#femoc

You had served here for several years. Your position as a trusted lady-in-waiting required you to be a shadow: silent, invisible, but always present. You watched as other servants, like Yinghua or Guiyuan, admired their mistress's kindness and cheerfulness. They saw only the facade—a dazzling beauty with fire-red hair, whose silver-bell laugh could melt even the harshest heart. They saw a woman skillfully playing political games while remaining a model of mercy.

But you saw more. Your gaze, always attentive and observant, pierced through that flawless mask. You saw the faint shadows of exhaustion beneath her stunning emerald eyes after long banquets. You noticed how her delicate shoulders tensioned when she had to listen to the flattering but lying speeches of other concubines. You knew how much effort it cost her to be the "perfect Jade Consort" for a man she respected but did not love in the way poems described.

Today had been particularly difficult. The Emperor had hosted a lavish reception in the garden, and Gyokuyo had to sit for hours under the scorching sun in heavy ceremonial robes, demonstrating unshakable grace. When the procession finally returned to the Jade Pavilion, the sun had begun to sink toward the horizon, painting the tiled roofs in bloody-gold hues.

"You may all go," Gyokuyo’s voice sounded soft, but it carried that unquestionable authority no one dared to challenge. "Honnyan, see to it that we are not disturbed. I wish to rest. [Y/N], stay. Help me prepare for bed."

Honnyan, the head maid, bowed respectfully, casting a short, meaningful glance at you before leading the other girls away. The paper doors closed with a soft rustle, cutting you both off from the rest of the world. Silence fell over the spacious, richly decorated chambers, broken only by the quiet crackling of coals in the brazier and the steady ticking of the water clock.

You remained standing by the door, hands folded at your waist, your gaze respectfully lowered.

"Finally," came a heavy sigh, sounding nothing like the concubine's melodic laughter.

Gyokuyo stood in the center of the room. Her former stateliness had vanished. She let her shoulders drop, and her face reflected such a deep, unbearable weariness that your heart ached. In that moment, she was not the powerful consort of the Emperor, but simply a woman exhausted by a golden cage.

"My Lady, may I?" you asked quietly, taking a step forward.

"How many times have I asked you, [Y/N]," Gyokuyo turned her head toward you, and a faint but entirely sincere smile, free of any pretense, appeared on her lips. "When we are alone, do not call me that. To you, I am simply Gyokuyo."

Your heart skipped a beat, as it did every time she looked at you like that. In her gaze directed at you, there was always something special—warmth, trust, and a secret shared between the two of you.

"Very well... Gyokuyo."

You stepped close to her. She smelled of jasmine, expensive incense, and the faint scent of summer heat. Your hands, accustomed to this routine yet trembling with hidden trepidation every time, reached for her complex, heavy hairstyle.

First, you pulled out a massive gold hairpin adorned with precious stones. Gyokuyo closed her eyes slightly, letting out a soft sigh of relief. Then came the second, the third... You moved slowly, with extreme care not to cause her pain. Every touch of your fingers against her skin felt like a spark of electricity running through you both.

Finally, when the last pin was removed, her luxurious, thick cinnabar-colored hair cascaded down her back in a heavy wave, reaching almost to her waist. It flowed through your fingers like liquid fire. You always looked at it with fascination. In the Empire, this color was considered a rarity, a sign of her foreign blood, and many viewed it with suspicion—but to you, there was nothing more beautiful in the world.

"It’s so heavy," Gyokuyo murmured, tilting her head back. The back of her head brushed against your chest. It was an impermissibly intimate gesture for a servant and a mistress, but you had long since erased those boundaries within the walls of her private chambers.

You froze, not daring to breathe. Your hands rested on her shoulders, clad in thick silk.

"You held yourself wonderfully at the reception today," you said, trying to change the subject to hide the tremor in your voice. "No one noticed your exhaustion."

"Because that is my job, [Y/N]," she replied with a hint of bitterness. Gyokuyo covered your hand on her shoulder with her own elegant, slender hand. Her skin was cool. "To smile, to nod, to be a beautiful ornament in His Majesty’s garden. To be a perfect vessel for his heirs. Sometimes I feel I will forget what my true face looks like if I don't look in a mirror."

She slowly turned in your arms, coming face-to-face with you.

"But then I look at you. And I realize that I only truly live in these short hours when the doors are closed."

Twilight deepened in the room. You lit a few candles placed in the corners. Their soft, golden light danced on the paper walls, creating an atmosphere of absolute privacy and mystery.

"Let’s take this off," Gyokuyo looked at her multi-layered, gold-embroidered ceremonial kimono. "I feel as though I am wearing armor."

You nodded, shaking off the daze, and set to work. Untying the complex knots of the obi was a familiar task. Your hands moved deftly and quickly. With every layer of heavy silk removed, Gyokuyo seemed to become lighter and freer.

When the outer ceremonial garments fell to the wooden floor with a soft rustle, she was left in only a thin inner robe of white silk. The fabric was so delicate it was almost translucent, softly clinging to her feminine, perfect figure.

She walked to the dressing table and sat before a large bronze mirror. You took a bone comb in your hands and stood behind her.

This was your sacred ritual. You began to slowly, smoothly comb through her fiery hair. From the roots to the very tips. Over and over. It calmed her. You saw in the mirror's reflection how the lines on her forehead smoothed and her facial muscles relaxed.

But today, the air between you was different. A thick, almost tangible tension hung in it. Months of unspoken words, hidden glances, and accidental touches were all sparking in the silence of the room now.

You looked at her reflection. Gyokuyo also watched you through the tarnished bronze. Your eyes met, and neither of you looked away.

Your hand with the comb slowed, then stopped altogether. Your fingers buried themselves in her thick red locks, lightly massaging her scalp. You couldn't help yourself. Your other hand slid down her neck, touching the delicate skin where her pulse throbbed.

Gyokuyo gasped sharply. Her jade eyes darkened.

"[Y/N]..." her voice became husky, low, like the purr of a wild cat.

"I know I shouldn't," you whispered, leaning closer. Your breath brushed her ear, making her shiver. "I am just a servant. And you... you belong to the Emperor."

Gyokuyo turned sharply on the stool. Her movement was so sudden that the comb fell from your hands and rolled away with a dull thud. She seized your wrists. In her gaze, there was not a trace of the submissive consort everyone else knew. An iron fire burned within her—the same fire that matched the color of her hair.

"I do not belong to him," the words sounded like an oath. Gyokuyo pulled you so close that your knees touched. "My body may belong to the Inner Court. My status may belong to the Empire. But my heart... my soul, my true desires... they do not take orders."

She released your wrists and raised her hands, cupping your face. Her palms were burning. With her thumbs, she tenderly, almost reverently, stroked your cheekbones.

"They belong only to you, [Y/N]. From the very day you first closed the door behind us and didn't look away from my eyes. I go mad every time I see you in a crowd. I am jealous of Honnyan, of Yinghua, of anyone who dares to take your attention. I want to tear off all these silks and run away with you to a place where there is no Emperor, no eunuchs, no poisons."

Those words destroyed the final wall between you. All your fears, all the rules of the Inner Court—the penalty for breaking which was death—crumbled to dust in the face of her confession. You realized you could no longer play the role of the submissive servant.

You leaned forward, taking the initiative. Your arms wrapped around her slender waist, easily lifting her from the stool. Gyokuyo let out a quiet cry as you pressed her back against the cool wooden wall of the room, but the sound held no fear—only desperate anticipation.

Your lips met hers. The kiss was sudden, hungry, and incredibly hot. All the unspoken words poured into this touch. You kissed her as if you were dying of thirst and she was the only source of water in a desert. Gyokuyo responded instantly. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you even closer, leaving not a millimeter of space between your bodies.

Her lips tasted of sweet wine and tart jasmine tea. You deepened the kiss, your tongue sliding inside to meet hers in a passionate, frantic dance. She let out a soft moan directly into your mouth, and that sound became the catalyst that stripped away all restraint.

She was the Emperor’s consort. An untouchable sanctuary. But now, in your arms, she was just a woman aching with desire, hot and responsive.

You pulled away from her lips, breathing heavily. Your eyes were clouded with the haze of passion. You covered her chin and cheeks with short, burning kisses, moving down to the elegant line of her jaw and her long, aristocratic neck. Gyokuyo tilted her head back, giving you full access, her breathing becoming ragged and loud.

"Yes..." she whispered as your lips found a sensitive spot on her neck. You lightly bit the tender skin, making her arch in your arms. "Please, [Y/N]... don't stop."

Her hands slid beneath the fabric of your uniform, searing your skin. Her touches were feverish, impatient. She wanted to feel you as much as you wanted to feel her.

Meanwhile, your hands explored her body through the thin white silk of her inner robe. You stroked her thighs and waist, feeling her tremble under your fingers. The fabric became a barrier that had to be removed.

With a deft movement, you untied the thin ribbon holding her robe together. The white silk slid off her shoulders, falling to her feet like melting snow.

In the flickering candlelight, her naked body seemed carved from the most expensive, warm jade. She was flawless. You looked at her with reverence, unable to believe that this beauty had trusted herself to you.

Gyokuyo grew slightly embarrassed under your piercing, dark gaze. She tried to cover her chest with her hands, a deep, charming blush flooding her cheeks.

"Don't hide," you whispered, gently catching her wrists and moving her arms to her sides. "You are beautiful. Gods, Gyokuyo, you are the most beautiful woman in the world."

Her emerald eyes shone at your words. All uncertainty evaporated. She reached for the fastenings of your clothes, helping you discard them. Soon, you both stood in the dim light of the room, hidden by nothing from one another.

You swept her up into your arms. She was surprisingly light. Gyokuyo instinctively wrapped her legs around your waist, hiding her flushed face against your shoulder. You took a few steps and carefully lowered her onto the wide bed, spread with soft silk, intended for the Emperor.

But tonight, this bed belonged only to the two of you.

You hovered over her, bracing your hands on the mattress on either side of her head. Red hair spilled across the pillows like tongues of flame. Gyokuyo looked up at you, her chest heaving. In her eyes was absolute surrender mixed with fierce passion.

Your lips found hers again. But this time, the kiss was slow, lingering, full of tenderness and adoration. You wanted to stretch this moment, to savor every second. Your hands began their journey over her body. You stroked her collarbones and shoulders, slowly moving lower.

Your palm rested on her soft breast, your thumb brushing against the sensitive pink nipple that instantly hardened under your touch. Gyokuyo arched her back, letting out a soft, sweet moan.

"[Y/N]... ah..." her fingers dug into your shoulders, leaving light crescent marks on your skin.

