#penink

She gave him a look, or at least, tried to; it was somewhat undermined by the fact her cheek was still pressed to his jacket.

“Do not be smug.”

“Too late.”

“Mmh.” Her free hand smoothed over his lapel, slow and appreciative. “Very handsome.”

Gordon’s grin softened helplessly. It was unfair, really. Penelope sober could undo him with one glance but Penelope warm and affectionate and entirely without her usual defences thanks to a bottle of Château Margaux was a direct attack.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said.

She sighed. “I am spectacular.”

“You are.”

And yet,” Penelope continued, with great solemnity, “it is kind of you to notice.”

“Any time, your ladyship.” He tucked her closer as they walked. “Anyone ever told you that you’re dangerous after red wine?”

“Darling, I am dangerous before red wine.”

“Fair point. More dangerous when wine drunk.”

Penelope let out a soft gasp, prodding at him with one perfectly manicured finger. “Gordon Tracy, how very dare you. A lady does not get drunk.”

It was difficult to keep the amusement out of the smirk he wore, the tease evident in it. She never missed a beat, even after several glasses of very good Bordeaux. “Alright, not drunk. Tipsy.”

“And just when I was about to say I liked you tonight,” Penelope huffed as she stepped around a puddle, causing Gordon to blink, then laugh, low and fond.

“You liked me tonight?”

“Very much., as it happens”

“Well, thank God for that, it might’ve been awkward otherwise. Any other nights or is this just a one off?”

“Occasionally.”

“High praise.”

“Do not become unbearable.”

“That ship sailed somewhere around ‘very handsome’.”

She hummed, conceding nothing, the sound soft against his sleeve. They walked a little farther beneath the wet glitter of the streetlights, the city folding itself around them, the world narrowing to the warmth of her beside him and the light pressure of her hand in his.

Then Penelope sighed, contented and unthinking.

“I like being loved by you.”

And that made Gordon stop.

Penelope took another half step before noticing, their joined hands pulled gently between them and she turned back, brows lifting in faint surprise.

“What?”

He stared at her, without a word.

The streetlight above them caught in the loosened strands of her hair, turning them pale gold. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and the cold, her eyes brighter than usual and entirely, ruinously honest and for a moment, he couldn’t find a single thing to say.

“Oh,” she said after a beat, reading him with unfair ease. “Was that one of the things I usually keep in my head?”

“Yeah,” Gordon managed. His voice had gone rougher than he meant it to. “I think so.”

Penelope looked down at their joined hands. “I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes.” She took a dignified breath, which would have been more convincing if she hadn’t then leaned very slightly into him. “The wine has betrayed me.”

“Right.”

“Darling, you are suddenly very quiet.”

“Pen, you can’t just say a thing like that and not expect a guy to take a minute.”

“What? That I like being loved by you?”

His throat tightened.

“Yeah. That.”

“Yes. Well, it is the truth.” She leaned into his hand with an honesty she would probably be furious about in the morning. “It feels… safe. Which is irritating, because I have spent a great deal of time being perfectly capable without you.”

Gordon smiled, though it came out a little uneven.

“You’re terrifyingly capable without me. Probably more so.”

“I know.”

“Spectacular, even.”

“That too.”

She looked pleased for half a second, before her expression softened into something quieter.

“But,” Gordon prompted gently, and Penelope looked at him for a long moment.

“But I do rather like not having to be,” she said, “all the time.”

And there it was; the soft underbelly of the thing. Not weakness, never that - after all, Penelope had never been fragile, not in the ways people mistook for softness, not in the ways that mattered.

This was trust.

Offered without ceremony on a rain-bright London pavement after too much wine, her fingers warm in his, her pride softened but not gone, and Gordon felt it land somewhere deep in his chest.

Carefully, because some things deserved reverence even when they arrived disguised as tipsy honesty, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Well… I’m glad. That you feel that way.”

Penelope watched him do it, her eyes softening, before she gave a soft sigh.

“That was all very dramatic.”

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Too much?”

“No.” She considered this with great seriousness. “Appropriate, I think.”

“Good to know.”

“Possibly even charming.”

“Possibly?”