I disclaim.
Marcus had spent another night camped outside his human's bedroom door. This time he could sense Demetri outside, vigilantly guarding from the front porch where Marcus had left him once the frail members of the odd group they made finished imbibing and went to sleep. He had heard the snoring of the boy and briefly opened the door to check on Lucy, as she was much quieter, and he worried. She was passed out in a way that he thought uncomfortable, so he had tucked her gently under the covers and quickly went down to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He thought she would want it when she woke.
The rest of the night had been a game of patience; the morning had been an altogether more appealing game in his opinion.
But when she put her mouth in his hand and kissed him, feather soft, and he felt the tentative brush of her warm, wet, soft tongue, he thought for an instant that he might press her down into the mattress where she sat.
Thankfully, after another flutter of air at his wrist, and a little noise that sounded as desperate as he felt, she looked up at him. What she saw must have jolted her straight out of the dreamy state she had been in, because she blinked rapidly and lifted her hand away from his in a gesture that reminded him of when Aro was calming one of Jane's tantrums.
He groaned and leaned back to sit in the floor, head in his hands. After a few awkward moments where he tried to put together the reasons why he should not get off the floor and seduce her into thoughtless want, he heard Luce clear her throat a little awkwardly.
"Well," she said a little uncertainly, "Maybe we should go get coffee."
Then she panicked as if she had said something embarrassing, but Marcus could not understand what. He peeked between his fingers to see her blush.
"Me. I mean. I should go downstairs to get coffee because it's early and I drink that stuff. Right." she pursed her lips and he brought his hands down entirely to look at her expression.
She felt awkward again, he was sure of it. Unfortunately, he had no idea why; and furthermore, he was certain it would be a while before they had any sort of conversation that was comfortable. Unless he simply drove her mad with lust, beyond words, which was still entirely too tempting an option. Perhaps if he told himself repeatedly what a bad idea it was, they could take time to form a stronger platonic bond. Before he went mad with want himself. He felt several thousand years younger in the moment.
But it would not be a good idea. Certainly not. He glanced back up to her face to watch her bite her lip nervously. Shutting his eyes tightly for a few tense eternities, he heaved a gusty sigh, glad to note that the burn in his throat could be relegated to a distant ache. But there were other aches he was going to have to learn to manage.
"Luce," he said, looking back at her face from his place on the floor, "You might be the death of me."
She snorted and replied in a blatantly sardonic manner, "Kinda the other way around Marcus."
Pain ripped through him at her callousness.
He snarled in fury and found himself standing above her. She looked terribly startled, and leaned back away from him, her heart suddenly beating a great deal more swiftly. He blinked, took a moment to calm his anger, then turned to sit beside her, hoping that it would be less threatening.
Surprisingly, she spoke first.
"I take it you didn't think that was very funny."
"No." he would have said more, but he needed a little more time. The thought of her dead caused another ancient ache to pierce his dead heart. It was a pain he had experienced once, and it rushed through him again at the image in his mind of her broken corpse, belly split by an emerging half-ling. He felt the venom in his eyes burn and closed his eyes against the pressure of almost tears again.
"How was it easier to do this in Italy?" she asked and he looked down and to the left to catch her expression. She was frustrated, and the emotion echoed through both sides of the bond. He was frustrated too.
"I mean, was there some adrenaline thing that went away and now instead of being together, I'm a nervous wreck?"
He sighed again. He had been sighing often.
"You are not the only one at a loss," he admitted quietly, "I have been so empty for so long that all of the things I refused to feel before are filling that empty space more rapidly than I can manage them. Forgive me for frightening you, Luce."
He raised an eyebrow and smiled at her, a manipulation, he was aware, but he had not spent millenia with Aro for nothing. He would use any advantage he could. After a few seconds of that lovely dazed expression that agreed with him so well, she scrunched her crooked nose up and swatted his arm where it lay inches from hers. He was a little stunned by the casually affectionate gesture. He schooled his features as best he could so that she would not realize it.
