Disclaimer: Characters are Libba Bray's. Story is mine. (edited) This
is the first chapter of a mini-series I am aspiring to do. The basis is
the relationship between Gemma and Kartik, with backstories of
whichever character's POV the particular chapter is in. Notice that
this is how I view their relationship, should they ever overcome their
individual stubborness. This takes place when they are a bit older and
a lot more open with their feelings with each other. This
one is in Kartik's POV. I've made him seem sort of unsure of himself,
with less composure than the novel's make him out to be. As you may
notice though, his character in the books is steadily becoming less
fierce and certain, and more tender and emotional. And before I go on, yes, there were showers in the Victorian era. And the name meanings are true. I've done my research! So now I will shut up - enjoy!
The faucet creaks beneath my hand as I grip the porcelain and iron knob and turn it. Water sprays from the metal spout above my head and I quickly close the curtain to block the water from me. Showers are a new thing to me as well as to the Doyle household. I am still unsure of why Gemma has insisted that I bathe in her house, but the thought that she is in the room next to me as I undress is quite thrilling, to say the least. I also appreciate the gesture, as I haven't properly bathed in a few days. Not that I am unhygienic, of course, but I have been traveling these past few days, and have only just arrived. Needless to say, Gemma was thrilled to see me, though not as much as I was to see her. She is quite the sight for sore eyes.
I peel the layers of clothing from my tired body as I wait for the water to heat up. I stick my hand through the curtain. It is still lukewarm. An ornate mirror across the room catches my attention. I walk over and inspect myself in the framed glass. The same old reflection stares back at me. The same curly black hair, same high cheekbones, and same brown eyes as always. A sigh escapes my lips, and I frown at myself. I am not bad-looking, I suppose. I do look a bit older as well, which pleases me, for I have always thought myself to look quite like a child. But I certainly hope I look older as I shall turn nineteen this coming October.
The water is hotter now, and I step into the porcelain basin. I now know why Gemma insisted I bathe in her bathroom instead of the one in the mews; it is like pure bliss in here. Hot water rains on me, sliding down my body and easing my tired muscles. A strange, erotic feeling comes over me as I remember that this is where Gemma bathes too. I can almost picture her in my place, water caressing her curves and steam rising in clouds above her lovely head. Or perhaps she would stand right in front of me now, and we would melt together, slippery with soap and water. My legs buckle slightly at the thought.
I watch the water run over my chest and shoulders in rivers. I was blessed with a good physique – broad shoulders, long legs, and lean muscle. I am tall too, which is also a plus. Gemma is a tall girl, but I am taller still; we are good heights for each other. I would never be satisfied some petite bird of a woman. Gemma is the epitome of femininity, in my opinion. Of course, she's not exactly graceful, but her clumsiness merely adds to her charm.
Gemma's appearance burns in my eyes. I've had the fortune of seeing her without a corset before, and she has a lovely body. I shall never understand why society prefers unnatural waists and curves to the real thing. A woman's beauty is in her individuality, not in how she measures up to others. I certainly struck gold with Gemma, for she stands out against a crowd. Especially lately, she is nothing short of enchanting.
A smile forms at my lips as I recall how she looked earlier today. She looks older, as I do, but the effect is very different on her. She is still the same silly, clumsy Gemma I will always know and love, but she has moved past that awkward stage that adolescents often go through. She has always had the height, but she has filled out since I've last seen her. Her breasts are fuller, as are her hips. The result is quite devastating. She looks reminiscent of an hourglass, a perfect, flesh-and-blood hourglass. Slim where she should be slim and curvy where curves are needed. The very thought makes my head cloudy. I want Miss Gemma Doyle. I want her more than I've ever wanted anything else.
I absently examine a scar on my chest, long and slightly jagged; it is my souvenir of my late-night encounter with Gemma's friend, the abominable Felicity Worthington. It looks to be healing nicely, though I know it shall never completely fade. I let my eyes travel over the rest of my body, hardly taking in the sight of other numerous bruises and scars. They are my battle wounds and I am proud of them. I wonder what Gemma would have to say if she ever saw them.
Would she scold me for not being careful?
Would she fawn over me like a mother?
Would she trail kisses over them with those perfect rose-colored lips of hers?
