A scratching of a door rubbing on wood startled Karl awake. Eyes adjusting to the dim light, he saw a figure in his doorway.

"Papa?" He called out into the darkness. "Papa is that you?"

It was her. The Lady of the Castle.

He scrambled to sit up in his small bed to greet her. "It's you! Oh, my Lady!" To his delight, she held out her hand to him. He marveled at how it seemed almost silver by the light of the moon streaming in from his window. He was overjoyed...but for some reason she wasn't smiling as she usually did.

Grasping her hand, she helped him out of bed and through the crooked doorway of his bedroom. Together, they walked through the hallways. How wonderful! How exciting! Someone so exalted and special was in his house! Oh, Papa would be proud. Karl hoped that he wasn't drinking tonight; he knew that it would be difficult to rouse him if he had. But it was no matter, he couldn't wait for his father to see their special guest! He thought it was just fine that he wore his cleanest dressing gown.

But they didn't go to his father's room.

"But my lady, Papa's room is-"

"Hush, little one." Her tone was kind. Sad.

Through the kitchen, out the back door and into the still night, he walked hand in hand with the Lady of House Dimitrescu.

xxxx

Sleep didn't come easy but when it did, it haunted him. Startled awake, he found his joints burning with the awkward position he had fallen asleep in at his desk chair. He turned towards his bed.

She was still there. In the moonlight, he could make out the outline of her under the covers, the dark spill of her wet hair on his pillow. He rubbed his neck. Maybe he would take her up on the offer. Like she said, the bed was big enough. She wouldn't even have to know.

He stood and stretched and, as quietly as he could manage. He headed for the bathroom to shower off the sweat and bad dreams, passing the flask she had placed on the side of the desk. Though he had been the one to retrieve it; he had to admit she was brave to face off against Alcina and those hell-spawns of hers. He almost felt guilty for letting her fend for herself to get out of there. Miranda had gone too far; what did she want with the kid's father? Why not just kill him? It unsettled him that Miranda didn't share her plan with them, but he wasn't that surprised. She was probably getting ready to shuffle them off the mortal coil; but he was ready for her. He had a plan. And a plan b.

As the water hit him, he tried not to dwell on the memory of her in his shirt as she stood fidgeting in front of him; imagining the shape of her body underneath it. How striking she looked with her hair down, no longer obscured by the bun and blood crusted hat. Or her shirtless on the table, toned back exposed to him. She reminded him of a wounded animal; bloody, beautiful and lethal. When he removed his glove to show her his hand, how he wanted to run his fingers along her skin to see if she was as soft as she looked. But he didn't, and he wouldn't. Now wasn't the time for distractions.

Minutes later, he was sliding on a pair of cotton pants and trying to talk himself out of it. He shouldn't be succumbing to such weakness. He should go and work on Sturm. Check on the soldats. Monitor the conveyers. Go kick the shit out of the haulers. But for as many times as he said he would not, should not, he found himself sliding into the bed next to her. Karl moved the covers as delicately as possible as to not wake her. For her sake or his, he couldn't say. He would only stay a few hours, then he would be gone before she knew. He would keep his distance.

He didn't even remember closing his eyes.

Celia transitioned slowly from her dreams to the heavy weight of reality. She waited for the pain from her shoulder injury to hit her, yet she felt nothing but heat around her. Like she was backed up against a furnace. When she went to bed, she remembered burrowing into the covers to stay warm, and now it felt like the heat was blasting.

She seized. Someone was behind her. On her side, she could feel the warmth of someone, him, against her back and legs. Letting sleep fall away she realized it was skin. He had actually gotten into bed with her – and he was shirtless. He wasn't necessarily cuddling with her, but with his body pressed against hers it was hard to convince herself otherwise. Celia listened to his soft, rhythmic breathing. He was asleep.

His body molded to hers perfectly and though his hands didn't touch her, it was as though he was clutching to her. It was hard to ignore the soft cotton of his pants caressing her naked legs; the obvious bulge pressed against her. It sent chills coursing through her spine.

Did he fall asleep like this?

She didn't know what to make of the situation. On one hand, she had known this guy for exactly one day; and save for one brief, unbelievably hot moment between them – he showed her only a bare tolerance. She still wasn't completely convinced this wasn't some elaborate game that would end up with her getting bled out by Mother Miranda on some alter. On the other, he was an attractive, powerful man half naked in bed with her. She contemplated grinding back into him. If he woke up, she would just pretend she was shifting in her sleep. The temptation was too great. Slowly, straightening her legs against his she began to rub her ass against him, trying to control her voice as she felt the effect of her attentions.

He began to stir now, still in the throes of sleep and moaning softly in her ear, his hand moved onto her hip and pulled her back into him, moving with her. His fingers pressed into the curve of the bone where her hip met her thigh to control her movements and she breathed in heavily, sharply, attempting to stay quiet.

Easier said than done, with his erection rubbing like it was against her ass.

He was unbelievably hard, and she wrapped her arms around the pillow under her head to keep from reaching behind her to free him from the cotton barrier; to feel him against her skin. Was he as big as he felt?

His hand smoothed up her stomach, her rib cage, and stopped to massage her breast, the motions a dark struggle between dominant and needy. The sensations worked in concert to overwhelm her; she couldn't help letting out a soft moan. At the sound, his movements stopped. His fingers twitched and he pulled his hand back quickly...but his body stayed pressed to hers. She could feel his chest expanding with his breathing. Now, he was awake too.

Celia stilled, frozen, eyes pulled shut. She pretended to sleep; forced her breathing to sound even and calm as she heard his quickening. Seconds passed, and to her surprise, he slowly leaned over her and pushed his nose into the dip of her neck, into her hair. Waiting a second, he inhaled deeply before pulling himself out of the bed, leaving her there – head swimming and heart racing.

[AN: Just a little bit of *spice*! If you've read this far...thank you so much! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!]