"Quit doing that," she said, annoyed, "You're using you monster charms to get your way with me, and don't think I don't see it. And you don't get to be angry with me for making a morbid joke about my death directly after you did the exact same thing."
He looked away from her to hide the grin of victory. It was a small victory, but she had just admitted that his words had bothered her. If he looked at her now, he was sure that she would realize how congenially she had been treating him, so he studied her room as he answered her.
"You are right, little Luce," he replied in a level tone, "I will try to be as fair as I can while we..." he couldn't help turning back to her then, "Learn about one another."
Fire burned in his throat to accompany the bright flush that blossomed on her face and neck.
"W-well," she sputtered, "that's a bold-faced lie! You'll be cheating as much as possible to get your way. Don't even try to get that past me."
He threw his head back to laugh. She was right.
Me? The death of him? What a joke. "Kinda the other way around Marcus," I snarked back.
Then, too rapidly for me to process in my hungover state, or maybe just my human state, he was towering above me glaring furiously and letting out a very loud, very animalistic, and otherwise very not human noise.
Holy fuck. Another moment and he was calm, blinking down at me like I was the one who had done something out of the ordinary. Then he was sitting just to the right of me, again, too fast to catch the motion, and my stomach flipped unpleasantly. He was not good for the hangover. I needed coffee. Only I really didn't want to bring it up again because I had definitely accidentally asked him out the last time I mentioned it. Time to say something distractingly intelligent.
"I take it you didn't think that was very funny." Good God. Lucy, you're an idiot.
"No." he said simply, and I realized that he looked like he was about to cry. How did I get myself into these situations? Did I have some sort of sadistic super power and nobody told me? I had even less chance of effectively comforting my monster than I did of comforting my Rick. I'd ended up drinking the kid under the table last night in the attempt. And why couldn't I find that easy, slightly antagonistic sort of friendly banter we'd had going on before we got home?
"How was it easier to do this in Italy? I mean, was there some adrenaline thing that went away and now instead of being together, I'm a nervous wreck?"
He sighed. Yeah. I got that.
"You are not the only one at a loss," he whispered, so softly that I barely caught the words and had to watch his mouth (terrible sacrifice, that), "I have been so empty for so long that all of the things I refused to feel before are filling that empty space more rapidly than I can manage them."
I thought I could understand where he was coming from. Maybe he had been enduring some sort of long-term, vampire shock, and the numbness was wearing away finally. That was definitely something I could understand.
"Forgive me for frightening you, Luce." he continued, a bit louder. It wasn't really a request, and he did that thing where he raised an eyebrow and smiled and my poor, human brains went all mushy.
He was so very, very pretty.
His eyes were bright and teasing, the schizo, and his white skin was transformed by the expressive lines at his mouth and eyes. I could stare at that face forever. I even thought the buzz of his sweet monster smell combined with the mega-watt mind-whammy smile might be helping the hangover at this point. Like hair of the dog.
Wait.
He was doing that on purpose, wasn't he? Clever ass.
I reached a hand over to the side to smack him on the arm. It kind of hurt, dammit. But he seemed not to notice, unsurprisingly, as he turned that smile down into a simply smug face. Jerk. At least I could think of words now.
"Quit doing that. You're using you monster charms to get your way with me, and don't think I don't see it."
That hadn't been all that I had wanted to say, was it? Right. He was being a complete ass by exploding when I snarked back at him earlier, "And you don't get to be angry with me for making a morbid joke about my death directly after you did the exact same thing."
He turned away before answering.
"You are right, little Luce," he said. I was getting tired of the condescending pet names, "I will try to be as fair as I can while we...learn about one another."
He had looked back at down his perfect nose at me before he finished his last sentence, and there was no way I could have missed the innuendo with that smirk. My face felt hot. Use your words Lucy.
"W-well, that's a bold-faced lie!" Obviously. He was being unfair even as he said otherwise, "You'll be cheating as much as possible to get your way. Don't even try to get that past me."
I narrowed her eyes at him, only to immediately feel them pop open wide as he laughed uproariously. And if that wasn't something beautiful to witness too.
