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“Enter.” Vincent snapped from behind his office door. It made you hesitate, the door handle suddenly so far away. One of the guards made you jump when he prompted you, saying-
“You can go in now.”
Vincent’s browse furrowed. You weren't supposed to come here, not ever. The longer the silence stretched between you and your lover the more you wished the floor would swallow you.
“I shouldn't have come.”
“Yet here you are.”
You should have known he would be like this. Offering no leniency, or hint at the acceptance of an explanation. When the punishing silence became too much you broke, confessing why you had come.
“You missed dinner.”
Those three words shattered his mask of stone like indifference. You had never seen him look so vulnerable, his face awash of uncontrolled emotions.
“I am so sorry my love. Come to me?” He pleaded with an outstretched hand. You moved without hesitation, causing him to smile weakly as he pushed his chair farther away from his desk. When you reached his side he pulled you down into his lap.
“I was so consumed with our future of how you might be taken from me, I failed to care for our present.”
“What happened?”
“Do you know who John Wick is?” You had a feeling he knew you did already.
“Yes, he is why I am here now.” Vincent looked even more concerned.
“How so?”
“I escaped with his help.”
“Is there a marker?” You shook your head no. Vincent’s sigh of relief tickled your neck.
“He was my shield for a short time, I taught him how to mend books, and he taught me nearly all I know about caring for horses-” Vincent looked like he tasted something awful
“Another reason for me to hate him.” Vincent said with a humorless laugh. You knew he felt you stiffen.
“Are there any others I should know about?” You asked, wanting to know why he felt so much hate for such an honorable man.
“Nul. (None) Did you know he got out and got married?” Vincent frown deepened at the fond smile you felt your mouth form at the thought of your old mentor’s chance at a happy ending.
“Yes.”
“His wife died and now he's back in.”
“Oh…” It hurt, you didn't know why, but hearing that took your breath away.
“Why are you crying?” You hadn't realized that you were.
“Helen, she was a very good person… how- how did it happen?” Vincent looked mad and you were mad at him for it.
“First answer my question, why are you crying? For him? For-”
“For the death of a person the world is worse without! You self-absorbed ass! For the ruined dream that someone could escape and rewrite their destiny! If our world’s darkness could take someone like-”
“Shhhh shhh. I am sorry, shhh, mon petit chou.” (My little sweetheart) He did his best to soothe you, apparently happy with your answer. You wanted to resist the comfort he offered, but not enough to actually remove yourself from his embrace. Instead you stop fighting it completely. “Cancer, she was safe, until the day it took her life.”
After a few moments of silent tears you decided to be brave, hoping he would understand what it meant for you to share this with him.
“The songs that I sing in French, to the horses and when I garden.”
“Oui?” (yes)
“Helen loved Roger Whittaker, one of those song’s writers. I wore out the casket tape John sent to me when they got engaged. He was letting me know he couldn't help me anymore. Left in a cash we checked yearly. I wanted to believe it was true, but I didn't trust it, so I kept watching. I was so happy for him when I realized it was. I recorded myself singing Le dernier adieu and sent it a letter with a link to listen to it as their first wedding anniversary gift. It is the only letter, or any kind of contact I made with someone from before I escaped. Paper is the first wedding anniversary gift, traditionally. John left a comment online saying his wife found it so moving she cried. He apologized to her, but she said he was allowed to make her cry everyday if it was because of something so beautiful. There were no names of course, but mentioning that it was his first anniversary dinner gave it away. That was the only thanks I have ever been able to give the people who risked everything to help me.”
Vincent looked at you like you were a rare beautiful painting. Something he had always seen as pleasing, but finally, now, in a life of comfort, he could truly appreciate it.
“You are too good for this world mon petit chou. Too good for me, I am not a man who wants redemption, just you. All of you, even your tears and heartache, I am jealous of him because of this. Because he is the reason you are with me. Because you might have been his bride. Let me finish.” He demanded gently when you tried to interrupt him. “I hate feeling in some way indebted to any man. Please know my anger is not because of you. But this is not an apology, you are mine, I will not let you go. Est-ce que tu me comprends?” (Do you understand me?)
“Oui.” (Yes)
“Bien. (Good) Are you wearing panties?” When you shook your head his eyes smiled, that small triumphant smile he had every time he won but didn't want to show it. The smile that shone in his eyes with every bite of cake and crumble, every full bodied wine and aromatic, over sweetened tea. With each kiss, moan, or pastry you gave him. “That's it. Now be’ good girl, use me to make yourself feel better.”
And you did, you moved against his impossibly long lean frame, positioning him however would make you most comfortable. His body, already responding though you hadn't so much as kissed, like it obeyed your body's unspoken cravings.
I’ll get pregnant at this rate.
You thought, mixing the droplets of liquid that had oozed up and out of his member with your own slippery cum.
So, instead of slowly working yourself open as you sank down around him, you slid against him. You spat loudly to add to the natural lubrication of your bodies.
His response was to settle farther into his chair, anticipating a leisurely yet deliberate session of intimacy.