After a long, hard spell on the road, it's a close-run thing which she looks forward to more, seeing the face of her beloved Josephine, planting soft kisses on her silken lips, her tender cheeks, her smooth, unfurrowed brow, or a steaming hot bath, fragranced of course with her favourite rose petals. Sometimes, if she is particularly fortunate, and she often is for Josephine is nothing if not considerate and very good at anticipating her desires, she gets to combine both. Josephine's copper bath tub is big enough for two, after all.
Today is one of those auspicious days. Three weeks traipsing through Crestwood, of non-stop driving rain and mud underfoot have left her irritable and dispirited. She is not one to complain, enduring such adversity in silent stoicism, but even she has her limits. She is not an old woman by any means, but years of combat and travel have taken their toll upon her body, and the cold and damp bring back the aches of long-forgotten wounds and injuries. When she is finally done with the necessary tasks of seeing to her horse and debriefing the Inquisition's leadership and finally makes it to their rooms (technically Josephine's, but in practice shared more often than not), the sight of a freshly drawn fragrant bath waiting for her fills her with the sort of joy that should more properly be reserved for her daily devotions.
She undresses swiftly and efficiently, resisting the siren's call of the steaming waters long enough to ensure her armour is properly placed on a wooden form and her sword is oiled. Such habits are deeply engrained in her, beyond the temptations of mere physical discomfort, and her equipment and her discipline in maintaining it is often the only thing between her and a gruesome death. When finally her tasks are completed and she can sink into her bath she can't help but let out a long contented sigh, grateful there is no one around to witness it. She has a reputation to uphold.
The water is hot, a sweet, sweet merciful balm on her aches and pains, and slowly she feels the dirt and grime soak away, leaving behind only a particularly profound calm that she rarely finds outside of her Seeker meditations. She stares absently at the ceiling, watching the tendrils of steam rise in twisting spirals, wending their ragged paths to die against the cold stone, and releases all of her fatigue and frustration and worry to go with them, letting them go until light and air and life seep back into her throat and her lungs and her stomach.
It is easy to lose all track of time like this, as accustomed as she is to spending hours motionless in prayer and meditation, and so she has no idea how long she has been soaking in silence when she hears the sound of the outer door opening and the softly clad feet that bring her love to her side. Josephine beams indulgently at her, gathering her skirts neatly and perching on the small wooden stool that sits for that very purpose, and to Cassandra's road-weary mind her smile is like an absolution, forgiveness for the days and nights her duty demands she spend far from her warmth and love.
Josephine bends over to kiss her, gentle and sweet, her mouth not demanding anything that Cassandra might be too tired to give, but when she moves to rise Cassandra captures her with wet fingers at the nape of her neck. "Stay," she whispers, "I've missed you so much."
Josephine's answering smile has something sly about it, a gleam in her lover's eyes that burns away the exhaustion from her limbs and the fog of fatigue from her mind, leaving a pleasant warmth that travels down to her fingers and toes, her senses sharpening in anticipation. Josephine eyes her slowly and deliberately, her gaze sweeping the full length of Cassandra's body beneath the water, and Cassandra almost wants to laugh at how comically lascivious her stare is, but she settles instead for drawing Josephine's hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles softly. "You could join me?" she adds to further sweeten the deal, although the way Josephine is watching her suggests she is already persuaded.
"If you want me to wash your back, all you need to do is ask," Josephine teases. "You don't have to make those eyes at me."
Cassandra feigns affront. "And am I not permitted to admire your beauty, Lady Montilyet? Besides, if anyone was making eyes, I think the culprit might be the one who is still clothed. I don't believe your intentions are entirely innocent."
"Oh, they definitely are not," Josephine laughs huskily, and Cassandra is entranced as her fingers reach for the collar of her blouse. She loves to watch Josephine undress, mesmerised by the deft movements of her clever, clever fingers on her buttons and the slow gradual exposure of bronzed skin to her eager gaze. Josephine of course knows this and likes to draw it out, making a performance of it, teasing her, and Cassandra at this moment is utterly at her command. She stares, enraptured, as Josephine carefully divests herself of her blouse and skirts, revealing a pale silken chemise that clings delightfully to her curves, tantalising in what it conceals as well as reveals.
Josephine bends over to kiss her once more, but this time there is passion in the way their lips move against each other and the grasp of Josephine's hands as they cradle Cassandra's neck, combing through damp strands of hair. Her body reacts to Josephine's touch, tingles of hot and cold travelling down her spine, breath shortening and her pulse fluttering erratically beneath Josephine's questing fingertips. Her lover withdraws again, that same enigmatic smile on her lips, but a colour in her cheeks that reveals her own eagerness. Still, they do not hurry, luxuriating in the knowledge of what is to come, not needing to tumble headlong towards it like fumbling innocents joining for the first time.
