better than she’d ever imagined, the flush of his well-fucked lips, the heat of his eyes on her face, the way he opens his throat for her… Marie draws back a little regretfully; Vasco lets her go – not that he has any choice, really – but he licks the underside of her shaft as she withdraws. Marie takes the phallus in hand, well-warmed indeed now, and rubs the head of it against his lips, slicking him with his own saliva. Vasco presses a kiss to the tip, never breaking eye contact.
She releases her handful of his hair, lays his head back down on the pillow. “You’re lovely,” she tells him. Vasco licks the head of her phallus, slow and sensual, his tongue vividly pink against the glass. Marie catches her breath and rocks back, drawing the phallus up so he can speak more easily.
“Well, that’s very kind of you to say,” he murmurs, his voice rough, his eyes twinkling with mirth even as dark as they are with arousal. Marie chuckles.
“Shall I prepare you?” she asks him.
“Please,” says Vasco, half-begging, half making a polite request to a friend, perhaps over tea. High tea, even. She grins at him and he grins back, crooked and amused, his mouth and cheeks still flushed, his eyes black with desire. Marie rolls off him and moves down the bed, parting his legs and kneeling between them. Vasco draws his knees up without being asked as she slicks up her fingers with oil, then caps the bottle and sets it aside. She strokes his cleft with her fingertips, feeling him relaxing himself as she does so; he lets out a slow breath. His cock is hard, rather neglected, dripping slick onto his belly; it twitches as she touches him. Arousal goes sparking down her spine at the sight of it. He moans when she enters him, wanton and breathless, arching his back a little, his eyes locked on hers.
“More,” he says, and she gives him a second finger immediately, and Vasco moans again. When she crooks her fingers into him he bites his lip, struggling to muffle a cry. He’s hot and tight around her; she can feel him clenching down already, his body clinging to her in his pleasure. She could draw this out, make him struggle and beg for it, but she doesn’t want to – she just wants to fuck him, wants the intimacy and depth of her cock in his arse, the way it joins them together. So she fucks him with her fingers, pleasuring him deep and steady, and after a few minutes chances adding a third finger, which he accepts easily, eagerly, gasping and arching down onto her hand as she enters him.
“Marie,” he moans, and she feels it all over, the thrill of her name like a touch on her skin. “Fuck, that feels so good…” And she crooks her fingers against that secret spot inside him and he gasps and curses, shuddering with pleasure, his cock spasming. “Oh storms – oh fuck – Marie – please – ah, wait – ”
“What is it?” she asks breathlessly, her fingers stilling inside him.
“I have – mmh – a request,” Vasco pants.
“What is it?”
“Ah – don’t, ah, don’t let me come,” he says.
“Are you sure?”
“I want ah you to come first…”
“I’m not likely to come fucking you with a glass cock, you know,” Marie says, amused and aroused in equal measure. She does love teasing him, after all.
“I know.” He’s fucking himself down onto her unmoving fingers; she takes his weight, bracing her arm for him as he seeks the pleasure she’s stopped giving. “I just – ah – I just want – oh fuck…”
“I’m to have my way with you then, am I?” she asks.
“Ah – ah – yes,” he gasps. Excitement leaps in the pit of her stomach. To have him like this – to make love to him like this, to give him everything he wants and more… to have him ask her for it in so many words, and to get to grant his wishes. To tease him into insensibility and then make him come so hard it leaves him helpless. To hear him beg her for it – it thrills her.
“I think that can be arranged,” she murmurs, and pulls out of him. Vasco moans plaintively, but Marie is busy oiling up her cock and pays him no mind. Phallus seen to, she catches his legs and drapes them over her shoulders, settling herself down over him to enter him again. She’s fond of this position because it makes it so easy to watch his face as she fucks him, to see every little change and nuance of his expression as the pleasure takes him over bit by bit, thrust by thrust – and she does so now, entering him slowly, gently, the deep, steady slide of penetration as he takes her cock –
“Ah, aahhh,” he groans, “Marie!”
“Vasco,” she whispers. She’s pressed against him, bottomed out, her hips flush with his arse, bent down over him – she wishes she could kiss him, but that would put his knees up around his ears, and she doesn’t think he’ll bend that far. “I love you,” she says softly, and the look in his eyes is better than any kiss could ever be.
“I love you too,” he breathes, and smiles up at her like the sunrise. Marie turns her head to press a kiss to the inside of his thigh where it rests against her shoulder, and then draws her hips back and thrusts deep into him. Vasco’s breath hitches; she watches him bite back a moan.
