Jean found him hunched over his desk with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his frustration palpable in the air. As he alternated between rubbing at his temples and eyes, she pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. Dear, dear Lucien. He had been focused on a case that seemed particularly difficult to crack. She lingered at the study door for a moment. When he noticed her standing there, her eyebrows furrowed with concern, he tried giving her a smile. He couldn't fool her.

"Jean," he surrendered with an irritated huff.

"You should come to bed."

"Yes. Yes, I know," he drawled his acceptance. As he straightened his papers, he paused and studied her, emitting an amused, "hmmm.."

She narrowed her eyes at his unidentifiable-yet-familiar sly grin. She couldn't decipher whatever thoughts were spinning in his tired brain. But oh, yes, they were forming that cheeky half smile; the one that was dangerous and did things to her. "What is it?" she asked as evenly as she could.

"Oh, I'm just thinking of the many times you've stood right where you are and said those same words to me. With the exception of one word, that is," he reclined in his chair, finally resigned from his work. He linked his fingers together and extended his hands behind his head, using his palms as a headrest. His eyes darkened when he looked her up and down.

She bit her lip and smiled at the same time as the meaning of his words warmed her. Burning tingles spread from her cheeks to her chest and finished as butterflies, low in her stomach. She left her spot in the doorframe, enjoying his heated gaze on her as she drew closer to him. "Well, you realize it's impossible for me not to notice when you're over working yourself now."

"Darling, you've always noticed that. You've always looked after me," he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, coaxing her down to sit on his knee. Jean hooked a finger under his tie, smoothing it out from under his vest, her hand roaming aimlessly and greedily over his chest.

"Ah, but now I do so as your wife," her proud tone humbled him.

He tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear and whispered, "And she has more effective methods of getting me to go to bed."

"That's right. So I'll say it again," she brought her other hand to the knot of his tie and thumbed at the silk. "Come to bed."

He felt the tips of her hair tickle his cheek as she hovered over him. She pressed her forehead to his. His arms wrapped around her waist, clutching her against him. He hummed against her lips when he felt their warm contact. When she suckled at his upper lip and dragged her hands down across his chest to his stomach, he moaned. And when he trapped her lower lip between his teeth, teasing her captured flesh with his tongue, she moaned louder in reply. She readjusted herself intentionally and almost cruelly, over and over, where she sat against him. He released her from his bite with an outright groan. She exhaled, her pulse quickening, as she sped up the tempo of her hips.

His hands pushed down where her hipbones met the top her thighs, effectively stilling her. She whimpered her protest then retaliated by yanking at his tie and guiding to her neck, demanding kisses. He complied happily, suckling and nipping the skin at her pulse point, with no mind to how he may leave obvious marks there. When he heard her throaty attempt at his name, he soothed her reddening skin with the warmth of his tongue and lapped his way up to her chin. He pressed a brief gentle kiss there before he dragged his lips across her jawline to her ear.

"You know," he murmured. "You're actually making the prospect of leaving my study less appealing."

"Oh? I wouldn't say that," she lowered her voice and shifted backward in his lap before standing at his knees. "In fact," she let her eyes fall to the prominent rise of his trousers before gloating, "I think right now you'll follow me wherever I want. And I," she leaned down to run a finger through his beard, "want you," her palms covered his cheeks, "to come to bed, Lucien," she settled her lips on his for a soft but deep kiss that left no room for negotiation.

He wasn't negotiating anything from the moment he saw her at the doorway. He was also fairly sure she knew that. She knew him better than anyone else. And just like he admitted, she had always looked after him so well; long before she was his wife. God, she really was so good to him. And for him. He looked up to her when their kiss broke. Their hands had intertwined at some point during their kiss.

He gripped her hands, hoping something in his touch conveyed his gratitude. He felt a nervous flutter deep in his stomach when she pouted down at him. Her eyebrow raised when he pulled their joined hands to his lips to lay light kisses across her knuckles. He was hit, once again, by the fear he didn't deserve her. He squeezed her hands.

"Lucien?" she questioned, her tone patient, but her eyes betrayed her. "What is it?"

"I love you, Jean. That's all."

Her eyes softened for a moment and her head tilted slightly to examine him. In a moment more brief than the one in which she'd softened, her eyes glistened and her pull on him intensified. She yanked her arms, still in his grip, and guided him up and along with her.

"I love you, Lucien," she managed. It came out almost indecipherable - slurred and rushed - which only verified for him that she meant it. And of course, he had known all along she did. She chose him. He may never deserve her but for as long as she chose him, he would be the best husband he possibly could. Yes, he would look after her too. And at that moment, he knew a fail-proof plan of how he could do just that.