She wasn't alone when she awoke that morning.

She stirred to the sensation of warmth beside her. The quiet rustle of linens. The steady, measured rise and fall of someone's breath. The presence of another body—solid, real, familiar—next to her own. Klaus. Of course it was Klaus.

How many mornings had she woken up just like this? How many times had she felt that comforting weight beside her, warm and reassuring? She inhaled deeply, still caught in the fog of half-sleep. He always rose before her, always lay beside her for a few minutes longer, watching over her with those gentle eyes of his. Just like always.

Claudia smiled drowsily, eyes still closed. "Good morning, my love," she murmured.

Silence. A silence so absolute that something deep within her stirred. Slowly, cautiously, her eyes fluttered open. And then the moment shattered. The person beside her was not Klaus. He was too broad, too solid, too much here in a way that Klaus had never been. Gray eyes. Not brown.

Her stomach twisted.

Ansel lay beside her, silent, his expression unreadable. His gaze flickered toward her, and she saw something in his eyes—hesitation, guilt, something else—before he quickly looked away.

And then, quietly, he said: "It's just me."

"...Oh." Her breath hitched in her throat, fingers curling reflexively into the sheets. She swallowed, her tongue suddenly feeling heavy in her mouth.

Gods above.

Despite everything, despite the heavy weight in her throat, her chest, her stomach, there was still that awful, wretched relief lurking beneath it all.

Claudia swallowed again, forcing down the sickening weight in her throat.

Ansel shifted beside her, his movements slow, heavy, as though even the simple act of rising was a struggle. The sheets pooled loosely around his waist. His bare chest rose and fell with a slow, deep breath, broad shoulders tensing. Red hair, tousled from sleep, fell across his brow. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his jaw tight. Then, after a long moment, he exhaled, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

"...I should head back to my room," he finally said. His voice was hoarse and lower than it normally was, weighed down by the lingering traces of slumber. Claudia could only nod.

"Yes," she said, but it took a moment longer than it should have. She forced herself to sit up, pulling the sheet up with her to cover her nude form, her skin prickling with goosebumps. Her body felt stiff, heavy, leaden. Ansel didn't look back at her. But he didn't move, either.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. They sat there, side by side on her bed, their bodies still close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him

Claudia couldn't bring herself to look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, tracing the pattern of the rug with her gaze, following its intricate weave and swirls. Anything to distract her from the pounding of her heart.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, the flush spreading down her neck and chest. Her mind raced with thoughts she dared not speak, feelings she dared not acknowledge.

In the stillness of the bedroom, she could hear the soft sound of his breath, the rustle of fabric as he finally shifted, moving to stand. Claudia's hand shot out before her mind could catch up. Her fingertips closed around his forearm. Warm, solid, real.

She felt him tense beneath her touch, his entire body shivering then going rigid as if struck. Then, slowly, he turned to look at her.

"Not yet," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't go yet."

She let the sheets slip from her fingers, baring her body to him. She was acutely aware of her own nudity, of how exposed she was. But it didn't matter. Not with him. Not anymore. Her lips parted as he drew closer, her breath quickening in anticipation. There was no resistance this time, no denial. Only a certainty: She wanted this. Wanted him.

Ansel settled back down on the bed beside her, one hand reaching up to brush her hair out of her eyes. She couldn't help but lean into that touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. The callused pads of his fingertips were rough against the smooth skin of her cheek. But his touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he were handling something precious and fragile. She felt him shift closer, his weight dipping the mattress beside her, the heat radiating from his body enveloping her like a warm blanket. He leaned in, his breath near her lips, his mouth so close.

And then he paused, remembering himself. He leaned aside, bringing his lips to the shell of her ear instead, his breath warm and ticklish against her skin.

Claudia drew in a shuddering breath at the sensation. She placed both hands on his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her palm, hard and fast. Her fingers splayed against his skin, tracing the contours of muscle and bone.

His lips brushed her earlobe, sending a heat blooming through her. He trailed kisses along her jawline, down her throat, each touch sending sparks dancing across her skin. She tipped her head back to grant him better access, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hands slid over his shoulders, tracing the lines of his arms, feeling the strength of him beneath her fingertips. Her legs parted, and she could feel the warmth of his body press against hers. His erection, hot and hard, brushed her inner thigh, teasing and promising. Her own arousal left her wet, aching, and ready.

