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"a perfect plan doesn't mean having everything go within expectations. a perfect plan is achieved when it has the plasticity needed to flexibly deal with troubles."
Since I’m rewriting BWNH (Broken Wings Never Heal) into a dystopian future that I’m pretty sure counts as a satire?? On like America a little (with many metaphors) (like WIS or Alleyway Disease as it’s called now) I needed to redesign the characters, because they’re people now. BUT ALSOOO because I need them to fit the themes better. So first: the original designs (kinda) and after, the new designs!! (With little pockets of lore ooooo)
“Spork? Why do they look like that?” BECAUSE IMPERFECTIONS MAKE US HUMAN🗣️🗣️ OR RATHERR!! There is a unsustainable idea of beauty that people are forced to follow; this idea causes huge insecurities and makes people get cosmetic procedures done that prey on the insecurities that they created. These procedures can cause medical issues down the line, and mutilate the face. “Imperfections” are what makes us humans: big noses, dark skin, small lips, curly hair, acne, eye bags, yellow teeth, etc are ALL “imperfections.” None of these are inherently harmful, if at all. But people find them “ugly” and change them. (As shown in Marlin, in which these were overdone and causes her problems) AND these procedures can be done SHOCKINGLY early (Marlin.) and can result in people hating them down the line, because they got them before they knew what they were doing.
Of course, I mean no ill will to those who HAVE had these done: it’s your body, you can make that choice even if I think it’s a bad idea. If it makes you feel better in your body, I’m glad! Do what makes you happy. It’s simply the fact that people feel the NEED to do this in the first place.
There’s more to this, like the actual book is about humanity in a way, the whole reason it’s so long is to get you attached to these characters, to learn about them, and to care about them, the good and bad. Which I will be emphasizing more in the actual book. I want to make them HUMAN. And humans are flawed. And I want to show that in their designs, they are flawed.
(Finch isn’t as conventionally unattractive bc he is a child- which are born inherently good, and develop “flaws” as life goes on, so he hasn’t had the chance to pick up on these.)
Also there’s some world building in the bands- but that will be explained in the actual story.
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A/N: Guys. Guys. i was never going to leave you hanging that long. So, without further ado, here it is.
The End.
And you’re getting both the last chapter, and the epilogue, because i have cliffhangered the eff out of this story enough times, and you all have been so patient and wonderful and supportive, i CAN’T EVEN.
For @profdanglaisstuff, who is the reason this story exists. She is the brilliance that makes my little voice shine, and her contribution to who i am as a writer cannot be overstated. You are the reason i'm here at all, and my life - my life - is better for having you in it.
For @ohmightydevviepuu who is the Goddess of Questions, for @kmomof4 who has been nothing but patient (hers is a lovely, shouty kind of patience), for @jennjenn615 who has trusted me chapter after chapter to make good in the end, and finally to each and every single one of you who have read these words i have offered up.
So, to all of you - ALL OF YOU – quiet or loud, effusive or silent, hidden or not – i love you all so very much.
THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING.
And look! We made it!
*
If you want on or off this tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)
Emma’s mind is blank. She can’t think anymore. She can’t hear.
She is no longer really in the room.
It’s as if she can see threads of energy and revelation being pulled in every direction, but none of them actually touch her.
She is no one, floating through time and space while life is happening outside of her, and it is peaceful, and numb, and nothing really matters.
“Love?”
His voice whispers into her ear and pierces the fog, and reality comes screaming back at her.
.
“You did what?” David’s voice is lethal.
His wife next to him looks murderous, in a cold, calculating, absolutely merciless kind of way. Emma never ever wants to be on that woman’s bad side.
“I saved her miserable little life,” Regina hisses, and Cora sputters a laugh.
“Coward,” she spits at her daughter. “Do not make it sound as if you did anything out of the goodness of your heart.”
Gold smirks, and Cora grins, and Regina rounds on both, and then Mary Margaret’s voice sounds out, clear and cold and commanding.
“Commander Mills. If you value your life, you had better explain yourself. Because from where I stand, you kidnapped my daughter and then went to work for my law enforcement, closing Levels and fighting an imaginary war with abandon , in order to cover your tracks and expand your own power.”
She leans forward, and her voice drops to nearly a whisper. “You are responsible for countless casualties and perhaps cold-blooded murder, so let me make this perfectly clear: Your future depends on your explanation.”
