fandom_muses June: Headache
They were on a gondola, torches and starlight reflected in the familiar murky waters. Home.
Giac was lounging back, one leg stretched forward, the other one bent at the knee; she was sitting next to him, back straight, listening to his chatter, her lips stretching in a small smile. Which she wouldn't let him see. It was refreshing to hear him talk as he would. Different, new as per the company she'd had to be in for a while now. But letting him know that he pleased her, too much? That was not necessary, not yet.
And then one of his large palms was at the side of her waist, the side of her chest, tugging her suddenly out of balance and onto him, his other arm catching her and drawing her to him. Layer upon layer of fabric, linen and silk and lace against lace and silk and linen and then the warmth of the body underneath it, enveloping her, welcoming her. The chatter turned lower, his voice murmuring in her ear now, lips brushing over it, sending a shiver though her. Enough to turn a little, moving the sensitive flesh away from his immediate reach, to which he laughed. But didn't press.
Not immediately. A few sentences down the canal, and his lips were on the side of her neck, kissing softly, but with no apparent intent to stop--
Henriette's eyes fluttered open in disorientation, then the sound that brought her out of her dream registered fully.
They were not in Venice, not on the canal.
They were in Paris.
It wasn't Giac's arm against her waist, tenderly - it was Grimani's, tender, yes, but incredibly possessive, seeming to weigh a thousand pounds.
It wasn't Giac's voice that had given that wail. It was her daughter's.
Henriette didn't tarry much at all, before rising to see what the problem was.
When she returned to bed, the blond head of her husband lifted, then he drew her closer and nuzzled the side of her neck. She shuddered, not sure if she wanted to cover it or not.
"I'm ... sorry. Not now."
"Henriette..." He didn't need to rattle a chain to remind her, she was his. (Giac needed to, before people - and yet, it wasn't that kind of chains that made her comfortable in his arms.) And yet she turned her face away.
"I'm sorry. I can't... I have a headache."
He sighed, but for once, lied back and used the softness of the pillow to its full extent.
She felt cheap for using such an excuse before her husband. Then again, she'd felt chepa each and every day since she proclaimed she'd call him her usband.
The memory of two strong arms and warm chest to lean against flickered as she tried to curl up in her half of the bed.
Muse: Henriette
Fandom: Casanova (2005 BBC)
Word count ~ 480
Giac was lounging back, one leg stretched forward, the other one bent at the knee; she was sitting next to him, back straight, listening to his chatter, her lips stretching in a small smile. Which she wouldn't let him see. It was refreshing to hear him talk as he would. Different, new as per the company she'd had to be in for a while now. But letting him know that he pleased her, too much? That was not necessary, not yet.
And then one of his large palms was at the side of her waist, the side of her chest, tugging her suddenly out of balance and onto him, his other arm catching her and drawing her to him. Layer upon layer of fabric, linen and silk and lace against lace and silk and linen and then the warmth of the body underneath it, enveloping her, welcoming her. The chatter turned lower, his voice murmuring in her ear now, lips brushing over it, sending a shiver though her. Enough to turn a little, moving the sensitive flesh away from his immediate reach, to which he laughed. But didn't press.
Not immediately. A few sentences down the canal, and his lips were on the side of her neck, kissing softly, but with no apparent intent to stop--
Henriette's eyes fluttered open in disorientation, then the sound that brought her out of her dream registered fully.
They were not in Venice, not on the canal.
They were in Paris.
It wasn't Giac's arm against her waist, tenderly - it was Grimani's, tender, yes, but incredibly possessive, seeming to weigh a thousand pounds.
It wasn't Giac's voice that had given that wail. It was her daughter's.
Henriette didn't tarry much at all, before rising to see what the problem was.
When she returned to bed, the blond head of her husband lifted, then he drew her closer and nuzzled the side of her neck. She shuddered, not sure if she wanted to cover it or not.
"I'm ... sorry. Not now."
"Henriette..." He didn't need to rattle a chain to remind her, she was his. (Giac needed to, before people - and yet, it wasn't that kind of chains that made her comfortable in his arms.) And yet she turned her face away.
"I'm sorry. I can't... I have a headache."
He sighed, but for once, lied back and used the softness of the pillow to its full extent.
She felt cheap for using such an excuse before her husband. Then again, she'd felt chepa each and every day since she proclaimed she'd call him her usband.
The memory of two strong arms and warm chest to lean against flickered as she tried to curl up in her half of the bed.
Muse: Henriette
Fandom: Casanova (2005 BBC)
Word count ~ 480

