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one.
He is not one for classical history but the way Meryl's eyes lit up at the mention of Pompeii, ancient civilisations and wall murals is enough to convince him that Italy will be the best holiday he's ever booked.
two.
The plane ride is a ridiculous nine hours and more than once he feels grateful for the luxury of having reclining first class seats and Meryl's hand in his. She smiles the whole way, at him, at the holiday brochure and at all the air hostesses who are overly attentive towards him. Her presence is a soft, calming one and he grins into her neck as she runs her fingers through his hair. He can't wait until someone invents travel via teleport, but any quiet stolen moments like this make torturous flights feel more like heaven.
three.
Naples is beautiful and busy, with air that sings of culture and good food and the sea. Maks can see why she wanted to come here - he too enjoys the freedom that Europe instils in them. The air is humid, but not overly so, nothing that stops him holding her close. He delights in her laughs when her feet leave the ground, enjoys the way she grips tight onto his shoulders when they kiss, and loves that he is the reason for those tiny moans caught in her throat.
There's a vast abundance of museums, full of paintings and sculptures and it makes him think, think about how the motivation for creation is much the same now as it was back then, all passion and high emotions and how those are some of the reasons that means he'd follow her anywhere.
He identifies beauty in the art, sure, but Meryl's smile is utterly captivating and he finds himself distracted from the ancient history that surrounds him. She reads from a guidebook, and supplements with her own knowledge at every location - he is drawn in by her voice and her enthusiasm, and it's almost like falling in love all over again.
four.
Maks should have known that she enjoys cultural hotspots just as much as beaches and mocktails - maybe because she doesn't feel the need to change her wardrobe choices (and the fact that mocktails are available in the hotel bar). She skips around in a tiny lightweight sundress that shows off her shapely legs and other assets - and a part of him is very glad that she has slipped on shorts underneath as they climb Mount Vesuvius. The view from the top is something rather spectacular (but it doesn't compare to her and he tells her so) and he knows what she's going to say before she opens her mouth. "A selfie isn't good enough for this, Maks!" he mimics (but does it count as mimicking if he predicts instead of copies?) and she beams up at him all prettily so he asks one half of a kindly middle aged couple to take a photo.
The silk swish of her hair captures the light and something else catches in his throat.
five.
As much as the days are Meryl's, he likes to think the nights are his. Maybe there's something in the water here, or maybe it's the fact that it's just the two of them in a foreign country full of passion and still raw emotions, but each round in bed only leaves him feeling more rejuvenated and insatiable. He's glad Meryl matches him in that regard.
Her kisses burn in a good way and every touch lingers on his skin but he ravages her thoroughly, eventually wordlessly convincing her to stay in bed for the whole day. They take breaks, of course they do because they're human and fragile and admittedly he is not as young as he used to be despite all his enthusiasm. The intervals are full of napping and careful touching, wrapped up in hotel sheets and each other. It gives him the chance to memorise every inch of her skin, taking care to leave nowhere unkissed. He notices new things, like the fact that she makes cute noises when he nips that spot on the inside crease of her left elbow or that she screams louder when he whispers in Russian as she comes.
There is proof of his exploration left on her near flawless skin, and he'd be regretful if pride did not surge through him at the thought, because she let him mark her. It's not laying claim so much as simply reminding her who she belongs to though she is his just as much as he is hers and indeed she owns him, body, mind, heart and everything in between.
Meryl is his opposite in many ways and it intrigues him, how the ways she differs from him are the aspects that he's charmed by most. He's enthralled by the softness of her, but she seems fascinated with how he is all sharp edges, tracing his jaw and planes of his chest with lips and gentle fingers. She giggles when his hands ghost over her ribs and stomach, a sound that is bright and exquisite and he challenges himself with helping her make that noise as many times as possible in the remaining hours they have in Italy.
six.
Inelegantly put, Meryl Davis has him firmly by the balls and he loves it, loves her and loves what she's done to him.