His hand slid down her body, his palm gliding over her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple. A small gasp escaped her as she arched into his touch, her body responding to the caress, pulsing.

Claudia responded in kind, her fingers tracing the planes of his chest and torso before sliding lower, finding him. Her slender hand wrapped around him, and she stroked him slowly, feeling the weight of him in her palm, his pulse beating hard beneath her touch. She reveled in his soft gasp of pleasure, a sound he failed to suppress, spurring her to continue.

Almost without realizing it, Claudia began to move, her lips finding his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his skin. Her tongue darted out to savor the salt of him on her lips. She felt him shudder, his breath hitching, his hips shifting forward. She could feel his restraint, his desire to maintain control of himself.

And she relished in breaking it down, in making him lose himself in her.

She kissed lower, trailing her lips across his chest, his stomach, tasting him, exploring him. She savored the sensation of his muscles tensing beneath her touch, his skin warm and responsive to her. She heard him groan as her lips grazed his abdomen, and the sound sent a thrill through her, a heady rush of pride at being able to elicit such a reaction from him. Her hand continued to stroke him, her grip growing more insistent, her pace increasing. She could feel him growing even harder and thicker in her hand, pulsing with need.

"Claudia..." She looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, her gaze meeting his. His eyes burned, his jaw clenched tight, as though struggling to contain himself. Claudia's lips curled into a faint smile at his expression.

A hand found her head, tangling in her brown hair, guiding her, urging her downward. She complied, her lips trailing lower, lower, kissing the dip of his pelvis, the inside of his thigh. Her hair tickled his sides, his legs, as she shifted further down.

She pressed her mouth against the base of his manhood, feeling his heat against her lips. Her tongue darted out, licking a slow line up his length, feather-light, savoring the salty taste of his skin. He shivered, his hips bucking slightly, seeking more of her.

At last, Claudia found his tip, swollen and glistening. Her lips planted a soft kiss there, tasting the bead of bitter-sweet moisture that had welled up there.

"Ahh, gods, Claudia..." Every breath was a ragged gasp, his voice a low and gravelly rumble that sent shivers down her spine. His fingers tightened in her hair, gently tugging at her scalp. The small sting of pain only added to the heat that was pooling within her.

Claudia's lips parted and she took him into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around him, exploring his shape and texture. His skin was impossibly soft, velvety smooth, and contrasted with the hard, throbbing core beneath. His pulse beat against her tongue, a reminder of how alive he was, how much he wanted her.

Her lips sealed around him, and she began to move, her head bobbing up and down in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She could feel him swelling even further, his hips bucking in time with her motions. Her own arousal grew with every moment, a warm, liquid heat pooling between her legs, making her slick and ready.

It was a sensation she had long forgotten.

Or perhaps it was one she had never really known.

Her hips rocked, seeking pressure, friction, something to relieve the need building within her. Her hand slid between her legs, her fingers finding her own wetness. She began to stroke herself in time with the movement of her mouth, her fingers circling her clit, teasing, coaxing.

"C-Claudia." His voice was low and strained, his hips rising to meet her, seeking more of the wet warmth of her mouth. Claudia hummed a soft, pleased sound around him, the vibrations of her voice sending a shudder through him.

She glanced up again, meeting his gaze, her eyes hooded with desire. He was looking back at her, his expression a mix of pleasure, awe, and something deeper—something that made her burn hotter.

The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he said her name...

Claudia's fingers moved faster between her legs, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as she felt the first fluttering tremors of her climax building within her. She moaned softly around Ansel, her tongue tracing the thick ridge of his tip, her hand gripping the base of his manhood, her pace growing more urgent, more demanding.

She felt his body tensing, heard his ragged breaths and gasps as he muttered, "Claudia... I'm almost...!"

His words trailed off into a choked groan, his hand tightening in her hair. Claudia closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations of his body, the taste of him, the sound of his pleasure. She wanted to hear him, to taste him, to feel him come undone. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue swirling around him, her cheeks hollowing as she took him deeper. Her own tension was rising, her hips bucking against her hand as her fingers moved in frantic circles, and she whimpered as she felt the first flutterings of her release building up within her. She was close, so close...