The room goes completely quiet, and Emma notices that every single person is holding their breath. Including her.
And then Regina stands up, slowly, at attention; her shoulders pulled back, her chin up high, and her eyes focused somewhere above the Rulers. She does not spare them a glance.
“Gold and Cora were still working as a unit in those days,” she says, as if she were giving a mission briefing. “He was ambitious and she was cunning, and together they were ruthless in their pursuit of power. And they really hated you .” She points her chin at Mary Margaret. “Something about your father sending them Down instead of allowing them a seat at the table. I never found out particulars.”
.
Emma watches the Ruler in question.
Her expression does not change.
.
“It doesn’t matter anyway.” It might be Emma’s imagination, but Regina suddenly sounds tired. “It was so long ago. And I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
There is definite fatigue in her voice now, and Emma thinks about what life must have been like for Regina, growing up between the rock and the hard place that are Gold and Cora. Against her will she feels a stab of compassion.
Regina was obviously an intelligent child, smart enough to see what was going on around her, and suffer both her parents’ ambition and neglect. Was she ever allowed to be a child?
Did she have friends and love and a childhood and wonder, or was any shred of empathy and kindness and emotion stomped into oblivion right from the start?
Did she ever have the shred of a chance?
Killian’s arm tightens around her, and she doesn’t have to look up to know he’s thinking the exact same thing.
She sighs.
She doesn’t want the burden of feeling sympathy for Commander Mills.
.
“And I did get out of there,” Regina goes on, her voice once again professional and neutral. “I got a job as a waitress on L10, and the owner of the diner was---”
Her voice drifts off. For a brief moment her face looks wistful and Emma can’t help thinking that the word which Regina is refusing to say is ‘nice’. That the owner of the diner was nice . To her.
Then the commander clears her throat. “The owner, a woman everyone called Granny, was eventually asked to look after the Rulers’ newborn. Apparently she was an old friend of the family.” Mary Margarent blinks at those words, but does not comment. “And she took me with her. All the way to L12.”
Regina straightens up even further, her spine now bent backwards, her chin in the air. Her eyes fixed to the far wall.
“But then one day my mother---” the word ‘mother’ holds lethal amounts of disdain--- “tracked me down, all the way Up Top. And presented me with a plan.” At that, the commander’s voice loses all inflection. “Kidnap the Rulers’ daughter, blackmail them into giving Gold access to the mainframe and the Deep Archive and the override codes for all the Levels - and then kill the girl and leave her on the Rulers’ doorstep, to be found by her mother. Crush the Rulers’ spirit once and for all.”
.
Mary Margaret and David have stopped moving.
Have stopped breathing.
Robin, Will, Liam, Elsa, and even Agent Booth and Dr Whale all wear the same expression of shocked disgust, every last one of them. Liam takes Elsa’s hand, and she squeezes it until her knuckles turn white, without taking her eyes off Regina. Her other hand very slowly spreads across her middle.
.
Thoughts start to collide in Emma’s mind, but next to her Killian takes a sharp breath and his arm tightens around her shoulders, hard. She looks up at his face and can see his jaw muscles jump, but it’s not just anger at Regina’s revelation that Cora and Gold planned the cold-blooded murder of a six-month-old.
He turns-- and in his eyes is recognition. They grow wide as he looks at her, and he shakes his head, very slightly. And then pulls her even closer. It’s almost painful, the way his hand grips her bicep, digs into the muscle.
.
Regina’s eyes narrow, but her posture does not relax one iota, and her eyes stay fixed on the wall.
“They were never going to get away with it.” She gives a snort of derision. “Their plan hinged on me not getting caught. Not getting caught taking away a screaming baby and then bringing back a dead one .”
She rounds on Gold and Cora, suddenly, and Emma’s breath catches.
The hatred in Commander Mills’ eyes burns so bright, she looks deranged. Even Cora recoils.
“I was seventeen and you were going to make me an accomplice to murder. And then you were going to let me fry in the chair for it, because there was no way, no way I was not going to get caught and executed. Executed. ”
She turns back to Mary Margaret and David, and looks straight at them. “So I took her. I took your precious daughter and started running down stairwells with nowhere to go. And I realized that I had nowhere to go right around L6. Which is when the damn baby started crying so hard I thought her lungs would collapse.”
“And so you left her.” Mary Margaret’s voice is quiet, but it comes as a shock. No one but the commander has spoken in so long.
