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BossLady: Thank you for still loving Daddy Charming :) I had to laugh when I read your comment, though, because I know just how predictable I am. I just love, love gremma babies. It is a common theme among most of my fic. And I am a mean writer, but I have other mean things in store ...


Note: Check for the accompanying picspam on my tumblr.


He watches from the distance as she rides across the meadow, bow pulled taut as she aims to a target on the far side. The sun is high and the field is a yellowed green, bright and open. It had been a chilled morning, misty and grey, but now the sky is a bright azure and the heat is climbing.

He adjusts the chainmail draped across his shoulders. After some consideration, he yanks it off and places it by the nearest tree, along with his gloves and tunic. He feels more himself in the light linen shirt, even if his underclothes for the cold of the early fall morning are too thick.

The young wolf in the canopy of the forest opens his eyes to watch him remove these layers, but does not move his head from its place on the earth. He instead continues to laze in the heat, snorting softly before yawning. The wolf's ease further bolsters his assumption that they chose a spot far enough away from people.

He leans his back against the tree and carefully fiddles with his own bow anyway, at the ready just in case. He has his pistol and a knife at his hip, always prepared. He will take this part of the assignment seriously: he will keep her safe from any harm.

After a long moment, the dark furred wolf pads up to him and then rolls over, pushing against his foot. He chuckles at the sight, a tightness across his chest. He realizes how much he missed this: the open world, the companionship, the feeling. His choice in returning to the palace near a year ago had consequence and danger, of course, but he will always be glad he did. His heart is bolstered to a place he never could have imagined, even more than what he had as a child.

Love does that, he supposes. It has painted his world in a color he never had the capacity to see before her.

He pets his wolf on the scruff gently and offers a dried bit of meat from his pack, and the animal takes it happily.

A thundering of hooves approaches and he glances up in time to see his princess approaching atop her horse. He lets a small smile filter across his face.

She is lovely. Her blonde hair is unbound, floating behind her like a wave of gold. Her long, gauzy skirt is tangled along her legs and streaming behind her. A loose cotton shirt is fitted on top to protect her smooth skin from the thick leather bands that hold her quiver and bow. Her smile is stretched wide as she turns her face to the sunlight, and she moves evenly with the beast as they come closer.

"You seem excited," he comments.

She grins broadly at the horse trots to a stop, and then leans to hug the creature's neck. "I feel so safe out here," she says warmly. "So peaceful."

"Peaceful is not the word I'd choose for your expression, Your Highness," he teases.

She smiles with a slight cock of her head. "Free, then. I feel free and safe and it all seems so easy."

He feels the same echo in his heart. He stands to pet the horse's nose, marveling at the animal's ease with both him and the predator idling in the shade. He squints up at her. "You are progressing," he states simply.

She looks hopeful, then timidly ducks her head. "I hit five of my targets while on horseback. I could be better."

"You are used to stationary. It is not an easy feat, but you are quite good at adapting, Emma."

She grins. "Indeed I am learning to be. Now, help me down. It is too hot, and I feel a break is earned."

He perhaps lingers a moment longer in assisting her as she descends. He is now so used to the spark at their touch, but at the same time it ignites him in a way he thought he'd never feel. Times like these he can't help but revel in it.

She grins at him and edges her chin up to nuzzle into him. "I love that look in your eye."

He cocks his head to the side. "What look is that?"

She hums as she considers, turning back to the horse and tying him to the tree. She wipes her hands over the shirt. "Happiness?" she says, though it is a question.

He smiles at her gently. "Never doubt that I am happy in your presence, my princess."

She flushes as she grins, eyes bright. "Good. It would be unfair for me to be the only one happy when we are together," she says.

He tugs her close and kisses her chastely.

She hums, then yanks his sword from his belt. "You should see my form with this. I am most comfortable with the blade in hand," she says, and swishes it to cut through the air with clean, broad strokes.

