Work Text:
Your steps echoed in the empty hall as you wandered, slowly making your way to places you knew you probably weren’t supposed to go. Though it was late, the party was still in full swing, and you’d simply intended to step away for some quiet for a few minutes, and ended up getting lost in the vast labyrinth that was Hotel Richissime.
Jacinthe’s annual holiday ball had been exactly what you’d expected when you received the invite - a night of indulgence, glamor, and grandeur. Hors d'oeuvres and champagne were always just an arm’s reach away, carried by impeccably-dressed waiters, and their shining silver trays reflecting the warm-white lighting. There was an orchestra, dancing, and the most divine dinner you’d ever tasted. You’d caught up with old friends and been introduced to more people than you could count.
Now, seeking a moment away from the small talk and constant introductions, you paced slowly across marble tile. Idly, you twisted a small sprig of holly– which you’d picked up from one of the many piles of decorations– through your fingers.
You came across an open door, turning into it without much thought. The room appeared to be some kind of parlor or study, large bookcases lined the far wall, and a few elegant sofas sat in the middle of the room. There was a small piano tucked away in one corner, and an ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling. You looked at it as you stepped in slow circles, watching the light reflect off the crystal prisms.
“Looking for trouble?”
You spun toward the voice, not having realized you weren’t alone, and found Corbeau leaning in the doorway. His hands were in his pockets, one ankle crossed over the other, and a smirk on his face that drew your eyes to his lips. When you pulled them away and met his, they were honey-glazed, boring into yours with a quiet presumption, like he could see your secrets.
Since your hook-up at the hotel, you’d hardly seen each other. Both too busy with life’s expectations to ever address the night you’d spent together, though there was no awkwardness now. If anything, the same spark you’d felt before was back, its buzz a low hum between you. You looked down at the holly in your hands for a moment, considering, and then stepped toward him slowly.
“I don’t have to,” you said as you approached. “Trouble has its own way of finding me.”
“Is that right?” he responded.
You hummed in response, stepping into his space now, though you didn’t touch him. He didn’t move, but you didn’t miss the movement of his throat as he swallowed, or the way his eyes flicked to your lips for just a moment. Now that you were close enough, you could smell the base notes of his cologne that lingered at this late hour. The faint, intoxicating scents of tobacco and rum spice drew you closer, and the electric tension grew between you, thrumming stronger as the distance between you diminished.
“And what are you doing up here, Corbeau?” you asked, looking back at the leaves you were still twirling between your fingers. You tilted your head slightly to the side with your question, and you could feel the tingle of his gaze on your neck.
“Well,” Corbeau said, his voice dropped to just barely above a whisper. “I was sent to find the angel who abandoned her post on top of the tree. Seems like my mission is accomplished.”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you couldn’t help but smile as you shook your head lightly. You reached up and tucked the sprig of holly into the pocket of his suit jacket, and as you smoothed your fingers over it you couldn’t help but remember the tattoos that swirled underneath, how they’d appeared to flow like waves as he’d moved and the muscles under them flexed. The tension was almost to a breaking point now, and you knew if you didn’t get out now you’d end up drowning in him all over again.
“I shouldn’t keep everyone waiting, then,” you said, meeting his eyes again. Up this close you could see every fleck of gold in his irises. It was almost laughable, the way they made him look like an expensive dessert, decadent and enticing. You wanted to covet every shining reflection.
You forced yourself to look away, knowing this was not the time or place to be looking at each other like that. You hadn’t discussed anything yet. There was no definition about what this thing between you was, or who you wanted to know about it, if anyone. You didn’t want to complicate things by getting caught before you’d had the chance.
You tried to step around him, past him and through the doorway, but he stopped you with a hand on your waist. It was warm, firm, and not a question. When you turned back to him he was looking up, and you followed his gaze.
There, at the top of the doorframe, was a small cluster of mistletoe, tied together with a dainty red ribbon. You hadn’t noticed it when you walked in, and part of you wondered if there was a reason for that.
“You put that there,” you accused, tilting your head back down. His face was just inches from yours now, the proximity more overwhelming than ever.
“Do you really think I would be so cliché?” he asked, but he was looking at your lips, one hand coming up to hold your chin gently, and you didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to respond with your absolutely.
Fuck conversations was your last thought before his lips were on yours, the piquant tension snapping again. The kiss wasn’t deep, but it was slow and intentional and it made your knees weak. He took one step forward and you took one step back, and suddenly you were pressed against the doorframe. You slid your hands up the front of his jacket, letting one rest in the crook of his shoulder while the other laid warm against his neck, your thumb just grazing the edge of his jaw.
The next few seconds felt like minutes as his lips caressed yours softly. They were gentle but commanding, taking the lead in every movement. The distant sounds of the orchestra joined the chorus of the quiet sounds of your lips separating and meeting again, and the tension between you was gone, replaced by a comfortable warmth that you wished you could wrap yourself in.
When Corbeau finally leaned back, you were happy to see that your cheeks weren’t the only ones that were flushed, and his unfocused gaze told you he was just as dizzy as you were. You stayed in each other’s space for a moment, neither one of you willing to be the first to pull away, and you let your hand slide up, grazing your thumb over the lower lip that was just showing the first signs of swelling. You watched as it tugged to the side under your touch, thinking only about wanting it back on yours. You dragged your eyes back up to his, and when you spoke again, it was a whisper.
“I’ll see you on New Year’s,” you said, and then you walked away.