A/N Hello my lovelies! This is a tiny chapter, a chapterette, really. I almost didn't write it, but then I did. It could be an outtake, but for now consider it a naughty segue. The next two chapters are almost finished, and the one after that is started. It looks like there will be 16-17 altogether. Keep in mind I tried to be tasteful, but this one should probably be rated M, just so you know :).

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 13

Scarlett waited until the children were inside and in their respective spaces before she ventured out on her own, trying to walk without faltering, and yet Rhett somehow managed to be waiting in the corner by the tub when she arrived.

The water felt hot when she dipped her fingers in. He must have gotten it near boiling, she mused, before he poured it.

"I just dumped another kettle full in from the fire," he said as he turned to gather the towels left to dry on the makeshift indoor clothesline, as well as what was left of the fine soap she'd grabbed from the train. He pulled a blanket across the line then for a modicum of privacy, which she appreciated.

Scarlett took the opportunity to drop her shift and climb into the tub as swiftly as she could manage, which wasn't fast enough.

"If you'll get your hair wet I'll lather it," he continued as he turned and caught her as she began to lower herself into the water.

He didn't say anything, but those sharp eyes missed nothing, traveling from one love bite or grip bruise to another, all the ways he marked her. Was he thinking the same things as she, remembering the night as well? The fevered responses of skin on skin, how he'd grunted with enthusiasm when she responded to his attentions and even initiated those of her own, daring and of her own accord; and what it did to his face, how he caught his breath as his dark eyes widened, as she was sure hers did as well as she held the source of his thrumming, pulsing rhythm in her hands, the hot and heavy weight of him speaking to something primordial within her.

Scarlett could still taste the salt of his skin and her mouth went dry at the mere memory, and of the fire of his tongue as it explored and plundered below her navel. She hadn't fully processed the exact manner in which he folded and curled that hot tongue, the positively artful upstroke of the tip, followed by a softer swipe down of the bulging underside. And a fluttering, a flickering, then a hard pull, and then the entire affair repeated, and again, until she felt certain it would end in her demise.

He'd tried before, when they were first married, but ninny that she'd been, she hadn't allowed it. She'd never known a man could do such a thing, perform such an unspeakable, glorious act, never knew how he could make her heart beat between her thighs.

And here she crouched naked yet he remained fully clothed, hardly fair. Her eyes drifted down his body as she thought of how she'd put her hands on him, how she'd explored below his waist with her mouth, and she touched her fingers without even realizing it to her lips, reveling in the power that had given her, the giddiness she felt at the shining in his eyes, shining with something she wanted to drown herself in.

She froze as she looked up and his eyes were shining again. Then, of course, he smirked. That smirk she had seen so many times before as if he knew what she was thinking. This time, he did.

She watched his Adam's apple bob before he spoke. "It may take all afternoon to work the tangles out. I couldn't even wrap your hair around my neck last night, and it's much worse today."

She leaned back as he dunked her head carefully under the water.

"Why do you do that—wrap my hair, I mean, when you've—" she flailed a hand, embarrassed. "When we lay together. I've always wondered."

He hesitated a mere beat. "I suppose it's a way I can still feel myself sheathed within you after the fact."

Her turn to swallow. She had no response to that, and so she diverted a bit. "Most men do not wash their wife's hair."

"Most people are not the match we are." He offered this casually, as if it were not a monumental acquiescence, massaging the fragrant soap into her hair as he spoke.

Visions of running naked together in the frozen tundra assailed her.

"No," she said, as archly as she could manage. "No, I don't suppose they are."

"And you love me." Each word sounded drawn out and relished. She was surprised he didn't smack his lips at the end.

"Oh, yes, I love you. I merely hadn't realized it enough to put it into words or I would have admitted it long ago, because I, for one, am not a cowardly fool." She gave a haughty sniff or as haughty a sniff as she could manage, naked in a tub and covered in soap bubbles.

"Well, you're not a coward." He finished lathering and proceeded to rinse with the wooden slat bucket they used for that purpose. "Most of the time, that is."

"Hush. You love me." She sat back and smiled, her eyes closed, a satisfied feline smile curving her lips.

"I do love you. Although as I said before, I wish to hell I didn't."

She only grinned wider, not opening her eyes. "That is your misfortune."

Scarlett only heard a whisper of a sudden movement before Rhett tilted the rinse bucket forward and dumped the entirety of its contents over her face.

She sputtered and screeched, a drowned cat.

"You'll disturb the children." Rhett shushed her as he took a towel and dried her face, more gently than she would have expected.

"You—you unspeakable varmint," she hissed, jerking the linen out of his hand. "Just wait until next time you take a bath. I'll get you back."

"You deserved it. Anyone who would say such a thing deserves worse."

She looked up to see the aggravation turn to true amusement in his face, and then he smiled at her in that way he knew affected her. They dissolved into laughter, together.

He handed her another linen towel as he proceeded to rinse her head again.

"Don't make me regret telling you." This he imparted in that same conversational tone, but a hint of steel shone through. "I'll not be beaten down with it, won't live with the whip over my head. I fought it for too long to suffer that way now."

"Fought?"