He watches her in keen interest, the skill that belies what little training her parents allowed for the swordplay. They much prefer her have some distance between an attacker and herself, thus the weight of revolver and bow over what comes most naturally for her. She is lovely in her forms, though, with the pride and confidence she has with it. "You outperform me, for certain," he notes. Swords are not often used in hunting, and he found little care for learning when he was younger. "Perhaps you can help me with this."

She hands it back and dabs at her forehead. "Later, perhaps. It is too hot for all these layers," she says with a pout, then leans down to unlace her thick boots. In bare feet, she tip toes across the grass to the wolf by the trees. "Hello there, friend," she greets simply as she sits beside him, shrugging out of the sling of arrows and the protective top. Her corset is covered in intricate violet embroidery, contrasting the white of the background and her dress.

"If you wish, we can go back to the camp to get some cold water," he suggests. He has set up the tent and most of their supplies by the river's edge.

She considers a moment. "Yes, that sounds nice." She looks at the wolf with a small smile. "You will watch our things?"

The wolf huffs lazily and then whines before rolling to expose his belly, tongue lolling out. He can't help the width of his smile as he listens to her giggle. "You have a way with him."

She looks up slyly. "He knows I love his alpha," she declares and holds up a hand for assistance.

He lifts her up and brings her close into his space. "I think more he knows that his alpha loves you," he whispers against her lips.

She leans in but then abruptly pulls back, tugging him in the direction of the river with a coy smile.

He nearly growls, good-humoredly, possessively, and darts after her. She is light on her feet, dashing through richly dark grass speckled through with fragrant flowers. She looks like a nymph whenever the sunlight peeks through the canopy of trees, catching her golden head snapping back to check his pace just behind her. His pace is measured, slowed but with an air of chase still. He cannot help loving this spirited side of her just as much as the serious.

When she slows at the edge of the river, her skin is rosy pink and her hair is tangled. She turns quickly, grabs his hands, and yanks him as she falls into the tall grass, spreading her arms and legs to take in the sun. When he mirrors her, she grins and rolls to him, cuddling into his side. "Perfect," she sighs pleasantly.

"I should agree," he answers, feeling the same sort of bright excitement he can see in her. He plucks a bit of lavender and rolls to hover over her, touching the petals to her skin, down the line of her jaw and the across the apple of her cheek, before he weaves it into her hair. His heart flutters as their eyes catch, and he smiles gently down at her.

She takes her hand up, softly brushing her fingers through the curls behind his ear. He relishes the small pleasure and nudges his head into the crook of her neck. She inhales deeply and cranes her face up toward the sun as she keeps him in a loose hold. "These are the days to be cherished," she murmurs.

He turns his face up, and locks their hands together over his heart. "We will only have these chances a few more days until the weather truly turns."

She nods. "The rains will begin in earnest soon."

He examines the sky. "The rains will begin today," he argues.

She frowns and studies the clouds gathering at the edge of the hill. "It is too lovely a day for rain. Too warm for it to be bad."

"Trust the man that grew up in these woods," he chuckles out.

She rolls her eyes playfully and kisses his cheek, lashes flitting as she smiles. She then rises, stretching her hands wide over her head. She pats out to the riverbank, sinking her toes into the mud. She leans down and rests her wrists in the water.

"You will be a mess when I need to return you to your lady's maids," he jokingly admonishes.

She nods and grabs the locks of her hair at the nape of her neck. "I said I may swim. They should expect it."

"You have a plan, my princess, for everything it seems." He joins her at the bank and dips to fill his waterskin before offering it out. He smiles at her when she takes it.

She takes a sip and peers at him over the edge of the container, her eyes sparkling in something like mischief but a touch more mysterious. "I always do."

A sudden rush of heat gathers within him, and he turns quickly to look over the land, rubbing the back of his neck as he does so. He changes the subject quickly. "We are near the place I learned to read and write."

"Indeed?" she asks, intrigued. She bends upward, eyes scanning the field as she takes another drink.

He nods and points to the remains of a house's foundation. "Just there. The old man used to have me practice near his hearth, first about weapons, then about history."

