Chapter Text
The car rumbles down the roughening road, dipping into potholes and throwing them with it. Neither of them had spoken for a good while, Will focusing on the road and Kym watching the landscape slip past the windows as it changed from city to suburb to the moors that surround them. It feels comfortable, the silence, just like everything they shared.
Will risks a glance at his passenger, and the bits of hair that have fallen in her face reminds him of brushing the same strands away when he raised her veil. Her smile had gripped his heart so tightly his chest ached, and he can feel the echo of the feeling now. All her smiles feel like inside jokes just for him. As if she hears his thoughts as plain as his voice, she turns to him and grins.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
He should know better than to think so loud. “I was thinking about you. And our wedding.”
Her smile morphs into a smirk and she raises an eyebrow. “Not thinking about our wedding night while you’re driving, are you? Doesn’t seem safe.”
And she sprawls herself across the seats and lays her head in his lap, looking up at him. His face boils and he wants nothing more than to hide, but there’s nowhere to go.
“If there was a contest for which blushing bride is the reddest, I think you’re winning.”
“Kym—”
The familiar act of reprimanding her is cut short by a particularly deep pothole, and Kym is halfway between him and the wheel when he locks his arm across her and pulls her to his chest. His other hand is white knuckled on the steering wheel.
“Please sit up, it’s dangerous.” There’s no annoyance in his voice, just tension, and she rights herself without question.
She lays a hand on his thigh, gripping at the fabric when there is no hand to hold. Seconds tick by, and he thinks the conversation must be over when she speaks up again.
“You know, if you ever don’t want to drive, I can—”
“No, thank you.”
She smiles again and it’s softer, like she expected the response. Her hand stays on his leg.
“Um.” He clears his throat. “I uh—” A blush is still strung across his face. “I’m sorry for last night.” It hadn’t occurred to him to think much of it until she mentioned it. Was she upset or only teasing? Or maybe just disappointed? He swallows roughly. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again as if to tease him, but she can’t seem to find the words to respond. “Looking forward to it,” she finally chokes out, as if they’re talking about a business engagement.
At least he had managed to make her at a loss for words somehow.
The weeks leading up to their wedding had been long and busy, filled with late nights getting ahead on paperwork and working out minute details of a wedding frankly too large for either of their tastes. His late father had not, and would not, approve of their marriage, but Will had fought hard for her, and he had to prove it in front of what remained of the respectable upper class and cement his place as the new head of the Hawkes family, for whatever that may still be worth. For all the joy marrying Kym gave him, it was a long day.
He had carried her across the threshold of his apartment, ran his fingers down every clasp on her dress, undoing buttons and pulling loose ties until it slid to the floor. He dutifully undid the corset back on her undergarments and ran his hands along her bare arms, leaving goosebumps in his wake. She was beautiful. She was his. And when everything but her satin slip was gone and little was left to the imagination, he would have never been more aroused in his life if he hadn’t been so damn tired.
The relief he felt with her in his arms, without anyone to perform for or impress, had made his exhaustion hit him like a hailstorm of bricks. He woke up with Kym drooling on his dress shirt, her hand wrapped around his tie. Then they had packed up and left, and now they were enroute to their honeymoon the day after their wedding, marriage still unconsummated.
It didn’t matter, Will knew it didn’t matter. They had been together a handful of times, and even if they hadn’t it still wouldn’t matter. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want it to be special, didn’t want to meet all her expectations and more. But he had fallen asleep, and he was mortified. And had, until this particular moment in the car, chosen to pretend it didn’t happen.
“Will.” Her voice breaks through his thoughts. “It’s really fine. You were exhausted. I was tired too. It’s enough just to be with you.”
His eyes never leave the road, but his hand leaves the wheel and grasps hers, giving it a good squeeze. He holds still for a moment, then reluctantly returns his hands to the wheel.
“We have forever to fuck.” Her stare is blank with thoughts of chaos.
“KYM!”
She manages to keep her expression blank a few seconds longer before she bursts out laughing, and the sound is so bright he thinks it must carry all the way to the ocean.
He sighs, exasperated, and as he stares out at the road his eyes glaze in disbelief. “We’re married.” He laughs a bit at the thought.
“We sure are.”
“You’re contractually barred from calling me Willame.”
“In your dreams, Willame.”
“That wasn’t funny, Bluebird.”
The nickname is relatively new, and Will still relishes in the way it stops her short. She turns away to look back out the window, like he hasn’t already noticed her blush.
It makes no difference if she intends to hide her face from him for the rest of the drive or not. They’re almost there. Just over the next roll in the landscape is a seaside town sprawled low across the horizon. It would be no bigger than four or so blocks in the city if not for being made almost entirely out of one and two story buildings. The structures were more wood than stone, bleached by the elements, gray like the sea that churns beyond them.
