Chapter Text
He pictured her lying within the linens of the bedsheets, entwined between her thighs—the stark contrast of her red hair with the white. A trail of cigarette smoke about the garret makes it appear to be the layers of a hazy dream. But it wasn't. This was reality...their reality.
A cigarette was passed between the two lovers: one talented and handsome artist and his completely and utterly beautiful muse.
In a world of norms, they chose the extraordinary. Why conform? Just the spring before, they had faced barriers, but in the name of love, they had shattered all obstacles. They had conquered the mountains between them, replacing them with a passion-filled desire, and a love story had begun—a love story filled with beauty, love, freedom, and trust, captivating all who witnessed it.
"I trust you."
Trust was the cornerstone of their relationship, the essence of their lives. While some may never find it, they found it in each other. She had entrusted him with her life, and in return, she had saved his. This trust had woven a strong and unbreakable bond between them.
The smoke trailed from his mouth, lingering about his face merely moments before he inhaled again, and the unfastened buttons on his shirt fell open to reveal the smooth and tanned chest where she laid her head each night, but still, she never failed to be mesmerised by the sight of him wearing so little. In their little world, there was rarely a need for much clothing. By the light of the Parisian moonlight streaming through the windows, she was always seduced by his nighttime glow. And he of her, how the light caused her skin to be bathed with an ethereal glow. Money didn't stretch to many luxuries; past a bottle of wine, food and washing necessities, they had everything in the world they could need within the arms and eyes of the other. One day, when they were older, they would write paragraphs about these old Parisian days, where times were spent enthralled by the other, and only did they part ways when there came a need to earn a little more money for themselves.
Right now, though, on a wonderfully lit starry night, twenty-one-year-old Jack Dawson examined his Rose, inch by inch, but there was something about how her mouth delicately fell open. Was it to steady her breathing? The way he had to calm his racing heart and the urge to touch her creamy skin was unbearable. Having turned eighteen just the week prior, they had spent much of their time celebrating by consuming cheap ale. Now, though, she was drinking a dark, musky red wine straight from the bottle before placing it down on the wooden floor beside a plate of uneaten fresh bread and a block of cheese; she simply rolled backwards, offering him a view of her bare bottom as she went before rolling herself into a cocoon of blankets. The wine had caused her cheeks to flush, or perhaps it was just the heat of the fire in the hearth spreading its warmth across the small, unoccupied space they had claimed as their own.
''I much prefer Paris this time around,'' Jack told her, voice silky and quiet as it rose above the crackles of the fire. The dry heat expelled its way about them, and his shirt hung helplessly from his shoulder. ''I find the sights much more beautiful.''
Rose's head came up, a feigned look of worry within her glassy eyes, until he found that her concern may have been genuine. ''Is it the newly constructed buildings you speak of, Mr. Dawson? Perhaps you saw the Eiffel Tower with a sharper eye this time? Perhaps last time, your vision was clouded by other certain sights.''
''The only thing I have ever looked twice at was you.'' Jack thrust the cigarette into the fire and knelt before her on the bed. ''And I ain't stopped looking since.''
In that second, their playful pretence ended, and his piece of charcoal and half-hearted attempt at a sketch were abandoned for a moment as stained, chalky fingers came up to touch her nose and dance across her lips. She was smudged black, and her nose rubbed against him, sharing the dusty charcoal marks. Fingerprints decorated the sheets, and her once dull and delicate fingers laced with his to feel his calloused gentleness.
''And then you saved me.''
''Then you saved me, too.''
''And, you loved me. You brought me back to life.''
He stroked the side of her face with his knuckles. She was sleek, rosy-warm, and her pupils were dilating.
"I... just...." She stared at his lips, and he returned that attention in kind. She pulled her gaze from him to look at the garret as the wind shook the windows. The rattle was a dreadful interruption to their romantic facade. "This has brick walls. It should be safe, should it not?"
"Walls do not keep you safe." His voice grew husky as he leaned closer. They may give you a feeling of security, but inside every stone fortress, something can catch fire." He leaned closer still, turning her face back to him. ‘’Wherever people are, no matter how fortified they are, there will be weaknesses and vulnerabilities." He saw her lips part and realised her breath was coming faster, too. "Have you ever caught fire, Rose?"
"Have you?" she whispered in a breath.
"Yes," he whispered back.
''When?''
''Right now. When I met you. Every second afterwards.''
''Jack, I love you.''
His lips touched hers, and those three words became a confession and a prophecy. He had caught fire the day he woke aboard a ship and caught sight of Rose. He had continued to catch fire every time he came close to her and touched her. And he would continue to do so because he was combustible in a way he had never realised, and she was the unique spark that ignited him. And for this moment, his arms were around her, and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back. God, was she kissing him? His whole body, every fibre and sinew, was awakening to her as it had done before and continuously did again and again.
