FIVE

Rory observed Jess with appreciation and a subtle smile and came to a decision.

Jess wasn't usually one for poetry. However, he had a grudging appreciation for it, in general, and a lifelong fascination with certain poems in particular. And though he often grumbled over the existence of the genre, being open to a literary discussion was in his nature. He had actually been quite receptive to any poems that Rory had brought to his attention.

The two of them, in fact, had not been remiss in spending several lazy afternoons in bed pouring through the pages of some of Rory's favourites. It was not always clear where the discussions ended and the seduction began, or when the sheets of her books would cease turning so that twisting of bedsheets would begin.

Today, Rory hoped Jess would remember the afternoon they'd dissected a certain poem by Andrew Marvell. Though in its entirety, that particular poem didn't quite suit the scene she and Jess were setting today, there was a particular passage within it that, when taken out of context, would do quite nicely.

She stepped up behind the chair and leaned in. "Today I'd like to give you the chance to speak. What would you say to your Coy Mistress?" she whispered close to his ear, and waited with bated breath to see how he would respond.

Jess growled a second's laugh, as though not quite believing this turn of events. The possibility that he didn't understand her request was unlikely to her.

As she walked, Rory ran the feather from his right shoulder, around his upper back to his chest. Standing before him now, she raised her eyebrows. "Well? How would you love your Coy Mistress?"

Jess cleared his throat and then spoke. "An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes..." he stressed warmly. "And on thy forehead gaze."

Rory tried to keep her smile smug. The scene required her to be the powerful master, used to praise and adoration from her loyal servant. In reality she was just Rory and Rory felt a little bit giddy. She should never doubt the power of his memory.

As Jess spoke the next line, "Two hundred to adore each breast," Rory drew her fingers across her own chest, pulling the robe aside, and enjoyed the way Jess's speech faltered, his eyes following their lazy path. A slow breath overcame him. In gritting his teeth, his jaw twitched. With the feather she drew a line down her own torso and along the inside of her thigh, prolonging his held breath. Adding to her delight, he punctuated the next line with the raise of one beautiful eyebrow. "But thirty thousand to the rest. An... age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart."

His gaze returned, humbly, just below hers as his breath came ragged. "...For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate." Jess set the scene perfectly.

"Hmm," Rory murmured. She kept a straight face until turning away briefly to bite her lip in anticipation.

"I assure you," she spoke finally. "I am most certainly worthy of such undying reverence."

She went to the small treasure box she'd set upon the table and unlatched it. From it, she palmed a small vial. "Perhaps you do please me," she murmured. "I will keep you by my side, as my loyal possession, and grant you many, many years to show your adoration. And as you prove your devotion, you will..." she paused to look at him pointedly. "...Undoubtedly know my heart."

AN: Please review. It would mean a lot to me to know what you think of this story.