Such a stimulating thought that is, for I have a few good bruises on my inner thighs and a scar on my lower abdomen. I wonder what it would be like to see Gemma's golden red head between my legs; would she like what she found there?
I stare at the aforementioned area and at the hardness there. I wonder when I'll ever get to use it. I have already decided that if I do, it shall be with Gemma, as she is the only desirable woman I know and should ever like to be with. But how utterly inappropriate it is to be turned on right now, in Gemma's very own bathroom. Well I shan't do anything about it now, so I select a particularly large bottle of shampoo from the shelf and promptly drop it on my foot. I cannot suppress a yelp, but I have succeeded in diminishing my desire.
Oh what is it about her that has me so hot and bothered all the time?! Of course I already know the answer, but it still does not take away from the mystique that is Gemma Doyle. She's beautiful, but I have seen other beautiful girls that haven't had this effect on me. Her friend, Miss Cross, was a pretty girl, though too thin and somewhat a cliché of a girl. I easily could have fallen under her spell, as she was the first female I have seen nearly naked up close, but I didn't. I never thought of her sexually, never longed for her, but Gemma thought I did. Just bringing up Miss Cross's name had Gemma jealous and suspicious of me. That's why I did it – to make Gemma jealous.
I reach for the shampoo I dropped on my foot and work some through my hair. It has a floral scent to it, and I am afraid my head will smell of flowers for days.
I find a certain sadistic pleasure in making Gemma mad. She gets so passionate when angry. Oh how I'd like to see her re-route that passion towards me. I am sure that someday it will happen, for things between us get so heated sometimes, even if we are not touching at all. Gemma and I have a sort of silent agreement about our relationship; we know that things are too complicated as it is without making our forbidden dreams a reality. But now that I am back, things may be different. She is my sole companion in this world, the only friend I have. Without the Rakshana, I have no one to interact with, to relate to, except for her. Sexual desires aside, I need Gemma's presence to reassure me that there is still someone that cares for my existence.
Things were so different for me growing up. I was not like the others taken in by the Rakshana for training. I was younger, and it was not usual for members of the same immediate family to be chosen. Yet I was chosen a few years after Amar, and I was raised by the brotherhood. Because of my age and rumors of my fate (because there were rumors that I was the "chosen" guardian, so I've heard), I was given special treatment. More personal training, a better education, and fewer punishments were some of the treatments distinguished from the others. And, of course, I was hated for it.
Older members didn't like me for two reasons. One, I was considered better than them, and two, I showed more promise and learned faster. At such a young age, I was an easy target for bullying, so to speak. I learned to trust no one but Amar and the highest ranks of the Rakshana. Though now I trust no one but Gemma. I have to, because she makes me feel so vulnerable. Yet I submit to it; I want to feel exposed around her. I cannot say why, but I love that feeling when I am with her - the feeling of uncertainty and electricity and anticipation. If this isn't love, I am not sure what is.
It is not even as if our relationship is only physical; on the contrary, some of our more passionate moments are filled with debates and philosophy, and dreaming and reminiscing. I know that I love her, but I am afraid, for I also know that she is all I have in this life, and that I would be lost should I ever lose her. It is times like these that I wish Amar was still alive. I have so many questions that books cannot answer. I may be educated in many things, but I remain clueless about love and women.
I miss Amar. I still mourn him. I imagine his death would be easier to accept if I knew for sure if he crossed over. Gemma once saw in a vision that he was in the Winterlands, and I have seen the same in my dreams. Could it be that he is among Circe's army? Or are my dreams nothing more than my subconscious fears haunting me even as I sleep?
"Immortal". "Deathless". These are the meanings of his name. They mock me, for my brother is gone from this world, and likely damned in the next. I wonder why our parents chose that name for him. I wonder why they gave me my name - Kartik, the Hindu god of war. It could not be farther from the truth. I am no warrior. I am a disgrace.
My parents knew of the Order and the Rakshana; my mother, especially. I wonder if she even knows that her eldest son is dead. I wonder if she even thinks of us. Does she miss us? Does she know I am alive and alone? Is she ashamed to know that I have failed the Rakshana?
