Preface: With all due respect to the creators of the show and fans who long waited for the Turtle Soup Scene, I think the editing (or the screenplay) for that part was absolutely idiotic. After wedding vows between two rather important characters I was expecting at least something! Even minimal indication of their wedding night, of the 'cock' and 'bedding each other' that was discussed SO MUCH before and during the wedding itself.

Instead I got The Couple having The Sex. And while it was very hot, granted... I still felt cheated out of other hot sex scene. I mean, if they were to follow the original timeline, there wouldn't be a need to even cut it like this! Why even?!

Fergus and Marsali were supposed to have had their own time, their own epic night. I can't say I have written it epic (God knows, I haven't been writing in ages and I'm not sure I was ever writing proper epic sex before) but I did my best.

- There's a bed…

Marsali's voice sounded startled and confused and Fergus focused on her to understand what was the confusion about. She knew they weren't coming to either one of their previous cabins as they were given their own 'honeymoon suite' – captain's orders. Yet she wasn't confused by the new cabin itself – just by the bed.

Slight tilt of the deck brought the understanding about – right, they were on the ship, first ship in Marsali's life, and with very little experience she's had, his new wife simply didn't know about that particular detail – that there would be cabins with proper beds. But then again – was she expecting to spend their wedding night on bunk beds?

Fergus swallowed loudly… the wedding night. One would think he was a virgin with all the nerves he'd worked up by now while Marsali giggled with joy and jumped onto the bed and bounced on it a bit. She was… strong-headed, brave, bold even… but sometimes such a child still! Fergus was fighting his inner recoil… because he was about to bed this naïve, sweet, innocent girl… his wife.

'Oh mon Dieu, what am I doing? I shouldn't have rushed it! I should've given her time till Jamaica… or longer… even if it would've killed me!'

His cock twitched uncomfortably in his trousers hinting unequivocally that 'yes, it WOULD HAVE killed you! it's been months! and she's there! just look at her!'

And as Fergus did look at his Marsali, she looked back at him. And her giddiness immediately was washed over with the new wave of something heavy and dizzying – something she didn't know but needed already. His eyes were firmly fixed on hers – yet it felt like his gaze was caressing her all over, so much that Marsali shivered under his invisible touch. It felt like she wanted more… but did she?

Fergus was frozen to the floor trying to figure out his next move. This was all so new to him, and so much was riding on the success of tonight that he has felt his stomach churn in fear… or maybe it was the turtle soup… or lack thereof because Willoughby's turtle soup was almost pure sherry… and maybe he has had just a little too much of it.

Marsali did too. First Fergus thought it'll be a good idea to get her a bit tipsy so it would help with the nerves – but the same way it wasn't helping him now, by the looks of it was helping Marsali even less – she looked utterly disoriented and pale, sitting in the middle of the bed with her skirts up her mid-thighs, and her thighs… Keep it together, Fergus!

As if hearing his thoughts, Marsali grabbed her skirts and halted midair – her thoughts running wild 'Which way, up or down? How? Where?...'

- Umm… Fergus…

He exhaled so forcefully as if he was holding his breath since they'd came in (or maybe he was):

- Oui, cherie? Anything!

- Where do I… how do we… the dress?

And that was the first time the newlyweds smiled. Genuinely smiled together. It suddenly felt so silly – them being five steps apart and not being able to move towards each other while they'd spent months trying to be together.

Fergus flung himself to the bed, ripping his neck scarf from choking him, kicking off his boots – and was met with Marsali's waiting hands as she'd unfastened hooks and buttons until he was kneeling before her in just his shirt and very tight pants – and getting tighter by the minute.

Ignoring all that Fergus leaned in to place chaste, soft kiss on his wife's lips. Something simple, something that wouldn't scare her with the force of passion he was merely holding back. But that didn't satisfy his feisty little women at all so she'd buried her hands in his long curls and pulled him in for a proper kiss – that with a whimpering little sounds she'd breathed into his mouth while swirling her tongue in battle with his. That did it – Fergus lost all control and tumbled over Marsali dropping them both against the headboard. Marsali would've hit her head hard but Fergus held her closer to him and broke the fall with his bad hand against the board. Wooden glove made a dull thud on the impact and recoiled back sending pain up his arm, making Fergus wince a little.

- Take it off, - Marsali offered ('Or was it an order?'), - it hurts you, you don't need it in bed.

Fergus looked away. It felt wrong – to bring this ugly side of himself to their wedding bed. She knew how his stump looked, she helped him tend to it… still, he planned to keep the glove on for tonight, just to pretend it was just a hand he wasn't using much, that he was still a whole of a man. Not a cripple.

Marsali's soft fingers brushed his cheek, turning him to face her. Her eyes, they were so beautiful, so deep and peaceful and full of love… was he even worthy of it?

- This is not what makes you a man, Fergus, - she took her hands off his face and started unfastening little belts that kept the glove attached to his stump, all while not breaking eye contact with him, not letting him to look away, - you risked your life to save my Daddy, you were more of a man even as a boy than most adult ones I know. You saved him, and he came back and found me and Joan, and gave us home.

Marsali pressed his stump to her chest and hugged it tight with both hands. She pressed small kisses all over it, fighting his attempts to yank it away – to her his injury wasn't 'an impediment' or ugliness, it was his strength and valor. Her French husband with a heart of a Scottish highlander.

- You are brave and strong and gentle – and exactly the man I hoped for… even if I wasn't sure men like you even existed. And yet, - her smile shone on him, like sun after heavy rain, welcoming and pardoning and promising so much new, - and yet here you are. Real. And mine. Mon homme. Mon mari.

They were both so motionless in that moment that he could almost see his reflection in her tear-filled eyes. Eyes of a woman in love are the best mirrors. Because… right now… he was that what she saw in him. Not a castaway, not a cripple, not an used toy… He was her man. Her husband.

- Je t'aime, ma femme! Ma vie, mon âme, mon tout… Je t'aime!

And he devoured her! If he could, Fergus would breathe her in and never breathe out, because she was running through his body like a life force he couldn't survive without!

He held her close to him, crushing into Marsali with his body, his mouth and his need. Fergus pulled her sun-touched hair back to expose her white neck, almost translucent skin of her upper chest which he covered with kisses and bites. She might've gasped few times, he might've hurt her – but she'd never stopped him, just pulled him in closer, digging her nails into his bare back, longing to be marked by him in all the best ways! ('When did I lose my shirt? Was I wearing one? What's even 'a shirt'?')

Fergus hugged Marsali tighter to his chest and pulled her up to lean against cushions. Now that he wasn't supporting her weight anymore, he put his good hand to a very good use – to untie her laces and undo her ties. His wife was no help there – her own hands were busy clawing his body, trying to touch more of him – all the while traveling down his chest to where his cock twitched painfully trapped in the only piece of clothing he still had on. There was no way for Marsali to take the trousers off – all with Fergus practically straddling her tights – so his enthusiastic wife settled for torturing him by her occasional grazes and tugs over the harsh fabric of his trousers. 'Why wouldn't they disappear too?!'

And then there came a moment when Marsali has wiggled her way out of her garments… and somehow managed to lose her shift in the process. That!.. Fergus wasn't ready for.