margaretofwales-archive

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💐 give a gift (Jakey - give the man what he wants!!)

25 December 2020Caerdydd Castle

“Oh hush,” she admonished softly, with no real malice in her tone. Bare feet padded across the wide-planked hardwood, her steps muffled as she reached another of the ten-odd persian rugs scattered around her private apartment. It was early, barely dawn, and she’d returned from a freezing courtyard -- and was well and ready to be finished with that routine.

Looking down, she smiled at the wiggling puppy in her arms. “All right, all right,” Malle agreed, speaking in a soft, hushed tone, as though that would keep the animal from barking and waking the slumbering man in the next room. “Let’s go to bed.”

But he whined when she tucked him in his crate, safely hidden in a warm corner of her study. Malle felt the cold in her legs and her fingertips, tiredness everywhere else. She sighed, and scooped him up again. “Come on, then.”

The door to their bedroom swung open noiselessly, but the puppy yelped almost immediately at the newfound space. Malle grinned, bashful, as Jacob squinted up at her. “Hi.”

A beat. The puppy was wriggling in her arms, then, its tail wagging at the sight of a new companion. Her eyebrows lifted as she offered it to her husband.

“...Merry Christmas.”

@captaingraves

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✋ brush fingers/hold hands (from charlie)

18 August 2019Caerdydd, Wales

The crowd was building in slow vibrations, voices clamoring outside the double doors. She knew it would come to this, the well-dressed citizens all lining up to see her ascend to the throne. She knew it would be this day, and she’d worked for it so long that she almost wanted it. But sitting there, in her dressing room high above the rest of the castle, Malle felt nothing but nerves.

She was dressed in a slip and little else, the trimmings of her outfit waiting for her in the next antechamber. It was early, still. There was time for tea, Peter assured her. She held the cup, finely formed and gilded, in one hand. In the other, her fingers laced tightly around Charlie’s. She wanted to say something, anything. Nothing came to mind.

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🧥 be found wearing your muse’s sweater/coat/article of clothing (from Sacha)

March 2019THE ISLANDSummit, Day 3

The morning dawned bright and irritatingly hot, so reminiscent of her time in captivity. Malle yawned and stretched, staring out the window of another boat that was not her own. Her head hurt. Too much drinking.

Passing the room filled with slumbering bodies, she reached for a pair of sunglasses strewn on the countertop. Her skirt was rumpled, but intact, and she found her heels stacked neatly near the door. A motion to a guard, and the drawbridge began to lower. She turned with her hand on the door.

“Oh, hi.”

They looked ridiculous, the angular frames on her round face.

“Mind if I borrow these?”

@thecaptainlawrence (but Sacha!)

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🖐 tracing fingers against your muse’ skin or over a scar/other (from alex)

She studied him coldly, almost clinically in the way that the dark brown eyes seemed to harden to nearly-black. Her fingertips touched him as a show of dominance, because she could, because they were in public, because he didn’t frighten her any longer. A long, tracing touch from the highest point of his cheekbone, tracing a scar down his neck.

Malle clucked her tongue softly, that same, casual sweetness coming onto her features again. “You don’t belong here,” she murmured amidst the crowd of royals. She’d missed Aaron’s coronation, still managed to show up for Sacha’s wedding. This was somewhere in between: formal, but lacking the security of a coronation and the gaiety of a wedding. Her hand dropped to her side. “You know that.”

@thecaptainlawrence

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Send in an icon for my muse to:

🎀 Play with your muse’s hair

✋ brush fingers/hold hands

👉 Gently poke or prod yours

💐 give a gift

🎎 sit close enough to brush knees/lean against yours

🛌 take a nap with yours

🖐 tracing fingers against your muse’ skin or over a scar/other

🍫 quietly hand over a treat/food item

☺ stroke your muse’s cheek/face

🧥 be found wearing your muse’s sweater/coat/article of clothing

✨+ add your own

🐱 to reverse

[margaretofwales-archive]

keyes-tothecrown‌:

It wasn’t a surprise to hear Jacob had gone off the grid so to speak. Nor was it his business to push when Malle shut the topic down quick. He filed it away– Jacob wouldn’t be found if he didn’t want to, but it wouldn’t stop Maddox in trying to track him down. 

After a thank you and nod to Malle, he moved on. “You have the ideas. But I do have a service that perhaps down the road might be of interest to you.” 