This time I was the one who had to sigh. I was feeling better, more or less, but still needed to drink some coffee. And probably water. Looking across the bed, I saw my upstairs chair on the other side, where I must have crawled in last night.
"I really should get downstairs," I started, not wanting to ask for help, but biting the bullet, "Would you mind bringing me my wheelchair?"
His expression sobered, and he gave a counter offer.
"May I instead carry you down stairs to the motorized chair? You left it in the entrance hall."
I considered that for a bit. He was being very polite about it, despite the fact that he could simply pick me up and do as he pleased. And it would be easier than going to the chair, then the lift, then the other chair. His face was frozen as I thought it out. A little sad, a little affectionate, and completely patient. Ugh. He'd better not make me sick by going too fast.
"Promise me a slow, smooth journey and you can carry me to my downstairs chair," I said finally, and he granted me another of those smiles that transformed his whole face. Lovely. I preemptively reached my right arm across his shoulders and he gently slipped his arms around my back and under my knees, pulling my injured thigh snugly against his cold chest. Despite the layers of cloth and cast, the cold of his torso bled through to soothe my leg. His left arm chilled the soreness and swelling of my ribs, just shy of too tight around me for comfort. It was kind of perfect. Especially with that pain numbing smell that wafted off of the exposed skin of his throat.
I stopped myself just barely before I stretched my own neck to taste that bit of him. Jesus. What had happened to my self control? I was literally just bragging about it.
Just a taste though? That wouldn't hurt anything, right?
After slowly standing, he glanced down at me, then the direction we were going, then did a blurring double-take and I swear, his eyes glowed. I could imagine the look on my face might have inspired that.
"Oh," I whispered. He chuckled a little breathlessly, then seemingly without effort pulled me higher against him so that he could touch his forehead to mine.
"Oh, indeed little Luce," his voice echoed in a lower octave, heavy with all sorts of promises. I could feel the vibrations of it everywhere. Distract. Distract.
"My name is Lucy. Quit calling me by the Italian version, or whatever pet name that is." He didn't answer for a moment, instead gliding the tip of his nose across my cheek and into my hair. He took a deep breath through his nose before answering. Directly into my ear. Hnnnnnnnnngh
"Luce means light in Italian," I worked very hard to scrape enough brain matter together to process his words, then he whammied me again, "little light of mine."
I would have gone super feminism champion on him, but it was going to have to wait until my knees were structurally sound. And my spine. It was liquid. Instead, I fired back with my sarcasm reflex, which was set to quoting song lyrics. Apparently.
"I'm gonna let it shine?" I said, and he pulled back to give me a confused look.
"You know, the song?" I sang a few bars absently. His face softened.
"I like this song," he said simply, before beginning a seamless, floating glide down the hallway. Yeah. If forgotten how smooth the monster ride could be. Not like that! Get your minds out of the gutter!
Oh. They weren't there? Just me then. Sorry.
Ahem.
The way down the stairs was perhaps the smoothest trip I had ever made down a set of stairs, regardless of my health, and I was almost sad when he gently placed me in the chair. I would have to get the lift back down for the next time I needed up, but decided to worry about that later.
I was surrounded still by the scent of Marcus, and he gazed down at me with another of those frighteningly affectionate looks. He quickly smothered it as I saw it, instead switching to killing my brain cells with his smile.
I cleared my throat awkwardly, then abruptly started my chair towards the kitchen. I couldn't very well reach the coffee to make any, but I did keep a few Starbucks coffee drink bottles in the fridge for emergencies, and I could reach those. They certainly weren't as good, but they would do. I felt a breeze, smelled a wafting of vampire musk, and looked over to find Marcus had disappeared. Huh.
Oh well, he would show up as he pleased, I supposed. When I finally made it into the kitchen, and was rooting around in the fridge for one of those bottles, his scent was suddenly thick in the air again. Grasping my prize, I turned a tiny bit to look up. He was holding the glass of water that had been on my bedside table this morning.
I suddenly had a disturbing thought.
"You were in my room last night, weren't you?" I confronted him. He looked slightly guilty. Not enough in my opinion.