She hooks her arm in his and searches the rubble from afar. "He was a good man," she deems.

He nods and looks down at her as she rests her head on his shoulder. He has told her of Fionn times before, and she always seems so appreciative of the man long since passed on. "Just there—the barn still stands. At least, a good lot of it."

She turns and takes in the dilapidated building. "Not much left now," she murmurs.

"More than I'd expect," he argues.

"He did well by you," she says, rubbing his arm. "He and the wolves made you the man you are now, and I should forever be grateful for them."

He squeezes her hand at the crook of his elbow and glances down at her. "These pleasant memories are not the only things that formed me," he reminds.

"I know," she replies, but relaxes against him. "But those other things I cannot claim to be grateful for."

He sighs, but chooses to shrug off the unpleasantness. He tucks a strand of hair over her ear instead. "I love your hair unbound like this."

She tilts her head. "A mess?" she asks, amused.

He grins and considers. "Perhaps, yes," he decides. "It feels … intimate. Personal."

She turns, kisses his bicep. She nudges her nose into him and then looks up through lashes. "I love yours this length. A little unruly, curls easily mussed." She tilts her chin higher. "You are right. It feels intimate. Especially as this, with layers shed against the heat. Like we are the only ones that can see each other like this. Imperfect and no pretense. How I imagine it might …."

He feels the depth of her words, the implication. He cups her face, tracing her cheekbone gently. "I could look at you like this forever," he whispers, a wish more than a hope.

She surges up, connecting their lips languidly. Her arms cross around his neck so their bodies collide, and her kiss takes a new shape. He drinks her in, the taste of sunshine on her. The smell of her skin seems warm and green, and she feels like everything he loves wrapped into one person. The kiss is different, hungrier, as she opens her mouth, tangling her tongue with his.

It is a testament to her distraction that he doesn't realize the change in weather until the bead of rain catches onto his shoulder, followed quickly by several others. He breaks the kiss and turns to the sky. "Ah, it has arrived."

She looks dazed and happy, her finger tracing her lips.

He grabs her hand and tugs. "The tent."

She nods quickly. She follows him to the set up across the bank, closer to the ruins of Fionn's home, as the rains come harder. By the time she slips inside, her hair is plastered to her face, dress a little muddy and very wet. "That came very quickly," she comments as she wrings her hair out.

"I told you it may," he reminds, raking a hand through his own hair.

She giggles and wraps her arms around his shoulders again. She pulls him down, connecting their foreheads before sealing their lips. She hums. "It is not so bad, as I said it wouldn't be. It's a warm rain. Quite pleasant, in fact. We could play in it, like children."

"And I have been told to keep you safe. I believe keeping you from illness is included," he replies with a quirked brow.

She frowns but then tugs at her stays. "I suppose staying in all these layers only serve to chill me rather than its intended use as such," she mutters.

He nods and looks her over. "You are soaked. Emma, the furs. And your lady's maid sent you with another dress." He believes the pack Constance provided has a change of clothing in the event her lady did choose to swim. "I will let you dry and get changed. I'll go to the barn to do the same." He is aware that he has no extra clothing and that running to the barely standing covering won't do much to help his current state, but he cannot intrude on her like this either.

She looks like she wants to protest at first, but finally nods. "Okay. You will need to loosen the ties, first."

She turns and pulls her hair forward, leaving the bindings of her corset visible. He hesitates, but traces the laces as if they were violin string. He unknots the tie at the bottom and then pulls to loosen its grip. She holds her arms to her chest, not letting the stays fall, but it still seems inappropriate.

"I must leave you," he says, his tongue suddenly heavy.

She grips his arm as he turns to leave. "You are sure?"

He turns back to her, taking in her wet and vulnerable form. He takes a breath and nods. "I will be fine, Emma."

She presses her lips together and then leans up to kiss him, teeth scraping gently across his lip. It calls to something in his blood, and he finds himself questioning every bit of reasoning. "It should be quick, yes?" she asks, her voice in a low pitch.