“How does that feel?” she asks him.
“Don’t stop,” he says.
She doesn’t. She fucks him until he’s arching and begging under her, barely coherent, until every other word out of his mouth is Marie or please or storms and most of the rest is just moaning, until he’s clutching white-knuckled at the rope that binds him to her bed, until he’s so tight with pleasure that she can feel him through the harness, clenching around her cock. His cock spasms when she stills inside him; he rocks his hips down against hers, seeking pressure, friction, anything. But an idea has been growing in her mind as she’s been fucking him, an idea nearly as arousing as the sight of him beneath her, and she intends to see it through, if he’s willing.
“Oh fuck, please, Marie, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” he gasps, fucking himself onto her cock as best he can. She bites the inside of his thigh and he moans aloud, so she sucks a love bite into the tender skin, which makes his cock jump against her.
“Are you ready to make me come?” she asks him.
“Yes,” he rasps, utterly desperate.
“Good,” she murmurs, and reaches down to undo the straps that bind the flared base of her phallus to her harness. She does not pull out of him.
“What are you – ?” Vasco asks as she fumbles with it, but then the last clasp comes free, and Marie pulls away from him, leaving her phallus buried in his arse.
“I thought you might take my cock while I take yours,” she tells him with a wicked smile, letting his legs fall from her shoulders.
“Storms sink me,” he whispers, his cock twitching hard against his belly. She reaches down and presses against the base of the phallus, making sure it’s fully hilted inside him, which makes him moan.
“Shall I take that as enthusiasm?” she inquires, tugging at the buckle on the waistband of her harness.
“You coming first was a terrible idea,” he grumbles breathlessly.
“Should I make you come, then?” The harness comes loose from her hips; Marie eases it down her thighs, lifting her knees one at a time to get out of it.
“No,” Vasco growls.
“You’re a bit of a masochist, aren’t you?” she says.
He looks up at her through his lashes. “There are worse things to be.” Arousal makes his voice rough, but there’s softness in his eyes. Marie tosses the harness onto the floor.
“I suppose there are,” she concedes, amused, and bends down to kiss him.
He surges up under her, his mouth hot on hers, his lips parted. Marie slips her tongue between his teeth, just to taste him; she can’t help but think of how wet he is, how soft, how this mouth might have felt wrapped around her cock earlier. She wants that clever tongue of his on her cunt, she wants his hands, she wants his cock – that last most of all, she wants him inside her, and she shall have it. She straddles him and takes him in hand, stroking his slick down his shaft with a single pump of her hand, making him moan again.
“Remember, you have to last,” she tells him.
“Oh storms,” he chokes out; she feels his cock jump against her fingers.
Marie sinks down onto him with a sigh, taking him to the hilt inside her as he took her inside him just moments ago. “Vasco,” she murmurs, her head falling back at the deep, easy pleasure of it.
“Marie.” It’s more a moan than anything else.
She rocks her hips against his, slow and sensual. “Saints, you feel so good.”
“Mmmh,” is all he can manage in reply.
He’s thick and hot inside her, the pressure and stretch, the touch of him… Marie rides him slowly, blissfully, her hands braced on his chest. Vasco shuts his eyes and bites his lip, clutching at his bonds like a lifeline, breathy little moans catching in his throat. His whole body is tense, his hips rolling up and down in time with hers, fucking her despite his visibile struggle not to come – like he can’t help himself. He’s a breathtaking sight.
“Look at me,” she says, and he obeys for just a moment, dark eyes raking over her body before he clenches them shut again – the naked arousal in his face goes right through her. “Look at me, Vasco,” she says again, more firmly.
“I can’t – please – ah, ah, I’ll ah come – ah – ”
“Mmh. Are you really that, ah, that close?” Lust trails gentle fingers up her spine. She wants to watch him come undone.
“Yes,” he groans. His knuckles are white where he grips the rope.
“Oh Saints,” she breathes. She’s powerfully tempted to speed up, to ride him hard until he loses his little game and climaxes under her, but he asked her – begged her – not to let him. So she moves slowly, teasing him with her cunt as she seeks her own pleasure atop him. She doesn’t want to drag this out too long, or he really will come too soon, and there’ll be nothing he can do to stop it. (Should she find that idea so arousing? Does she care?) She touches her fingers to his lips. His brows quirk, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
“Get me wet,” she murmurs, and he takes her into his mouth. Saints, he looks so good sucking on her fingers, almost as good as he looked sucking on her cock. He swallows her down to the last knuckle with a moan, his tongue soft and slick against her skin, stroking and suckling on her. She feels his hips buck up against hers, his thighs tensing. What does it feel like with the phallus still inside him? How tight is he? If only she could feel him! But the sight of him is arousing enough on its own – the pink of his lips, the color high in his cheeks, the tightness of his brow, those clenched hands, his heaving chest, the way his back arches as he fucks up into her. Marie withdraws her fingers from his mouth and tightens herself around him; Vasco gives a helpless little cry, his lips parting.