You leaned lower, replacing your fingers with your lips. You kissed her breast wetly, lightly biting and suckling, playing with her. Her reactions were incredibly frank. She tossed on the silk sheets, her breath catching and turning into a series of short, stifled gasps. She was so responsive, so hungry for genuine affection stripped of political subtext or duty.

Meanwhile, your free hand slid over her flat stomach, moving lower still. You stroked the inside of her thighs, feeling her muscles quiver with tension. Gyokuyo instinctively spread her legs, letting you know what she wanted.

You looked into her eyes. A fire raged in them.

"May I?" you asked softly, with respect, not wishing to cross the line without her consent, even in such an intoxicating state.

"Yes... please, yes... make me yours," Gyokuyo exhaled, tears in her eyes from the overwhelming emotion.

Your fingers touched her most intimate moisture. She was hot and already ready for you. You began to stroke her slowly, gently, finding the exact rhythm that made her body tremble even more.

"Gods... [Y/N]..." she gasped, her head falling back.

You deepened your touch, your movements becoming more confident and insistent. You knew her body; you read her reactions like an open book. Every movement, every breath was a guide for you. You leaned down, kissing her lips, swallowing her moans, not letting them escape the room.

Passion washed over you both. The boundaries between your bodies blurred. There was only the scent of heated skin, the whisper of tender, breathless words, burning kisses, and the rhythm leading you both to the edge of the abyss.

Gyokuyo gripped your hair, her hips instinctively moving to meet your rhythm. The tension inside her grew, coiling like a tight spring.

"I’m about to... [Y/N], I..." her voice broke into a sharp whisper.

"Let yourself go. I have you, my love," you whispered, quickening the pace and continuing to kiss her neck.

With a loud, sweet cry that you barely managed to stifle with a kiss, Gyokuyo shuddered in your arms. Waves of an incredible, blinding orgasm washed over her. Her body tensed like a pulled string and then went limp against the silk sheets. She breathed heavily, a blissful, sleepy smile wandering across her face.

You slowly lay down beside her, pulling her heated body to yours. She tucked her nose into your neck, hugging you so tightly as if she were afraid you would vanish.

Several hours passed. The room had cooled, but under the thick silk quilt, it was unbearably warm and cozy. The candles had long since burned out. You lay on your back, and Gyokuyo slept on your chest. Her red hair was spread over you, covering you like a cloak. You stroked her bare back, listening to the steady beat of her heart.

She stirred, sleepily blinking her emerald eyes, and looked at you.

"Not sleeping?" she murmured, kissing your collarbone.

"I don't want to close my eyes. I'm afraid I'll wake up and this will be a dream," you confessed honestly.

Gyokuyo propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at you. Her gaze was serious but filled with incredible tenderness.

"It’s not a dream. This is the only reality that makes sense to me," she traced a finger over your face. "Tomorrow the sun will rise again. I will have to put on the mask of the Jade Consort once more. I will smile at the Emperor again and play political games with the other pavilions."

Her voice wavered slightly but then became firm.

"But every evening, when the doors of this pavilion close... I will shed all those layers of lies. And I will belong only to you. If you agree to share this secret with me. If you are ready to risk everything for these nights."

You wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her down for a long, tender kiss.

"I will follow you anywhere, Gyokuyo. In the Inner Court or beyond it. I am your shadow, your shield, and your love. Forever."

 It only took two weeks for him to finally convince her after several run-ins in the brightly lit hallways with cracking walls that always smelled just a touch like vomit to join him on a lunch break to his favorite diner within decent walking distance. On the walk over she'd asked him how his day was going but his response was simply that he'd only gotten out of bed maybe a half an hour before.

  Briar never judged anyone as long as it didn't seem like they were hurting anyone else but it surprised her to learn over their lunch that he still very much lived the type of life most of her friends blew through in their early twenties. 

 Hank woke up sometime after noon, immediately made his way to lunch or if he was in the mood for eggs somewhere that served breakfast all day. Then he would call his mother. They would discuss her life back "home" which he was incredibly vague about. Then sit at home listening to the radio or watching junk TV while throwing a couple back 'til it was time to head to a late shift at Paul's.

 He spoke of his life with no sense of embarrassment.  Not that he seemed to beam with pride over being a bartender. What he did seem to take pride in however was that he was an active and important member of his small community. Helping out at the apartment when necessary giving money to the many homeless people he held casual conversation with on the regular, knowing almost every person who had been in the bar more than twice by name and whatever personal information they had offered. 

 Briar couldn't help but smile when she listened to him talk about each person he came across and the impact they made on his day. Hank was so sincere that it was almost impossible to hold his lackluster situation against him.  After all, wasn't New York City the mecca for people still wondering what they were going to be when they grew up, no matter how old they were.

 "How about you princess?"

 His buttery smooth voice came out between bites of jalapeno covered cheeseburger. Briar looked up from the french fry that she had been dipping continuously into the same small puddle of ketchup on the side of her plate. It was happening again. The guilt.

 Always popping up when she least expects it. An impending feeling of doom that she realized was caused by her mind or maybe her body once again remembering that this moment shouldn't BE happening. She shouldn't be in New York. Sitting across from a startlingly handsome man whose blonde hair fell into his wide, emotive blue eyes when he watched her from across the table. 

 Briar should be in Illinois, trapped in her loveless marriage. Waking up every day to the same bright toothy grin that she looked forward to in the morning. Making blueberry pancakes with too much syrup and then spending the afternoon playing the same four games over and over. Inside  because it was turning colder out in the midwest and Angle always caught a bad cold this time of year. 

 The fingers still holding the small fry so tight there was no life left in the poor once crisp snack trembled lightly and she felt slender fingers wrap around her wrist. Green eyes wandered from her congealed watery  ketchup to the thumb making circles on the inside of her wrist before she blinked and shook her head.

 "Sorry, uhh. I had a rough night's sleep."

 For a long moment Hank didn't say anything, he only continued looking at her. It was a soft but understanding face. Lifting his other hand and cupping the same one he was already holding between both, squeezing gently. 

 "I have bad dreams too. Especially if I'm stressed."

There was a memory of him vaguely touching on a personal tragedy that led him to NYC as well. Suddenly a twisted part of her wanted to prod and poke at the wound to see if he was more damaged.  Something about the idea of this beautiful man being worse off than her made her feel better for a moment until it made her hate herself.

 Not wanting to seem cruel but also wanting to indicate that she understood his wounds still followed him around she gently gestured to the one empty glass and the half full beer next to it that he'd finished in their small time in the diner.

 "I'm sorry it's still so painful for you."

 He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes roaming around the plates in front of him for a moment until it was like he flipped a switch and grinned up at her. Shrugging his broad shoulders he let go of her hand reaching out and tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear before bumping against the bottom of her chin with the flat of one thumb. Picking up his burger  and making one soft comment about the situation.

 "We all have to live with something, Princess."

  Things were quiet for a few moments as the two adults simply focused on enjoying the meals in front of them. Pleasantly surprised to find her chop steak not only flavorful but also seemingly not caked than in much grease as most of the other sandwiches she'd found for decent price in the city, Briar found herself getting lost in her first good meal in so long. Closing her eyes and letting  the feeling of the juice strip down the back of her throat tasting the salt and the obvious use of at least a handful of spices one didn't always find in diners. But New York was a melting pot, and even though she'd still fight tooth and nail that Chi-Town had NYC beat on chinese, she suddenly believed when people said you could find surprising bites unlike anything else right here in the Big Apple.

 Unaware of the fact that she had her eyes closed and was sounding her enjoyment out loud it was Hank's chuckle from his seat that broke her from her slow chewing. Her eyes popped open almost in horror. Hazel green looked from the corner of almond shaped sockets in his direction, grateful that she took the time to throw on a  face of makeup that morning to hide the red color that was in her cheeks. 

 "Sorry. I've had shit luck finding good food around the area."

 Sitting back against the booth she could hear his legs creaking against the wood under the table as he spread out and made himself comfortable.  He laid both his hands on the table top drumming his thumbs almost soundlessly as he spoke.

 "Nothing to apologize to me for Princess."

 His voice was low and smooth.  One side of his mouth curled up into a smirk and she noticed that both of his hands had balled into small fists, one thumb running in circles over the knuckles on his index finger.

 "I'm glad you found something you could enjoy so much.  I remember it took a while to find the best places. But I've been around here just about  seven years."

 Clearing her throat Briar picked up her glass of diet soda and took a good gulp. Nodding as she shifted on her own bench.

 "I bet you've got the place down to a science by now."

 His wolfish grin only grew wider. Sitting forward he pushed his plate back and forth almost mindlessly with his hands. His gaze locked on her so intensely she couldn't have dreamed of looking away and he spoke with a voice so low and intimate it made the rest of the world fall away.

 "Can't say I was ever a very good student,  so I'm not sure about science. But I'd certainly  love to teach you a thing or two about the city if you'd be willing to let me."

 There's a moment's pause and for a second she thought she might reject him.  The two sides of her brain equally shouted so loud over one another that she had almost zero control over what was going to come out of her mouth.

 "I would love to learn from a professional transplant Hank."

 Front teeth biting into her bottom lip she could feel her fingers squeezing and releasing gently on the creaky booth top where she clutched the edges. Even after doing her best to sound positive she watched his face shift slightly uncomfortably before he found his smile again and finished her statement.

 "As long as it's not anything serious?"

 Feeling almost called out it was her turn now to shrug.

 "I just want to be up front about what I can offer."

 If she expected some sort of push back she was talking to the wrong man.  Hank only ran his fingers through his hair tussling it off of his forehead before picking his baseball cap up off of the seat next to him and putting it on backwards again.  With a brisk nod he dropped $30 on the table then extended his hand to offer her help out of her seat.

 "I can do simple Princess."

 Lacing her fingers through his as he pulled her up she rolled her eyes.

 "I just bet you can."

 Not at all deterred by her teasing he only leaned in closer. Almost brushing his lips against hers before he stopped, arching one brow.

 "I won't even kiss you again until you ask me to."

 There was no time for her to react or decide whether or not this was in fact the moment she was going to ask.  because he turned around and started heading for the door yelling over his shoulder that he had to get to work but he would see her soon and to remember she had his number.

  Over the next several weeks things fell into a sort of pattern for Briar.  Days were spent at the bakery. Callie was doing her best. But when serious damage was found underneath the floorboards of the second floor storage room; discovered only when in the middle of a setup day boxes came crashing through, the opening had to be delayed even more. 

 Every piece of equipment was shifted into what had been initially intended as a catering only kitchen.  More than half of the square footage was blocked off so that construction could be finished. It only took three weeks of working in the much closer quarters before the man who was supposed to have been the "kitchen manager" to Callie's "owner", called it quits. 