Scrubbing soap into my chest and arms, I close my eyes and try to remember my mother's face. I do not remember much, but I can still recall bits and pieces of my past. We were not without means; in fact, we were quite well-off, considering the English were taking over. I remember sitting on her lap as a child and how the fine silk of her saris were slippery beneath me. I can remember sitting on my father's shoulders to watch the Englishmen ride their horses through the streets. I can recall that those shiny horses were my favorite animals and that my favorite color was green. I remember playing hide and seek with Amar in the marketplace and how my mother's friends would always pick me up and make a fuss over me.
Perhaps the most vivid memory of my short childhood was the day I was taken by the Rakshana, and how my parents tried to hide their grief. Though it was an honor, I imagine it was very hard for them to give up both of their sons. I sometimes wonder if my parents had any more children after I left.
I stand for a few moments to let the water rinse the soap off of me. There is a soft knock on the door. I freeze, if it's not Gemma, then I am surely doomed. The door opens and closes again with a quiet click.
"Kartik!" Gemma's voice is a frantic whisper.
I relax and stick my head out of the shower. "Hello Gemma." I say, trying to speak calmly, as if I am not naked and dripping wet as the love of my life stands before me.
She stares at me, blushing furiously. I do not see what the problem is; the shower curtain is quite opaque. She is always blushing lately; I have to say that I quite enjoy having such an effect on her. I shake the wet hair from my eyes, sending droplets of water everywhere. Some land on her dressing gown, dotting the pale green embroidery.
"Do you have something to say, or did you just wish to gawk at me? If that is the case, I can surely open the curtain all the way, Gem." I say, teasing her.
She finds her voice. "I was just wondering what is taking you so long."
"I'm nearly finished. You could hand me that towel over there."
"……"
"Please."
I turn of the water as she grabs the towel for me. She hands it to me, and I take it, opening the curtain as I do so. I fear her eyes shall pop out of her head. She turns away quickly, and her pale face reddens deeper.
"Kartik, please!"
"Please, what?" I do love teasing her like this. What I love even more is the knowledge that she only turns away because of her breeding. I know all too well that she'd rather stare, the silly minx of a girl. But I do not wish to be rude, so I wrap the towel around my waist. "Better?"
She turns her face to me cautiously. "Perhaps."
I laugh. "Come here, Gemma."
She hesitates, and for a moment I regret what I've said. It sounds quite like an invitation to something carnal. I do not wish to seem eager for her maidenhood, though, in all honesty, I am.
"Why don't you come here, Kartik?" She asks shyly, surprising me.
"Are you flirting with me?"
"Possibly." She bats her eyelashes for effect.
We both laugh. It is good to be in the company of a friend again. I step out of the shower onto the floor and pull her into a tight embrace.
She gasps. "Kartik, you dolt, you've gotten me all wet!"
"As were my intentions, Miss Doyle."
"Yes, but this dressing gown is new and you've gone and ruined it!"
I look down at myself. "The last time I checked, this was water and not acid. Don't overreact, Gem."
"I am surely not overreacting!"
I've angered her; it makes me feel giddy. I flash her what I hope is my most charming smile.
Her face softens a bit. "Maybe I was just a bit. But you are still quite obnoxious, you know."
"Such a lovely girl."
She makes a face, but I know she is pleased with my compliment.
She takes in my soggy appearance. "You should dry off."
"So should you."
She narrows her pretty eyes at me. "Do you have a change of clothing? The ones you came in are filthy." She says while wrinkling her nose at the pile of clothes I discarded on the floor.
I nod. "I have more clothes in my rucksack."
She seems satisfied. "Well then, get dressed and we can have a chat in my room when you're finished."
She leaves before I have a chance to answer. No matter. As if I would give up the chance to spend time with her. Since I've left the Rakshana we are more like friends; our conversations are no longer limited to talk of the Realms and magic, and for that I am grateful. Now I have the pleasure of seeing another side of her.
I dry off and pull on my clothes with haste. I rub my head frantically with the towel and then step up to the mirror for a final inspection of myself. If Gemma is fond of the "drowned rat" look, then I'm fit to make her swoon tonight. I sigh, frustrated, and tug at my hair. I let my hand drop to my side. It's no matter, I cannot change the way I look now. I hurry into Gemma's bedroom, where she sits in her bed reading.
She looks up from her book. "I see you can be quick when you set your mind to it." She says with a small smile.
"What are you reading?" I ask in response.