“Don’t forget, you have to last,” she says.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “I don’t know if I can. Marie – ah, ah storms sink me. Fuck!”
“Regrets?” she asks with a long, slow roll of her hips.
Vasco just curses again and grits his teeth.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” she tells him.
“You feel so good, I ah fuck, I can’t take it,” he gasps.
“I won’t make you wait much longer, then,” she says, and bends down for a kiss. Vasco moans against her lips, letting her plunder his mouth with abandon as she cups his cheek in one hand. Then she sits up and reaches down, questing between her own folds with spit-slicked fingers as she leans back, bracing her other hand on his thigh.
“Don’t come, now,” she pants, and begins to ride him in earnest.
She always forgets how much she likes this position, how incredibly good it feels. The angle of his cock inside her is perfect; pleasure darts up through her body with every thrust. As she times the strokes of her fingers to the movement of her hips she can already feel herself beginning to tremble with pleasure, her climax beginning to bud deep inside her, coaxed further towards its full flower every time his cock fills her. For his part, Vasco is barely holding on – his whole body taut as a bowstring, his legs jerking spasmodically as the pleasure takes him over, his grip on the rope so tight that she’s certain he’s going to find a way to give himself rope burn on silk. His face is a study in ecstasy, his brows drawn tight, his mouth open, lips trembling, jaw tense, breathy cries catching in his throat as he fights his impending climax. Even with his eyes clenched shut, he’s on the edge of coming.
That’s what pushes her over the edge, in the end – Vasco’s pleasure, and his desperation. The pleasure blossoms inside her, blooming everywhere he touches her, and Marie gasps out, “Oh, oh Vasco, look at me, Vasco – ah!” And comes hard, her whole body shuddering as the climax takes her, lost in the black and hazel of his brilliant eyes as he stares up at her with a helpless look on his face, half ecstasy, half wonder, and as she rocks herself down hard onto his cock, she finally gets to watch him come. He tensens and arches his back, his eyes rolling up as they drop shut, his mouth opening, the pleasure taking him so intense it almost looks like pain. Then he spills inside her with a shudder and a cry, his knuckles dead white where he grips the ropes that bind him, his cock twitching helplessly inside her for a long moment before he goes limp beneath her.
Marie leans forward and braces her hands on the mattress, catching her breath as the searing pleasure of her climax dissipates. Vasco is panting beneath her, limp in his bonds, his eyes still closed. Sweat gleams on his chest and forehead, a fine sheen of it; he looks exquisitely beautiful and very well-fucked, his tattoos dark against the gentle flush of his skin. His lashes are black as ink against his cheeks. She bends down and kisses him, and he kisses her back, softly.
“I love you,” she tells him, and he smiles without opening his eyes. The gladness in his face makes something bright and joyful well up in her chest. So she reaches up with a smile on her own face and plucks at the knots binding his wrists together; when his hands come loose from their bonds, she takes them and kisses his palms one by one, then bends to press her lips to his forehead, then the tip of his nose – he laughs – and then his mouth again. His arms come down around her, one hand twining through her hair as he pulls her closer, deepening the kiss.
“I love you too, Marie,” he murmurs when they part.
She brushes her nose against his, then kisses him lightly, sweet and affectionate. “Let me get you cleaned up,” she says.
Some time (and one good-natured argument over which of them ought to wash the glass phallus) later, Marie lies beside him, idly tracing the graceful outline of one of the tattoos on his chest with a gentle finger. Vasco has an arm around her waist, the other behind his head; he watches her affectionately. Neither of them are given to lying idle, but Marie doesn’t want to leave his embrace, doesn’t want to have to get out of bed again so soon. On the other hand, she’s hungry. She really ought to get up. Vasco must be hungry too, and she should fetch them something to eat, and then perhaps, if he has time, they could go back to bed… But he seems to be in no danger of moving anytime soon. He is comfortably ensconced on her pillows, holding her against him gently but firmly, his eyes heavy-lidded in a way that reminds her of nothing so much as a contented cat. Hunger gnaws at the pit of her stomach.
