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“I think there’s going to be a murder.”
Nate pauses in towelling his hair, reaching behind him to close the narrow bathroom door.
“For any particular reason, or-?”
“It just makes sense.” Ysabet turns her gaze from the passing countryside, a wide smile making her eyes sparkle. “Six days? On a train? Across the wilds of Siberia- there must be a murder.”
“I’m not sure they would keep running the route, if people were constantly compelled to murder simply by being on the train,” Nate reflects, turning to hook the towel up on the back of the door. Ysabet heaves a sigh as she turns back to the window, tilting her head at the snow outside. Nate goes to sit next to her on the sofa-like seat, an arm hooking around her middle, bending to press a kiss against her shoulder. “You should shower.”
“Are you telling me I’m smelly, Agent Sewell?”
“I’m telling you you smell divine, but a somewhat sweaty sort of divine, and I’m not sure those in the dining car close enough to notice will appreciate it the same way I do.”
Ysabet laughs, fingers lacing around his, before prising them off her stomach as she rises, a hand gracefully keeping her balance even as the car rattles, as she goes to slip through the bathroom door.
Nate settles back on the sofa, listening to the water start to run, muffled by the door, and takes a moment just to enjoy the sight of the snowy hills, the rumble of the train cut with soft, gentle music playing from what must be very expensive speakers, considering the quality of the sound. Everything about the cabin is expensive, luxurious- most definitely a needless expense, to see them from Moscow to Vladivostok, and yet absolutely a needed one, once he had found out that Ysabet had never been on a sleeper train journey.
Eventually, though, he rises- and starts to change, setting aside the soft robe and retrieving his formal wear. He has pants, shirt, socks and shoes on, by the time the door opens- and Ysabet ducks carefully out, smelling fresh and clean, with dabs of lavender at her neck, that perfume he always finds suits her so well. Her eyes drag up him, taking in the finely tailored trousers, the pressed and tucked shirt, up to meet his gaze- and he moves forwards to meet her as she steps forwards, leaning up to kiss him with the grace of a ballerina, and a hunger that threatens to disrupt their dinner plans. Her arms drape over his shoulders, a hand pushing up into his hair, fingers curling to tug just enough to make his breath catch.
“Darling,” he murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded. “I don’t want us to miss dinner.”
She smiles, brilliant and bright, and kisses him again, a bruising kiss that steals away almost as fast as it arrived- as she twirls out of his grasp and to the little wardrobe. Nate raises his eyes to the ceiling, thinking calming thoughts- and then has to turn away, when she drops her robe, standing nude as she hums and selects her underwear. He braces a hand against the ceiling, shaking his head.
“You play dirty, darling.”
“Would you have it any other way?” He can hear the smile in her voice, the pleased delight. “I do want to see this dinner. This place is ridiculous- I can’t wait to see what we’ll be served. Probably ostrich or something.”
He laughs.
☁
It isn’t ostrich they’re served, but it certainly is the best steak Ysabet has ever had in her life- and one of the better ones had in Nate’s existence. There are so many courses, and Nate discusses dessert wine with the waiter, and Ysabet watches him with a soft smile curving her lips, enjoying the lingering taste of her meal. She’s drunk just enough for everything to feel pleasantly warm and lovely.
It’s the flash of light that draws her eye- and she looks as there’s a gasp from further down the dining car, other heads turning to see the moonlit sky begin to darken. The rain hits as a deluge, one moment the windows are clear, the next they are awash with torrential rivulets. Ysabet watches with delight as the clouds gather, darkening but lit by the flashes of lightning, muddled and distorted by the downpour. Her smile widens, and even without the actual smell in the air, every memory of a storm she has witness before now brings the ghost of petrichor to her mind.
Nate reaches across the table as the waiter departs, his fingers lacing with hers, thumb rubbing over the gold that sits on her ring finger. She squeezes back, her attention drawn from the chaos outside. They don’t speak. They don’t need to.
☁
For a bed on a train, it really is a particularly good one. Folded down from the wall by staff during dinner, made up with all the comfort and care of the finest hotel, there is even a little shining foil package set on the pillows. Ysabet crawls up the bed, her heels kicked off to the floor, her dress doing truly dangerous things to how her rear looks, and seizes the bundle- before tossing herself over onto her back, the split in her skirt riding up as she draws her knee up.
“Chocolatesss,” she delights, as she unwraps the parcel. Two there- one for each. Nate loosens his tie, watching her as she removes the foil from one, pops it in her mouth, and closes her eyes with the pleasure of the taste, savouring it. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, taking careful time about undressing. There’s no need to rush- even when he watches his wife lounge on a bed with a silky green dress gathering at her hip like that, her hair tugged out of its carefully pinned twist to tumble over the pillows.
Ysabet swallows, and licks her lips, and opens her eyes just enough to look at her husband, his shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned. His hands are stilled, momentarily entirely unable to move as he meets her gaze. She lifts up the remaining chocolate, wiggling it gentle between finger and thumb.
“Want yours?”
He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t finish undressing. He is crawling up the bed, over top of her, and he isn’t even trying to snatch the chocolate, he is running his hand up her thigh, running his thumb along the top of her stockings, and pressing kisses full of sweet vengeance for how she’d worked him up right before dinner.
The chocolate tumbles to the pillow, almost entirely forgotten. It’s eventually retrieved, tossed up on the headboard, safely out of the way of smooshing, so Ysabet can roll Nate over onto his back, legs kneeling either side of his hips.
The train rattles along, the rain beating against the window, and the rumbling of the rails mixes with rolls of thunder, hiding away from listening ears the gasps and moans that fill the cabin through the night.