"You imbibed so freely last night," he defended, "I wanted to make sure you were alright. I thought you would need water in the morning."
Fucking typical. Then he arranged his features into a wounded, pitiful-
Holy shitballs! How did he do the puppy dog eyes with red eyes?! Look at the tilt on those eyebrows! Right. You can't. Sorry for your loss. Anyways.
Little did he know that I'm an asshole. I would not allow that to affect me. I'm stronger than that. Really, dammit!
"No more going into my room without an invitation," I managed a stem look to go with my stern reprimand. He smiled again
"I swear it."
So not fair.
I looked up towards the microwave for the time. Oh man, it was after noon. Definitely a lazy day. I wanted to go check that Rickie was okay, but was beaten to the punch by the thunder of teenage feet pounding down the stairs in a panic. He burst into the room, saw me, and visibly shrank in relief. I watched the fear drain out of his face, to be replaced by nausea.
"The sink!" I shouted, and he barely made it over before heaving into it pitifully. I breathed a low breath to steady my own hungover sickness. The numbing cold sweet scent of monster dimmed the nausea enough for me to drive the chair over beside my baby brother and turn the water on to flush his vomit down the drain.
He moaned lowly before retching again, and I lifted the cold bottle that I'd set in my lap up to the back of his neck. I wanted to scratch his shoulder blades too, but that required too many hands.
He sighed gratefully, then started rinsing out his mouth and nose methodically. I set the Starbucks up on the counter and gave into the maternal urge to rub his back. It was my fault he was in such misery. I made him drink last night, and then I'm guessing he went to check on me, only to find no sign of me, and the chair still sitting by the bed.
I glanced back at Marcus, who was watching intently. He seemed unruffled by the entire affair. Then he stepped forward to put a hand in the back of my chair. He took the bottle from the counter with his other hand to open it, before setting it back down. I was half surprised it didn't shatter when he twisted the lid off. I wondered vaguely if he had ever done that before. Or had he been drinking human blood for longer than humans had been making twist tops?
My question bubbled out of me before I could consider it.
"Marcus, how old are you?" Rickie jerked up to see the vampire a little closer than he was comfortable with, but thankfully didn't end up chucking more bile into the sink.
Marcus blinked.
"Very." he answered simply. I made an annoyed sound in the back of my throat.
"Define very," I said, even as I felt Rickie grab onto my right shoulder from the side of me. I kept my eyes on Marcus. I hadn't asked for that kind of vague answer.
"I thought humans generally found it rude to question others about their age," Marcus said with an amused grin.
"I'm an exceedingly rude human," I returned.
"I noticed," he said in a light tone with a gentle smile, "It is something I find exceedingly endearing little Luce."
I squirmed and Rickie's grip tightened painfully. I ignored it, though Marcus's gaze zeroed in on it with alarming intensity. Rickie let out a quiet gasp at the threatening aura my monster was now putting off.
"Eyes up here," I said, jokingly, to ease the sudden tension, as if he'd been leering at my breasts instead of glaring murderously at the hand on my shoulder, "Rickie wasn't hurting me, and you haven't answered my question. Here, I'll start. I'm twenty-one, as of last month. You are?"
Marcus's nostrils flared briefly before he finally looked back at me and answered levelly, "I made the change in a century approximately 13 centuries before the supposed birth of the Christian Messiah."
"Oh," I let out in a whoosh, "so, very old."
He finally smiled again. Talk about robbing the grave. Damn.
"As I am the one pursuing you, little Luce," he replied, letting me know that I'd said that last bit instead of just thinking it, "it is only fair to say that I am the one 'robbing the cradle', so to speak."
The interruption of the boy frantically dashing down to look for Luce was expected, but Marcus thought it unfortunate. The last morning's failure was fresh in his mind, and begun when the boy had joined them. But he was very important to Luce.
To his comfort, he had made amazing progress with his connection to Lucy minutes ago, certain strands had crystallized and the scent was an increasingly pleasant mix of their unique scents and their growing attraction for one another. He opened the bottle to the drink Luce had set on the counter, thinking perhaps her current inability to use one of her hands would hamper her ability to open glass bottles.