Regina nods. “And so I left her. I was already screwed. I knew I couldn’t go back. And I knew I couldn’t go down to my parents .”
The venom in her voice is no longer tempered by rationale. Anger and hatred and wrath have broken her surface and are spilling out, unbridled, unchecked.
.
Emma looks at Commander Mills, ravaged, damaged, consumed by emotion she can no longer harness, and then looks up at the man beside her.
.
See, Killian? This is why your weakness is not a weakness at all. This woman’s entire life has been fury and vengeance and pain, hidden behind control and forced discipline, and it has poisoned her, twisted her, corroded her because it had no place to go except inwards.
How many others are there, stuck inside emotion they can neither express nor process nor move past? Do they all end up broken like Robin, who could not see a genuine connection until you punched him in the face, or numb like Will, who thinks life is a meaningless game for which the prize is survival and the penalty is death?
Or do they end up blindly following lethal orders until they become casualties of impossible missions?
This is why you are better than all of them.
Despite all of your training, you remember how to be human.
.
Commander Mills clears her throat again, and it rips Emma from her thoughts.
“I left her in the stairwell and saved my own skin, because nobody else was going to.”
“And then you found yourself a whole new identity and forged a new life where your past would never touch you.” Mary Margaret leans back, her eyes harder than flint. Regina meets her gaze and Emma watches both women locked in a battle of wills.
“Not quite, dearie.” The voice is melodious and unsettlingly pleasant, and it cracks through the room like a whip. All eyes snap to Gold, who slowly gets up from his chair. He takes a mocking bow in the direction of David and Mary Margaret, and the insolence of it makes shivers run down Emma’s spine. “It would be so touching if this were the end of the story.” He looks hard at Regina. “But it is not. My daughter likes power at least as much as I do myself, and she will go to great lengths to get it. Including working with me.”
Emma feels like her head might explode. As if one more revelation would tear her open from top to bottom.
It’s too much.
It’s too much.
Gold’s singsong voice goes on, relentlessly. “Now, dearie,” another mocking bow towards Mary Margaret, “how much is this information worth to you?”
Too much.
Too much.
TooMuchTooMuchTooMuchTooMuchTooMuchTooMuch.
“Nothing.” Liam’s voice is calm and assured, and he waits as every pair of eyes settles on him. Emma can see him squeeze Elsa’s hand and smile at her, warm and so full of love. She can’t see Elsa’s face, but she can see her nod, and Liam nods back, serious and solemn.
He leans forward to kiss her, unbothered by ten people staring in unison, and then he pulls back to face the Rulers.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly,” he says quietly, and gets up to stand. “My name is Liam Jones, and I have been a Dragon of the Golden Circle for more than a decade. Whatever information Gold is selling, I will give you for free.”
“He knows nothing ,” Gold snarls, and Emma, along with every single person in the room, knows that it’s a lie.
“He knows everything .” Elsa gets up to stand next to Liam. “And what’s more, he will tell you the truth, and not twist it.”
.
Mary Margaret nods at David and mumbles. “See? I told you. Say nothing and hand them enough rope to hang themselves.”
David smiles at his wife like this is an old joke, well-worn and well-loved. “You just love being the smartest person in every room.”
For a moment she smiles at her husband, and then she turns to Robin.
“Lieutenant Locksley. Put her ,” she points her chin at Regina, “into custody. Take Gold and Cora back to Holding. And then please give these two,” she nods at Liam and Elsa, “some real clothes. And some shoes.”
.
Emma can’t help it.
She laughs out loud.
It skirts hysteria by such a narrow margin that Killian’s arm once again tightens around her shoulders---- and then his arm starts to tremble.
Starts to shake .
When she looks up at him, she sees beads of sweat on his forehead. He has gone very pale.
“Killian?” Her voice is a whisper, and he turns his head slowly, eyes glassy, lips pressed into a thin line. He reaches his trembling hand into his pocket, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
“Emma, can you help---” he holds out his palm, three stickies in it, and Emma tries to unpeel them with shaking fingers until a pair of calm, cool hands stills hers and Dr Whale simply takes the stickies from her, and calmly affixes them to Killian’s wrist.
Killian’s eyes close in relief and his hand stops trembling, and Whale awkwardly pats Emma’s shoulder and says, “It’s OK.”
