Author's Note: I like writing relationship Barnlaw.

The loud banging on the door had Eve jumping in her seat, but despite her initial shock she wasn't in the least surprised. After all, on this most auspicious of Sundays, when all the lovers in all the world were kissing and sitting in fancy restaurants, why should her own relationship be any different? She sighed, looking up from her book to the clock over the mantle, which happily ticked away at half-past four. If only he could have waited an hour later; the story was nearing its climax, and she was loath to put it down.

Still, it was Valentine's Day, and so she marked her place and walked to the front door. She hurried as she neared the foyer, knowing instinctively that if she didn't open the door right away, he'd somehow manage to wait until she was right next to it to start banging on it again. The last thing she needed was a headache before this so-called 'mandatory date' even started. She hadn't even wanted to go anywhere, but he'd insisted that as her boyfriend, it was his job to make sure she felt the love. Just the thought of whatever mushy thing he had planned made her want to roll her eyes.

It's not that she didn't like Barnham. On the contrary—if she didn't like him, she would be with him. But she was shy and reserved; besides, she didn't like everyone knowing her personal business. Dates only made it easier for the wrong pair of eyes to see them and spread gossip across town by Monday morning. What was worse, most people had already decided that they should have married by now, though they'd only been dating for two years.

She sighed inwardly as she unfastened the lock on the door; could you even call it dating? The entire first year was just them hanging out more and more frequently, until one night when he asked her if she was expecting him to kiss her when he walked her home (she hadn't been). Even now, a date was less public displays of affection and more just enjoying each other's company at Rouge's tavern, or on a leisurely stroll in the fields outside of town.

"Hello!" His hand had been poised to start knocking again; she'd timed it just right. "You look nice," he added, looking her over quickly. She turned away with a blush as she held the door open to let him in. She'd been half-expecting him to pull some stunt today, and while she wasn't wearing her best clothes, it was a far cry from the baggy outfit she'd have worn otherwise. Still, he had a way of saying such compliments with such an innocent sincerity that it was hard to stay unaffected. It was rather charming, really; she often wondered if that boyish attitude was what won the hearts of the girls in town. It made her secretly a little glad that he seemed to keep the best, most heartfelt ones for her alone.

"You too," she mumbled, though he wasn't dressed any more formally than herself. She cleared her throat self-consciously, speaking louder as she shut the door behind him, automatically reaching for her coat. "So, where are we going? You hadn't said anything else about it since Tuesday, so I just thought you'd probably take me out to eat or something."

"Nope." He turned and looked at her a moment before grinning. "You said you didn't want to do anything today, so we aren't. It'll just be you, me, and the couch. You haven't thrown today's paper away yet, have you?" he continued as she stared at him disbelievingly, hand still resting on the lapel of her favorite blue peacoat. "I didn't get a chance to wrestle it away from Mrs. Patty before I came here."

"I—no, I haven't," she managed to say, her mind still whirling around the fact that he wasn't going to force her to leave the house after all. She finally managed to let go of her coat, looking down at her hand as if surprised that it had come away from the coatrack empty. "Go ahead into the sitting room and I'll—I'll bring it to you." She swallowed, moving past him and towards the kitchen, where the paper sat next to the remains of her breakfast. She went ahead and tidied up the crumbs and put the plate and empty coffee cup into the sink, unable to believe her luck. To let her do what she wanted and have a quiet evening at home, away from prying eyes and nosy servers… that was the single most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

She gathered up the newspaper back into its proper order, folding it as she carried it into the sitting room. She found him on his unofficial 'side' of her couch, staring out the window at a bird resting on one of the hedge branches. He looked over when she walked in, flashing her one of his trademark dazzling grins. She handed him the paper and sat next to him, trying to pretend that it didn't affect her in the same way that it affected the silly, giggling women in town. She liked to keep the image that he had no sway over her emotions, in order to keep him from getting a big ego. It wouldn't do to let him know that he could have anything he wanted from her if he would just play his cards right.

She had barely picked up her book and opened the page when his arm wound around her waist, fast as a snake. Before she could even think about protesting, he'd managed to drag her over a full cushion and pressed her up against him, his hand leaving her hip and starting to play with her hair as if he had every right. She frowned, but he ignored her sour expression, flipping the newspaper open with a flick of his wrist and beginning to read. Cutting her losses—after all, he had given her what she really wanted on Valentine's Day, it was only right to indulge him a little—she leaned up against him without saying a word, tucking her legs beneath her as she opened her book.