The chemise is slowly grasped and drawn over Josephine's head, but she turns away as she does so, tossing a coy glance over her shoulder, and Cassandra instead admires her slender waist, how it flares to the ample roundness of her buttocks and how they taper into shapely thighs and firm calves. In contrast to her own lean, spare form, all angles and edges, Josephine is fashioned from soft slopes and glorious curves, full and ripe, which beg to be touched. The candlelight loves Josephine's body just as much as Cassandra does, clothing her in warm golden light and soft shadow that accentuates every bewitching detail of her figure. Just to gaze on her lover heats Cassandra's blood, and she wonders idly if this is what it feels like when she sets the lyrium in someone's veins aflame.
But now, oh, Josephine has finished removing her garments, and she saunters, no swaggers, towards the tub, her knowing smile suggesting she has divined Cassandra's every secret sinful thought. She climbs gracefully into the bath and settles herself between Cassandra's legs, resting her head against her chest, and Cassandra sighs happily as she folds her arms around Josephine's waist, holding her close, kissing the top of her head.
This, she thinks, this is happiness. No elaborate parties or lavish weddings or grandiose gestures, just this simple pleasure in each other's presence. She kisses Josephine's shoulders, the side of her neck, the hollow of her throat, content to be surrounded by the familiar sensations that capture the essence of the woman she loves - the scent of Josephine's perfume in her nostrils, the softness and warmth of her skin, the low musical sound of her laughter as Cassandra's nose catches a ticklish spot on her neck.
"Mmmm, it is good to have you back with me," Josephine says, wriggling slightly to get comfortable in a way that Cassandra suspects is quite deliberately provocative.
She hides her grin in Josephine's hair, her fingers combing through the lustrous ebony strands to free it from its chignon, dropping the pins onto the stool to gather up later. Josephine relaxes fully against her, her head lolling to one side, and she lets her fingertips graze leisurely over Josephine's scalp before dipping her hands into the water, scooping it up and letting it run down over the sculpted curve of her shoulder. She allows her fingers to wander further, down, following the trail of water droplets across the paler expanse of Josephine's throat, down, down to the valley between her breasts. She has no particular destination in mind, content to allow the hitching and stuttering of Josephine's breath to guide her to where she wants to be touched as she had the very first time they made love. Since then she has been an attentive and dutiful student so by now she knows every inch of Josephine's body and what she likes, but there is a joy in listening to the slow-fast-slow rhythms of her lover's breathing, watching her lips part with a sudden exhalation and faint whimper as she reacts to her touch.
"Yes," Josephine murmurs, fingers stroking along Cassandra's calf. "Oh, yes love. I thought you might be too tired, but, I have missed you so much."
"Yes," Cassandra agrees happily, trailing her lips along the delicate column of Josephine's neck to the dip beneath her earlobe. She cups Josephine's full, voluptuous breasts in her hands, letting her thumbs stroke softly over the nipples, and Josephine tenses against her, breath catching as the callouses on her thumbs drag against the sensitive flesh there.
"Yes," Josephine breathes again, shakily, fingers curling and uncurling as she trembles with pleasure. Cassandra is only too happy to indulge her, but she doesn't give in to Josephine's urgings totally, keeping her touches light and teasing, while all the while pressing soft kisses to her neck and shoulders. She is warm and happy and in no particular hurry, and quite content to make this last.
Josephine, it turns out, has other ideas. With a frustrated growl she breaks free from Cassandra's embrace, awkwardly manoeuvring round so she is facing her, straddling Cassandra's legs. The scented oils in the water make the surface of the tub a little treacherous and she slips sending water sloshing over the pair of them and the rim of the tub, and Cassandra can't help grinning at the sight of Josephine looking more than a little discombobulated, hair wildly askew, rose petals sticking to one shoulder.
"Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast," Josephine says haughtily, as if she was in the finest of Orlesian ballrooms rather than slightly awkwardly squeezed into a bathtub with her lover.
Cassandra desperately tries to keep a straight face, swallowing against the laughter that bubbles up and threatens to escape from her throat. "Yes, my lady?"
"You go away for weeks with the Inquisitor, I don't see so much as a hair of your head, and now you are back, you are just going to tease me?" Josephine tries to look severely down her nose, but Cassandra spots the way the corners of her mouth tug upwards involuntarily, the tension in her throat as Josephine tries to hold back her own amusement. She manages another few seconds before she can't keep it in any more, and that sets Josephine off and for a minute the pair of them laugh like fools in a playhouse.
With their mingled laughter Cassandra feels a weight lift from her she wasn't aware of bearing, a lightness that gives new energy to tired muscles. With a predatory smile she reaches to pull Josephine closer, closer, until their bodies glide smoothly against each other, slick from the oiled bathwater. Easing a hand around the nape of Josephine's neck she kisses her open-mouthed, a gentle slow dance of lips and tongues and breath, aching and shivering and sweet with the taste of the Antivan cordial Josephine enjoys in the afternoons. Josephine's eyes close in bliss and Cassandra watches her, the way her emotions ghost across her face like fleeting spirits chasing a half-forgotten memory, at once vivid and yet transient and ephemeral.
Josephine's eyes open once more and she draws back from the kiss enough to plant a teasing finger on the tip of Cassandra's nose. "Touch me love," she says huskily, her voice dripping with desire. "Properly."