He nods and brushes the hair from her face delicately. "These storms never last. And as you said, it is still quite warm." He hovers over her, eyes flicking over her face and wanting nothing more than to stay in her presence. Finally he takes her hands and pulls them from his shoulders. "Think about what you wish to do when it is over, and I will gladly abide."

She tilts her head and considers him, hands tight in his. Something in her expression makes him pause until she presses her lips together and releases him, letting him go. "That I should hold you to," she murmurs.

He turns once more, and plainly on her face is an unnamed expression. He feels a second of anticipation before he remembers himself and steps outside.

When he reaches the barn, it is in worse shape than he expected. Beams are exposed, cement caving from the center. The ceiling drips, barely creating any shelter from the weather. He removes his belt, gun and dagger clattering to the straw covered ground. He strips his shirt and trousers, leaving him in his underclothes. He decides to wait for reprieve, let the worst of the water drip from his clothing before donning them again, without the underclothing. It will separate him from her for a longer time, and that is something that makes him ache, but it is the best he can manage. He leans his bow on the wall and sighs.

Perhaps he did not fully plan this outing out well enough.

The rains have begun to patter instead of roar, and he knows it will only take a moment for them to cease completely. He unbuttons the length of the long underwear from collar to navel, and shakes his head to clear some of the wetness. They should have some privacy, at least. The wolves' den is a mere stone's throw away, and they will alert to any activity other than their own.

He reaches a hand outside the building. Like children, she said. Her eyes and her tone say something else entirely, though now he can recall what it was like as a child. He remembers how he used to enjoy this sort of warm rainfall that comes in autumn. His brothers would coax him out at times such as these, the weather a minor insulation from predator and prey alike so they might have a chance to play.

He shakes his head slowly, wondering at his ability to remember with such fondness. It was only mere months ago he thought himself incapable of this ever again. He rubs the area over his heart and lets himself appreciate what he has received.

He doesn't linger in the memory, however. Movement catches the corner of his vision, and he turns his head back towards the opening of the tent.

Emma is just outside the shelter on a spread-out sheet in only her underdress. Stays and layers are gone, just the thin material covering her. The skirt is kicked up around her thighs, exposing an expanse of creamy skin. Wildflowers shadow across her, calling a pattern that makes his eye creep upward. Her head is dipped back, eyes closed as she relishes in the soft rainfall. Her dress is like second skin in the damp, almost sheer, only serving to outline her body.

He swallows thickly, and his body warms and reacts. He cannot look away, though the learned propriety is screaming at him to do so. Her lips are red, and while she doesn't glance his way he can tell in her expression that she knows he is watching. He wants to cross to her, wants to pluck her from her spot and press her close.

Some part of him is curious at his own response. He has come across beautiful people all his life; he doesn't remember ever feeling this way. He had been forced to react sexually; has it ever happened on his own will?

If it has had this feeling sometime in his life, he cannot recall. And if he has, it pales to what he feels now.

She opens her eyes and levels them on him with a small, knowing smile on her face. She looks hazy in the mist now, the rain following an unpredictable pattern. He watches as her eyes trace his body like his did hers, and she finally stands at her place on the blanket. Waits.

After a long moment, he dumbly emerges from the shade of the barn, into the field. It almost feels like a dream when he meets the edge of the blanket, as he is enraptured in her stare.

He has loved her for months now, but there has always been an undercurrent of innocence to it, the weight of the treason preventing it from transforming. But innocence is nowhere to be found at present, no reason for it to be seen in her eyes.

She plants her feet once he stands toe to toe with her. She reaches forward, hands sure but eyes hesitant, before carefully settling at his shoulders. She turns those big eyes up to him, face so close he can feel the soft puffs of breath against his lips and he wants so much to taste her. He has kissed her many times before. He knows exactly how their lips can collide. He hasn't been timid in kissing her since the very beginning, but this feels so different than any time before. He isn't sure enough of himself to bridge the distance with her white underdress pressed so clingingly against her skin.