Just before the road dips into the town the road forks, and they follow the branching road. There are fewer buildings along this way, acres between them. Some are bigger than others, and when they finally come upon the shoreline a somewhat modest two-story building awaits them at the end of the way. It’s exactly how Will remembers it, if not more weathered.
He pulls in the driveway and lets the car stall for a moment. When they decided to come here, a part of him had been afraid of what old memories this place would dredge up, but Kym is still looking out the window, eyes locked on the sea. His chest loosens, and he pulls the key from the ignition. If Kym is with him, there is nowhere he would rather be.
He hops out of the car and makes for the passenger side, but as he rounds the side of the car he meets violently with the door. Kym is grinning at him and she grips the door to steady herself as she leans in to kiss him. It should be short and sweet and simple, but nothing is simple with Kym.
“You never let me get the door,” he mumbles against her lips when he has a moment to breathe.
She drops a couple inches away from him and Will realizes she was on her tiptoes. “I don’t need you to.”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“Well, if you must, you can carry my bag.”
He does. He can’t seem to mind the extra weight when she locks her arm around his and lets him lead her to the door.
The key is sticky in the lock, and he has to body slam the door once the key turns. The front room is a little sparse, but there is a sofa and a coffee table and a few other pieces laying around, each one covered in a dust cloth. The ladies had offered to come ahead of them and tidy the place up, but Will couldn’t bring himself to make the maids take the trip. It was a reminder of another conversation he needs to have with Kym. But what became of his family assets and property was a problem for another day, another week. Now was meant for her. Everything else could wait.
He drops the bag by the couch and sets about the room, gathering dust cloths and tossing them in corners. He notices dully that the floors creak near constantly, and the sound fills his head. He’s fluffing a pillow with a little too much vigor when Kym says something behind him. He spins to look at her, but almost takes her out with the pillow instead.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said,” she takes the pillow from his grip and tosses it on the couch, “aren’t you getting dizzy?”
He's about to say he doesn't know what she means when she takes both of his hands and anchors him. The room seems to keep moving, even when he’s still, and he thinks maybe he is swaying, now that she mentions it.
Kym guides him down to the sofa and cups his face with one hand, lacing the other with his own. "Breathe for a sec."
He doesn’t notice the unevenness of his own breathing until he tries to steady it, but each new breath takes more effort than he wants to admit.
"I— I didn't realize—"
“You’re terrible at paying attention to your own body. You could have a fever of a thousand and not notice until your brain started melting out of your ears.” She runs her thumb along his cheekbone and shifts closer, throwing her legs across his lap. "Why are you so nervous?"
He sighs and leans his forehead against hers. "I want to say nothing, but I think it's a bit of everything."
"Me included?"
Something that is almost a laugh rumbles in his chest. "Maybe."
Her sharp intake of breath accompanies his hand as he runs it up and down her thigh. His other hand snakes to the small of her back and pulls her fully into his lap. She’s ever so slightly above him this way, and he looks up at her and his heart could stop from the sight. He allows himself to study her face, to take in every dip and curve. And when he convinces himself he’s seen enough he won’t forget, he closes his eyes and leans in, brushing their lips together.
She stiffens for a moment, like she’s an SOS and a storm has disrupted her signal, then she is pressing back, the connection redoubled. She slips her other hand into the hair at the base of his neck. He can’t say when she starts shifting her weight, completely unaware until she’s pushing him down onto the sofa, but he doesn’t mind. He could stay here forever, the springs digging into his back and her thighs pressing into his hip bones.
She’s overwhelming, and he can’t bring himself to think about anything else. All the tension is melting out of his muscles, unnoticeable until it’s gone, lost in the taste of her.
Kym pulls back, breath puffing against his face. She runs her hands down his arms and grabs his hands, lacing their fingers. She sits up and scrutinizes him.
“We should go explore the town.”
He stares up at her, shirt rumpled, hair stuck every which way, and the view doesn’t do a lot to convince him. “I thought you might,” he clears his throat, “have something else in mind?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to crack on the question, but who ever does?
She raises her arms over her head and stretches, and there is definitely a part of him that wants to keep her right where she is.
“You promised me tonight, right? Can’t start too soon.”
She hoists herself off him and ungracefully stumbles away from the couch before righting herself and offering him a hand. Her eyes are appraising him in a way that’s unfamiliar.
Will sits up and takes her hand less out of necessity and more out of… a different kind of necessity. “You don’t need to be worried about me.”
“I’m not.” She rights his shirt and straightens out his collar, and when he doesn’t say anything else she gives in. “You were shaking. I didn’t want to make it worse. You can make it up to me after dinner and a few watermelon cocktails.”
“I think you’ll be hard pressed to find anything watermelon flavored at the pub.”
“Guess we’ll just have to investigate to find out…”
And she grabs his cuffs and starts towing him towards the door.