How to make a long story short? Prison gave him the time to research. Roman’s money and Early Cleary’s know how in shipping were helping him get started. Wales wasn’t the most difficult market to break into but clans were woven into the fabric of the shipping industry and didn’t particularly care for outsiders. 

“After my time in prison I wanted a change. I’ve started a small import/export company. Being queen and an economics major I won’t bore you with details you already know, such as why Wales presents such opportunity for a small company like mine.” 

He took a sip of his drink. “I’m also working with people I’ve known a very long time. Before I went to work for Roman. People I can trust.” Since he sure as shit couldn’t trust his former pirate boss. 

“One of which is a very gifted tech geek.” Aka - a fucking brilliant hacker. And a friendly ex, as it turned out. “He’s been keen on researching our clients as well as competitors. Oh, what’s the word for it… doing a bit of oppositional research.” 

Because Maddox had few clients so far and others were willing to pay for more under the table jobs currently. 

She had conversations like this all the time, now. It was strange; sitting across from Maddox Keyes made the island come back to her in full-force. Most of the time, she managed to consider it a bad daydream. 

Amidst the palm trees and white sand, she’d longed for connection. Conversation. Something more than the endless monotony of days spent at the endless buffet, drinking away the sunsets with cheap vodka and coconut water. She’d longed for intellect beyond what the half-inbred sons and daughters of Scandinavia and South America could give her, their addled minds far more preoccupied with their own affairs than the world at large. That made her sound judgmental; she didn’t mean for it. She just grew crazy, wasting away there. The sight of the navy ships could have made her weep in relief, had she not --

Malle shook her head, a small, pink blush suffusing in the highest points of her cheeks. He’d been speaking, and she wasn’t listening. She caught the end of it.

“Trust,” Malle murmured, catching the emphasis and holding onto it. Her eyebrows went high at the term tech geek.

Her head tilted, curiosity piqued. “Oppositional research?” She returned to him. “Would you say that is more of a competitive comparison, or an audit of the market landscape?”

Geek, it seemed, extended beyond technology. Malle shook her head, batting her question away.

“Research on whom?”

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[margaretofwales-archive]

thecaptainlawrence‌:

– THE SUMMIT. sacha & malle @margaretofwales

He walked down the wooden docks as if the entire island belonged to him. An arrogant strut, the corner of his lips lifted in a playful smile. His calm expression doing nothing to hide the storm raging in his eyes. Rachael stood behind him by the ship, her arms folded tightly across her chest and a hard look on her face as she remained behind as per the prince’s wishes. He had almost refused to go to the summit. He had almost refused to go back. And then Sacha had looked at Rachael, looked from her to his parents and to the other officials in the room. 

‘‘I’ll go, if, I go alone. Everyone else remains behind.’‘ 

There had been arguments: his mother had cried more than once, his father had stormed out of the room more than once, his new bride Camila Fernandez-La Tremoille sat in silent fear. But Sacha had remained firm. He would go alone or he would not go at all. And finally, eventually, it had been agreed. Sacha would be accompanied to the island, but his escort would remain on the ship and that was final.

And so Sacha once again, set foot back on the island. His feet stepped off the wood, landing in the sand where he came to a stop and smiled at the woman before him. 

‘‘Malle.’‘

Whatever it is, it must be linen.

She didn’t want to wear cotton on the island, as strange and peculiar as that was. It felt too much like her captivity, which felt like a lifetime ago. Linen would still be light, would still breathe. Would let her move and change, and feel different from that woman. And she was different.

Margaret -- the crown princess and heir presumptive -- stepped off her boat and watched for a moment as the drawbridge was pulled back, and the vessel returned to the harbor. They’d sent it down weeks ago, navigating a narrow trail through warm waters, to ensure that a Welsh boat would await her in Fiji. Margaret -- Malle -- herself, flew. Willingly boarded an aircraft, left her home, and went back to --

“Prince Sacha.”

It was still drilled into her, the formality. Malle had lived as an underling on the island, someone inconsequential. Not an heir, and not even a princess of a major country. And a woman. It was exhausting, that that was still a limitation, but she felt it. Or perhaps she was simply well-bred.

She’d been watching the boats arrive, her own staff -- just two, at the moment -- hovering behind her. Her ship was in the distance, near an outcropping of tropical forest, its white sails billowing in the sunny breeze. She looked up, squinting a little under her sunhat. 

And then she stepped forward and embraced him, tightly.