 So determined to make sure that her friend could still keep the few orders that she'd taken in order to try and drive up word of mouth for the business when it could open, Briar went through a crash course in baking. Speedrunning her way through batter and dough. Doing her best to master at least adequate icing techniques in weeks.   

 Initially she thought it was the worst decision she'd ever made. She was absolutely prepared to tell her overwhelmed best friend they had to hire a new chef, because she was going to be useless as anything other than an office mule. But then she came in one day and Callie was making pain au chocolat. Immediately the process was enjoyable.

 Carefully mixing and folding until she crafted perfect looking little treasures. Within a week she was obsessed with trying to learn how to make as many variations of les viennoiseries as she could manage. Bringing home books from the bakery shelves to practice at home on her tiny kitchen island. There was something so peaceful about concentrating all of her energy into making these perfect little bites of heaven. 

 During all of it there was one or two days a week that always went to spending some time with Hank. Sometimes it would be as simple as spending her day off running her errands with him because they both needed to wash laundry and he showed her one that was a little further of a walk but definitely felt more secure. Or going a block and a half south to his favorite bodega to pick up everything they needed for park bench lunch. Then walking to a nearby park and chatting as people watched and he told her about his transition from small town boy to lost New York citizen at only twenty years. 

 Hank had such a romantic way of talking about the city and she appreciated his point of view.  The way he still thought the best of people even though he'd seen plenty of the worst. He would talk about almost anything that had happened to him in New York, it was only the years before that were still clouded in mystery. 

 Not so much so that she thought he was dangerous or a bad person.  She knew that he played baseball when he was younger but it hadn't worked out the way he hoped. One of his knees was obviously injured. It wasn't just evident when they'd been walking too long or when the day was particularly cold and he moved a little slower in his first couple of hours. But the couple of times he'd warned jeans where the knees have been thoroughly destroyed she's been able to see the red scars damaging the skin. Every time she looked him in the eyes and realized he'd caught her watching his injured leg however it was clear that the topic wasn't up for discussion.

 One afternoon she'd made it home with a box still holding freshly baked peanut and jam croissants. Something she'd made out of leftover materials after he told her when he was a child his mother used to make him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every once in a while when he had a particularly hard day. 

 Knocking on his front door he pulled it open looking an absolute wreck. Usually bright beautiful eyes surrounded by dark bags, glossed over and red. Clearly drunk. He pulled his jeans up over his briefs but she noticed they weren't even buckled. Leaning on the door frame he'd only tossed his hair back over his forehead, his bottom lip trembling softly.

 "Sorry Princess, bad dreams again."

 Without thinking twice she'd lifted one hand and brushed it up the side of his neck. Laying her palm flat against his cheek and holding it there when he let his head rest in her grasp.

 "Well, I think I may have just the thing."

 Face covered in more than a little bit of confusion he stepped back from the door as she moved inside his apartment. Taking in the table covered in what seemed to be a couple nights worth of drinks, she set her box down on the counter without saying anything.

 "I'm sorry you had a rough night Hank. You know I get my fair share."

 Hank didn't move any closer.  He only stood in place with both hands tucked into barely hanging on jean pockets. Broad shoulders curled in so far that he made his large muscular chest look almost thin and narrow.

 "I uh, I should go. But a shower always makes me feel a lot better. And, I hope you like them."

 Turning to leave she made it almost all the way to the door before she felt a hand grip her shoulder very gently. Turning she saw him looking at the box on the counter before doing his best to give her a smile.

 "Thank you Princess."

 Placing her hand on top of his larger one she squeezed his fingers gently before turning silently and heading out the door. She shut it behind her and then made her way up the two flights of stairs to her own apartment.  After returning the handful of messages she'd been ignoring from back home on the machine she made her way to her bedroom and peeled off the flour covered jeans and old t-shirt she'd worn that day. 

 Taking a shower after twisting her hair up into a large claw clip. Washing off the day's dirt and grime but carefully avoiding her freshly washed curls. Noticing that she let her personal maintenance get a little out of control she decided to take the extra second and get herself smooth at least up to mid thigh and under her armpits. Taking a tiny pair of trimming scissors that she got in a kit with several other sizes for trimming her eyebrows,  she used a thin comb to tame the nest between her legs. Enjoying the feeling of the foamy lavender wash as she removed that day's mascara and lip liner.

  Finally Briar put on her favorite pair of black silk pajama shorts and a comfortable sports bra as she pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge and poured herself a small glass. Callie did her best to convince Briar over the last several weeks that it was okay to start enjoying life. If she had passed as a child she would want to think her mother was living life to the fullest, wouldn't she? Throwing on her favorite robe that matched her pj bottoms she sampled the cold white liquid.

 It was only just around four in the afternoon and despite her early rising schedule she still never managed to get to bed before ten thirty. Especially on Friday or Saturday. And with tonight being the earlier of the two, Briar was getting ready for an evening of bad T.V.

  With a plop down on the couch she attempted to open the small drawer at the center of her coffee table just in front of the couch. The damn thing almost always stuck. As she was in the process of pressing against the wooden abomination with one hand yanking on the tiny knob telling herself this is what she got for picking up furniture from the street in New York no matter how nice it looked; an  unexpected knock at the door caused her to fall between the table and the couch with a small yelp.

 "Just, um, just one second."

 From the other side of the door a low chuckle vibrated through the cheap plywood and made its way to her ears letting her know exactly who was there.

 "Don't hurt yourself on my account Princess."

 At first she thought about yelling that she needed to get dressed but they were both adults and she was covered everywhere that was necessary. Reaching the door in a few long strides she yanked it open to find him leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, large arms crossed. 

It was immediately evident that he'd taken her advice to shower. Some of the puffiness gone from his face and the red gone mostly from his eyes despite them still being rather glazed. Instead of moving forward he adjusted his hands, tucking both between his biceps and his underarm tilting his head and looking her over slowly and without hesitation.

 "Well then, all comfy?"

  Placing a hand on either hip she tapped one toe against the ground playfully and tilted her head right back.

 "I am in fact. You heading out?"

 As if you suddenly remembered what he'd been doing Hank stood up gesturing towards her living room as if asking to come inside.  She moved out of the way without a thought watching his tall frame move past until he sat down on the couch.

 "I wanted to thank you, for the treats. They were really great and real… comforting." 

 Following him slowly she sat down on a large faded green armchair made of well-worn crushed velvet.  Every time she sat in the chair the smell of her old home still creeped into her nostrils and the tension of the moment made her feel caught in it.  After a deep breath she gave a tight smile.

 "I'm glad you liked them. It was just something I was messing around with."

 Leaning forward he braced his elbows over his knees, large hands dangling between his spread legs. He was wearing a black T-shirt that fit him well tight in the arms and across his pecs but loose around his stomach. Faded light blue jeans, distressed on the thighs and over the knees from natural wear and tear sat over half lace high tops.

 "Paul called me. Said he uh, he had something to give me. That I should find a friend for something fun and come meet him in the next couple hours at the bar."

 From her chair Briar made a sound of understanding. Fingers holding her fabric in place to keep her robe right as she crossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the chair.  Leaning on one elbow she regarded him.

 "Oh, is that so?"

With most of the light back in his eyes he nodded. Opening both of his hands in a non-committal gesture before lacing his fingers back together.

 "What do ya say? I'll head there now to see what he's on about and if it's not worth it then we can just hang at Paul's for a bit. You seemed to enjoy it last time."

 The only time she had ever accompanied him to the small bar around the corner it had been fairly packed.  Noticing that the crowd was starting to make her anxious, Hank used his small amount of authority in the building to clear out the area around the pool table.Then for the next two hours he'd pressed his body as close to hers as he could every time the occasional allowed and taught her how to play a damn good round of the game.

"It was educational."

 Red crept into her pale cheeks as she avoided making eye contact. Hearing him huff out a small laugh.

 "Well, I am your own personal professor of New York City."

Everything inside of her clenched and released. This was either going to be a really good idea or really terrible one but either way, it was time to start living. Letting out a small sigh she started to stand from the chair.

 "Alright then. I'll meet you there soon."

 Wearing something close to a smile he stepped forward. Tiptoeing his fingertips over her waist until his hand rested in the center of her back pulling her closer gently.

 "Good. I'll see you soon Princess."

 It was impossible for her to pull her eyes away from his well fitted jeans when Hank turned and made his way out the door. More than once they'd crossed paths in a line or bumped up against one another on the sidewalk and she'd gotten just a taste of what the obviously plump cheeks beneath that fake fabric might feel like. While she would never call herself an ass woman before she certainly grew to appreciate the sight of him leaving.

 When she was alone Briar rushed to her bedroom. Opening her closet and going through the meager clothing she brought with her from Chicago.  There was a pair of jeans she wore almost every time the two of them went out, otherwise a long black maxi skirt that looked like something out of the seventies.

 A couple of tanks that didn't fit her too badly.  One pale blue cute sweater with a button at the top that was black which she was surprised to find fit her again after her divorce.  None of it seemed right for a night at Paul's. From the corner of her room she felt the weight of a plastic bag she'd been ignoring in the corner since Callie had convinced her to buy the outfit during a window shopping session last week to blow off steam.

 " You're only 27 years old. And besides that you look great. So what if you're not a beanpole, plenty of men like a good handful on the top or behind to grab hold of during a good romp."

 Briar'd dressed like a housewife since before she'd even finished growing in all of her womanly features. Spending most of her days wearing oversized t-shirts and sweatpants or boot cut jeans that didn't do anything to flatter her. 

 When the two women had entered a more moderately priced boutique that held some alternative fashions Callie hadn't been able to ignore the way Briar looked at everything with such interest. 

"Deciding who you want to be now doesn't erase who you were then or how important those memories will always be."

 After several more long winded hallmark statements the auburn haired woman was finally convinced by her business partner to try on a few things. In the end she'd walked out with one bag consisting of enough pieces to make an outfit she'd felt confident in when in the fitting room, but hadn't had the guts to put back on since.

 Opening up the bag she took out each piece before setting them on the bed and chewing on her thumb making her decision.  

 "Fuck it."

 Going to the mirror she took down her curly hair. Taking several bobby pins and spinning two clumps into loose messy buns on either side of the top of her head. Using her fingers to comb through the curls that she let fall around her shoulders down almost to the center of her nipples. Then she picked up a taupe lip liner and a grayish lipstick she bought the same day as the outfit.  Applying both along with a pale almost terracotta colored blush and a heavy amount of mascara. 

 Then she made her way back to the room. Starting with her burgundy colored lace briefs that cupped her bottom making her cheeks look a little bigger than they already were. Pulling on a pair of fishnet stockings that had made it all the way from high school in the back of her closet until she'd thrown them on to go to the bar one of her first weeks in New York City and since then had become obsessed with using them whenever she could find a reason.

