I apologize for it being a bit disjointed, and slightly abrupt. I had unexpected visitors that kept me from finishing the chapter when I had planned, which leads to me being slightly distracted and not so good at tying my thoughts together. Plus, it is late and I had to add another stop in tomorrow's festivities. But I promised a Christmas update and smut, and I don't want to make myself a liar at this stage of the game- Santa might not bring me anything good ;). So to the lovely emberlies and the amazing reviewer who shall hereby be known as Cassandra Finn, I thank you for your amazing reviews! This one's for you.

(yea, definitely not safe to read at the in laws…)

Though she was positive no one would believe her if she were to ever tell them, Logan had been a very kind child. Several years older than the young princess Abigail, Logan had doted on his little sister and had been her protector through the most difficult of times, and had always shown her a great deal of patience. Abigail, as darling as she may have been, had been much more tempestuous and passionate; whether she was happy or upset, her emotions were hardly kept to herself. While she had grown out of her childhood fits to a much more mild mannered and proper adolescent, patience was the one great virtue she had never quite mastered.

And on the night of the upheaval she spent months preparing herself for, she found herself grasping at the very last bits of composure while she waited for Ben to meet her in the war room. She had noticed the gunshot to his trigger arm with great dismay, knowing if she paid any mind with Logan present he would use her weakness to his advantage. After all the work they had done and everyone they had lost, she could not falter.

Rubbing her temples, she paced the room quickly. Ben had been gone close to an hour, the eleven bells ringing clearly in Bowerstone's marketplace, much longer than it should have taken him to escort Logan to the cells. Cerberus whimpered softly to his mistress as he sat by the large map of Albion and it's surrounding borders.

"Dear Maker, what could be taking him?" she wondered aloud, coming to a halt before the vast table, hands resting on the edges.

"Sorry for the wait, Princess. It's hard to drag an unconscious man one-armed down a flight of stairs without causing him serious injury," Ben's voice held it's usual jovial tone, only slightly fatigued. At her nervous glance, he continued. "He'll be fine. Got a mouth on him, your brother does."

"Thank Avo, Benjamin! I was worried," she breathed, meeting him in the middle of the room and wrapping her arms around his neck. "You promised me you would be careful!"

"Next time, shall I send word ahead that I'm not allowed to be hurt? You know, so the other soldiers know not to shoot at me? Besides, I recall you promising that you would stay with Walter," Ben retorted, his uninjured arm wrapping around her waist as his lips pressed to her hair.

"Shut up, Benjamin."

Grinning, he ghosted his lips over her ear. "I'm sure you would rather enjoy a few of the things my mouth is capable of."

Blushing a deep crimson, her reply was half-hearted. "Would you like that bullet to remain in your arm permanently?"

oooOOOooo

Sighing in near contentment, Ben relished in the feel of the hot water surrounding him, only wincing when the water splashed the slightly reopened wound on his right bicep. The pain was fairly quick to subside, due in part to the tumblers of dark rum Abigail had handed to him before and after the bullet's removal, and he found himself relaxing back into the rose-scented water.

The lavish bathtub had been prepared by castle servants, who had welcomed back Abigail with warm smiles and deep bows. She had thanked each of them individually before shooing them off to tend to her captain herself. Closing the mahogany doors, a few short steps brought her to Ben's side.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," she commented humorously. "How could anyone ever confuse you for a ruffian?"

Ben faked a scowl, but it was short lived as he took in her green silk night gown that left her arms and legs bare. He appraised her unabashedly, taking in the faint lines that swirled on her skin. Curling around her wrists, up her arms and over the ample swell of her breasts, the lines of her will seems to converge at the center of her chest, forming into the shape of a small bird, wings spread. "I'd like to think every man is entitled to a hot bath every now and again. If it came with a partner as beautiful as you, I doubt any man could refuse."

"Even drunk, you find almost the right words to makes a woman weak in the knees," the princess teased, sitting on the edge of the large tub, the gown revealing a few more inches of forbidden, pale skin.

Shifting in the tub, Ben felt the familiar twinges of growing lust. His hand sought out hers, brushing his lips over her knuckles. "It's not your knees I'm trying to make quiver, Abigail."

Cheeks tinged pink as Abigail gently squeezed his fingers, lowering her lips to his for a slow kiss. Their lips worked together, barely breaking apart for air as she carefully climbed into the tub. Powerful thighs straddled his own as water sloshed over the sides. Her hand trailed over his chest, covered in a dusting of fine, blonde hair as she broke from his mouth, panting.

Ben's lips latched to her clavicle, tongue tracing along the living tattoo and slipping under the drenched fabric to a hardened nipple. Each mewl and gasp that fell from Abigail's kiss swollen lips encouraged him, circling and nibbling just that much harder and faster. When the captain's hand fell from her hip to her core, he was surprised as she bucked forward into his touch, moaning loudly.

His eyes kept to her face, watching each flicker of pleasure and want as it danced over her. Her eyes were squeezed shut as his thumb began to slowly circle the pearl of nerves at her center. Moving deliberately and slowly, he waited for her hips to buck again greedily before his second finger slowly pushed through her folds. She cringed slightly at the intrusion, but her hips continued their movements against him, wanton moans still pouring from soft pink lips.

Her nails scratched lightly down his chest, leaving neat marks in their wake as her hips began to shake with little restraint, her moans becoming frantic as she reached her peak, clenching around his finger. Collapsing against him, her breathing was labored and warm against his neck. "If this is what happens when you receive minor gunshot wounds, I may just have to rethink my position."

Her smile was brilliant as her lips met his again, her hand traveling to his own aching need..