The white linens were discarded as his fingers worked through the layers of sheets to gain entrance to the paleness of her skin. Even after almost a year, the touch of it was still heavenly silk. He had filled page after page with sketches of her, yet he never quite seemed to portray her in quite the accurate way of his dreams. Of reality. But then again, how could one compete with the perfection laid before him?
''I love you.'' Jack breathed, and her hand went directly towards his chest, laying warm fingers across his beating heart where she would always feel the trembling start. Just as it always had. ''I thought I was meant to sketch you, my love?''
''You had another idea.''
''I have plenty of ideas, Rose.'' Parting from her, with, in fact, he wished to bury himself within the layers of her sensuality, was the damned hardest thing a man could ever do. She was a woman primed to love with her entire heart. With a bright fire that burned even when it threatened to burn out.
''But we always make love before we can do them.''
As Jack's fingers fumbled about the cool wooden floor for the discarded paper and charcoal, he blindly moved backwards to rest against the wall. ''Because you're trouble, Miss. Dawson.''
She rolled again, cocooning herself within the layers of white, giving her the essence of a virginal girl. The depiction was fitting if he hadn't known endless nights with her beneath him, her nails digging into the flesh of his back. Still, her striking image was enough to threaten to crack beneath her gaze. The power that lay within the eyes of the forest green both weakened and empowered him.
''I'm trouble?'' Rose smirked, reaching for the wine once more and swigging it once and twice before she offered it out to him. He leaned forward to take it, but she snatched it away. ''I expect a new drawing by morning as repayment for enticing me to lie here, unclothed, for quite a lengthy amount of time.''
She offered him the wine once more, and he leant forward to retrieve it, but instead, she placed it on the floor and threw herself across Jack's half-clothed body, tucking her face into the crook of his chin. It was then apparent that she could feel her against him as she was bare from the waist down. Within seconds, he was hard on her. She gasped, the feeling wonderfully startling even after all these months. Blinking through her curious haze, she noted how Jack's heartbeat had accelerated, and his pulse was rapid against her face where she nuzzled in his neck. Placing a single kiss across the central vein of his neck caused him to twitch. His hands moved as his body did, one hand at her waist and the other in her hair. Rose was straddling him; he was well and truly beneath her, and all control seemed to be within her own hands. One didn't know what to do when faced with this, and as she pulled back slowly, preparing to see the eyes that pinned her to the spot so profoundly, she wasn't ready for the vulnerability within his own eyes. It was as though uncertainty swam about.
''Jack?''
Jack moved his hands to her waist, so they were both adjacent, holding her in place. Each time she shifted even a slight bit, it rubbed against him, burning him even more than before. In his eyes, though, they sometimes had shifted, and she saw the concern.
"There's a church beside the train station," he said in a rushed whisper. T’’here might be a preacher there in the morning. We could go then."
Rose placed her hands upon Jack's shoulders to steady herself before moving them upwards to capture his cheeks. His words moved her so much that the tears in her eyes blinked away again.
''Each time you ask me to be your wife, Jack, I want to agree more.''
''Why don't you?'' Jack exhaled, flicking hair from his face. She watched him through her pale and glossy eyes. That was the real question. Why didn't she? ''Know that I am offering you this for nothing but that I want my life to be lived with yours, together. My parents were married young, and they set an example for me. I know what you were scared of-''
Rose placed a finger upon his lips to silence him; they were dry and quivered beneath her slight touch. It was clear to her that Jack's constant need to ensure she felt secure and respected stemmed from her speaking of how Cal had handled her. The two were not even remotely similar.
''Yes, I was once afraid.'' Sighing, she leaned against him, submerging herself into the beautiful scents. ''Jack, that first night in New York, when we vowed to live each day as though it was our last together, I want that. I took your name. We boarded another ship just a mere week after the Titanic, when we were terrified. We cried together.'' Pulling back, she saw the remnants of the broken man she arrived in New York City with on a cold, damp April night. ''I have lived in so-called sin with you for almost a year.''
His hands at her waist seemed to steady her for a time, but now, as the moment gained clarity, they made her feel less still. How could one stop the trembling? The anticipation was slowly building between them, and it wouldn't stop—even now.
''I know that. Folks don't care so much here. Paris is full of starving artists. Paris is full of bohemians, those who strive to live to the best. There is no judgment for how you live your life, Rose.''
''I know. But that was never my resistance to marrying you. I never had any hesitations towards you.'' Cupping his neck with her fingers, lightly stroking his hair. ''I just needed this year of freedom, entirely.''
''Being my wife would never tie you to me.''
