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The fire crackled in the fireplace, sparks leaping up into the chimney. I could hear the rain falling outside, a thunderous patter, as I reclined on a bundle of furs in front of the fire. It didn’t quite feel right, relaxing in the home of a man who hadn’t invited us in, who wasn’t even there, and who could be dangerous, for all we knew.
But when I looked down, none of that seemed to matter. When that leather-gloved, elegant hand reached up and brushed my cheek with the backs of slender fingers, I could forget everything else. He wasn’t a wanted murderer, we weren’t trying to recover his memories, clear his name.
No. He was just… Julian. And we were here, and it could have been anywhere, because it was just he and I. Maybe it was cliche, as he’d pointed out. But cliches were cliches for a reason.
His head was on my lap, his body stretched out to my right on his back, and he was looking up at me with that grey-blue eye, the other covered with a black eye patch. That sensuous, pliant mouth that hid nothing, that could curl and lift and purse and droop with whatever emotion ran through him, that would part and reach for mine in a kiss - and oh, what kisses they were - now in a faint, almost reverent smile after thanking me. As if I wasn’t motivated just a little bit selfishly by my feelings for him.
I ran my thumb along his bottom lip; his heavy eyelids closed briefly, long lashes resting on dark circles above high, delicate cheekbones. My fingers unfurled and reached up one side of his narrow jaw, coming to rest on a soft, pale cheek. A faint, pink flush bloomed under my hand, and he turned his head to kiss my palm before nuzzling his cheek against it. I still wasn’t entirely sure how my feelings ran - and even less sure of how his ran - but there was a depth that I’d never felt before, and it was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
“You’re warming up,” I said.
“Mmm. You’re using magic, aren’t you?”
“No. Not at all. I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Oh. Yes, you did. Sorry.” The flush deepened, but in chagrin this time.
“It’s just me,” I told him softly. “You warmed me, and now I’m returning it.”
I gave him a gentle smile. The first time we’d spent the night together, in his bed at Mazelinka’s house - and what a night it had been - he’d revealed that magic was his boundary. Since then, gradually, a bit at a time, I’d introduced little spells to him. But never without checking with him first. I’d promised him that. Still, it was taking him some time to learn to trust.
Had he been so starved of true affection that he couldn’t remember how it felt to be close to another person, to be warmed by shared body heat and a cosy fire? That the only possible explanation for feeling warmth from another person was through the use of magic? Perhaps he’d allowed his latent masochism to overshadow all aspects of every relationship he had, believing himself worthy only of pain and not of the affection that should run alongside it.
I bent my head and pecked a kiss to the tip of his long, aquiline nose, one which lent a distinguished nature to the sharp features of his face. He gave a light, embarrassed laugh.
“There doesn’t always have to be magic,” I told him. “Or pain.” I paused to let that sink in. “It’s okay to just be… close, sometimes.”
He looked away, his thick eyebrows shifting slightly closer together, shallow lines appearing on his forehead, a faintly troubled look in his eye, on his tightening lips.
“Do I deserve it, though? Hmm?”
“Yes.”
His response was a light snort of a laugh, then to take my right hand in his, draw it to his lips, and then lay it on his chest with a pat, resting his hand on top. I ran my left hand through his thick curls, still damp from the rain. The fire lent shifting highlights of gold to his natural auburn, as light and shadow danced across his hair and pale cheeks.
Julian looked up at me again, and I didn’t know how to interpret the shimmer in his eye and the lift of one corner of his mouth. He reached up, curling long fingers around the back of my neck, and pulled me down to meet his parted lips. I sighed into the kiss, pressed against him. My hand on his chest worked on the snaps of his jacket, opened the front panel and slid underneath it, through the open shirt, and came to rest on the cool skin over his sternum. I could feel his heartbeats begin to quicken.
I dragged my lips from his, across his jaw, feeling a tremor run through him as I found that sensitive spot behind his ear. He leaned his head back, revealing more of his long neck invitingly. I obliged, planting soft kisses towards his pulse.
“There,” he hissed. “Harder… don’t be afraid to…”
“I’m not afraid,” I interrupted him, my voice barely more than a whisper as my lips moved against his throat. I knew he wanted me to bite him. “And you shouldn’t be, either.”
A light, husky laugh. “Oh my dear, I’m not afraid of a little pain, come now…”
“I know it’s not the pain you’re afraid of.” I didn’t lift my lips; my breath danced across his skin. “I know you enjoy it. But sometimes…”
I deliberately left my sentence hanging, and let my kisses speak for themselves. I heard Julian’s breath catch in his throat, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Under my hand, his body tensed, his heart raced. His fingers tightened on my hand, one knee bent upwards, leather thigh boot creaking.
“I…” he managed, but it was a choked whisper.