"Anything, for you," Cassandra murmurs. With careful reverence she traces her way down Josephine's body, paying tribute to her lady with lips and tongue, an act of worship as patient and heartfelt as any she offers up to her Maker. Josephine's fingers tangle in her hair and her body tenses and relaxes as she finds each place that makes her hiss with a sharp spike of pleasure or purr softly with a gentler arousal. Her skin, softened by the hot water, is gossamer smooth and sweetly scented beneath Cassandra's questing lips, her fingertips gliding unchecked across those beautifully ample hips to rest against the tops of Josephine's thighs, thumbs stroking delicately against her sex.
Josephine throws her head back as she lifts herself a little so Cassandra can attend to her without the risk of drowning, and for a moment she savours the view across her lover's body, glistening and beaded with water droplets, the sharp lines thrown by the tendons in her neck, the wanton curve of her throat, the dark tendrils of hair that snake down across her shoulders and breasts. She is breath-taking and beautiful and so utterly desirable that Cassandra swallows against a painful lump in her throat. Even now, after months together, her love for Josephine can still blindside her like this, catch her unawares with its intensity, a sudden rush of feeling that leaves her both weak and strong.
But Josephine's needs demand her attention, breaking her out of her introspection as she brushes more fully against Josephine's outer lips, teasing them aside, her fingertips nestling in velvet heat. Josephine sighs in happiness as her fingers slide inside, one, two, clenching delightfully against her, and braces herself against the rim of the bath as Cassandra shifts a little lower to taste her. She is hot and wet and sweet and Josephine, and she is lost, lost in the searing heat of her, the taste of her arousal that coats her tongue, the delicate perfume that surrounds her like the purest essence of everything that is the woman she loves. Josephine cries out as she swirls her tongue against her apex and grazes it with her teeth, shifting restlessly as if she wants to escape from Cassandra's careful onslaught, but she holds her in place with strong hands against her hips, carefully so as not to bruise. Josephine's breathing comes in fast pants and gasps, interspersed with breathless words in Antivan whose meaning Cassandra has no idea of, but from the way Josephine's fingers are white knuckled against the rim of the tub and her chest heaves, she suspects are either complimenting her skills or exhorting her to more. Either way she is content to oblige, first lapping at her quickly, then longer, slower, firmer strokes, then gently sucking and nibbling. She has always found it almost as arousing to give as to receive and the increasing tension in her own body, the rising heat and tautness, like a knot of pleasure rather than pain, drives her on, increasing her pace until Josephine is writhing desperately, poised on the edge of release.
Sometimes making love with Josephine is like falling into a pit so deep she will never be able to escape even if she wanted to, drowning in sensations she had never known she could experience, and oh how it would have driven her mad if she had known, would have made her long years of celibacy all but impossible. Other times it is like flying, a soaring joy that fills every part of her body, a lightness of spirit that she had previously found only in prayer. Today, she flies, oh she flies, and she never wants to come back down, wants to stay in this moment, to stay with Josephine, safe and warm and loved. But no moment lasts forever, the pleasure peaks and Josephine releases a long shuddering cry and melts against her, the quakes and tremors of her orgasm gripping Cassandra's fingers where she still strokes her gently. She tastes her release, taking it as her prize, then relinquishes her hold on Josephine's hips so they can both find a more comfortable position. Still made clumsy by the aftershocks of her orgasm, Josephine collapses against her, sending a wall of water across the tub which promptly submerges Cassandra's head and she blinks and spits out water, looking rather indignantly at her now giggling lover.
"That was a little uncalled for," she grumbles affectionately, her ire soothed as Josephine fondly brushes wet strands of hair from her forehead and now with more control helps them both sit up properly.
"Oh I'm sorry Cassandra," Josephine looks mortified despite her still subsiding laughter. "It's just you… oh…" she dissolves into hilarity again and Cassandra cannot find it in herself to be annoyed, not when Josephine looks so adorable with colour in her cheeks and glee curling up the corners of her eyes.
She traces Josephine's jaw with a thumb, drawing her closer, and kisses her slowly, thoroughly, telling her with actions what she can never quite express with words, and when they part Josephine's eyes are softer, achingly tender. She is grateful for the way Josephine understands her silences, the way she knows the language that Cassandra speaks without words, and thankful that she need never fear that Josephine does not know the depth of her feelings.
"That was lovely," Josephine hums contentedly, trailing her fingertips down Cassandra's spine, "but this water is getting a little cold. Shall we perhaps continue this elsewhere?"
"Mmm, " Cassandra agrees, shivering more from Josephine's touch than the temperature. "What did you have in mind?"
Josephine's answering smile is pure wickedness, and Cassandra feels her heart speed up a little in anticipation. "I had a new rug delivered to sit before the fire – I chose it especially for its thickness and softness. I thought perhaps we could test the weaver's claims?"
Cassandra grasps Josephine's hips firmly and tucks her legs around her own waist, using every bit of her strength to lift them both out of the tub. Josephine shrieks and throws her arms around Cassandra's neck, grabbing towels as she carries her into the sitting room.
"You are a decadent woman, Josephine Montilyet," Cassandra murmurs against her skin, "and I think that is a marvellous idea."
The new rug, as it turns out, is indeed thick and luxurious and absolutely as soft as promised.