"Marcus, how old are you?" the question took Marcus completely by surprise, and the boy too, if the way he jumped up to stare, terrified, heart beating alarmingly fast, was any indication.
Marcus blinked to distract from the surprise and the sudden burn of thirst.
"Very." he answered. He was not sure that he wanted her to know exactly the age difference. In development, he thought them much the same. The truth might stall the growth of their bond. However, his answer obviously annoyed her. He would not lie to her, but he had a futile hope that she might not push for a more accurate answer.
"Define very," she dug. Of course she would.
"I thought humans generally found it rude to question others about their age?" he eluded.
"I'm an exceedingly rude human," she sent back, and he could not help but smile at her boldness.
"I noticed. It is something I find exceedingly endearing little Luce."
She fidgeted under his compliment, as always, in a way that made her even more dear. It was then that he noticed the strength of the child's hand bearing down upon the delicate, pale flesh of her bared shoulder. It was nothing next to the power he could set against her, but he could hear the creaking of the fragile joint. Lucy made no move to either remove that hand, or to show the pain he must have been causing, but Marcus found himself angry regardless. His eyes were glued to the spot while he attempted to convince himself not to remove the offending appendage. Violently.
"Eyes up here," she said mildly, in a typical fashion, taking control of a situation she thought dangerous to the boy, "Rickie wasn't hurting me, and you haven't answered my question. Here, I'll start. I'm twenty-one, as of last month. You are?"
She was trying to distract him. He did not want to allow it. He wanted to rip that child's throat out and drain his body. However, that would certainly do more damage to his chances than anything else he could possibly do, so he took a breath, focusing on the scent of their connection above all else. It calmed him enough to speak.
"I made the change in a century approximately 13 centuries before the supposed birth of the Christian Messiah."
Her face went very pale, and very still. By some stroke of luck, however, it did nothing to affect the connection.
"Oh. So... Very old."
She made her statement an echo of his earlier words, and he found he mouth widening into another smile. He had not done so much smiling in centuries. It was liberating. Were he human, he thought the muscles of his face would have been sore. Then she continued in an absent-minded mumble, "Talk about robbing the grave. Damn."
He found his static heart lifting in joy at another small victory. She was acknowledging that they were, in fact, courting. He couldn't help correcting her one misconception, "As I am the one pursuing you, little Luce, it is only fair to say that I am the one 'robbing the cradle', so to speak."
She flushed, and the boy grunted in anger, showing signs of intelligence as he removed his hands completely instead of repeating the earlier situation.
"Uuuuuuuuuuh," she managed to get out while her brain caught up to where the conversation had taken them.
Finally too frustrated to keep quiet anymore, the boy cut off her thoughts, "Are you seriously going to do this right in front of me?! I'm already nauseous enough!"
Did she really need her connection to him? Maybe he should invite the bond manipulator to visit early and break that bond so that he could kill the brat and be done with it. He was certain that Luce would lose her gregarious attitude as soon as he broke it with his shouting. Surprising as always, however, she simply rolled her eyes.
"Little brothers," she intoned with an affectionate smile that she turned at the boy, "Why don't you get started on some of next week's school work, so you'll be ahead?"
"I'm already ahead," he whined in an irritating manner, but she simply smiled more brightly and shoved the boy's arm in a gesture dripping with affection. He found himself mentally writhing in jealousy of their closeness. The boy obediently left the room, mumbling, too softly for Luce to hear, his plans to watch TV instead.
When they were again alone in the room, he pulled a wooden chair carefully from the table to sit in front of her. It creaked a little under his weight, but he thought it would hold.
"You know," he started watching her as she fondly watched the door, "he will not do as you ask," he finished. He was unprepared for the brilliance of her grin in response.
"Oh, I know," she spoke over contained laughter. Her love for the child was overwhelmingly in evidence, "He's gong to go sulk for a bit and watch whatever sport is the most exciting on the TV right now. Then he'll come back down here and raid the fridge before he's willing to speak to me again. Little brothers," she repeated, even more happily than the first time she had said it.