I pressed my lips a little harder against his throat, gave little flicks of my tongue, breathed soft puffs that made him shiver, felt the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly. I finished my travels at the dip above his collar bone. At this angle, with his head on my lap, I couldn’t reach further. But as my kisses began to travel back up, I felt him relax. His head lolled a little, revealing more of his neck. I smiled a little.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Mmm.”
A little sigh as I returned to the spot behind his ear. He turned his head and touched his lips to mine, a gentle caress.
I sat back and looked down at him, one hand tracing shapes on his chest and the other stroking his hair. I smiled at the look in his eye, the consternation playing on his mouth; partly confused, partly content, not quite allowing himself to feel it. And I said,
“Show me what else I can do for you. Something nice."
His eye widened a little.
“Ah… what, uh… pardon?”
I lifted my hands and held them out to him, palms up.
“These are yours. Whatever you like.”
He rolled his eye upwards, almost despairingly.
“I can’t do that, absolutely not. Why would you…?”
“I want to touch you, in the way that you like. I want to make you feel nice.”
He groaned, biting the bottom of his lip.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
He stammered incoherently. I frowned a little. Maybe this wasn’t the good idea I thought it was. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable.
“If you really don’t like it,” I ventured, “You could use the safe word.”
It seemed the most ridiculous thing, using the safe word to avoid affection. He evidently agreed, laughing nervously.
“Goodness me. What you’re offering is the safest thing in the world! Why would I need the, uh, the safe word?”
“You shouldn’t.” I dropped a kiss on his cheek. “But just in case.”
After a pause, he tentatively asked,
“It, ah… it’s still soup, is it?”
I held back a smile. “It is.”
“Right, okay then. Good.”
He cleared his throat, and his eye turned to my hands. He shifted a little, slightly altering the position of his head in my lap. I waited.
And waited.
Just as I took a breath to speak, Julian bit his lip. And then, in a sudden and awkward rush, he grabbed my hand and put it on his neck.
I smiled reassuringly. “Thank you.”
He flushed, looking away. But his eyelid fluttered closed as I ran the backs of my fingers slowly up his neck to his ear, then back down again; over his adam’s apple, up and down again. I unfurled my fingers and brushed light tickles over his pulse, making him smile; on impulse, I leaned down and kissed that curve of lips. He sighed.
“You know… this is nice.”
“Told you.”
“You could, ah…” He almost grimaced with the effort of asking me to do something more. “You could go… a bit lower. You know… with your other, uh… other hand, maybe?”
“You’re right, I could.”
I obliged, and while my left hand continued caressing his throat, my right moved down, rested on his collar bone, waiting.
“Well now, I’m sure you can find your way from there, hmm?” He gave a nervous laugh.
“Julian, I’ve touched a great deal of your body.” At that, he hummed a little. “But now it’s for you to tell me.”
“Yes, right, well then.” His awkwardness was at once endearing and excruciating. “How about, uh… inside, you know, my shirt?”
He winced at the last, his eye scrunching closed a little. How easy it was for him to direct me to bite him; how hard it was for him to ask for a touch. Even more curious, because I’d just been touching him there. The difficulty was in the asking.
Returning to that cool expanse of firm muscle, running my fingers through the scattering of hairs, feeling the rise and fall of each breath. I traced shapes with my fingertips, while the fingers of my left hand ran light tickles on his neck, under his jaw. I felt the vibration there of an almost cat-like hum of pleasure.
He opened his eye and looked at me as he breathed,
“Kiss me?”
“Don’t ask.”
A deep breath. “Kiss me.”
I was more than happy to press my mouth to his, and follow his lead in the movements of lips and tongue. His kiss was soft, pliant; his tongue offered light brushes. His hand flexed on the back of my neck, long fingers extending up into my hair. Finally, he was beginning to relax.
“Can I… touch you?” I gave him a look, and he flushed. “I can’t not ask, it’s only polite…”
I rolled my eyes fondly. “Alright, yes, you can touch me.”
To my surprise, his hand moved only to my knee; lingered, almost thoughtfully. Then, slightly ponderously, up my thigh, as far as my hip. And he rolled onto his side, shifted himself up, and settled with his cheek at the top of my lap to nuzzle into my body; I could feel the press of his nose, the heat of his breath through my top. His back curled, drawing his knees up towards his chest.
“Here,” he murmured.
He took up my right hand and moved it to the back of his neck. My fingertips moved in light, massaging circles. The other was still in the hair at his forehead, running one curl at a time between my fingers. He closed his eyes as he curled his arm around my hips, his chest rising and falling in a deep, contented sigh.
“This. Like this. This is nice.'
I smiled. Perhaps this wasn’t what I’d expected when I’d given Julian the use of my hands. But this… it was more.
And that was how we stayed, until Muriel returned, and we were jolted back to reality.