They weren’t close. They had no reason to be. They’d only met a scattered handful of times prior to the night of their rescue; him, bloodstained, her, not much better. She held him for a moment and then stepped back, a small, shy smile on her lips.

“I’m glad you’ve come.”

[margaretofwales-archive]

captaingraves‌:

The change in Malle should have struck Jacob like a punch in the gut, but instead he noticed her muted reactions and matched them up with whatever stresses awaited her. Logic dulled to their shared touch. Her hands encircled him, but instead of an answer he was met with silence. His eyes lifted to her face, and when it dawned on him her gaze had shifted away from the heavy lidded look of want, it was too late for him to realize where she’d gone. Malle pushed his hand away and immediately, Jacob dropped his arms at his sides.

“Malle.”

Fear gripped him and he belatedly recognized it as a chill down his spine, his heart racing painfully. Terrified at the thought that he’d made her feel in such a way. He felt like an idiot, harkening back to the strange form of freedom they’d been able to share on the island. Ignoring the obvious, their time together when she stayed in his villa could never exist in the same way here. “Don’t be sorry.” I’m sorry. How could he be so dense? Suddenly he made himself into another demand on her, and he was as bad as the clans. Bloody hell.

Jacob took her shoulders in his hands, soft, a far cry from the possessive grip a moment ago. He dipped his head forward, trying to look at her face. “It’s okay. You need to get ready. I’ll go back to bed.” He smiled, small, only aware then of how exhausted he was because his pulse flew out of control when he realized what he’d done. Jacob kissed her once without the heat of moments ago, just a reminder. “And I’ll be here when you get back.”

She felt like an idiot, but she smiled into his kiss, shy and bashful and ultimately grateful to him. He had never been anything but generous to her -- with his time, his home, his person, even. All of them were available to her, ready for her when she asked. She felt guilty, as the door softly shut behind him, that she couldn’t give him the same.

Malle dressed, taking a little longer than perhaps she should. She felt perilously close to tears at odd moments, and had to stop applying hand cream to dig her fingertips into her palms, had to bite her lip when she began to swipe on mascara, trying to calm her nerves. It shouldn’t have been so painful to have a nice morning, she thought. That was all they wanted. A nice morning, together.

She re-emerged in a subdued dress, navy, cut to elongate her shoulders and trimmed just below the knee. It was everything that her sundresses from the island weren’t: fitted, made of thick material and carefully tailored to her frame, and dark. Small earrings, her great grandmother’s sapphires, glittered in her ears.

“Hello.”

Malle sat on the edge of the bed, looking remarkably out of place. She fidgeted, a small smile at her lips, her eyes only managing to meet his for the barest of seconds. She wanted to apologize again, but she was trying not to do that so much. Instead she nodded, and leaned forward to kiss him softly.  “Thank you,” she murmured as she broke away. A beat. She smiled a little more. “Do I look alright?”

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captaingraves‌:

How had Jacob gone almost a year without touching her? He wouldn’t feel regret here, not now, not with Malle safe in his arms–under him, beside him, with him. Jacob wondered if he should have gone to Malle sooner after she returned home. With hindsight it seemed foolish that he had not, but at the time there were too many things in play–deaths, power struggles, her claim to the throne at play. Jacob had really convinced himself he had no place in all of that and no place in Malle’s life anymore, and he’d rather die lonely than move on from her. Now, here, it was time lost that they could have shared together.

What was important was that Wales was home, and she was there and safe. These were things Jacob couldn’t guarantee for her when they were together on the island. For a while, knowing Malle was at home was enough. She was so precious to him, though, he knew somewhere deep down just the knowledge of where she was wouldn’t satisfy him.

And I’ll do it.

Jacob swore to himself at the idea Malle was giving him that control. He craved it as much as he craved her, knowing how to spend each passing second and minute bringing Malle to a sweet ruin. One that was building up between tensed muscle of her thighs that he had no intention of stopping. “Hm.” Jacob hummed and he kept touching her, pretending he didn’t have an answer, except that he did.

“I want you to cancel all of your plans today and stay right here with me.” Jacob knew it was an impossibility but Malle had to know how much he wanted her, and how he desperately didn’t want to part even for a few hours. They’d spent the night together but it wasn’t enough– even with promises exchanged that they would have forever together. But right then he couldn’t bear the thought of letting Malle leave the bathroom much less the bedroom. Another grin, with bright eyes soaking up every change in expression, every breath from her heaving chest. “You won’t regret it, Malle.”