 After the tights came a short crushed red velvet skirt. Coming up to mid thigh it was probably the shortest piece of clothing she'd ever worn and the one that was the hardest for her to convince herself to purchase. She put on a bra that matched her panties. The band and cups made out of soft burgundy lace that almost tickled the peaks of her rosy nipples as she adjusted herself to sit right in the fabric.

 Then she pulled a black blouse over each arm. Made of a black linen like material it was tight where she clipped it over her chest. Metal  clips clasping together down to just below her belly button. The front was a fairly deep v, and the sleeves fell into draped Ruffles of the fabric around her elbows.

 When she looked at herself in the tall mirror on the back of her closet door she had to convince herself that the woman looking at her now was the same person she always was.  Just locked inside by the circumstance of childish mistakes. Not that she regretted those years but more than once during that time she wished she'd ended up with a partner who would let her explore herself more instead of expecting her to simply settle in.

  Pulling herself back from the edge of ruining her own night she turned and looked at the three pairs of shoes sitting next to her front door.  Sneakers seemed ridiculous but without knowing exactly what Paul had planned the heels sitting next to them seemed equally treacherous. The decision was made to go with the simple black Doc Martens that Briar had become accustomed to wearing when she was working long shifts in the kitchen.

 With her baggy leather brown bag strewn over one shoulder she made her way to the elevator. It was a cool comfortable night so she didn't rush her walk down to the small bar. When she pulled the front door open immediately she was met with a  cloud of smoke and the overwhelming amount of noise a crowd of people could make in a confined space.  Once she was within the main area of the bar however it took only seconds before she heard a voice over the rest of the hustle and bustle.

"Princess!"

 With her elbows out she fought towards the voice until she felt too familiar hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her from the crowd to a sudden pocket of air right in front of the bar. There was no way of ignoring the way he looked over her outfit for quite a while before finally reaching her eyes with his gaze.

 "You look, great Briar. Like… really great." 

 The compliment made her wish she could roll inside of herself like an insect and disappear on the floor of the establishment.  But before she had to think of a response a hand clapped her on the shoulder from behind and she turned to see Paul sitting on a bar stool.

 "Hey kid. Nice to see you back."

 The older man had been more than kind to her when she'd come in, not allowing her to pay for almost any beer since she was there with his favorite bartender.

 "It's good to see you too Paul."

  Hank turned her back around immediately, smiling down at her with excitement. He lifted a hand holding two white rectangles of paper.

 "You like live music Baby?"

No matter how many times she turned over the question in her head Briar couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen a concert. Earlier in their marriage when they still occasionally attempted a date night Stephen would sometimes choose a country music act coming to town that his father and him would listen to at work and drag her along. But it wasn't the same as the music she'd gone to see with her friends in high school.

 "I think I used to."

 Even though he smiled at the joke, something on his face fell a bit and she felt one of his hands squeezed tighter on her waist, the other still holding the tickets.

 "Well, we're gonna get that love flowing all over again tonight."

 She watched as he went from excited to immediately distracted again by her outfit. Face tilting forward and bottom lip disappearing behind his front teeth. 

 "Did I say you look killer, Princess?"

 One more playful roll of her eyes and she plucked the two pieces of paper from his fingers to held them up in front of her face reading them.

 "Oh! I actually love Bush. They played a lot on the station I got over my little kitchen radio back home."

He didn't hide the way her exclamation made him excited. Choosing to wrap both arms around her waist and lift her off the ground in a hug. Tucking his face in her neck and inhaling a couple of times before he set her down.

 "Come on then. I ordered shots then we're on the road." 

 With every intention to say no Briar closed her eyes and let out a resigned sigh when the shots arrived on the bar almost like magic. Deciding she was going to lean in as much as possible that night as long as it didn't seem like it was putting her in a bad situation she accepted the glass of amber liquid from Hank. Clanking the two together with a wink from him before she threw it back. Putting a hand on her chest while coughing a couple of times. 

 Strong fingers wound through hers and she was led out onto the street. Doing her best to wave in thanks at the small man with glasses and a ponytail sitting at the corner of the bar laughing while they walked away.

 "We may miss one of the openers, maybe two if traffic is too bad but the points to see the band right."

 There was a buzz radiating off of him and she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him in such a positive place. Looking up at him with a grin on her own face she nodded enthusiastically.

 "A free concert is a good concert no matter how much you get. Besides this will be my first time really venturing on to the subway in the friday night crowd."

 Lifting both of his brows at her and sequence three times he clicked his cheek and then gestured with his chin towards a set of stairs leading underground.

 "Just stay close to me Baby."

 Looking her over one more time, eyes moving at a much more leisurely pace and enjoying the view. When he finally looked back up at her his eyes burned with need and she believed him when he said he wouldn't let anyone esle get close.

 "Come on then Hero."

 Now she was tugging him but she could tell by the small grin spread across his closed lips as he followed her that he didn't mind at all. Once they were down the stairs and the crowd started to grow he was by her side again with an arm wrapped around her waist to keep her tucked in. They found the way to the ticket counter and he got two for the next train out. 

 They stood next to the platform and he told her about several other shows he'd seen over the years. Maybe one or two a year but they were usually at a steep discount or completely free because of whatever interesting connections Paul took every advantage of. 

 It didn't matter what Hank was talking about if it was something that he had a passion for, watching him was almost more entertaining than anything she'd seen in years. There was almost a type of innocence in him that he didn't let show often whenever he got hyped.

 The roaring noise of their train fast approaching followed by the whooshing of air greeted them before the door slid open and they followed the crowd of zombie like pedestrians into the metal tube. There were several events happening in the area of town they needed to get to so Hank found them a spot on one of the benches just big enough that he could spread out a bit and then sat her on his leg with her back rested against the side rail.

 "Not riding in luxury, but at least we aren't standing for forty five minutes."

 An almost apologetic expression covered his face. One arm wrapping around her waist from behind to rest his hand on the side of her hip. The other arm doing its best to rest across both of their knees on the other side. Not touching her thighs that were only slightly covered by the fishnet stockings.

 "Speak for yourself."

 A generally serious tone suddenly laced with mischief as she looked down at him from her perch. Leaning to the side slightly so she could tap her hand against the side of his leg under her rear.

  "I think I got the best seat in the house."

 The heavy look that flooded his eyes combined with the way he was chewing on his bottom lip again made her desperate to lean in close and feel his mouth slide over hers once again. But suddenly a group of boys a few feet away started making a ruckus. Playing a game of some sort that involved hand slapping and shouting. For most of the ride all the pair could do was sit there in silence. His hands slowly became more comfortable on her legs. And hers eventually gliding up and down his forearms on occasion as they listened stop by stop until they heard the name of their platform from the next up announcement. 

 Using his size to his advantage he put her in front of him and wrapped both arms around her waist moving them forward through the crowd together as everyone pushed out onto the bustling platform. As they broke apart she felt one of his hands graze up over one of the cheeks of her bottom squeezing almost undetectably soft before resting on her hip. Briar couldn't recall how long it'd been since a man touched her in a way that felt so possessive and so confident that it caused a shiver to move up to the back of her spine.

 Leaning in close he whispered against the top of her ear almost causing her to gasp from the surprise sound.

 "You cold Princess?"

 The way the tips of his fingers clamped down on her hips so tight she thought there may be marks left after, mixed with the feeling of his breath still lingering on her neck as they stood tucked into the corner just under the staircase that would lead them out of the subway station made her head spin. The usual pungent odor of New York City garbage replaced by the overwhelming scent of spice and something just a little sweet that always meant Hank. The bit of alcohol that lingered on his breath didn't bother her the way that it did from some people. 

 Without realizing that she'd even done it one of her hands was cupping the side of his face. He put his other hand on the opposite hip turning her to face him. While she spun her hand shifted on his skin brushing her center knuckles over the high point of his prominent cheekbones.

 "No, I'm not cold."

 He pulled her in closer leaning down until their foreheads were almost touching. Usually steady hands roaming over her back. Long palms brushing over the soft fabric of her top as they crossed over her back and then moved up the sides of her waist.

 "Happy to hear it."

 His blush pink tongue slid between plush lips to lubricate them, just missing her own top lip. Almost against her will she felt herself lean up. The both of them stayed there frozen in the moment.

 Just as she remembered he may be waiting for her to ask, he inhaled deeply. Letting an almost nervous laugh crawl out from his chest before he took a step back, not letting her go. The space made it easier for her to breathe and she squeezed both of his biceps smiling up at him.

 "We're gonna be actually late if we don't,"

 Before she could finish she made a face like he forgot what they were even doing and then grabbed one of her hands.

 "Fuck!"

 He turned, tugging her out from under the stairs and once again putting her in front of him. Walking them up the stairs and out the building at a brisk pace until they were on the sidewalk. As soon as they could see yellow cars he lifted his hand hollering until a cab stopped.

 "I never take these but it's worth it this time."

 He helped her in, then closed the door behind him and told the man what venue to take them to. The cabbie agreed and within ten minutes they  made it to their location. Even though he said he would pay she whipped a $20 bill out of her purse and handed it over the seat in front of her.

 "Thank you!"

 Hank only grinned and crawled out holding one hand into the cab to make sure that she could hoist herself out. The line to get in was already moving so they jumped into the back of the queue and he wrapped his arms around her waist humming along with the sounds playing over the speakers. What appeared to be a rather garbled live relay of the band currently opening.

 Hank handed the man at the ticket booth theirs. Looking over at the dude next to him the gruff man who tore their stubs and handed them back gave simple instructions

 "Follow Randy. He'll take you to Jeff who will walk you up front to the staff entry for the floor section. Tell Paul that Big Belly says "Fuck off and die old man"."

  Hank only gave the man an affirmative nod, taking the ticket stubs and then keeping her near as they followed said security guard down a staff hallway coming out at the front of the floor section. The man gestured to a gate where someone stood.

 "Show that guy the tickets he'll get you right up front but you'll have to fight for your own spot after that."

 With a firm handshake Briar's date, or friend as she tried to keep telling herself told the guy thanks and handed him a ten. Then he looked down at her and gestured over her shoulder to a bar off to the side and a VIP looking area. Giving an affirming nod she took his hand and started making their way through the crowd in that direction.

 It was hard to talk in the crowded area and she wasn't sure they would say much to each other for most of the night. But his hands were always on her waist or her hips brushing over her skin as his head bobbed along with the music and his face moved side to side. Smiling as he took in the different interactions between people in the crowd.

 At one point she saw a much older couple. Gristled and tough looking, covered in tattoos the man still had a pompadour while the woman had almost waist length straight silver hair.  Something about them seemed almost too perfect to be real. Reaching one hand up she scratched the bottom of his chin to get his attention and when he looked down at her she turned his face in the direction of the couple.