But Emma sees that Killian is still white as a sheet, that sweat is still beading on his forehead, that tremors are still running through muscle and skin, and she looks up at the Rulers.
“Please,” she says, “he needs a bed.”
Whale next to her nods. “He does. And several IVs. He should never have come here. Why is he here?”
“I summoned him.” Robin looks crushed. Or as crushed as a seasoned agent can look. Emma can see it now. “I needed him to bring Will. He was the only one who could spring Will out of Holding. And get him his handheld.”
“That’s all right, mate.” Killian’s voice is thin and reedy, but also amused. “I can hold it over your head forever.”
.
“Enough.” David nods at Robin and Booth and Whale. “You all have your orders. Go.” And then he turns to Emma, and she can see he’s almost as pale as Killian.
“Ms--” his voice is unsteady, and he grips his wife’s hand. “Miss Swan, please--- please stay. We---” his voice cuts out, and he clears his throat. “We have to talk to you.”
“No.” Emma takes Killian’s hand. “I am going with him.”
“Miss Swan---” David says.
“Emma----” Mary Margaret says.
“Love,” Killian says, “I think you should stay.”
“No,” Emma repeats, and then leans her forehead against his. “I’ve heard enough, and I am going with you.”
She feels it down to the marrow of her bones, that they have to stick together, come whatever may.
She might not know everything, but she does know this.
She can feel Killian nod against her, feel his head shift and his lips brush hers.
“I love you,” he says.
And in a clear voice she replies, “I love you, too.”
.
.
-/-
.
.
“They chose exile, all of them.”
Killian nods and motions for Robin and Will to sit. Emma is curled up with her head in his lap, half-asleep, but at those words she sits up and leans against him, sleepy and warm. He can’t not kiss her.
Hell, he can hardly keep his hands off her when they’re in the same room.
Hand.
No, hands.
Things have changed, but not that much.
“I see you got your prosthetic already,” Robin says, pointing at Killian’s left arm. At the end of which sits a bionic hand, nearly indistinguishable from the real thing, save for the silvery shine. “And it’s only been days. Nanobots?”
Killian nods.
“Look at you with the fancy treatment reserved for the Rulers and the top brass only,” he says, and Emma chokes.
“Reserved for the what now?” she asks between coughs, while Killian laughs and pats her back, and then Will’s voice sounds out like a foghorn.
“Sod your smalltalk, cretins.” He looks around as if offended by the very air in the room. “Stop fucking teasing us and spill. Killian, when did you know?”
Killian can feel his grin widen, but he doesn’t give. “When did I know what?”
“You git ,” Will huffs in pure indignation. “When did you figure your NO/GO was the damn Rulers’ daughter?”
.
Emma stiffens, and Killian takes a moment to massage her neck until the worst of the tension passes.
“All right now, love?” he asks, and is rewarded with one of the lovely smiles Emma keeps just for him. What he wouldn’t give to pick her up and haul her into his bedroom right now.
Except of course that his bedroom is occupied by his brother and his sister-in-law.
He has a brother again.
He has a family.
.
“You know when,” he finally answers, and Will’s face relaxes a fraction. “Once Regina started telling her kidnapping story, everything just fell into place. I knew Emma’s history, and all the dates lined up perfectly.” He can no longer call Regina Mills commander, because she no longer is the commander.
Of anything. “Plus, there was that damn favor you asked me to do.”
Will’s grin is threatening to split his face. “Well, I am the resident genius.”
“What favor?” Emma’s voice is a whisper, and when Killian looks at her, she is pale, and breathing fast. He starts to rub her back, but she leans forward, eyes focused on Will, and repeats, “what favor?”
Will looks flustered for a moment, derailed by Emma’s laser focus, and Robin answers instead.
“Will had a hunch, back when he first decrypted the Command--- Regina’s chip. After he was arrested he asked Killian to check your blood.”
“Morse code?” Emma’s voice is unsteady. Killian very slowly puts his hand on her wrist.
Robin nods. “Of course. But Killian doesn’t have the clearance to do anything like that, so he came to me. And I did.”
“Check my blood….?”
“We ran a DNA test. I gave it to the Rulers right before we summoned all of you.”
Emma’s breathing hitches and Killian pulls her closer. He can feel her shaking, feel her trying to relax her breathing, can feel all her muscles tense.
