Chapter Text
The late afternoon summer light casts Penscombe Court in a warm, rosy hue.
Rupert breathes deeply as he takes in the view, pulling up the long driveway. The exhaustion from his long day in London seems to melt at the sight.
Perhaps he’s getting sentimental in his midlife, but the old pile of stones seems more and more like this lately - glowing, the sun casting over it like a soft blush.
He knows, deep down, why that is.
The entryway is baking, the marble heated from the southern windows, as he steps inside, finally home.
A deep knot had lodged itself square in the center of his back sometime this morning and is stubbornly refusing to budge. Even the familiar sights and smells of home haven’t unfurled it. With mindless efficiency he sheds the costume of the day - his brown oxfords, the simple cufflinks, the tie and a collar that’s already soaked through from the heat of summer.
The skittering of nails on marble alerts him to the pack on his way, his heart lifting at the sound. Soon he’s surrounded by wet noses and eager paws clawing at his pants.
“Did you miss Daddy?”
The knot’s already lighter, muscles letting go. But his breath stills when she comes padding into the hall.
Rupert doesn’t know much about this - this endless feeling of fascination. Of lightness. Maybe it will fade over time. But right now it seems to be steady - growing, something hopeful in his chest that makes him feel positively giddy.
Taggie’s smiling, looking sleepy and soft in cotton shorts and a t-shirt at least one size too big. Her hair is wild and unkempt, catching warm bronze in the light of the setting sun. Following the pack, she seems like their indulgent queen, come to greet visitors to her manor.
It’s still so new - the impossible way she moulds to his body in his arms, the sweet taste of her skin, the way everything in him hums at her radiant frequency.
“Long day?”
She must feel it in his spine, catching somewhere in his breath. He doesn’t quite know how but she always seems to see him. At first it was terrifying, uncanny, but every day they’re together seems to prove she’s not flinching.
“Better now that I’m here with you.”
His hands snake under her shirt, skimming the soft skin of her lower back just above elastic. Warm from her nap, she presses closer to him, up on tiptoes to drape herself around his neck.
She’s all soft where he’s hard, her back arching under his hands, her small breasts against his chest.
But when he runs his hands down to cup her backside, she giggles and pulls away, taking his hand with her.
God, she’s beautiful. Made just with him in mind. The untamed curls, the long legs, the adorable freckles smattered over her nose.
The wide, eager eyes he could fall right into. The simmering promise of something he didn’t quite understand - something both buzzing and calm, something like a future.
She leads him like a well trained horse, his hand in hers. He’s placed on a sofa, the dogs observing, until she gently seats herself above him and lifts his head into her lap.
Frustratingly close to where he wants to be. He tries to turn, to breathe in her scent, but Taggie laughs and holds his head still with firm hands.
“You’re incorrigible. You have a one track mind.”
“Darling, don’t sell me short. I can imagine several tracks I’d like to explore.”
Her smile is as warm as the sun. Rupert breathes deep, watching her from below.
Only for her does he settle like this. Slowly, deliberately, he lets every muscle release, his head dropping heavy onto her legs where she holds him, cradled and sure.
“We missed you. Do you know Beaver spends half the day sitting by the garage door, just listening? I told him he’s my Rupert alert system.”
Her hands are in his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp. A shiver travels through him. Muscles loosen a little more. Feeling heavy and warm, his weight drops further into the cushions, Taggie’s body the soft weight keeping him anchored.
He’s tame in her hands - utterly submissive, the knot in his muscles now long gone and something else, something deep and raw he didn’t know existed until her loosening too inside his chest.
Without a doubt, Rupert is certain he’s done nothing in his life to deserve this. To deserve her.
Whatever it is stirring in his heart is new. It’s trying to find a place to land, a name, a shape. Right now it’s a shining thing, too bright to look at closely, too big to fit in between his ribs.
It’s comforting in a way he hadn’t known - not quite mothering…his mother never held him like this, never cared. The last memory he has like this, he thinks as Taggie hums a song quietly, is when his nanny used to wash his hair and he’d close his eyes and fall to sleep, floating in the warm water.
The memory hits so strong it almost chokes him. He’s still that little boy somewhere - young and trusting. Loved.
Against the pull of sleep he opens his eyes.
Taggie’s face is the only thing he sees. Her hair cascades down around him, the two of them lost together in the curtain of it, caught in each other’s eyes.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he admits for the first time, the words no more than a whisper.
Taggie’s face is oddly blank as he waits, breathless, for her response.
He tries to reach for her but his limbs are heavy. Her eyes are blank. Darkness creeps into the corners of his vision. He blinks to clear it and -
Rupert opens his eyes to the predawn light, peeking under the heavy curtains in his bedroom.
Rupert takes a breath - two, then three. Blinks as the memory of his dream is carried away, swiftly as if on a spring stream. The feeling of her fingers in his hair the last to leave him.
A dream. It was just a dream.
Eyes adjusting to the low light, he turns his head on his pillow.
Cameron is next to him, deep asleep, a hand resting between them, palm up as if reaching for him.
Right.
Rupert rises. Instinctively avoids the wooden boards that creak. The knot is back - more terrible than ever, muscles tight and frozen, needing a sharp thumb through the center to unfurl. A headache begins building at the base of his spine.
He wanders to the window. One single finger reaches out, slow and halting. Gently, he pulls back the curtain.
The sun is only a whisper, still hiding behind the trees.
Across the valley, the Priory sits still in shadow. He looks for it, but it’s not there - a single beacon of light, sleeping in the turret, just out of reach.