#jemmaverse

He made room for Anatole as he settled in his arms, his cold feet against his calf. Tamryn kissed his forehead. 

“Husband, boy-toy, personal furnace—”

“Yes, you’re very multifunctional.”

Tamryn felt the brush of Anatole’s soft lips against his chest when he smiled. His hands moved along his sides, Anatole’s tender touch brushing along the edge of Tam’s nipples, then to the side, until they settled on his back. He kissed his collarbone, a string of tender kisses as he warmed up between his arms, body heat, blankets and affection making him melt away. 

He looked up at Tamryn, watching his face in the low light of the candle, as the sound of the Lulian sea came in through the window. 

Tamryn had gotten their cottage, their sanctuary, as a wedding gift for Anatole. The sneaky, generous bastard had kept the paperwork at Zelda’s place, along with the Honeypot’s accountability books, so Anatole wouldn’t see them. It had worked so well, Tamryn had brought him to the run down property and asked questions about the decor and repairs it should undergo, with Anatole being none the wiser. 

Bit by bit, Tamryn (with his unknowing help) had made it the perfect place for two: their bedroom, the sea, two guest rooms, a sun room, Anatole’s office and Tamryn’s studio. A bubble, suspended in time and obligation just for them. A place of golden mornings, and purple sunsets, his husband’s lips on his own and skin against skin. 

“Have I ever told you I love you, husband?”

“Yes, every day, husband.”

“Well, just in case, for it bears repeating.”

Anatole gently guided Tamryn to lie on his back so he could lean over him, kissing every bit of available skin as he whispered ‘I love you’s with each kiss. Tam tried to say it back, but he was met with his husband’s index finger against his lips. 

“I know you do,” he said, smiling audibly, and just enough of that honey-like, weather-discussing, cockiness-at-the-edges tone that brought Tamryn to his knees every time. “But don’t interrupt me.”

“Should I keep completely quiet then?”

“Oh course not, sweetheart, you sound too pretty when you’re flustered, and half the point of loving you as much as I do is indulging in you.”

Indulging in him. Tamryn always thought Anatole had great ideas, but under the candlelight next to their bed, it seemed a better idea than most, perhaps the best idea. One he would give himself into, allowing his husband to guide him and tell him what to do, undoing himself for him with every kiss and every touch. Anatole left no corner of his skin forgotten, either with kisses or a gentle massage, rubbing his back with tenderness, leaning his weight against Tamryn. 

Anatole had instructed him to lie on his back so he did, a slight shiver as he felt each kiss going down his spine and over the small of his back. He felt his teeth nip one of his asscheeks, a surprised yelp mixed with something else that made Anatole smile. 

“Can I?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

His eagerness won him praise, it had always had, as he saw no reason to hide it after Anatole and him had talked about it for the first time, years ago. Besides, he knew his husband liked it, and he liked how Anatole teased him about it, a little reminder that he was wrapped around Anatole’s finger. Perhaps the same lube slicked finger that was being pushed inside him as Anatole half-laid on top of him, as closer as he could without sacrificing manoeuvrability. Yes, that  finger. Or the second one he added, or the third, in time; or all of them, or all of Anatole. 

That sounded more accurate. 

He pouted when Anatole moved away, throwing what he hoped were puppy eyes at him when he turned him over onto his back again. Anatole bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing. It was futile. Wrapping one of his arms around Tamryn’s leg he leaned forward to kiss his pout, over and over again. 

“You’re ridiculous, I’m so in love with you.” 

“You spoiled me, Solnishko.” 

“In that case, sweetheart, you should know I’m about to spoil you rotten beyond repair.”

He kissed him again, teasing his lower lip before he moved away to adjust his strap in place, adding more lube after he settled between Tamryn’s legs. Tam himself threw them around his waist, wanting to keep Anatole as close as he could; he obliged him by leaning forward as he slowly went in, searching for his hands as he gave Tamryn time to adjust. He locked their fingers together and began moving slowly. Anatole kept the pace slow but his thrust deep, his body moving against Tamryn’s as he took in his face. He used their linked hands as leverage to lean down and kiss him, lips brushing against his nipples, as Tamryn pushed Anatole closer with his legs. 