With a sharp breath, Ansel's fingers tangled in her hair, his hips lifting off the mattress as his body went rigid, his muscles straining. He pulsed in her mouth, swelling even thicker, and then, he was spilling himself onto her tongue.

Hot, salty, musky. The sensation was heady, overwhelming. Claudia's body tensed and trembled, her hand working frantically between her legs, and the world blurred away into pure sensation. Wave after wave coursed through her, making her shudder with each surge. Her moans were stifled by his length still in her mouth, pulsing and twitching with the last of his own release.

As the last of his release spilled into her mouth, Claudia slowed, her hand finally stilling between her thighs as she rode out the final waves of her own climax. Her tongue darted out to lap at his tip, collecting the remnants of his release with languid, indulgent motions. Finally, slowly, she drew back. A quiet pop sounded as her lips slid off of his now softening length, still connected to him by a thin, glistening string of saliva and cum.

She broke the thread with a finger, wiping it off the corner of her mouth. Then, finally, she lifted her head, meeting his gaze, her cheeks flushed with the exertion of her efforts.

His gaze met hers, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, both catching their breath, both lost in the lingering intensity of what had just happened. Then, with a shuddering exhale, Ansel's grip loosened, his fingers untangling from her hair, his hand dropping to her shoulder.

"Claudia... I... You don't have to..." Ansel fumbled, gesturing vaguely. "I can, uh, get something, if you want to spit it out."

Her brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, and she hesitated. Then she shook her head. Bringing her finger up, she licked the remnants of the thread, tasting the salty mix on her tongue. Then, with a deliberate, almost defiant motion, she swallowed.

His cum was thick and heavy as it slid down her throat, leaving a warm, tingling sensation in its wake. She swallowed again, savoring the sensation, the taste lingering on her tongue. It was salty and bitter, with a musky undertone that was uniquely, distinctly him.

A shiver ran through her, her skin still flushed and sensitive from the lingering remnants of her climax, and the act of swallowing him sent another pulse of heat through her, a quiet reminder of what they had just shared. She realized, then, that Ansel was staring at her, his face flushed, eyes wide and awed, and... and something else. Something deeper. Claudia couldn't quite tell.

But she thought she might be feeling something similar. When had been the last time she'd done something this... carnal? This raw? Not just the physicality of the act, but the way she felt right now, sitting here, her heart pounding, her body still tingling with the echoes of her climax, and the warmth of him inside her... It was a sensation she hadn't experienced in a very, very long time.

Or, perhaps, ever. Klaus had never been one to indulge in such acts. He had always been gentle, considerate, and courteous in their lovemaking, but never like this. Never so wild, so passionate, so...

...Klaus.

Abruptly, the satiation that had filled her moments ago vanished, replaced by a sinking pit in her stomach. The thick weight of what she'd just swallowed seemed to settle there, heavy. The room suddenly seemed too small, the air too thick.

She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them, a poor attempt to cover her nudity. But the cool air of the bedroom was only partially to blame for the gooseflesh that prickled across her skin. She felt... dirty. Unclean. Her throat felt tight, a hard knot of emotion lodged there. Her stomach churned, and she pressed her forehead to her knees, trying to steady herself, to quiet the storm roiling within her.

A hand settled on her shoulder, warm and steady. Ansel's quiet voice cut through that turmoil. "Are you alright?"

She started at the contact, but did not flinch away. Something about it sent a jolt through her, a sensation she couldn't quite define. Comfort? Shame? Both? She turned her head slightly, glancing at him, and saw the concern etched in his eyes.

"...I'm fine," Claudia managed. And, to her own surprise, she meant it. She breathed in, deep and slow, feeling the knot in her throat ease slightly. She felt... strange. Unsettled. But also, somehow, centered. The guilt was still there, a weight in her chest, but it was... different. Quieter, in a way.

She looked at him again, really looked at him, taking in the sight of him sitting beside her. His face was flushed from their earlier exertions, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The heat of his palm on her shoulder was a comforting weight.

"I need to bathe," Claudia finally said. It was true. She could feel the sheen of sweat cooling on her skin, the lingering dampness of their coupling, the stickiness of the remnants that clung to her. And the taste of him, still thick on her tongue. She needed to wash it away.