“Emma,” he says, and it takes her a long moment to look up. He leans his forehead against hers, waits for her to exhale. “It’s all right, love. You can be unsettled. It would be a lot to take for anyone. Least of all someone who’s just been through your kind of trauma.”
“It’s true.” Robin smiles at Emma. “I’m amazed you’re not in a padded cell, screaming.”
Emma laughs. It’s Killian’s favorite sound in the whole world.
“I feel like I should be, sometimes,” she says, and her voice is almost steady. “But I guess we all have our baggage to carry.” She leans into Killian’s side, solid and warm. “Mine’s not so much heavier than yours. Just weirder.”
.
“So what are you going to do now?”
Killian glares at Will, but Will merely raises an eyebrow and keeps talking.
“Are they going to want you to join them Up Top? Rule the City?”
“They might.” Emma sighs. “But I don’t want to. I just--- to me they’re just people, people I just met, you know?”
Will nods, and Emma leans up, kisses the underside of Killian’s jaw, and whispers, “You know what I want.”
He does. Oh, how he loves that woman.
.
“So they all chose exile then, did they?”
Robin nods. “Yup. Going out per transport first thing in the morning. They’ll get dropped off in the middle of nature with only the basics several hundred miles from here.” He shrugs. “I give them a month. Tops.”
Emma reaches for his hand, and shudders. “I know they deserve it,” she says quietly. “But it seems cruel, somehow.”
“It’s what they chose.” Will’s voice is hard. “They could have picked the chair. Or a life sentence here, even. Don’t waste your tears on them.”
“I know.” Her voice is a whisper now, and Killian wraps his arms around her and glares at Will again.
Who finally gets the message.
“So the rescue went well,” he says, much more cheerfully. “Got all the girls out of the Rabbit Hole, including a really tall bit of gorgeous.”
Emma laughs again, and again Killian is so glad to hear it.
“Ruby would eat you for breakfast, Scarlet.”
“And I’d happily let her,” he sighs. “But alas, when we took them to the hospital to get checked out, she encountered a nurse named Dorothy, and all my breakfast plans were foiled.”
Will is actually pouting.
Even Robin has to laugh.
.
“So Will,” Killian finally says, “answer me one last thing. The encryption on Regina’s chip. How did you break it? It was supposed to be impossible to penetrate.”
Will’s grin turns wistful, and for the first time since Killian has known him, his face grows soft, and suddenly he looks so very young.
“I knew the encryption,” he says. “My father wrote it.”
“ What? ” It’s Robin who snaps first, turns Will’s shoulder to face him.
Emma sits up straight, and for a moment Killian’s side feels very, very cold.
“It’s true.” Will’s smile is sad. “It was a well-paid, prestigious job, and I begged him not to take it.” He sighs. “But he did. Said it was going to get us up to L10. Said it was going to set us for life. And then he disappeared.”
.
Killian hears Liam’s voice again, in their kitchen on L7, saying it’s a well-paying job on L3, so much money for just a few weeks’ worth of work.
Asking Killian to please not fuck up while he’s gone.
Saying he’s sorry.
.
They weigh so heavy, all those things people do for the shred of a chance, for the slim prospect of a better life. For the gamble on all or nothing.
.
“I’m so sorry.” Emma leans forward and pats Will’s knee, and he jumps before he settles and looks at her gratefully. His hand goes to cover hers, and she takes it.
“You must have a theory,” she goes on, and he can see Will cringe, but he can also see that Emma is right. Will does have a theory on how his father disappeared, and maybe it’s time he said it out loud.
Maybe it’s time to say lots of things out loud.
Maybe it’s time for agents to learn to feel things and say things and want things, maybe it’s time for all of them to be human again.
.
“I do.” It’s a sigh. “I checked the comm--- Regina’s records for the day he vanished. She checked out a Needle and never brought it back. The report said it crashed, unrecoverable.”
Robin and Killian both whistle, and Emma looks up, confused.
“An unrecoverable crash is one that happened on a level that’s completely inaccessible.” Killian squeezes Emma’s shoulder, and then lets his hand slide down her back. “In those days that meant----”
“The Ground.” Will’s voice is harder than steel. “She fucking took him to the Ground in a fucking Needle and then she left him there .” He looks up at Emma, tears in his eyes. “So I know what you mean when you say exile is cruel, but I cannot help thinking that it’s exactly what they deserve, the lot of them.”
Emma just nods.
