A/N: I consider the first two MiT chapters to be under the theme dark, the third as an interlude, and these final two under the theme light.
Damn, this chapter was a handful. I rarely heavily modify my fics after writing them but this one had to be rewritten, twice. One should never trash their own work but I feel this was first a better lime and a worse drabble, and now it's a bad lime but more in sync with the rest of the chapters. Don't know if that's an improvement or not.
A small orange reference in there to those who spot it. :D
The sheet John twisted in his hands had originally covered the grand piano in the living room.
Cortana's left hand was already grasping one of the pillars of the staircase, as she watched the long sheet morph into a sturdy long rope.
Since their first weeks together, she had learned that he could tie things up, securely. The knots he made could have been that of a fisherman or a huntsman, delicate enough to be suitable for small animals, but strong enough to drag big game from the forest.
And, if needed, secure enough to keep her tied to the staircase inside the echoing walls of the villa.
Cortana let her appreciation towards his craftsmanship became evident on her gaze but never voiced it out loud.
After all, she had only given him a respecting hum after he had shocked her with his ability to play the piano.
For a rough-on-the-edges nomad, John had been surprisingly skilled with the classical instrument.
Despite her own hate towards the instrument — hate that was backed with the memories of obligatory piano lessons in her youth — she had had to play for a few minutes to show that, she too, could play it.
The piano that now stood as abandoned. —And without its cover.
Another sheet — from the kitchen table — had already been secured on the right handrail of the grand staircase, the two strands hanging on her both sides.
Both of their lips already heavily swollen before John settled to tie her against the wooden pillars.
Cortana snorted at his brevity when he guided her with orders as he worked, determined to do it right in the first try and keep her from falling.
She was still grasping the pillars for her life but let her vice grip from his mid-section to loosen once the sheets took part of her weight, leaving her dangling with her lower-stomach slightly below his eye-level.
There was a momentary pause when John stopped to stare at her in the eye. Her heat against his stomach played tricks to his patience and forced him to fight against the will to rush and just fuck her without the set-up.
He was a simple man who valued simple things.
Guessing his train of thought, she raised her left eyebrow as a challenge.
However, she was inwardly pleased when he didn't crumple and moved to tie her arms.
Essentially, he was a tease, she had learned that too.
She could still relate to her piano lesson directed hate in her wait, the same restlessness and unanswered desire to move, to live, making her skin sweat and hand clench around the wood, her breathing already on a shorter cycle than was wise at this point.
Unfortunately, she had become as fine-tuned as the piano.
Once John was finished, both her wrists and arms were tied to the pillars, legs splayed open.
After John's check that she would stay up and earning a confirming nod, Cortana closed her eyes in half-resignation, half-excitement knowing that John went to pick the last piece of the puzzle.
Where he found the willpower with the electricity between them, she didn't know.
As if he had never left, Cortana could soon taste the dusty tinge of a smaller piece of sheet in her mouth. A piece that had previously covered one of the lamps in the living room but now formed a medium-length rope. She bit against the knot, keeping it in place to help him twist the strands around the pillars and bring them back out, covering her vision, before tying them behind her head.
With her head now even more immobile than her legs; unable to see, barely able to make a noise in the back of her throat; there was just a moan hanging between them.
And with the strings finally lined up, John began to orchestrate the show.
His tongue and fingers played her, making her curse and praise the day she had given him the chip. Making her very aware of the days he had spent tuning the piano with seemingly endless patience.
When his touch filled her senses, she couldn't shake away the memory of him playing the said piano.
He looked at her like crazy when she had asked if he was going to dress up for the play, herself still covered by the same sheet that kept her under his whim now. After a raise of an eyebrow, John had disregarded the shirt he had been putting on and walked to the white piano stark naked and began to play Mozart, his fingers hitting each key at the right pace.
Despite her less than coherent thoughts, or maybe purely because of them, her mind bombarded her with the melody.
And with the way John's tongue lapped her lower-lips, Cortana knew he could hear it too, and was more than determined to play it again, key per key.