He nodded and made to stand, but his fingers lingered on her shoulder, brushing against her skin before he withdrew, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. He stood and gathered his clothes, pulling on his shirt, his trousers. Claudia couldn't help but watch him, eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the contours of his arms, the way the fabric hugged his frame as he dressed. She found herself marveling at the fact that she knew what that body felt like against hers now, knew the warmth of his skin, the weight of him, the strength and tenderness he possessed in equal measure.

She pushed the thoughts away and rose from the bed. Ansel turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. There was a brief moment between them. Then, as if breaking a spell, Ansel looked away and began to pull on his boots.

"I'll... see you in an hour?" he asked, standing.

"...Yes," Claudia answered, and the tightness in her chest eased a little. "An hour."

Some part of them knew that he would be in her bed the following morning, too.

Of late, she began allowing herself to think of Klaus.

Once, not so long ago, the mere thought of him had felt like a knife twisting in her stomach.

His name, his face—just the memory of his voice whispering tender words to her in the quiet of their home—had overwhelmed her with such a profound, suffocating guilt that it left her feeling ill.

But she could not keep flinching away from it.

Klaus did not deserve to be an afterthought, discarded and forgotten like some distant dream.

So she forced herself to face it.

She sat at her desk, hands hovering over a stack of unopened letters. The parchment was crisp, the ink neatly penned in Klaus's careful hand, carrying words written for her and her alone.

She unfolded the first letter with slow, deliberate motions, fingers trembling slightly as she traced his handwriting.

"My dearest Claudia," the letter began, as always.

"The days stretch long in your absence. I find myself reaching for you in the early hours of the morning, only to wake to an empty bed. It is a strange thing—this distance between us. But I know it is necessary. I know you are where you must be, doing what you were meant to do. And I will endure it, as I have always endured. Because when you return, when we are together again, the joy will be all the greater for the pain we have borne. I love you, Claudia. Always."

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

She read on.

"I miss the sound of your voice in the mornings. I miss the way your presence fills a room. It has been quieter without you here, my love. But I find solace in knowing that you are safe. I hope you are keeping warm. I hope you are not pushing yourself too hard. You have always been so strong, my Claudia—but even the strongest of us must rest."

More gentle reassurances. More reminders of his quiet, unwavering devotion. Of how much he missed her. Of how much he loved her. Just a handful of days ago, these words would have shattered her. Would have sent her fleeing from the desk, bile rising in her throat.

But now… now the guilt was different. It still remained, like an open wound. But it no longer tore through her like before. Perhaps it was because she had simply grown numb to it.

Or perhaps—perhaps it was because of him.

Because now, when she thought of Klaus, Ansel lingered in her thoughts as well.

She closed her eyes, gripping the edges of the letter tightly.

Klaus had always been a delicate man—frail in body, but sharp in mind. A scholar, a poet, a thinker. He was not made for battle, nor did he desire it. His kindness was soft, his hands uncalloused, his touch always light, reverent, as if afraid she might break.

He'd been angry as a child. Jealous, resentful of her how his father had taken her under his wing. But he'd changed. The anger had burnt away years ago, leaving behind a deep, enduring affection. Since the day they discovered their love for each other, he had never raised his voice at her. Never once sought to challenge her, only to understand her.

She had loved him for that.

I still love you for that.

And yet…

Ansel was different. He was taller than her, where Klaus was somewhat short. Broader. Stronger. Where Klaus's hands had been smooth and unmarked, Ansel's were rough, calloused from years as a soldier, training, fighting, wielding a sword. His touch—when she thought of it—was firm, grounding, real in a way that should not make her stomach twist with something other than shame.

Ansel was fire. Where Klaus had only ever warmed her, Ansel burned.

Where Klaus had yielded, Ansel had pushed back. He had challenged her. Defied her. He had stood his ground, unyielding, unafraid of her sharp words and cutting looks.

He looked at her as no one ever had before.

He—

"…Stop it."

The words slipped out, hard and breathless. Claudia inhaled sharply, dropping the letter as she pushed back from her desk, hands rising to her face. "Just... Just stop."

What was she doing? Why... why was she comparing them?

Why was she looking for differences when she should have been focusing on what she had done? She had betrayed her husband. And still, she kept thinking about him.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, willing herself to block it all out.

To block him out.

To remember only Klaus.

She reached for another letter, determined to read it, to force herself to remember why she should feel guilty. But no matter how hard she tried, the thoughts never left her.