Work Text:
Sleep is a reconciling
A rest that peace begets;
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at e'en he sets?
Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes!
Melt not in weeping
While she lies sleeping
Softly now, softly lies sleeping.
“Weep You No More, Sad Fountains”-
John Dowland, 17th Century
She slept in his arms, his precious girl. Satiny limbs tangled with his and he watched her every breath.
Earlier today, he had made love to her while a storm raged outside the walls around them. He had finally surrendered to her, to them. He could no longer run from the unbearable tension between them. She had made the first move, soft kisses and touches that belied her absolute innocence.
His face began to ache from being in an unfamiliar posture.
It was happiness. The utter contentment had morphed into incandescent joy once he had made her his own.
It was also madness, all of it. From daring to agree to wed his Queen to slipping into her bedchamber, it was an unmistakable insanity. But he could not stay away.
Victoria had delighted in his audacity, coming to her door unannounced. She seized his arm and pulled him into her rooms. If their first encounter had been tender passion, then this one had been very nearly raucous after hours of forced propriety and lack of the contact they both longed for.
It was reckless, continuing to make love to her before they wed. But he could not stop himself. Her eagerness brought out an insatiable appetite that had long since been dormant.
He loved her. Everything about her. And he finally knew peace as he held her sleeping naked form against his own. This was what happiness felt like. He had never truly belonged to a woman before, not even Caro. But Victoria owned him, mind, body, and soul.
This time, he would be everything she would want or need. He was her anchor in the storm. And she was his salvation.