Why won’t you kiss me?

Confusion knit her brow, her lips slightly parted. He could touch her however he wanted, he knew that. And Malle was so glad to see him, so desperate for him not to leave, that she very nearly convinced herself nothing had changed between them. One hand on his shoulder, the other wrapped around his him, she shivered under his touch. Her fingertips dug into the soft flesh at his lower back.

Terror swept over her so quickly that for a moment, she didn’t recognize it. She stayed in the moment, her world distilled down to the stroking and brushing of his fingertips, the low timbre of his voice, the spark behind bright green eyes as he looked at her. So desperately did she want to stay there, where there was just Jacob and only Malle, where no one else existed or mattered. A shiver flushed the other way, down her spine, and she slowly lost all color.

I can’t. She wanted to. Wanted to give into him, to let him lead, to feel safe in the knowledge that he would take care of her if only she would submit. And she wanted that, too. Malle stared at him for a long moment, her expression soft. Her stomach felt full of lead, her fingers and hands and limbs made of ice. Oh, no.

All at once, she could see it: this is what it would always be, caught between Jacob and her role, forced to pick between them and let the other down. And she would, she would let them down. She would disappoint him so endlessly, and it would wear at him, bruise his pride. She wouldn’t be enough, couldn’t do both, couldn’t be enough--

A sigh choked in her mouth and she looked down, her hand releasing his shoulder to cover her lips. Malle shook her head, pushing his hand away. She couldn’t give him the day, or the next one, or the one after that. Not all of them. She couldn’t even steal an extra hour that morning. Her head hung, chin very nearly to her chest. Disappointment sloped her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

[margaretofwales-archive]

konigarenofgermany‌:

“He will turn up.” Aaron polished off the scotch and absently set his glass on the shelf above the headboard, finally settling in on his side next to Malle. A hand rested on her arm with a short rub meant to comfort. He’d done his best to push a particular pirate from his mind after going home, certain an island dalliance would burn up like the canteen on the island. But Maddox came to him anyway, even the thought of that night being caught by him on the balcony brought some heat to his cheeks. “When it’s safe, he’ll turn up. That is why we have to be firm tomorrow with our plan.”

Aaron hated the island and what it did to him, to the people he cared about. He almost lost the people most important to him, and he also almost lost himself. But then he thought about Malle, and how they likely would never have met were it not for their living quarters and having to do their own laundry.

“You should be ready if he does,” he mentioned softly, staring over the top of her head at the set of drawers built into the wall. “Get him some papers, maybe. I was reckless.” Hubris. Aaron should have known better that both him and Maddox would be reckless and cocky when it came to seeing each other. Maddox could easily meld into even the most high class events, looking and fitting the part of wealthy. And Aaron was a king who invited him into his palace, into his room. But it wasn’t enough, not when there were people in his own staff and family that wouldn’t hesitate to wipe piracy off the face of the earth.

“I do know exactly where Maddox Keyes is right now,” Aaron conceded, a moment of dark humor too good to pass up. Prison. Not destined for the gallows either, but Aaron had no control over what the Brits did with their prisoners. “I would not be surprised if your pirate was keeping tabs on you? As long as he does not do anything stupid he will not get caught.”

Something in her was wound so tightly, she could barely breathe. His hand was a small reassurance on her waist, his words filling the air while her own mouth twisted into a frown. Aaron spoke with the sort of confidence of someone meant to be a leader, of a boy who had been told he was chosen by God, or whatever higher power he believed in. Malle’s own confidence wavered. She didn’t have that luxury.

All at once, she wanted to stop. Needed it, couldn’t bear the thought any longer. She shut her eyes tightly to block out the words, desperate to talk of anything but this, to be anywhere but this. Her entire body felt tight, shoulders curling around her as something visceral broke, deep in her chest.

“I’m happy for you,” she managed, softly. A little robotically. He knew where Maddox was, exactly, right then. They had each other, he wasn’t alone. That was good. It only pressed into stark relief how alone she was, how worried and threatened and frightened she was. Malle exhaled softly, her breath warming the pillow.

“It’s late.” Dark eyes opened to stare dully at the wood of the wall opposite. “We should sleep.”

[margaretofwales-archive]

keyes-tothecrown‌:

“I would never doubt you have ideas.” 