Tamryn was lost in the moment: fingers squeezing against Anatole’s, curling toes and back curving, so he could lift his hips and bring his husband closer. His skin flushed and warm, he could feel the beads of sweat in some parts of their body, lips half opened in a constant string of moans and begging. Although ‘begging’ was too elaborate, he was mostly just saying ‘please’ when he felt like talking. 

It was just them and the Lulian sea in the background. Just them, skin to skin, Anatole’s forehead pressed over Tamryn’s heart as he fucked him — ‘fucking as love-making’ he had called it once, still thinking he was right about calling it that. Want and affection intertwined, lust-oozing tenderness, like the juice of a fruit one dug their fingers into, or syrup that poured off your lips as you bit into it. Heavy and plump, sweet and exquisite as it could be. 

Anatole lived for making Tamryn unfold, and he was nowhere near done with him. His good boy, his beautiful husband. Tamryn came, cum spilling between them, warm on both of their skins. Anatole did not stop moving, and Tam begged him to keep going anywhere — the candle still burned, there was still night to be had, and he wanted him and only him, like a constant itch that was only scratched when Anatole’s deft hands undressed him and undid him, when his voice told him what to do and where did he want him. A drop of sweat from Anatole’s forehead fell on Tamryn’s chest as he begged him to keep going still, and once again he could feel his husband’s smile; this time through a huff of air. Yet, when he spoke, he felt him closer, his tone cocky and flirtatious, but still pouring over with a love that knew and let itself be known, a collection, a journey, a choice. A grounding force, as a little saucy compliment to their sex-drives.  

It was a dense and shameless night, like those that are told only in the whispers of forbidden books.

Uncle Fester advanced with silent steps along the corridor of Nevermore, his face intermittently illuminated by the blue flashes that ran under his skin. He was carrying with him a bottle of unidentified liquid - probably toxic - and a gift wrapped in black paper and a string bow.

«A little something for my Wednesday... maybe something that explodes, the classic family affections,» he muttered, chuckling, he stopped in front of the door of room 222.

Something made him linger: a muffled sound, a broken breath, a barely contained moan. He tilted his head, a smirk spread across his cadaverous face, he opened the door discreetly, Almost.

«Wednesday, surprise! Uncle...is...here...» The scene before him was textbook - or rather, censorious, Wednesday sat astride Enid, her black shirt open and sagging, black nails running across her werewolf belly like loving blades.

Enid's hair was scattered across the pillow, and her expression was a mixture of surprise, desire, and pure embarrassment. The room smelled of wax, sweat and… adolescent sin. Fester stood still, eyes wide, smile widening.

«Oh...oh...Well… definitely not a pillow fight, unless the pillows have learned to moan.» Wednesday just turned around, unperturbed. «Uncle Get out, before I feel like testing the effectiveness of your heart under an awl.»

Enid tried to cover herself as best she could with a blanket, her face as red as blood spilled in style, Fester made a theatrical gesture, as if he were on the opera stage «Ah, young love...» He took two steps back, but before closing the door he turned conspiratorially.

Click, the door closed

---

The door had only closed five seconds before Enid burst out laughing, nervous, flushed to the tips of her ears. «It's official. Nothing can be more embarrassing than this.» Wednesday let herself slide next to her, with slow and measured movements, like a snake that wraps itself around its prey not to suffocate it... but to hold it in a promise. «I don't feel embarrassed, only annoyance...when someone interrupts a moment worthy of a cursed poem.» her voice was low, slightly scratched, as if she had rubbed it on black velvet, Enid turned to her, still torn between laughing and biting her lip. Wednesday looked at her.

She wasn't smiling, She didn't need it, Her hand moved - slow, precise - to move a blonde lock behind Enid's ear, then her fingers touched her neck, caressing it as if she were reading a prophecy written under the skin. «I like things I shouldn't want, the ones that unleash monsters. The ones that…change shape under the moon.» Enid swallowed, their bodies were close, but it was the silence between one word and the other that burned the most.

A silence full of tension, of silent and barely hinted desire, Wednesday leaned in, her face inches from hers «I'm still deciding if you're a weakness or a weapon.« «What if I was both?» Enid whispered, finally finding the courage to close the distance, the lips met, slowly, first in a kiss that seemed like a question, then the answer came, with increasing intensity, as if the night itself wanted to protect them from the rest of the world.