"Oh," she turns the cover to me. "Jane Eyre. My grandmother is making me read it. She believes it will make me more cultured." She rolls her eyes.
"I see. What is it about?"
Gemma shuts the book and places it on her nightstand. "I honestly have no idea. Something to do with adultery and a governess having an affair with her employer, I believe. I do not see how it should make me more cultured." She cocks her head to the side. "I rather think it will just put ideas into my head."
Gemma's behavior is a pleasant surprise. She pats the bed next to her. "Come." She says cheerfully.
I make to kick off my shoes, but I find that I am barefoot. My mind has seemed to escape me. I notice that she has turned down the sheets on the side opposite her, so I crawl under and move in close. We must look like a married couple, and I shudder to think what would happen should anyone walk in her room now. Gemma doesn't seem worried, though, and that is reassurance enough for me. I gingerly place my head next to hers on the pillow. The bed is very comfortable, and I realize I have never slept in one so fine.
"You smell like flowers, Kartik." There is a touch of laughter in her voice.
"So do you."
"Yes, but I am supposed to." She says, turning to face me.
Our faces are very close, and our breath mingles. I can count every one of her long eyelashes and see a hint of a blush dusting her pale cheeks.
"I've missed you Kartik." She murmurs.
I trace a stray curl against her cheek. She looks like a princess with her red curls spread against the pale pink pillows. I let my finger slide down the curve of her neck. She is a wonder to me. Porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, emerald eyes framed by dark lashes. Green has always been my favorite color. I allow myself one gentle kiss on her soft lips.
"I've missed you, Gemma." I say, brushing strands away from her smooth forehead.
She closes her eyes against my touch. All is quiet but our breathing, but only for a moment. She opens her eyes with a new expression on her face.
"So what took you so long in the shower, monsieur?" She asks slyly.
So we're back to this.
"I was thinking." I say carefully.
"Were you? About what?"
She bites her bottom lip absently, but it has me quite transfixed. Her white teeth press small indents in the pale pink flesh, flushing the skin. She notices me looking at her mouth.
She presses her question again, licking her lips slowly. "What were you thinking so long and hard about, Kartik?" She is doing this on purpose, probably giddy to see that for once, I am not as quick-witted as I let on.
"Uh…" All I can get out is a groan. Her pink tongue has drawn a moist sheen across her lips, and they just beg to be tasted. I do so, pressing my lips to hers firmly, half wondering if she'll pull away. She tastes so good that I can't help but kiss her again, harder than before.
"Were you thinking about me? I should very much like to know if you were," she says, eyes twinkling in the dim light.
Oh you blessed girl, yes I was thinking about you! Yes! The hold you have on me is extraordinary; how could I not think of you in such a situation?
"Kartik…"
I nod feebly. She smiles, satisfied, and turns onto her back, so that her silhouette is brightened by the lamp's golden light. I watch as she absently plays with the ribbons of her nightgown. I suddenly realize that she is no longer wearing her dressing gown. Blood rushes to my face, for there is hardly any more modesty between us.
"I am starting my season soon, Kartik."
"I know."
"I'm not very happy about it."
"I know." This sad truth sobers me from my bout of lovesickness.
"I am afraid…," she starts, speaking to the ceiling "I fear that our time together shall end soon." Her voice is very quiet.
I do not speak for a few moments. My heart hammers in my chest. Part of me knows that she is probably right, for our union would go against nearly all of society's standards. But part of me refuses to let that ruin what we have. I find strength in this.
"Tell me something, Gem." I pause. Her eyes remain fixed on the ceiling.
"Look at me." I say, turning her face to mine gently. A tear falls from her eye, crystallized by the dim light.
"Gemma, something tells me that for all of your life, you've had to cater to the wishes of others. I can understand that, as I was in that same situation. As long as you did what was asked of you, no – demanded of you, people were satisfied, but no one ever cared to know how you felt."
She says nothing, but her eyes tell me I am right. They are almost pleading with me.
"Gemma, what do you want?" I ask quietly.
Her eyes widen. She looks off to a spot behind me for a few moments. I hold my breath, for what she says could surely break my heart. Perhaps all along I've just been a playmate of sorts, someone to toy with, with no strings attached.
Her eyes return to mine, and the fear is gone from them.
"No one has ever really asked me that before. Not sincerely, at least."
