Hmm... Sorry if it gets to be a little.. too much... But I hope you like it anyway. Please review!
Chapter Eleven: Of Venus, Who Really Should Learn to Mind Her Own Business
Severus whispered the password to the statue of Diane and slipped into West Tower. Sinistra—Celaene, as he supposed he should now be calling her—was not inside. He climbed the ladder up to the top and saw her gazing out at the stars through a small telescope. He smiled to himself and walked up behind her, surprising her with a hug from behind and a quick kiss on her neck.
"Oh! Severus."
"Anything interesting up there tonight, Celaene?"
"Venus," she replied. "She's making a perfect right angle to the Pleiades."
Severus looked up. Indeed, it was directly pointing to one of the dimmer stars… "Which means, unless I am much mistaken…" He trailed off, waiting for her to say it.
"…That it's way past our bedtime," she finished. "Venus is too nosy. Gets into everyone's business."
"Is that a bad thing?" He circled around her so that he stood in front of her. She stared into his black eyes, deep with a heavy desire that almost frightened Celaene.
"Not entirely," she said carefully.
Severus began to climb back down into the tower. She stepped down after him and took his hand, leading him through the different rooms. He sat down on the edge of her bed. The pale lavender cotton was cool under his hand and he pulled her towards him.
The buttons on her robes opened easily. His mind howled at him to stop, reminding him how much he was supposed to hate this woman, but it was overruled by the swelling in his heart and the sweet hunger in his body. Severus admired for a moment the contrast of black against Celaene's skin.
She tugged at his simple white shirt—his black robes being in a pile on the floor—and he sighed at the feeling of her small hands pressed flat against his bare chest.
"Severus, I don't hate you."
"That's encouraging."
"I love you."
Outside that room, a silver cat flicked her tail and blinked, purring. Perhaps she was simply enjoying the warmth of the fire, but, as Celaene would have known—were she in any condition to care about the thoughts of cats—she was truly expressing her satisfaction that her mistress was finally accepting what had been in the stars for longer than her thirty-three years of life—as was evident from the low moans or cries of ecstasy and fervor seeping out through the cracks around the door.
Severus breathed in the scent coming from Celaene's hair—vanilla and cinnamon. Vanilla for love, cinnamon for passion. He wondered if she knew that she had half a love potion in her hair. He didn't need it, anyway.
She rolled over against him, eyes closed.
"Sleep, Celaene," he whispered. "Now's my chance to get rid of that bloody cat of yours…"
"You're a bad liar," she murmured, already halfway into a dream.
He shifted slightly. In truth, he was ready to sleep, too. He let his head fall forward so that his nose touched the place where her hair parted, closed his eyes, and joined her.