 His response was to rather adorably lift one hand in front of her making devil horns with his pinky and index finger as he stuck his tongue out and winked at her. Watching him wink was almost funny. Of course it was sexy because it was that sort of attention from him in her direction but at the same time the way that he didn't quite do it right almost made her giggle each time.

 When they arrived at the bar she ordered a tall boy thinking it would last her through most of the next show. Neither of them said anything when Hank got three. Fighting their way back to the gate they were let in about five heads back from the stage. Deciding to fight a couple rows back instead of moving forward they found a decent spot surrounded by other couples who made a slightly easier viewing experience for shorter women. 

 The opener ended and Hank hooped and hollered enthusiastically despite them hearing almost nothing in person. She lifted her hands in the air clapping over her head as he yelled out exaltation.

 Things went dark and for the next forty five minutes he pointed out other areas in the venue where he'd sat for shows. Relating them to stories he'd already told her. They talked about mutual knowledge of punk rock and alternative culture. Before she knew it the lights were coming back up and music played from behind the stage curtain. 

 The haunting melody of Greedy Fy started to play, drawn out just long enough to give the lead singer Gavin Rossdale time to slowly saunter up the stage before standing in front of the mic and beginning to sing.

 For the next couple of hours the two of them lost themselves in the music. Briar was more than happy to stand in place and hold their drinks as she watched him bounce around the pit with the other men. It certainly wasn't the most hardcore show she'd ever heard of but he looked like he was having a good time.

 Whenever they played something slow or even romantic he would find his way back to her pulling her in. Sometimes at his side, sometimes with his arms around her waist swaying the two of them to the sound. When the first few bars of Glycerine started to play Briar made an excited sound. In response he bent down and hoisted her, lifting her over her shoulders. At the same time several other women who popped up just in time for the opening line.

 Over the next couple of minutes she sang along to the song brushing her fingers through his long hair as she watched the men on stage put on one hell of a show. She was aware of one of Hank's hands wandering up and down her thigh, the other holding strong to her waist confident in his ability to keep her up. Inhaling she scratched her fingers along his scalp for a moment. He turned his face and bit gently at the skin of her leg mid thigh. She looked down at him knitting her brow together pretending to be scolding him. But he just gave her a straight faced lustful glare that made her insides clench around themselves.

 About halfway through the next song he bent down enough that she could lift herself over his shoulders and find the ground. On his way up he stopped at her ear leaning in close enough to whisper against her skin.

 "You look beautiful when you're having fun."

 Briar thought she might melt where she stood. Feeling the corners of her eyes turn slightly down as the points of her brows melted into her expression. Turning to face him their noses nearly brushed over one another.

 "I haven't been this happy in a long time."

 The admission scared her for a second. That awful creeping feeling started to find its way to the surface. But instead of letting it take over she locked her eyes on his.

 "Will you kiss me Hank?"

 Not taking a second to think it through he leaned forward and crashed his lips against hers. Turning her around as he kissed her in the closely packed crowd of people. When he brushed his tongue over her bottom lip she didn't fight him. One hand tangling into the hair at the back of his head.

 Two people behind them started arguing and someone was pushed into Hank's back causing the two of them to jostle, breaking the kiss. With a pissed off look on his face Hank reached out and grabbed one man by the shoulder tossing him away from the rest of the crowd.

 "Fuck off."

 Briar had her arms around his waist and after the man looked back and forth between the two of them he only chuffed.

 "Get a room Fuckhead."

 But when Hank looked down at her she was just smiling and immediately he was soft again. Lifting one hand to brush hair that had fallen out of her messy buns from in front of her eyes. Before she could say anything the band was coming back on stage and she realized they'd missed the entire break between them walking off and the encore. 

 Bush broke out in one last hit. Playing Swallowed before giving on the last bow and saying goodbye for real. Neither of them rushed out. Making their way at an angle towards the bar and ordering one last drink for each of them to give most of the crowd time to filter out. Talking about how good the band had been until they looked up and realized they were some of the last people standing around.

 When they walked out he looked at his watch and then seemed to be trying to recall a memory. Suddenly seeming shore of himself he looked back down at her.

 "We've got ninety minutes before the next train, can I take you somewhere?"

 No need to linger on the question Briar nodded enthusiastically and allowed him to lead her a couple blocks away only a few storefronts from their subway entrance. The bar was much smaller than Paul's. Dimly lit with almost no one inside.

 "Hey, Jerry!"

 Hank called out to a middle-aged man with a lean build behind the bar as he kept hold of her hand walking her down the length of the establishment toward a small hallway in the back.

 "Hank my boy! Where ya been boss?" 

 Looking down at her for a moment before smirking and then looking back at Jerry Hank spoke up over the noise of the music coming out of speakers behind the bar. 

 "Give me two of whatever's on special for the night in a glass at the end of the bar there, those two seats."

 His other hand hovered in the air.  Finger pointing back and forth between two abandoned chairs.

 "We'll be out in a moment."

 She felt anxious when it looked like the bartender might fight back for a moment but he only shook his head and seemed to be grumbling to himself about something as he grabbed two pints from under the bar top. Hank pulled her back down the hallway and around a corner. 

 Just as she started to realize he was probably pulling her into a bathroom he hipped open a door that led to a cramped but functional office. She took in her surroundings the metal desk covered and stacks of paper that looked like they had been thrown together haphazardly. Filing cabinets in different stages of disarray. Painting on the back wall of dogs playing poker.

 " Do you work here too?"

 She couldn't remember him ever mentioning another job and he shook his head. Backing her towards the desk with intent in his eyes he spoke. Voice a deep timber that made her toes tingle against the bottom of her boots.

 "Used to. Before I worked at Paul's. I needed to get out of the place I was living in. So he recommended me."

 There was no need to continue asking questions. He leaned down and lifted her up onto the desk by the back of her thighs. His lips immediately moved until they found hers. It was the first time she'd done anything like this but no part of her wanted to tell him to stop or slow down, instead she only felt herself slowly grow desperate for more.

 His teeth grazed over her bottom lip urging her to part her mouth and let him explore again with his tongue . Brushing the inside of her cheeks and over her own wet muscle. A groaning sound came from him when she wrapped her legs around his hips holding him close. Both of her hands moved under his shirt to feel over the well formed muscles that she'd seen ghosts of over the last several weeks.

 "I want you Briar."

Unable to find her voice she only nodded. Leaning back enough to cup either side of his face with her hands toying one thumb over his bottom lip before tugging his shirt over his head. Hank tossed the shirt and his hat on a nearby chair. 

 Then gripping her bottom with both hands pulled her closer to the edge of the desk. He kissed her lips then along her jaw until he was under her ear. Biting the skin at the top of her neck before licking and sucking a trail down until he was at her shoulder. All the while his hands pushed her skirt up over her hips. Clever fingers already working their way under the band of her fish nets and panties.

 "This first."

 There was a question in the words but he didn't stop. Only kept kissing at her shoulder and then across the exposed skin of her collarbone and down to the tops of both of her breasts where they stuck out of her v neckline. She moaned softly as her nails scratched up his shoulders watching him as he hit his knees in front of the desk.

 When he looked up at her from the ground she thought she might die right there. Using one hand to move the hair off of his face she looks down at him where he knelt with reverence in his eyes. 

 "You're so handsome Hank."

 He hummed. Finally pulling her tights and panties over her hips down her legs until they were only clinging to her ankles. Then as he kissed along the inside of her thighs making sure to split attention between the two. He unzipped her boots, pulling them from her shoes and setting them on the floor along with the unnecessary garments.

 Briar already felt over stimulated when his breath finally ghosted over her slick folds. He leaned at an angle using one shoulder and a hand to push her thighs further apart. Lifting the other hand and using two fingers to separate her folds as he groaned out a hungry sound. With a twist of his wrist he moved his thumb forward and circled it around her already swollen and throbbing clit.

 Her head fell back and she dug one of her hands into the top of his shoulder, the other one gripping the edge of the desk so tight her knuckles were white. When he finally pressed his tongue wide and flat to the bottom of her pussy dragging it forward until he circled her clit with the tip her whole body shook. A rasping gasp tearing itself from her throat.

 "Shhhh, it's okay Princess."

 He kissed her thigh and waited until she looked down at him with a nod. Placing several more kisses around her inner thighs he started more slowly. Gently coaxing her apart with his fingers licking over the surface. Tracking down every glistening drop of juice she produced for him. After a while she was laying back over piles of paper her back arched as both of her fingers dug themselves into his hair.

  One hand held knee, keeping her open. Ankles sitting over one shoulder and the back of a desk chair. It only occurred to her every once in a while that she didn't know if the door was locked. Nothing about that mattered though. Getting caught was worth every ounce of pleasure she was feeling right now.

 He pushed her ankle further out on the chair top making his point before using that hand to insert a finger past the entry of her core. Briar moaned, rolling her hips towards the sensation.

 "Hank…"

 He encouraged her response by almost immediately pushing in a second. He had her good and ready to be filled so there was only a little burn before she was once again rolling her hips seeking pleasure she knew was well on its way. Thick lips release her clit only for a moment, whispering against her soft skin.

 "You like that Princess. Like being all filled up and spoiled?"

 He teased her clit with the tip of his tongue but didn't return to his sucking. Pumping his fingers quicker, obviously demanding an answer.

 "Yes… fuck Hank yes."

 She felt teeth graze over the same soft skin and shivered.

 "Good girl. Give me what I want and I'll fill you up even better."

  The idea of what he was promising caused her walls to clamp like a vise around his fingers and his reward was wrapping those plush lips once again around her throbbing bead and sucking rougher than before. The foot on his shoulder shifted heel digging into the center as she felt her body start to grow tense. Hank twisted his fingers just a bit with every forward motion now and there was no amount of pulling or digging on his hair that seemed to give her relief from the eruption building at the base of her spine.

 With an almost pathetic whimpered sound she finally felt it snap. Her thighs tensed so incredibly it nearly felt like a cramp. Fingernails digging at his scalp to the point where she thought she must be hurting him. But he didn't stop. Only kept sucking until her abdomen clenched so tight she felt like she might vomit.  The force of her consistently rolling orgasm finally becoming too much.

 "Hank please, I… please."

 With a wet sound he finally detached his mouth from her core looking up at her with satisfied eyes.

 "What do you need now?"

 In an instant her eyes were looking between his legs at the large bulge sticking out from his unbuckled pants over the waistband of his Calvin's. When he stood up the look on his face was surprisingly serious. 

 "Your mind aren't you? Even if we're going slow, there's no one else?"

 Vigorously shaking her head back and forth she reached out and brushed her hands over his neck and his chest.