For the next half-hour, all was quiet and comfortable. The only sounds were the rustling of the paper, or the occasional turn of a page. Eve finished her book, but didn't shut it right away. Her hand lingered over the last few paragraphs, holding the page open as she stared down without really seeing the words. It was so peaceful to just sit here with his arm around her, not talking, but instead just being together without any interruptions, or feeling the need to keep a conversation going. I want it to be like this all the time, she thought. Even though it was just as quiet as when she was in the house alone, having him there added something more to the scene. It was cozy, she decided, and she liked the intimacy of it all.

"I have some cookies in the pantry that I baked yesterday," she said, breaking the silence as she drew away from him. Her side felt cold after being curled up next to his warmth, and she realized that the sun was beginning to set. The room was getting chilly. "I'm going to get me some, and light the fire and the lamps. Do you want anything?"

"Mmm…cookies sound nice," he replied, looking up from the sports section long enough to glance out at the darkening sky. "Do you want my help?"

"No, I've got it." She left him on the couch, pausing long enough to put the finished book back on the bookshelf before walking into the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around her as she put the teakettle on the stove, wanting a warm drink. There was nothing like hot tea on a cold day, and the house really did get chilly at night in the winter… maybe I should look into some thicker curtains, she thought absently as she searched around for a tray. She finally found one, rubbing the dust off with her sleeve before putting a plate of cookies in the center of it. The kettle began to whistle and she made the tea, knowing from past experience how much milk and sugar he wanted.

She carried the tray back into the room, putting it on the coffee table before lighting the fire. As it crackled to life, her face warmed and she smiled. There really was nothing like a good fire on a cold day, either. She lit the lamps, bringing one to each end of the couch so that he wouldn't have to strain to read in the growing darkness. He glanced up at her again, smiling gratefully as he sipped his tea before placing it on the end table next to the closest lamp. She returned the smile, sitting down habitually on the other side of the couch again. She mentally tsked herself and made to scoot across the cushions with the intention of curling up against him again, but she found his head in her lap before she could even start to move. He pressed his foot against the arm of the couch, crossing his leg over his knee and turning to the back page of the paper.

She hesitated, unsure of where to place her hands. He'd never—well, no one had ever lain on her lap before. She finally settled with one hand nestled between her stomach and his head, running the fingers of the other though his hair shyly. His smile grew wider, but he still remained silent, his eyes locked on the paper. She felt her heart begin to thump louder in her chest in response, quietly pondering the fact that most men would, by now, be looking for something more amorous than sitting on a couch together.

Perhaps he was too, but he was never as open about it if that was the case; she could never really tell if he was taking his time as a gentleman, or just had a very innocent, easily-pleased mind. As hard as it was for her to believe—having grown up around Ms. Primstone's constant anti-male lectures, as well as hearing stories in town about husbands and lovers and their one-track minds—a part of her understood that he just enjoyed spending time in her presence, the same way she enjoyed being with him.

Her fingers found their way past his hairline and to his forehead; she watched as though they weren't her own fingers, half-entranced at the sight of her pale appendages against his darker skin. They traced over his eyebrows, lingering on his scar before dipping down to his temple and around his ear. His hands fisted in the newspaper, and the crinkling sharpness brought her out of her trance to see his chest heaving, color rising to his cheeks.

"Zacharias…" she whispered, though it was only the two of them in the room. His eyes finally met hers, stormy and filled a longing desire that echoed in her chest. Her own breath quickened as the air became thick between them, refusing to fill her lungs. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for him to kiss her; it was strange, since they hardly kissed outside of general 'hello-goodbye' kisses.

"Eve?" he replied just as softly, newspaper slipping from his hand to the floor. In the back of her mind she knew that, had it been any other moment, she would have scolded him for not putting on the table. Somehow, now she couldn't bring herself to care. It might have been the slow way he moved, as though he might somehow frighten her away as he raised his head, twisting around on the couch and hovering over her. It distracted her enough that she forgot everything, focused only on the thought that he might lean in and give her what she wanted.

His hand left the back of the couch, gently brushing the hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her skin, caressing delicately as though he were afraid he might hurt her. Her eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping as the familiar, calloused touch brought heat to her face and made her heartbeat quicken even more. She turned towards him, instinctively grabbing his hand with her own when he traced an imaginary line from her cheek down to her neck. His fingers curved around hers as she worked to force her eyes back open, gaze intent and steady as he watched her.