"I would not know," he replied in kind, his chest swelling with gentle love for the woman before him, "my brothers are both elder."
"You're the baby?" she asked, surprised, "Seems like with how dramatic he was, Aro would be younger."
Marcus grinned at her, glad to be able to speak of them without the stench of her fear clouding their bond.
"I was changed before I'd known two decades," he shared happily, "Aro was somewhere around half a decade older, and Caius had seen at least four. An old man in comparison."
She raised an eyebrow at him in a manner he thought rather graceful. The longer he spent with her, the more beautiful she grew. He wondered whether it was his love for her, or perhaps her milder human feelings for him that made her so lovely.
"So not only an I robbing the grave here in a way that brings to mind excavating ancient Egyptian tombs, I'm also simultaneously robbing the cradle. Developmentally."
He found himself laughing again at her dry wit and the wry way she delivered her words. His hands tugged the rest of him forward towards her as they grasped her one functional hand with the gentlest of touches, drawing their faces closer together.
"We are equally guilty then, little Luce, of our thievery."
Her face went abruptly blank.
"Oh my god," she protested, "we're flirting!"
Her horror at the prospect was something altogether more hilarious than her earlier words, and he pulled her hand to his mouth to lay a gentle kiss on her knuckles. He was finding her blushes increasingly easy to ignore.
"Crap, Marcus," she gaped at him, "don't do that to me!"
Her breathing was faster and rougher and her mouth hung slightly open as she watched his. He smirked again, and in an repeat performance of the spectacle in her bedroom, tenderly unfurled her finger to place another kiss into her palm. She whimpered adorably and tensed in the chair, her eyes full of an innocently incredulous hunger. Marcus wrapped her fingers back around the place his lips had touched, and led her hand back to her body, where he pressed it to her heart.
"Oh," she gasped out, "You know, most men these days just bring wine and skip out when they're done with some line about calling you that everyone involved knows is a lie."
He frowned.
"The quality of men you associate with is appalling."
She merely laughed sedately, careful of her broken ribs.
"Kind of on purpose Marcus," she finally answered back, "I don't ask for feelings or phone calls from them."
He was sad again for her. It was not quite the painful tightening of his chest from the day before, but it was still a heavy weight of grief.
"Have you ever cared for someone in that way, Luce?" at the mild panic forming on her face, he added, "You need not share that with me. I do not wish to press as I did yesterday."
She swallowed visibly in an attempt to calm herself, and shook her head. He would wait until she was better prepared to answer him that.
Instead, he distracted her, "May I see your garden? The one that you spoke of with Anna?"
"Anne," she immediately corrected, with a rather shocked look that he could not interpret. He could only smile.
I could feel my face flaming red after Marcus started very bluntly that he was "pursuing" me. Hooooooooly. Rickie made an angry sound behind me but wisely took his hand off of my shoulder instead of agitating the ancient monster again. That was probably a closer call than I was willing to admit, even to myself.
I tried to say something intelligent, honestly, but words are hard, and all I got out was a loud, drawn out non-word. Before I could give it another go, Rick lost his patience with the wooing going on in the room. Not my fault though, seriously.
"Are you seriously going to do this right in front of me?! I'm already nauseous enough!"
I could have burst into laughter in that moment, but thought it would hurt to much to laugh so loudly. Marcus pursed his lips, which I really didn't need to be noticing, and seemed to be contemplating murder again. Less passionately than before, so I didn't make a fuss. I found my eyes rolling at the entire situation.
"Little brothers," I said by way of explanation before turning to get the teenager out of the room while the more or less accurately termed adults talked. I really didn't want violence in my kitchen. "Why don't you get started on some of next week's school work, so you'll be ahead?"
"I'm already ahead," he whined. Cute. But he got the point and left the room to go find something else to do that didn't involve pissing off the monster who could crush him instantaneously. My smart boy.
"You know," Marcus said, now sitting in a chair in front of her "he will not do as you ask."