 "Just you Hank. I haven't even thought about another guy in the city."

 He closed his eyes and let out what seemed like a relieved breath. Leaning in to kiss her deeply. Briar could taste herself on his tongue. His lips and chin were absolutely covered in her and something about it made her feel electric. 

 "Turn around Princess."

He grumbled the words out in between kisses. Pulling her off the edge of the desk. She put up no fight and turned, letting him tug her hips where he wanted them. Leaning forward she placed one palm flat on the table the other reaching between her legs as she felt him move forward. Briar could hear the skin and fabric sounds of him tugging his cock free from its constraint. As soon as she felt his tip brush between her soaked slit she reached back brushing her fingers over the tip as he hissed.

 "You can get your hands all over it later Baby."

 The idea was nothing but enticing to her. Wiggling her hips side to side she brushed backwards making sure that she slid over the length of him where he held himself. Hank goaned, one hand holding on to her hips to keep her still.

 "Eager little thing are you?"

  Happily she nodded then she finally felt him press forward. Thick tip breaking past her entrance as she slumped forward slightly. A hand sliding up the desk on a piece of paper as she let out a devilish sound. 

 "Just how I want you to be."

 When he was notched far enough inside his other hand came to her hip and all at once she was being pulled back as he searched forward. The full length of him knocked air from her lungs. The other delicate hand between her legs once again gripping almost the exact same spot as when he feasted. Keeping himself in place for a moment he only maneuvered her hips, grinding her forward. The carefully thought out motion caused his tip to brush against her back wall.

 "Jesus you're tight Briar."

  Taking several deep breaths she eventually pulled her cheek off of the desk and looked over her shoulder at him. It wasn't just his voice that was trembling when he spoke but she could see the muscles of his pecs flexing and releasing as he tried to control himself.

 "So you really are a big boy everywhere huh California?"

 Her comment seemed to break the last of his calm. With a smirk and a grunt he began thrusting. Pounding into her so hard she knew they must be able to hear the desk under them moving if they walked past down the hall. Her toes curled under her feet, sounds she never heard herself make before steadily pouring from her body as she felt her chest brush over the cold top of the desk with each stroke.

 He was thick and long and filled every available space inside of her. Within moments his already intense motions had grown less careful and more  purposeful. Letting go of one hip to wrap his hand around her front and circle her clit quickly.

 "Come on Princess, squeeze it out of me."

 Briar was more than happy to meet his request. Her hand digging into his forearm, the other one still gripping the opposite side of the desk so tight it almost felt numb. She rocked her hips a couple of times and then it was like everything around her went silent. There was a vague awareness that she had made a high pitched almost uncomfortable sound. And the feeling of him slamming his hips against her body one last time so roughly the desk jumped and he had to move forward to keep her from sliding off.

 The awkward movement hadn't pulled him from her core however. And as life slowly started to make sense around her again she felt him pump two more times before pulling out and collapsing for a second on top of her. The hand he had reached around her found her own lacing his fingers through hers in a tender motion. Thumb brushing over her knuckles.

 "That was amazing,"

 His voice sounded harsh and she giggled gently as she started to push against the desk. Both of them standing to make eye contact.

 "It was certainly nothing like I expected."

 Immediately his face was coated in  intrigue.

 "Well, I say we finish our drinks. Make our way to back to my place, and in the morning,"

 Hank leaned down and kissed her as she tugged her skirt over her newly fixed stockings.

 "and in the morning you can walk me step by step through how you thought it would happen."

 Briar wrapped her arms around his neck. Smiling at him and feeling at peace for the first time in a long time. 

 "Sounds like a deal to me."

______

Part one will be back up once I finished P2 of my current Benny story and have time to Fix it. Thanks everyone for reading.

SEASON ONE — 1: the bull — 2: a curtain, radiator and paneled wall — 3: don’t let it get to you — 4: the protein bar — 5: she’s dead — 6: the fake proposal — 7: the bracelet — 8: marco — 9: bets — 10: it was the right thing to do — 11: i kissed him — 12: am and pm — 13: you stalking me now? — 14: i’m a cop, not a vigilante — 15: i’m done

SEASON TWO — 1: not yet — 2: roommates, shotguns and crushes — 3: we’re gonna get him — 4: i didn’t earn it for you — 5: maybe — 6: reminders — 7: amy, amelia — 8: — 9: — 10: — 11: — 12: — 13: — 14: — 15: — 16: — 17: — 18: — 19: — 20: — 21: — 22: — 23:

Evenings were beginning to all look awfully similar. After training, the usual controls and councils, always conducted at the same hour on the dot, Boromir was growing weary of this routine. Sometimes he caught himself dreaming about something unusual and urgent occurring to spice things up a little. Not that he wished for evil to befall the land, no, never in a million years. He merely craved a bit of action. That was what he was built for, what he excelled at, bureaucracy be damned. Exercise even became dull, for the master-at-arms always gave him the same instructions and challenges. Lately, there was rarely a day when he didn't think about strangling the old man.

But for now, things were awfully quiet in Minas Tirith. Few irregularities, and they could all be solved by reminding citizens of Gondorian laws or issuing warnings. But threats were never applied. The people of the White City tended to understand the message clear as day and not insist. What if for once they did?

Candles burnt in their sconces and on his desk, bathing his office in a bright yellow halo. He sat down at last and gestured at his men.

‘Now, gentlemen, if you still have reports, requests or grievances, come to me now and I will take care of them. As for the others, you may return to your families, and I will see you tomorrow.’

Voices elevated in simple greetings as most of his soldiers departed. Five men remained, standing in line before the oak desk, giving priority to the two soldiers whose wives were with child so they could leave faster. Boromir flipped through loose pages and beckoned the first one over without taking his eyes off the documents he was consulting.

‘Aerandir,’ he said, recognising his soldier's gait before looking up. ‘How is your wife faring?’

‘Better,’ Aerandir chimes with a wide grin, ‘Ioreth's remedy against nausea is working wonders.’

‘Pleased to hear it. What brings you to me?’

Aerandir lifted up a scabbard he is holding and demonstrates how severely some of the straps had been gnawed either by parasites or overuse. Boromir inspected it, deep wrinkles marking his forehead as the sight greatly displeased him. The leather’s surface was chipping away into powder between his fingers, and the buckles threatened to detach at any second. The metal piece which served to protect the sword’s end was dented and presented holes at the rounded bottom.

‘Captain, I was wondering if a regular control of weapons and equipment could be organised. With so many uneventful weeks, some of our men have become negligent with their belongings and that is causing more trouble by the day.’

‘In what sense?’

‘Well, I would not want to name soldiers and denounce them, but one's shoulder plates are barely holding on because the leather straps have not been changed in a while, and they do not have any grip. During training, he had to be carried to the Houses of Healing for a nick in the arm.’

‘What about the weapons?’

‘A couple of lads have had their scabbards snapping off their belts, some do not bother visiting the smithy for the occasional maintenance or sharpening of their blades. Some swords are truly useless. They would not even cut through butter.’

Boromir hummed pensively and handed him the scabbard back. He picked up his quill and a blank piece of parchment and scribbled something down.

‘Very well. I shall elect somebody of trust to oversee these controls. It will be done by the end of this week. I would name you because you took the initiative to report the issue, but you have enough on your hands with your bairn on the way.’

‘Thank you, captain. Truly.’

‘Have yourself a good evening, Aerandir. Give my warmest wishes to your wife.’

‘I will. Until tomorrow, captain.’

The soldier quickly bowed and left, relieved to have been heard and taken seriously. Boromir set aside the page to let the ink dry and placed a new one before him.

‘Next.’

One of the sentinels in his garrison stepped forward.

‘Ulfast, what can I do for you?’

‘I bear grim news, captain. I hope it will not amount to anything severe.’

‘Out with it.’

‘Orcs were seen entering our land from the Black Gate. Other sentinels stated that a large group marched through our woods before dispersing towards Cair Andros and perhaps southward.’

At last, some action. But not for them. Pity. Boromir skimmed the account handed to him by Ulfast and his frown deepened.

‘As you said,’ he responded with hardly concealed concern, ‘let us hope that it is nothing. I will send Faramir and his rangers into Ithilien on lookout. I will also send another force towards Emyn Arnen or along the Anduin.’

‘Yes, captain. But what about our own troops?’

‘I fear we must await word from Ithilien first. If we immediately get involved, we might escalate the situation and that is not what we want presently. However, I will devise a provisional defence plan, should there be need for it.’

‘We all trust you. And um… that was all.’

‘Good night, Ulfast.’

The soldier saluted him and left as well. Boromir penned two nearly identical letters, one for his brother for administration's sake, and one unaddressed, destined for the leader of the troops that will be sent south. What a shame that they cannot go yet. His men would have appreciated some action as well. They were walking in circles like animals in a cage. Just like him, they are men of action, the best that Gondor had produced in their age, and yet they were stranded in the White City. Close to their families, sure, but bored beyond reason.

With a sigh and a yawn, Boromir beckoned the next one over.

‘Good evening, captain.’

‘Ithilbor? What are you still doing here?’

‘Oh, I will be quick, I promise,’ the soldier laughed, not blind to his superior's exhaustion. ‘I merely wanted to alert you that new shield straps have been delivered today.’

‘Perfect. I will cross them out from our list. Do see that they are formally registered at the armoury.’

‘Will do. Night, captain.’

Boromir waved him off with a light chuckle. Ithilbor was one of his favourite soldiers. Always cheerful, efficient, though sometimes irritating for constantly wanting to do things by the book and communicating more than was necessary. Often did they share drinks together and wrestle during downtime. He was still a young lad, but he was wiser than most. He was often a breath of fresh air when gloom overcame Boromir at times.

Unwilling to stay longer than necessary, he ran a hand across his face and beckoned Guilin to him. Only two left.

‘Evening, captain,’ the watcher greeted him with a military salute. ‘I bear some grievance, I fear.’

‘What news from the tower?’

‘Two of our most trustworthy watchers have fallen ill within the same week, and the young ones are barely doing anything to make up for their absence. They dodge responsibilities and tasks, they disobey us, and they seem more attentive to the ladies than to their duty.’

Boromir nodded, lending him an ear but fighting off the urge to close his heavy eyes for a few seconds.

‘How can I remedy it?’

‘Sir, it pleases me none, but I come to beg you to send two men for me to train and stand for the sick ones. It would only be until they return, I promise. I am truly at a loss, and I would not want the city to suffer the carelessness of the apprentices.’

The captain pondered his request for a long moment, tapping his fingers onto the wood. 

‘First, I would advise you to have a discussion with the young ones. A calm one. Do not let it escalate but firmly remind them why they were assigned to the tower. Scare them a little bit if you must, but as a last resort.’