His head tilted almost imperceptibly, the unasked question barely wrinkling his brow. She swallowed, a sudden lump in her throat making the motion hard. She looked down at their hands, feeling a strange yearning in her chest. Why was this so hard? He wanted to touch her, and she wanted him to touch her, but when he actually tried, she stopped him before he could ever go farther than her chin. Even though she knew that he would never consider her such, she always felt like a horrible tease that never knew how to give in. Shoulder sagging, she felt the same intense bashfulness that had haunted her entire life rearing its head. It's bad enough that I'm cursed to be an introvert for the rest of my life, now this? It wasn't as though she could wear her confidence-building Inquisitor uniform every time he touched her; it was her hope that eventually she might not be wearing anything at all….

"Eve." She looked back up, the quiet conviction in his voice catching her off-guard. She blinked in surprise at the stern, almost disapproving expression on his face. His eyes searched hers, staring intently at her before they softened. "'Tis a crime to look so glum on Valentine's Day," he said gently. He leaned in, his lips softly brushing her forehead in a rare, spontaneous kiss. "Smile. Please?" She tried, but the corner of her mouth refused to cooperate.

"It's just—" She tried to gather her thoughts and failed, the feeling in her chest magnifying with every attempt.

"What?" Now he looked concerned, brows drawing together as his fingers tightened around hers. "What's the matter?"

"It's only…" She took a deep breath. "I didn't want to go out today, so you stayed here with me instead, even though youwanted to go out. And now—now I still can't give you what you want. I want to, but something just—I don't know," she huffed, frustration welling in her mind as she couldn't find the words she wanted to say. To her astonishment, he started to laugh. "It—It's not funny, Zacharias!" she snapped, cheeks burning with embarrassment instead of desire now. "I can't—I'm being serious!"

"Do you really think I care about that?" he replied, managing to bring his laughter down to a chuckle. "Eve." He shook his head. "Come here." Ignoring her sputtered protests and pushing, he gathered her in his arms as though she were as light and pliant as a feather pillow. He settled against the arm of the couch, her body nestled firmly between his thighs, back to his chest as his arms wrapped around her tightly.

"L-Let me go!" she demanded, but made no effort to escape. It was more a faux declaration of her irritation at being manhandled, though if she had to admit it, she did like this even better than having his arm around her shoulder. His response was to tighten his arms to the point of squeezing, then relaxing as he adjusted them both into a more comfortable position.

"Listen to me," he continued on a more serious note. "Don't worry about giving me what I want. All I want is you, always. As long as you're here, I'm happy, no matter what we're doing." She twisted away long enough to stare him down, mouth in a thin line. He caught the glare and sheepishly grinned. "What?"

"Is that your effort at being romantic?" she grumbled.

"I know—any sweeter and I'd give myself a cavity," he replied, beginning to laugh again.

"You'll make me sick, talking like that. I never liked candy-coating anything, you know that," she continued, finding that teasing was much easier on her brain than trying to process the sincere devotion shining behind his words. She didn't feel like she deserved such loyalty from anyone, especially not him. "Besides, don't act like it's no sacrifice to—"

"But 'tis not!" he protested. "As bad as it sounded, I meant every word." He sounded wounded now, as though his credibility was hurt by her denial. She didn't reply, her head landing against his shoulder as she leaned into him again, looking up at the ceiling. He lapsed back into silence beneath her, his breathing slow as he loosened his hold on her, hands falling to his thighs. She could have gotten up, but the effort was somehow too great and she just lay against him, indulging him again. If it was the only way for her to return his affections, then so be it. Still, the longer they sat together, completely silent, she found herself wishing that she could offer him something a little more.

"Zacharias?" She swallowed, trying hard to keep from gulping. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to remain calm, the way she once did when faced with an entire Court of people staring her down, in awe at the High Inquisitor.

"Hmm?" he answered, seemingly ignorant (or perhaps just tactfully ignoring) her growing anxiety. She bit her lip, wondering if he'd even want to go through with it. Logically, she couldn't see any reason why he shouldn't, but the small voice in the back of her head kept throwing out uncertainties. What if she froze halfway through? What if it didn't work? Would he be angry with her for even suggesting it? You'll never know until you try, the logical side of her head argued back, and she forced herself to say what was on her mind.

"What if… what if I showed you where to touch me, instead of you surprising me…." she trailed off, hesitant. He was quiet behind her, but she'd felt the small hitch in his chest as his breathing changed. He cleared his throat after a moment, relaxing even further into the couch.

"If that's what you want," he agreed softly. She nodded and he nearly went limp against her, offering up no support other than the physical mass of his torso against her back. She reached out and touched his right hand with hers, pressing her palm against his knuckles and feeling how warm his hands were. Most people usually had cold hands, or at the very least cold fingers, but she'd never felt him as cold, even in the freezing weather. Maybe he had a higher body temperature than hers?