“I wonder what’s going to happen now.” Will sighs and wipes his eyes, squeezes Emma’s hand one more time and then lets go.
“How do you mean?” Emma curls herself back against Killian’s side, and he shouldn’t be so happy to feel her warmth again, but he is.
“With everything. WIth you, and the Rulers, and the opening of the Levels everyone’s already talking about, and the dismantling of the Golden Circle, and the dust runners and gangs and all the other people who were profiting off of the Levels being closed. Because I think it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”
Emma nods again, and then turns to kiss Killian, just a soft, quiet brushing of lips.
“I know it will,” she says, and then looks at him with that look, that look , that says, ThisIsOurLifeToLive , that says, WeAreTheOnlyPeopleThatMatter , that says, ILoveYouSoMuch .
“I know it will,” she repeats. “But you’ll have to figure it out without us.”
.
.
.
.
-/-
.
.
.
EPILOGUE
.
.
.
The sun shines into the large window above the large, ugly, supremely comfortable couch, where Emma sits, tucked into the corner, holding a book.
A real book.
Killian is stretched out with his head in her lap, snoring softly while her fingers play in his hair.
He makes a small noise and turns his head, squishes his nose into her belly, and then his breathing evens out again.
.
The door opens and a brunette enters, softening her steps the moment her eyes fall on Killian sleeping, and she smiles. It’s the same smile Emma saw in dozens of pictures back in an abandoned apartment on L3, waiting for Killian, an unconscious Cora handcuffed to a radiator.
It was Belle’s apartment in which she had been standing, homesick and afraid, and it is Belle who now walks smiling towards her, a paper bag in her hand.
Turns out Belle runs a large part of the Farms.
Runs it more efficiently than ever, now that Will has taken it upon himself to help upgrade the entire operation, something which has absolutely nothing to do with the brunette standing before her.
At all.
.
“Here you go.” Belle’s voice is a whisper as she hands Emma the bag. “Chamomile and peppermint and a few other things. This should help with the morning sickness.”
“I hope so.” Emma does not enjoy being nauseated, but she really does not enjoy being grumpy. And it turns out nausea makes her grumpy, and she really hates that, especially since Killian is being so damn nice about everything, she can hardly stand it.
The moment the door closes behind Belle, Emma swats Killian’s shoulder.
“Don’t even try to pretend you’re asleep.”
He starts to laugh even as he opens his eyes.
And then he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at her.
Looks at her with that open, happy expression that tells her more than any words ever could just how much he loves her.
.
She can see the blue sky outside her window, she can see Elsa and Liam by the barn teaching their son how to walk, and she can hear voices from the fields and the other farm houses.
She can smell the bread baking in Dorothy and Ruby’s outdoor ovens all the way over here, and she knows that when Killian is finally ready to get up from his nap, they will go to their small town square, as they call it, and he will get to sample Granny’s latest coffee bean roasting experiment. The coffee is not quite there yet, but they have time.
They have all the time in the world.
They have fields to plant and livestock to tend to and Emma once again has children to teach.
.
Killian sits up, rubs her belly with his good hand.
And then he gives her a whole different look. “What time did Robin say he was coming?”
Emma checks her watch. “Not for another hour.” She looks up at Killian. “Do you think one of these days we’ll get him to stay?”
Killian laughs. “He’s the Commander of all Law Enforcement. I don’t think the Farms are his place.”
Then he turns somber. “Do you think one day you’ll be tempted to take up your parents’ offer? Go back?”
Emma smiles and leans forward to kiss him. One of these days Killian will trust that she is not going anywhere, ever, unless they go together.
One of these days he’ll stop being afraid of losing her.
But this is not that day, and so she kisses him, long and hard and possessive .
“Never,” she says, and he breathes a sigh of relief.
And then there is that look again.
“An hour, you say?” His voice turns low, his vowels stretch like molasses, and that look, oh damn. He is sex on a stick.
She has trouble breathing.
“I did say that.” Her voice is gravel and dust, and he picks her up in one smooth motion, and carries her down the hallway and into the bedroom, and then puts her down on the mattress, panting in anticipation, his eyes nearly black.
“Come here, Mrs Jones,” he says. “I have an idea how we can spend that hour.”
“Well I was going to knit---” Her breathless voice is cut off as his lips come down on hers with force and desire, and he pushes her back, blankets her body, and by all the wretched, abdicated gods of the past----