‘Mpf. I feel that I have barked enough at them.’

‘And that was your first mistake. Anyway, I do believe I could spare two of my men for the time being. One was trained by your predecessor, he already knows the ins and outs, so I will assign him to you.’

‘That would be wonderful, captain. Thank you. Thank you very much. Night.’

Boromir saw him off and turned to the last man. He was still a young recruit, no older than twenty-five, and if he could trust his clouded memory, he was the son of one of Denethor's advisors.

‘Daeron, is it?’

‘Yes, captain,’ the young man exclaimed with a sharp nod and a smile. ‘I bring forth a report about troublesome quarrels between two merchants. They were seen brawling repeatedly, and their recklessness has caused a loss of profit for several fellow sellers on the marketplace. The fruit seller saw her stall smashed and her fares crushed. Many avoid the square now.’

‘That will no longer be tolerated,’ Boromir stated, examining the record handed to him by the soldier. ‘It is a loss for all. I will ask the council to send representatives to visit the merchants individually to mediate the dispute.’

‘What if that avails nothing?’

‘Then I shall pay them a visit myself. And if I fail to defuse the situation, they will be summoned before the steward's court and they will answer to him.’

‘Very well, captain. Thank you.’

‘Good night, Daeron. I saw that you were granted permission to visit your mother tomorrow?’

‘Indeed, my lord.’

‘Send her my greetings. And do make sure to enjoy her pastries. They are among the best in all the land.’

Daeron concurred with a gleeful gleam in his eye. He bowed and left. So ended Boromir's day. He stretched out his sore limbs and gazed at the candles. They were nearly extinguished.

‘Shit.’

He cast a glance towards the window and saw that the sun had already set. He promptly tidied up the mess on his desk and grabbed his satchel from under it. As he stepped out and locked the door, a councilman tapped him on the shoulder. Boromir started and groaned when he recognised who had taken him by surprise.

‘There are other ways to greet people,’ he grumbled. ‘Anyway, my day has ended and I am no longer receiving grievances.’

‘That is not what I am here for, captain. Here is a letter for you.’

Boromir took it, recognising the seal, and slipped it under the door.

‘There. I will read it first thing tomorrow.’

‘If I may,’ the councilman interjected, ‘your father asked that you read and consider it promptly.’

‘I cannot think clearly at present.’

‘You know you cannot postpone it indefinitely.’

‘Who is it, this time?’

The councilman consulted his wax tablet and snapped it shut.

‘Lord Ostaron's daughter.’

‘Brilliant. That is a concern for tomorrow. In my current state I would not tell a woman from a donkey.’

‘Captain—’

‘Before I leave, will you please send councilmen to visit the butcher and the saddler? They have been brawling in the marketplace, caused damage, and some of our citizens no longer dare to buy produce there.’

The councilman's exasperated sigh echoed throughout the corridor. He produced his stylus and carved a note in the reddish wax.

‘Butcher and saddler?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine. But that is a concern for tomorrow.’

‘It seems that, at last, we have reached an agreement, my lord.’

Boromir forced an exaggerated smile and walked away. Clutching his satchel's strap, he exited the citadel, listening to his own footsteps on the ground. He stood outside for a moment, filling his lungs with fresh air, and admiring the moon.

‘Good evening, Lord Boromir.’

He saluted the guards and stretched again before setting out towards the stables. There, he found his trustworthy mare and gave her an apple while patting the side of her neck. He saddled her up and mounted, directing her down the sinuous streets. 

At the city gates, one of the guards recognised him at once and bowed. 

‘Had a good day, I hope?’ he chirped.

‘A busy one, for sure. I suppose that is as good as it can get.’

‘Well, enjoy your ride and the night air, captain. You will sleep better afterwards. Better for the soul, that night air, so they say.’

At once, the gates creaked upon their sturdy hinges, and the Pelennor Fields slowly appeared into view, bathed in moonlight. Boromir spurred his mare forward and galloped across the plain and inching closer to Osgiliath. As he thought about his newfound freedom, he gasped and brought a hand to his satchel. Through the leather, he felt a firm bump, and relief overtook him.

Later, as he reached the riverbank south of Osgiliath, he saw a few willows arching to dip their leaves into the chilly water, and dancing as the wind caressed them. Boromir dismounted and brought his mare to them, tying up the reins around a thinner trunk and leaving her to graze.

He glanced about, eyes squinting to make sense of the shadows in the dark. Under a canopy of leaves and branches, a figure was sitting, dipping bare toes into the stream. Boromir shook his head and laughed.

The silhouette stood up at once, still abstract. But he knew. He always did. 

All the weariness weighing on his shoulders and limbs dissipated within a heartbeat. Boromir ran towards the figure without a care in the world. He seized it by the waist and twirled it around, lulled by tinkling laughter. He placed it back onto solid ground and held it to his heart.

‘I thought you would never come.’

‘Forgive me, my sweet,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Duty can seldom wait.’

He stepped away to hold Eirien's hands in his own and admire her. Anyone who had met with him in his office would have trouble recognising the grumpy man they faced. His lips stretched from ear to ear, his eyes fell half-lidded, and his cheeks were adorned by rosy hues. Nothing resembled the stern captain he had left behind in that dreadful office.

The maiden reached out to comb away a lock of his hair and caress his face.

‘My heart ached without you near,’ she murmured, plunging her large, dark eyes into his.

‘I felt awfully empty without you as well. But let us not dwell on it — you are here now. As am I. And I brought you a present.’

‘What?’

Eirien cocked an eyebrow and watched nervously as Boromir dug his hands into his worn-out satchel. He took out a neatly folded bundle of silk and presented it to her.

‘Open it.’

With a trembling hand, she pulled apart the silver fabric. Boromir only had eyes for her. It mattered little what lay between his palms. All he wished was to see her happy.

She let out a cry of surprise and covered her mouth with both hands. 

‘I cannot accept it,’ she gasped. ‘You are a fool! An utter fool!’

‘Do you not like it?’ he asked, his face falling as he reached out to stroke her wrist. ‘Did I make a mistake?’

Nestled inside the fabric was a bronze comb encrusted with opals and aquamarines forming flowers above the long, curved teeth. Eirien ran a tentative fingertip against the facets of an aquamarine and withdrew it almost instantly, as though it had been carved in such sharp shapes that it had sliced through her skin. She shook her head with tears flooding her eyes as she smiled at him.

‘Not at all, it is gorgeous. This is the most beautiful object I have ever laid eyes on. And the stones, they're forming…’

‘Daisies,’ Boromir completed her sentence, regaining his enthusiasm. ‘Because you were picking daisies when I first beheld you.’

Eirien laced her fingers with his and shook her head one more time.

‘Still, I cannot accept this comb. This is far more expensive than anything I could ever afford.’

‘So allow me to give it to you as a token of my affection. You will always have a piece of me when we are apart.’

‘And when you are married,’ she added, casting down her glance.

‘Do not mention it, beloved. Please. Marriage to another does not mean anything to me, you know it.’

He slipped a finger under her chin and tilted her face to him.

‘You are the only one who matters, Eirien. You have my heart. None other.’

‘Mh.’

Knowing how stubborn she could be, Boromir delicately picked up the comb and exhibited the back of the teeth, where he had the artisan engrave a short inscription. She squinted her eyes to see it more clearly and guided his hands to tilt them so that it would catch the moon’s glow. There, indeed, short dents formed nine small letters.

‘Silly,’ Eirien whispered, ‘you know I cannot read them.’

Boromir’s face flushed red, and he thanked all the deities and spirits for having let the sun set before his arrival. At least she would not notice his embarrassment.

‘Right. Um… Well. It says From your B.’

‘B for Boromir, I presume?’

Used to offering and dodging witty quips with his mates and some of his soldiers, he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from unintentionally offend her with a misplaced jest. It was enough that he forgot that she had not been taught her letters. He would not make a mockery of her. As much as he enjoyed teasing those he held in high esteem, he certainly refused to humiliate her in any shape or form. Blunt he might be, but he was no brute.

‘Precisely. If you will have me, that is.’

Eirien nibbled on her lower lip, as though to hide the gleaming smile that dug slight dimples into her round cheeks. She was blushing as much as he did; he could tell.

‘That is quite forward of you, my lord,’ she said, holding on to his arm and unknowingly releasing a thousand butterflies inside him. ‘But I will.’

He reluctantly reached out of her grasp to take her hair and arrange it in a manner that he could slip the comb into it to hold it into place, enveloping his hand with it and turning. He took a step back to admire his work, but it was sloppy. Worse, even. The locks fell one by one until the comb nearly dropped onto the riverbed, if not into the stream itself. She laughed and removed the crooked comb from her tresses before demonstrating the proper way in which to wear it in the simplest fashion. His eyes followed her fingers as they worked through her thick mane, curious and attentive, admiring her swift but precise technique.

When she let her hands fall away, his mouth fell open. For a moment, or perhaps three, words failed him. He forgot what syllables even were. What is a noun? Never heard of a verb. Speech itself became an abstract concept that he felt he had never partaken in.

Never had his heart beaten so fast. In this instant, he knew that he loved her. Or at least it was confirmed. He had known Eirien for over a year and had met her every few nights when he resided in the city. At first, he was unsure whether his affection was requited. But one spring day, he ventured into Osgiliath on a free day in hopes to catch a glimpse of her and see whether she had accepted the flowers he had sent her. After wandering the streets and enduring the attention of passersby, he saw her at a well, pulling at the rope with the sole of her foot pressed against the rough stone. The flowers he had sent her were no longer a bouquet, but a crown adorning her head as she worked. And he had approached her, unafraid of speaking his mind or of his attraction. Days later, she had bestowed upon him a first kiss by the same willows that they were standing at this night.

She poked his nose for his reaction, and he pulled himself out of this reverie. He bowed before her and felt his tongue eager to speak again.

‘My fair lady, you are as beautiful as sunset, as shiny as the evening star, and as irresistible as the sweetest pastries in all of Gondor.’

‘Leave the poetry to your brother,’ she snorted, ‘he masters it better.’

‘How do you even know that?’

‘Well, he has come to Osgiliath to recite some poems once or twice. And I was there.’

Boromir tucked his hair behind his ear, quite enjoying her taunting him.

‘Then what do you suggest I should do?’

Eirien approached him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was a tall woman by Gondorian standards, yet so small still compared to him. He lost himself into her doe eyes as he pressed her to his maddened heart, running a hand along her spine while patiently awaiting her answer.

‘Love me?’

His body melted at once and he caressed her nose with his own.

‘You need not ask me twice.’