"Never?"
"Never." Her eyes wander over my face. "Kartik, you have been so good to me."
Here it comes, the "thank you for playing with me, but I've got to get back now". I hope my face doesn't betray my feelings. I should hate for her to be troubled at my expense. She doesn't seem to notice, for she continues speaking.
"In fact, you are the only one that knows me, the real me, and still tolerates me."
Her words puzzle me. "I do not tolerate you."
"Oh?"
I smile at her. "I like you very much." I hesitate. "In fact, Gemma Doyle, I do believe I love you."
There, I've said it. Regardless of her feelings towards me, I've told her the truth about I feel. And it feels damn good to get it out.
Her face breaks into the loveliest smile I've ever seen. "Do you really mean that?"
"I do. I love you. I love you Gemma Doyle, and I am not afraid to say it. You are the most beautiful, unique, clever girl I've ever had the privilege to meet. Now tell me what you want before I go insane." I try to say this calmly, but my heart is close to exploding, I fear.
She grabs my face in her hands and pulls me into a heated kiss. It's quite nice when she initiates these sorts of things. But I don't think we've ever shared a kiss quite like this one. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her on top of me. I run my tongue along her bottom lip and she admits me entry into her mouth. I find her tongue with my own, and at the same time I run my hand along her thigh, relishing the feel of smooth soft skin beneath her silken nightgown.
She breaks the kiss all too soon and raises her upper body up to look at my face. She is breathing heavily, as am I, and I am delighted to see her exposed breasts through the gap in her low neckline. I silently thank gravity. I reluctantly tear my eyes away from her glorious bosom and look her in the eyes. They are shining.
"Kartik, you silly boy! You already know what I want."
"I do?"
She nods emphatically. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Did I just hear her correctly?
"Gemma, I have no money! I could never support you the way you deserve."
She laughs softly, shaking her head. "I could marry the wealthiest man and he would never give me what I really need. I would just be an adornment to him, something to look at and appreciate for its surface. I'd be like a mantel clock; as long as I'm working properly he is happy, but he would never care to learn how I work."
I catch on to her. "But I would like to know how you tick, and take great care to make sure you keep working properly?"
She gives me a quick kiss. "Exactly!"
"And what of your family? They would never approve of us."
She rolls off of me to the side. "Grandmama and Tom wouldn't at first, but Father has always been fond of you. I am certain he would convince them otherwise."
"Your father likes me?"
She looks at me. "Yes. Why else would he agree to hire you again after you disappeared?"
I sigh. "So he is fond of me as a coachman, not a potential son-in-law."
"That's not true."
"Are you implying I am not a good coachman then?" I ask, half in jest, half in earnest.
"Kartik, don't be difficult." Gemma finds my hand under the sheets and brings it near her face. "Anyway, my father wants me to be happy." She says, playing with my hand as if it is the most fascinating toy. "I'm sure he would understand our relationship."
She strokes my long fingers in an almost provocative manner. I feel heat stirring within me, but I ignore it, as I am still distracted.
"So what should we do about this then?"
She laces her fingers through mine, our skin a stark contrast against each other. "I will talk to my father," she gives my hand a small squeeze. "And then we shall see what happens."
"And until then…?"
She turns to me with a smile. "Until then, we must have hope." She brings my fingertips to her lips, trailing wet kisses over them. She suddenly gives my hand a small tug, pulling my arm over her body. I crawl on top of her, hovering over her on my forearms and knees, like a cat trapping its prey. The space between us nearly crackles with our magnetism, for we are always drawn to each other, regardless of what stands in our way.
This time, however, there is nothing but air. "I will always have hope, Gem, as long as I have you." I whisper into her ear as I slowly straighten my legs out and lower myself carefully onto her. She wraps her arms around my neck to receive me.
"Kartik?"
"Mmhmm?" My face is pressed into her neck.
She works her fingers into my damp hair. "Would you like to spend the night?"
I laugh softly into her neck. She gasps at the vibration.
"I would love to, Gemma."
If
anyone is bored - look up "Kartik" on Wikipedia. Apparently he was a
god of war that rode a peacock around the world. Hmm. Can't imagine our Kartik doing that! Reviews make me work faster! Next one is in Gemma's POV. Until then,
LunaEquus