Her gaze falls down the open neck of his underclothes, slow and definite. She makes fists of her hands against his collar, then tugs downward. He shudders as the wet cloth peels from his upper body, easily disconnecting before it bunches at his waist. Goosebumps spread across his skin and his breathing hitches and comes quicker. He watches her as she pauses and then grips the gathered fabric.

Her eyes flick up to his once more. He can see the nerves in her soft sea-colored eyes, the question. He does not know if he has an answer to give, still so blown away by the alien feel of lust coursing through his veins.

She presses her lips together and then pulls, kneeling before him as she divests him of the clothing. He can't help how he trembles at the sight, a violent tremor of need. She stands and walks backwards a couple paces, the weight of her gaze on him.

He swallows thickly, frozen. He hasn't been naked in front of anyone since her, and he gulps back the memories that threaten at the back of his mind. Emma's quiet taking in of him is certainly enough to drown those thoughts. Her pupils are dark, wide across her irises, chest heaving once before evening into a steady pattern. Her skin flushes, but she only maps him rather than focuses. He watches as she lingers over muscle and scars, as she cocks her head to the side to better see the raised line that crosses from rib to back. She reaches forward, but her hand only hovers over his skin, warm aura tracing his body.

She does not linger on any one part, but instead takes him all in, slowly, methodically. She keeps catching his eye, watching his reaction, seeking permissions before moving on. He watches that love and lust collide in her expression and fear is the last thing he responds with. She does not say a word through it all.

He can't help himself when she makes her way back over tracked territory, pressing against her hand so she is actually touching the corded muscle at his hip. Her eyes snap to him, and she gives a beautiful smile before using her nimble fingers to explore his stomach and up his chest, gliding through the drops of rain to paint over his skin.

He closes his eyes, getting used to the feel of her touch, letting her discover at her own pace. After a long moment, she takes a breath before she skims further down, feather-light across the hardening part of him. He leans forward, touching her forehead with his own as she takes her time to familiarize herself with him.

"Look at me," she demands in a whisper.

He parts his lashes, nose to nose with her. She is searching for something in his eyes and finally her expression lightens as she finds what she is looking for. She removes her hands and he almost whimpers at the loss before he finds them in his. She laces and unlaces their fingers, palm warm against his own. Finally, she leads him to the straps of her gown.

He takes a step back, takes a deep breath in. The dress is soaked through, only a few folds and creases keeping her modesty. She is all nerves despite her boldness, body shaking almost imperceptibly.

"Emma," he says softly.

She looks up, scanning his face again. She nods once, firmly.

He loops his fingers under the straps but watches her for the right moment. After a beat, he traces her skin as he pulls the gauzy material down. It pools at her feet, leaving her bare to him. Her head dips back and there is no further trace of shyness or uncertainty. Rainwater sluices across her collarbone and his eyes follow the path down over the rest of her smooth skin. He traces her form with his eyes like she did his, memorizing every curve, every dip, every freckle.

She is breathtaking in every way he can think of and several he cannot.

In a mirror of before, she takes his hands to encourage him to touch her, and he almost engulfs her waist in a steady grip. His thumbs swirl over her ribs, watching her body react even in the small ways. After a moment, he leaves the purchase of her hips and explores more readily. She lets him take his time, though he can tell certain touches test her patience. Her eyes roll back and a soft sound escapes her; it is all he can do not to take her right then.

It is so unfamiliar. He didn't think he would be capable of this kind of wanting, and now he cannot stop himself from coaxing the sound from her again.

"Please?" she utters, mouth parted and eyelids half closed.

He leans down, tasting the rainwater on her shoulder, fire licking his veins as he fights against the nature that wants to mark her. He presses against the arch of her back, pushing until there is no space between them. He nudges her chin once, twice before finally taking her lips hungrily, urging her closer all the while.

The rain passes while they come together, and he is still amazed after.

She has tucked herself into his side, breathing deep and rapid as she calms. Her leg is still thrown over his hip and he is shaking in disbelief. He lets out a laugh that sounds strange to his own ears, still so surprised.