''But I want to be. I want to be bound to you, in name and body and in any way I can, for the rest of my life.''
''Rose...''
''Marry me tomorrow,'' Rose whispered, hoping he didn't feel her heart pounding, her body shaking, and her voice wavering. ''Marry me.''
Sitting herself back slightly, Rose reached down, pulling at the hem of the blanket that wrapped around her. There was a slight hesitancy there tonight, lingering for a second or two as she caught his gaze and the curve of his smile. It played at Jack's lips beautifully; slowly, he turned serious as he understood.
Swallowing the nerves, Jack was deathly still as his eyes lowered down to her chest to the curve of her breast and the perfect nipples which were hardened beneath his gaze. Goosebumps appeared across her skin, and he didn't know if it was from his watch or the coldness of the room. The stillness caused him to twitch, and it was almost painful for him to stay that way. Slowly, Rose traced her index finger down his chest, feeling how he moved beneath her touch as she went. Finding the perfect spot where she nestled, she rested her head against it, feeling his heart thumping.
Jack's hesitance seemed to cripple him to the very spot. What was he so afraid of? Rose grasped her hand over his, joining it at the top of her breast as she slowly led it down. As soon as his rough and calloused finger rubbed against her, she tilted her head to gauge just what he felt. How gifted she was at that already.
''All fears that I once had have vanished,'' Rose reassured him. ''All I fear now is your rejection, as I have rejected you this past year when you offered to marry me.''
Jack exhaled, closing his eyes, and a line appeared within the centre of his forehead. His hands never left hers. It was like slow torture, waiting for the words that may never come out.
''I didn't feel rejected, and you never rejected me, love. It was about not being ready. Not rushing.'' Jack whispered to her. ''I would have married you the second we got off that ship because I knew how much I loved you, but now, I love you so much more.''
Neither knew whose breathing grew the most difficult, who leant in first, but all became lost about them when Jack's lips fell upon hers; suddenly and without any warning, she was in the air and then lowered onto the bed beside where they had been sitting. Jack stumbled atop her, this time, and his weight felt wonderful. She widened her legs beneath him, allowing him to settle in the small berth as the desire raced through her body, originating in her most intimate area and spreading outward. Her nerve endings were on fire, every single one in her body. He pulled back long enough to catch her eyes; she squirmed beneath him, cheeks flushed with her desire for him. He needed to kiss her again, to be close to her and never let her go. Her hands were in his hair, twisting and pulling at it so gently as his lips found hers again.
"Jack-'' she whispered against his lips as he traced a finger down her cheeks. ''We're getting married?''
''Yes.''
With a smile, she pulled what was left of his shirt away, and her own hands were down his back, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the texture of the knots in his spine, tickling and scratching as she went, utterly unaware of the powerful stirring which she had inflicted upon him. Reaching the bottom where his trousers sat, low and exposing a hint of his derriere, Rose explored lower, cupping him atop the last layer of material which separated their naked bodies. Rose tilted back her chin, allowing him to trace her jawline with his tongue. He nipped at her with his teeth as he worked his way downwards. Her back arched as though she needed to close the small space between them, and her fingers clawed at the flesh upon his back and shoulders, increasing with intensity as he lowered his mouth to her breasts, first to the flesh, and then he started to suck the part which felt the most sensitive.
With her hip grinding upwards against him, Jack sat back on his heel. The dim lamp provided enough light for him to see her in her entirety; her hair was dishevelled amongst the pile of pillows, her lips beautifully swollen from their kiss, and along her neck and chest, he had placed darkened areas of his lust along her virginal-looking pale skin. The guilt that had once bitten him for taking such pride in marking her in those ways was gone. He had been the first and only to ever touch her in those places, starting at almost midnight in the back of a Daimler.
With no words, Jack tugged at the buttons on his trousers; the outline of his desire was already more than visible. He could see the heat-induced gaze that fell across his body. It was almost a slow seduction as she waited for him there.
The trousers were pushed down his long, lean legs and discarded on the floor, along with the rest of their barriers. There was nothing else left to shed.
Jack had been everything Rose had wished to imagine within her naïve mind, yet so much more. On his knees, he came towards her so that the tip of him was almost pressed to her stomach.
"You're so beautiful,'' Jack whispered through his desire-induced haze. Everything suddenly seemed surreal as their naked bodies were clenched against each other. ''I love you.''
Paris had brought them so much comfort, happiness, and freedom. He was so content and aroused, yet he could feel the love between them. Rose was more than he'd ever allowed himself to imagine. But here she was, her heart and body open before him, offering him everything she had to give, not just her body but her love, and now, she would marry him.
''Make love to me,'' she whimpered in almost a whisper, with her eyes alternating between his intense stare and his lips, and she pulled him down towards her, filling the space between them.