Shaking the thought from her head, she placed his hand tentatively on her thigh, just above her knee. Their combined warmth seeped through her pants leg and she quickly matched his other hand with hers on her left leg, making a symmetrical portrait. He was barely breathing now, and she could almost feel the kinetic energy building up in his arms. She just knew that he was itching to move, but for her sake he was still as a statue.

"I do want it," she murmured, slowly pushing his hands up her legs, stopping before reaching her hips. His fingers subconsciously spread out across her thighs, and she let her own dip into the space between them. "But I also want control, still," she admitted. "I don't understand why I'm nervous. I don't even want to be nervous, but—"

"Shh…" She stopped before she began blathering, breathing heavily. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Anything you want," he promised, his whisper warm as it stirred her hair.

"Y-You."

"You have me," he assured her.

"To be in charge."

"You have that, too." Her hands tightened on his.

"Then why do I still feel like this?" He paused again, and then carefully shook her hands off of his.

"Feel," he said, taking her fingers and gently pressing them to his wrist. She felt his pulse racing beneath the skin and jerked back, surprised that she didn't feel his heart trying to beat its way past his ribcage. "I'm nervous too. Everyone is, I think."

"Not this nervous. Most people can stand being touched," she sighed.

"You don't know that," he countered. "Life's not always like your stories. No one really knows what do to the first few times, right?" he asked, almost conversationally. "How could they?" She shook her head, unable to provide an answer. He placed his hands back on her thighs, and after a moment she put hers back on top of his. "All I know is that no matter what it is you want; I'll do it for you."

"Don't talk mush," she grumbled, concentrating on his hands. "I'll send you home." They both knew it was an empty threat; she would never make him leave until it was absolutely necessary that he return to the bakery, lest the two women living there sent out a search party after him. They had so little time together as it was. She leaned into him again, putting his hands on the exposed part of her stomach where her shirt had caught the hem of his jeans.

She couldn't help but smile at the feeling—when she was expecting it, it was actually…nice. The revelation elicited an unknown type of boldness in her, along with his continued promise to be still under her touch. She slowly slid one of his hands beneath her shirt experimentally, stopping only when his thumb brushed the wire of her bra. His breathing hitched again and he managed to be even more motionless than before; she wondered if he could feel her heart fluttering in answer to his lung's apparent inability to work correctly.

"W-Would you mind?" Her voice was so quiet that she was surprised he could even hear her. For a moment she thought he hadn't heard, but then he managed to choke out an answer.

"No." His other hand slid up, slowly enough that she could have easily stopped him. It stopped, parallel with the other hand, her hands still trying to encompass his as she held him flush to her skin. "More?" he asked, and she nodded wordlessly, unable to trust her voice. She felt his hands tremble, but they obediently rose and cupped her breasts in a firm grasp. Her hands fell away, instead gripping his legs as he began to touch her freely.

She let the emotions wash over her, legs growing weak as she pressed into his exploring fingers. It was better than she had expected, able to feel every touch through the thin silken material as he teased her, running his hands over every available inch. His face was buried against her hair, whispering unintelligible things to the back of her neck. She couldn't even tell if he was being coherent or not, but the sound of his voice, as well as the vibrations of his lips resounding against her neck, was comforting.

She felt him growing hard against her backside; it wasn't the first time he'd ever done it around her, but it was the first time her body had responded, a familiar ache throbbing in her lower stomach at the feeling of him trying to subtly press his body against hers. It was what she had needed to feel, had been longing to feel: his passion, longing, emotions that matched hers and incinerated the timid voice in her head, if only for a few moments…. All at once, she found herself pushing him away, twisting around in his lap to press her lips against his desperately. He let out a muffled sound of shock, but his hands cupped her face and he returned the kiss, easily matching her vigor. His tongue swept past her lips, tangling with hers and sending waves of electricity straight down her spine.

"Eve, you have to stop me," he muttered when they broke apart, hands sliding back over her breasts before gripping her hips. She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him tightly to her, straddling him as best she could while they were still cattycornered on the cushions. "Eve," he groaned, unconsciously thrusting against her before trying to push her off. "Please…" She shook her head again.

"I don't want to stop anymore," she whispered in his ear, pressing her cheek to his. "I just… need you." He shuddered beneath her and she tightened her grip, slowly rocking her hips against his. "Would you mind?" she asked again, but this time it was an unspoken plea chasing the words as they left her mouth.

"No. Anything for you."

Afterword: Fluff. Nice. Happy Valentine's Day.