“We can’t stay here all day,” Marie says, as much to herself as to Vasco.
"Really?" He half-grins at her. "Why not? I didn't recall you having any meetings today." This from a man as terrible at lazing as she is.
"I… so you noticed that." She ducks her head, even as she still has her hand on his chest and he's close and warm, impossible to avoid. As if she'd ever want to. She's had a taste of that, and no, thank you very much.
"That you asked me to come when you usually have a free morning afterwards?" He tilts his head, and looks at her. "I thought that was just convenience."
She half-smiles. "It started as such. Then I started… hoping that you'd stay a little longer in the mornings." She avoids his gaze again, but he strokes a thumb over her cheek.
"Not just me, then," he says, softly.
She looks at him, still not quite able to believe talking about it. "I…" Her stomach rumbles. "Damn it."
He's biting back a laugh.
"What?" she says, and then she forces herself out of bed – harder when she sits on the edge of it and his hand trails slowly, lovingly down her spine. "Vasco, if you don't stop that, we're both going to die of starvation."
"Dying in the arms of a beautiful woman?" he says, lax and fond.
"I…" She looks over her shoulder, at his dark eyes and wild hair and – "No, that's it." She pulls on her stockings and takes her robe from her chair. Ties it, while he props himself on an elbow and watches her, and she watches back. "Would you mind being less…" She waves a hand.
Raising a brow, he suggests, "Naked?"
"I was going to say distracting." But she's smiling and he's amused, not even trying to hide it. This is a semi-regular routine at this point, but not usually with so much of the morning spent here, slow and tender. She adds, voice gentling more than she meant it to, "Just… please don't tell me you love me again, or I'll never escape."
"Marie," he starts, voice a soft, sweet rasp, just a little teasing.
"Don't you dare," she says, dragging herself to the door.
"Marie…"
"I didn't think you a cruel man." She opens the door, and her foot nudges something. She looks down. Embarrassment floods up her spine, turning her face pink. "By the Enlightened, Cecile," she murmurs. She ducks down, and thinks that her housekeeper should probably be paid more.
His eyebrows raise when she turns and carries the tray with a small mountain of sandwiches back to her desk, and two glasses of water. He opens his mouth. Closes it again.
She says, face flaming, "She must have thought we needed the energy." She unfolds a note and reads, "'Madame, As you had not been seen in some time – ' Well, there goes denial."
"Were we denying anything?" Vasco asks, wandering over to inspect the bounty.
Oh I’d never want to deny you. Even for all they’ve shared, that somehow feels too sentimental – or making it all sound like it’s been that easy, despite politics and the mission bearing down on them. Instead she laughs, and says, “It would be a bit late if we were. How many times have they watched you sneak out of the servants’ entrance?” She pauses. “Speaking of which…” She swallows, thinking about that: denial, about the awkward dance of their previous arrangement.
He just watches her, with that patient curiosity that always makes her want to do stupid things, like tell him she loves him, or ask him about his voyages or… get very drunk and proposition him. Light, that seems so long ago now.
“I… indulge me a moment,” Marie says, and she takes his hand. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles, and then… brings that strong, lovely hand to her lips, cradling it in both of hers, and kisses his knuckles. He watches that, eyes a little wide, and she wonders what he’s seeing: his tan and his ink-lines, against her pallor and mark. She says, softly, "Captain Vasco, of the Sea-Horse… may I court you?"
He stares at her. "You've already had me. Several times."
She snorts, eyebrows raising. "Don't try to tell me that you think courting someone is just for sex. I've seen your bookshelf. You, sir, are a romantic."
He looks away with that sardonic tilt of his brows that she knows is him trying not to be embarrassed. It’s horribly endearing.
She keeps his hand and takes a step closer. Closer. "I'd like to ask you about your taste in books, actually. I'd like to spend more time in your room, and maybe buy you a new pistol." She pauses, and tilts her head. "I'd like… you. As much of you as you'd like to give me. If that's all right."
Vasco swallows. "I might like to give you that, my tempest." He rests his forehead against hers.
She breathes out, shakily. “I’m… very glad to hear that.” She pauses. "...But we'd keep the sex."
He leans back and inclines his head, mouth twitching. "Of course."
"I could still tie you to things. If you like." She can feel warmth creeping up her neck. “And you can call me things like that.”
“I’d like that, too,” he responds, with a breath of laughter. “I love you, Marie.”
And he threads his fingers through hers, and stays.