Yes, fought. I've loved you for years and wanted you for even more. I fought it all along," he spoke quickly, as if he didn't want to second guess his words; not that Rhett was a second-guesser. If he ever deigned to admit to an emotion, he owned it. "I wanted you every time I left Atlanta, all the way to Charleston or New Orleans or Boston or New York; I loved you when I walked away at Rough and Ready, and in that cursed jail. On a ship crossing an ocean, I wanted you, loved you, waited for you. Even when I was with other women I thought of you. When I returned and said I'd held more beautiful women in my arms, I wasn't speaking of dancing with them."

That stung, fiery, and sharp. She examined his face for any trace of malice and found nothing but wry regret. Why would anyone fight love? Perverse man.

And yet she realized that she'd done the same thing, although unaware. She'd waited for him, for his return from his many travels, for years. She'd watched for that dark, handsome face, that tall, well-built form, and had listened for his light step and elegant voice, and never questioned why, telling herself she loved another all the while.

Scarlett felt a fleeting anguish at how they'd hurt each other so much that they were both afraid of the happiness love could bring.

"The last few years you've been so hateful, Rhett, downright nasty. Everything you've done seemed aimed against me. How was I to know?"

He went on in a brooding manner, as though she hadn't spoken. "When I sat at that god-awful desk in that godforsaken bank for hours on end, bored out of my mind and resisting the urge to run out on the streets, I thought of you."

"You weren't doing it for me."

"No," he conceded. "No, I was angry with you. And I was doing it for Bonnie. But I still loved you, and was completely miserable because of it."

Rhett examined her then and frowned. "I must once again remind you that you can't use my heartfelt confessions here against me. Don't forget our agreement," he stated this darkly. "If you Welsh on this one you will live to regret it."

Scarlett took a deep breath. "You wasted so much time."

"We wasted," he interrupted. "But no more."

"No more," she smiled, and when she rose he wrapped her in the linen like she was a child. "It's time for our nap." She sank back against his warmth, enveloped in his scent. She hadn't let herself think about how she'd missed it, all of it, and now her body reveled in the muscle memory of his, deep within, and awakened.

A moment passed before his words sank in. She pulled back. "You don't nap."

"And neither will you." She recognized the look in his eyes, not to mention the firmness of his body against hers.

"Rhett, I'm not sure I can so soon—"

"Don't fret." He placed a finger against her lips. "We can adjust my, ah, expectations. There was a particular activity you enjoyed immensely last night, although you obviously—and quite loudly, I might add—took pleasure in it all." A roguish grin here. "What I have in mind would not task your ravished flesh further, and I am happy to oblige."

"Oh." Color flooded her face. "Well, then, that might be alright."

"First, though, I find myself in greater need, as you no doubt noticed." His large hand drifted to that firmness below his own navel, cupping it, and she swallowed again as he went on. "And have been, let us say, single-mindedly so since I awoke. I am well aware that you have never pursued education for education's sake, but surely you remember the Bible verse."

"Bible verse? "

"Do unto others…". He lifted his eyebrows suggestively. And did not move his hand.

Her mouth dropped open. Mother of God. Only Rhett could make The Golden Rule downright filthy.

"That is blasphemy. I think you are plain awful, Rhett Butler," she said, but the words came out much softer than she'd intended, almost a caress.

"Come with me. I'll comb that mess by the fire as my penance before we head up to the smokehouse. The children are still worn out from last night's festivities. We have a few hours."

He was serious! "Hours? We just—why, I've just woken up a bit ago and we went on nearly all night! You are a beast."

"I am a beast. One you're about to have a monstrously good time with," he nipped at her ear, and she couldn't help but respond both to the contact and the youthful devilment in his tone. "It's nearly spring, can't you see it?" He gestured out the window. "The entire mountain and every living thing on it is teetering on the brink of raging fecundity."

Scarlett looked out the window, saw nothing but snow and ice, and harrumphed.

"You and I are a bit ahead of schedule," he allowed, then smirked at her doubtful expression. "You're going to be so much fun to corrupt, Mrs. Butler. Don't worry. I won't bite." She could hear the smile in his voice along with the dark promise as he turned her toward the fire. "This time."

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

Fun Facts: Welshing on a bet - This expression originated in the 1860s in English horse racing slang and very likely is an insult geared towards Welsh people - The Etymology Nerd dot com

Another A/N: Yeah, that was just a bunch of fluff, PWP, whatever you want to call it. Next chapter we are back to business! I had a rough January and February, messed up my knee to the point I thought I was going to have to have revision surgery, pipes froze and nearly busted (keeping them from doing so is how I messed up my knee) and as a result, I grappled with some very, very blue weeks. Felt like I was walking through two feet of mud, both literally and figuratively. I have recovered, sheez, always something.

Many things are fixed on this site yet new ones have broken—like itallics and bold print (face palm). I guess you can't have everything. So drop me a few words if you have a minute. Go gently please, I was unsure about this chappie and flow with the rest of the story and whatnot, but I figured some of you fine folks would like and appreciate a late February pick-me-up. Chapter 14 should be up very soon and by that, I mean in the next two weeks! Peace and love, misscyn