"Oh, I know. He's gong to go sulk for a bit and watch whatever sport is the most exciting on the TV right now. Then he'll come back down here and raid the fridge before he's willing to speak to me again. Little brothers."
"I would not know," he said, with a shark-like smile, as if he were giving away a secret, "My brothers are both elder."
No way. He was the baby of them? I was having trouble with that. Aro the asshole seemed much younger, at least in temperament. I pulled an Annie at 13, only my Daddy Warbucks was an old lady with nieces and nephews. I knew a spoiled, entitled brat when I saw it.
"You're the baby? Seems like with how dramatic he was, Aro would be younger."
Marcus grinned brilliantly, the naughty boy expression leaving his face for a more genuine pleasure. It was a heart-squeezing-ly beautiful thing to see.
"I was changed before I'd known two decades. Aro was approximately half a decade older, and Caius had seen at least four. An old man in comparison."
Well, in any case, that brought about an interesting thought. I was technically a cougar too. I didn't bother to ask who Caius was.
"So not only an I robbing the grave here in a way that brings to mind excavating ancient Egyptian tombs, I'm also simultaneously robbing the cradle. Developmentally."
He laughed so freely that my heart hurt. Oh. Oh, oh.
I was busy basking in the warmth of it when I realized abruptly that he had scooted forward to take my hand in both of his, and we were suddenly sharing air. I was lightheaded.
"We are equally guilty then, little Luce," he said, and the nickname broke my high, "of our thievery."
"Oh my god," I cried out, completely horrified at the sudden realization, "we're flirting!"
He was laughing again, this time at me. Yeah, that was pleasant. Why did he have to be so beautiful? Especially since I was so very flawed. As if he sensed the morose path my thoughts head meandered down, he gently, but insistently drug my hands across the distance between us before making a show of genteel behavior and kissing said hands with those beautiful lips.
I'm pretty sure I protested that somehow, but I have literally no idea what the fuck I said there. I was way too busy trying not to faint like a southern belle of old from asphyxiation. And while I was doing the best I could to simply function with the whole consciousness thing, he took the opportunity to wreck me more than he already had, kissing my palm and then putting my hand over my heart. Who does that?!
"Oh," I tried, then searched a little harder for real words, predictably deflecting with a joke, "You know, most men these days just bring wine and skip out when they're done with some line about calling you that everyone involved knows is a lie."
He frowned. I wasn't surprised he didn't find that funny. He was distressingly serious when it came to those sorts of gestures. It was terrifying.
"The quality of men you associate with is appalling."
Heeeeeeeeeh. Yeah. That was totally true. But we had already had a horrific conversation in which I explained what my league was and hinted at why, after which I had fallen apart and cried like a little bitch. Yeeeeah. So not going there again.
"Kind of on purpose Marcus. I don't ask for feelings or phone calls from them."
That was all I was saying on that matter. But he was doing that same thing he'd done before and looking so hurt by what I said that I was starting to think he was going to-
"Have you ever cared for someone in that way, Luce?" Nope. Nope. Not again.
"You need not share that. I do not wish to press as I did yesterday."
Oh, thank god, I thought. I was swallowing a little convulsively over the panic and a little reappearing nausea. Thankfully, he took pity on me
"May I see your garden? The one that you spoke of with Anna?"
"Anne," I said reflexively, wondering if he realized the blatant sexual connotation of what he'd just asked or if it was just me. He gave another genuine smile. Nope. Just me. I realized then that I was completely doomed to be wrapped around his fantastically fragrant finger. Fuck.
Alliteration.
So, I feel like I should probably apologize for the screwy time-line cuts here. It would be much more fluid if I picked up with the point of view change where I left off, rather than cutting back, but it's important to me to share the events from both of their perspectives, so I'm going to keep doing it.
This does, however, mean that the story is going to move more slowly than I originally hoped. Writing and checking back and matching things is time consuming. Oh well. Nothing to do but keep trucking on.
Also, I never really meant for this story to be about sexual tension. It just happened. Get ready for Marcus's introduction to Lucy's private sanctum in the next chapter. ...By which I mean her greenhouse, not her lady parts.
Review! I command thee!