There is no fear. No bad feelings, no anger, no shame, no regret. None of those emotions that used to come all those years ago. Treason wasn't the only reason he had kept things innocent for them, after all. Now that it is moot, he can't feel anything but happiness.

She is tracing his collarbone with delicate fingers, the action absent and thoughtful. She turns her face to him, her brow wrinkled faintly. "Everything is … was … all right?" she ask timidly.

He can't fight against the smile that crosses his face. "I don't know that I should be allowed to experience anything as perfect as you. I love you, Emma."

She bites her lip, blush staining her cheeks prettily. "Indeed?"

He cups her face and rolls over her, watching her face all the while. She barely winces and he freezes, smile slipping off his face. Stupid. He is being stupid. "Are you okay?"

She shakes her head. "I am fine, my love. This was just an experience new to my body."

"I should be more careful," he murmurs, wondering at how he could forget, even in a moment, how this affects her.

"I think you should be more bold," she disagrees, and wraps her arms around his neck. "We could have started months ago and this feeling would be long passed."

He chuckles at her teasing, then returns to seriousness. "You are not concerned? In pain?"

She shakes her head. "I have been dreaming of this for a while, now. It is more than I could have imagined," she says. She plays with the curls at the nape of his neck, eyes alight. "And perhaps a bit sore, but I think … do you feel it?"

He waits a moment, and does perhaps feel something humming within her. "Your magic?" he guesses, trying not to show any of his latent fear of it.

She nods. "I think it is helping, though I do not know how to direct it."

He swallows. "You should not attempt to do so."

She hesitates and her fingers tighten in his hair. "I will not," she decides. "I have never had luck to try, anyway."

He lets out a low breath, relaxing in a way he didn't know he needed to. "Then I did hurt you," he deduces, and pulls back.

She tightens her grip. "You did not hurt me. You made love to me for the first time," she argues. She smiles slyly. "And you let yourself go with me. Any touch of soreness is worth that."

He searches her for the truth of it and finally brushes her nose with his. "You are sure of that?"

She tilts her chin and presses her lips to his, smiling all the while. "If it means I get to experience that pleasure again, I will gladly take on the mild irritation of sore muscles after."

He growls and kisses her deeply, emboldened by the fact that she found enjoyment as well. She laughs throatily, and pulls back to scatter kisses all across his face.

She is grinning, and places his face between her palms. "You are even more handsome to me now, I think," she comments.

"Emma," he whispers, catching her lips languidly. He shakes from the force of loving her, the devotion. "You are stunning in every aspect."

She hums, delight in her eyes. "I think … I think it is time we found a name for you," she says cautiously, then lightly scratches across his shoulders. "Why must you get to be so informal and I cannot?"

"I will take whatever name you wish to grant me, my love," he agrees easily. He has never had any want for names, but if she would choose one for him it would be no nuisance.

She nervously plays chords across his shoulders, before looking up at him. "Perhaps … Graham?"

He cocks his head to the side. "You have that at the ready," he comments.

She gives a sheepish smile. "I found it long ago, and found it suits you well. For me, at least. If you would agree?"

He smiles. "My princess, I have told you I would agree to anything. But let me ask: what makes this your choice?"

She carefully pieces through his hair, separating strands and tucking them back, the motion soothing. She stares into his eyes, the blue-green of them eager and joyous, just as he likes. "It means 'home.' You, my huntsman. My home."

He shouldn't agree. He shouldn't play into the fantasy that they have a future. He should remind her that they just committed treason and that he cannot be her true home. But he will be her shelter, her protection, her safe place. He can be that for her and, more than that, he wants to be that for her. "Okay," he says quietly. "Graham it is, for you."

She sighs happily. "If only you were always so agreeable."

"I can be agreeable," he counters. He places a kiss between her breasts and then flicks his eyes to hers. "Let me show you."

She nods readily and opens her arms to him again.

He can show her what he wants, even if it is just for now.