His lips found hers at once. Thrills coursed through his limbs, the most exhilarating sensation he has felt in a week. He captured her fully in his grasp, combing through the loose tresses she left hanging to frame her face while digging his other fingers into her hip. When she parted her lips as an invitation, he cupped her face and indulged her, feeling her sweet tongue around his own. Her grip around him tightened and she flattened herself against his figure, as though she possessed the power to merge with him. Boromir would not mind being one with her. Quite the contrary.

But as their bodies remained independent from one another, she took the matter into her own hands. She seized him by the collar and pulled him down as she lay on the grass. Suspended at her mouth, the most precious of treasures, he emitted a giggle as he let her have her way.

Later that night, Boromir’s mare, freed from the tree, followed the Anduin north. Perched up on the saddle, the captain held his beloved against him, covering her with his cloak so she would not catch her death. He guided his steed with one hand, while the other rested on her stomach, caressing the coarse linen with his thumb. Still glowing from their passion, she closed her eyes and tilted her head so that it would rest in the crook of his neck. No words were necessary for him to understand that she wished to be embraced. He placed his cheek atop her hair and grinned at the sight of the comb shimmering despite the darkness.

‘When will I see you again?’ she intoned, squeezing his knee.

‘I do not know yet. There might finally be some action for my men and I.’

‘Will you let me know?’

‘Of course. I will not leave Minas Tirith without at least saying farewell or sending for you. If all is well, I will fetch you myself.’

Eirien snorted and gazed up at him, giving his beard a playful tug.

‘And what excuse will you find? My father will not so easily let you sweep me off my feet and carry me away on your horse.’

‘Well, I might pretend that one of your goats has escaped but I cannot coax it back into town.’

‘My father can count.’

‘Then I will make sure that I abducted one beforehand.’

Again, she laughed, and it was music to his ears.

‘You and your ideas…’

‘Do you find me creative enough to your taste?’

‘I do not know if creative is the right word, but… you are resourceful, at the very least.’

Boromir held her chin between his fingers and placed a kiss onto her rosy mouth. Before them, Osgiliath stood silent, fast asleep. It was time for them to part ways. The captain enfolded her into his arms for a little while longer, boring into her entrancing eyes and pressing his lips to her forehead.

‘How can I sleep when your body is so far from mine?’ he groaned, unwilling to release her. ‘All I wish for is a bed we can share, even just one night. We need not lay together at all. Being with you and feeling your warmth would suffice.’

‘That is the most beautiful of fantasies. But not ours to experience.’

While they abandoned themselves into yet another ardent kiss, the sound of hooves resounded ahead of them. At first, they paid it no mind, inattentive to the world around them. They made sure that they were out of the guards’ vicinity, and they thought themselves hidden enough this way. But the clopping neared further, and this time Boromir could not ignore it. He shot his head up and blanched as he noticed a man staring at them from his saddle.

Faramir gave them a single nod and Boromir slipped off his horse to land heavily on the ground. His own heartbeat filled his ears as panic rushed through him, but he refused to burden Eirien with it. He carried her off his mare and placed her before him, maintaining some distance between them. There was no need for an explanation. She was aware of the predicament he was in.

‘Well,’ she spoke, loud enough that Faramir could hear, ‘thank you for escorting me back to safety, my lord.’

She widened her eyes briefly to command him to play along.

‘Be more careful next time, my lady. It is not every night that a well-intentioned soul will be there to help you retrieve your slipper from the currents. You should stay away from the stream. One day something worse might happen.’

‘Of course,’ she said with a curtsey. ‘Good night, my lord. And thank you again.’

Without casting a glance back in his direction, she marched towards the city’s gate, feigning to have only just noticed the younger lord on her path. She offered him a curtsey as well, then entered Osgiliath. Faramir’s eyes landed on his brother again and Boromir clumsily climbed back into the saddle.

‘Mind some company on your way back home?’ the younger brother chimed.

‘Come along.’

The two brothers rode side by side across the Pelennor Fields. For the first mile, they did not exchange a single word. The captain was much too flustered to speak. But, upon noting that he was not going to take the first step, Faramir smirked and admired the White City from afar.

‘Your hair is all over the place.’

Boromir promptly flattened his locks with his clammy palm.

‘Evening wind from the river. Happens.’

‘Had a good night?’

‘Uh… The regular. Tired.’

‘Hm-mh. Especially your lips and hands, I suppose?’

Boromir almost choked on his own tongue. He stared daggers at his little brother, who appeared so awfully proud of himself.

‘Oh, shut up. And don’t you tell father.’

‘I would never…’

A breeze rose and caressed their hair, billowing through the strands and tousling them.

‘…unless you don’t give me your slice of pie tomorrow at breakfast.’

Boromir grumbled.

‘Ugh, fine.’

The Kiramman estate loomed like a castle in the clouds, its iron gates glinting in the sun. A towering structure of polished stone and glass, it stood as a testament to wealth and power. The cherry blossoms lining the driveway danced lightly in the breeze, petals cascading like confetti, but all Rhea could focus on was the knot tightening in her stomach.

“Do you think she’ll like me?” Rhea asked, her voice trembling slightly as she brushed her fingers against the delicate fabric of her gown.

“Like you? Or tolerate you?” her friend Iris replied, leaning against the carriage wall with an amused smirk. “That’s the real question.”

“Come on! Be nice.” Rhea rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the nervous laugh that escaped. “This is a big deal!”

“Sure, sure. But remember, you’re walking into the lion’s den. Caitlyn Kiramman doesn’t do pleasantries.” Iris raised an eyebrow, her tone mockingly serious. “You might want to prep your best ‘please don’t shoot me’ face.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Rhea’s fingers tugged at the hem of her dress. “I just hope she’s not as cold as everyone says.”

“Cold? That’s an understatement.” Iris’s voice dipped conspiratorially. “They say the Kirammans have ice in their veins.”

“Great. Just what I need—a bride who’s a literal glacier.” Rhea sighed, staring out at the sprawling estate. “But I suppose that's better than marrying someone who wants to burn the city down.”

“True. Though, one might argue that she’d be better company than a woman whose only talent is setting fire to things. You might even like her.” Iris nudged Rhea’s shoulder playfully. “You know, when she’s not trying to crush your spirit.”

A laugh bubbled up again, easing the tension. “Thanks for the pep talk, Iris.”

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the driver’s muffled voice echoed through the door. “We’ve arrived, miss.”

Rhea’s heart raced as she stepped down onto the cobblestone path. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, but all she could smell was anxiety.

“Deep breaths,” Iris whispered, nudging her forward.

Rhea squared her shoulders and approached the grand entrance. The door swung open before she could knock, revealing a tall woman with striking blue eyes and deep navy hair, dressed in a fitted uniform that screamed authority. Caitlyn Kiramman stood poised, a statue of elegance against the opulence of her surroundings.

“Rhea,” Caitlyn said, her voice smooth yet edged with a hint of frost, “welcome to my home.”

“Thank you for having me,” Rhea replied, her voice wavering slightly. She stepped inside, the sound of her heels echoing against the marble floor.

“Quite a place you have,” Rhea continued, trying to fill the silence as she took in the grand foyer, adorned with elaborate chandeliers and intricate tapestries.

“It serves its purpose.” Caitlyn’s gaze was unreadable, her posture relaxed but with a tension that hinted at a mind always at work.

“Are you always this… busy?” Rhea ventured, trying to gauge the woman in front of her, but Caitlyn’s expression remained inscrutable.

“Busy is one way to put it.” Caitlyn motioned for Rhea to follow her deeper into the estate. “I have responsibilities to uphold, decisions to make.”

“Like marrying me?” Rhea quipped, attempting to lighten the mood. A smile flickered on Caitlyn’s lips, sharp and fleeting.

“More like marrying the Kirammans into a stronger alliance.”

Rhea’s stomach twisted again. “So, it’s just business then?”

“It’s always business.” Caitlyn turned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t make it… pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” Rhea repeated, her brow furrowing. “Is that what you call this?”

Caitlyn paused, her blue eyes piercing through Rhea. “What do you call it?”

“Terrifying,” Rhea admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m terrified.”

Caitlyn studied her for a moment, then a hint of something softer crossed her features. “Fear can be useful. It keeps you alert.”

“Or it makes you paralyzed,” Rhea shot back, surprising herself with her boldness. “Which is where I feel I’m heading right now.”

“Then let’s not be paralyzed.” Caitlyn stepped closer, her presence overwhelming yet oddly comforting. “What do you want, Rhea?”

“I want…” Rhea hesitated, the weight of the question hanging in the air. “I want to understand you.”

“Understanding is a luxury.” Caitlyn’s voice was low, almost contemplative. “Especially in our world.”

“Then how do we survive?” Rhea pressed, her heart racing. “How do we make this work?”

“By facing the truth.” Caitlyn’s gaze hardened again, the icy walls returning. “You’ll either adapt, or you’ll drown.”

“Is that what you think will happen to me? That I’ll drown?”

“Not if you’re smart.” Caitlyn turned away, glancing out a grand window, her expression distant. “You’ll learn to navigate these waters. Or you won’t last long.”

Rhea swallowed hard, a mix of determination and fear swirling within her. “I refuse to drown.”

Caitlyn glanced back, a hint of surprise flickering in her eyes. “Then let’s see if you can swim.”

Rhea took a step forward, feeling the weight of their expectations. “I don’t want to just survive, Caitlyn. I want to thrive.”

“Then thrive.” Caitlyn crossed her arms, a challenge brewing in her tone. “But know this: I will not hold your hand.”

“Good. I don’t need a babysitter,” Rhea shot back, her confidence surging. “But I do need a partner.”

“Partners are built on trust.” Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, her voice steady. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t even know you.” Rhea’s heart raced, the stakes climbing higher.

“Then let’s start there.” Caitlyn stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “What will it take for you to trust me?”

“Honesty.” Rhea held her gaze, unwavering. “And maybe a bit of warmth.”

“Warmth isn’t something I’m known for.” Caitlyn’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. “But I can be honest.”

“Then let’s begin.” Rhea breathed in, feeling the tension shift. “Tell me your truth.”

Caitlyn hesitated, her expression shifting, searching for the right words. “I am not here to play games, Rhea. My family is counting on me to uphold our legacy. This marriage is not just a union; it’s a political maneuver.”

“Then let’s make it more than just politics,” Rhea suggested, her heart pounding. “Let’s make it real.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with intrigue, a spark igniting between them. “Real? You’re a bold one.”

“Only when I need to be.” Rhea smiled, a warmth blooming in her chest.

“Then let’s see what happens.” Caitlyn stepped back, her demeanor shifting slightly. “Welcome to the Kiramman estate, Rhea. I hope you find it… enlightening.”

“Enlightening,” Rhea echoed, determination coursing through her veins. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”