The smile which slipped across his lips was small but genuine and lasted longer than usual. A polite insistence she knew what she was doing. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be meeting with a hapless fool, which described 99% of the royals on the island. 

By the conversations they had months ago Maddox knew how clever Malle was. Like a cat perched in an open window watching a bird and cooly waiting for it to land beside them. 

Maddox wasn’t versed in the intricacies of running a country or even royal intrigue as the woman across the table was. Or manners, apparently. He nodded. “I’m sorry, yes I’d love a drink. What would you recommend here?” 

After drinks were sorted: “How is Jacob?” The question was said not in the way it would have been months ago. As Maddox sussed out a princess among pirate villas with prominent dimples lingering from the night before. He had nothing better to do back then. 

“I’m as keen as I’m sure you are to walk down memory lane.” Which is to say he’d prefer to voluntarily leap into a pool of molten lava than to do so. “That family never spoke to me during my entire tenure with them, about 8 years. Even my own captain.” She knew what family. And it had been uncomfortable. Weird. Really weird. “Except Jacob. He listened to a lot of my bullshit and I never quite had the chance in the end to thank him for that.”

The time away had changed her, but nothing like the scant few months since her return. Malle’s brand of survival required careful planning, a shrewd eye on her goals, the careful one-two step of diplomacy and democracy, encapsulated in wide, brown eyes and a shy smile. There wasn’t any place for that, leading a country. It required poise, circumstance. Force, at times, and she’d begun to consider the ramifications of that. She was out of her element, treading water. Hoping for the best.

How is Jacob?

She froze, smile still fixed. Only the slightest tightening of her joints, the curling of her fingers against her palms, the way her shoulders tightened into a line just a little tighter, just a little smaller. Mercifully, he spoke.

Malle listened only halfway, nodding where it seemed polite. Her gaze fixed upon his lips, the words formed never reaching her ears. How would she know? She wasn’t to know. They weren’t like that, they didn’t matter. He was -- and she was --

A final, polite nod, only the barest smile offered to the server as a drink appeared for her companion.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her words had the finality of a book snapping shut.

“You had ideas, you said?” She was agitated, a little, and upset, though mostly at herself. Malle looked at him. “I’d be interested in hearing them.”

[margaretofwales-archive]

POLITICS IN WALES Though a close neighbor to England, Wales remains a sheltered country, restricted geographically by mountains and ocean, and politically by a tightly-controlled set of influential clans. The country is ruled by divine right through the House of Dafydd (commonly Davies) handed down from ruler to eldest child through abdication, retirement, or death.

The monarchy is advised by a council of six Lords. Selection of the Lords happens through a vote upon the abdication, retirement, or death of a current Lord. Per the Voting Act of 1229, all landowners in Wales are able to cast a vote during this time. Voter turnout is typically low, regrettably, as each seat on the Council has been allocated to one of the six remaining clans for hundreds of years. An upset is nearly unfathomable.

But it almost happened recently. The sudden death of King Caradoc coincided with the abduction of his two remaining children, Prince Gideon and Princess Isolde Malle. With no clear heir, the lesser house of Clan Dafydd and Clan Sayer volleyed for the crown. Public support leaned toward Emrys Sayer, a well-known Brigadier in the Royal National Army, and a staunch supporter of expanded infrastructure and voting rights. Little was known of, or hoped for, the rescue mission off the coast of Fiji.

The rescue and subsequent return of Princess Isolde Malle stopped these efforts in their tracks. The Princess, a relative unknown in Welsh politics, returned to a divided country in the midst of a discourse about national priorities, individual rights and freedoms, the role of Wales on the global stage, and education reform. Six days after her return, Princess Isolde Malle was confirmed as Head of the Commonwealth.

Many of the topics brought to light during the question of power still remain in the press today. Most notably, voter reform has put pressure on some of the clans to address how they distribute power, making way for new voices. Teachers in Snowdonia threatened to strike twice in 2018, insisting that the crumbling of the schools they taught in was only outmatched by the crumbling of their students’ resolve to attend at all. And worry still lingers about the unsolved threat of the pirates.

While public opinion of Queen Margaret is quite favorable, her coronation was delayed nearly nine months in order to gather the necessary votes in the Council. This sort of a delay is unheard of, and fissures in the clan structure have been questioned more than once. Much remains to be seen of the new Queen, figuratively and literally, as her public appearances are highly scheduled and guarded.

October 2019.

@keyes-tothecrown @captaingraves

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captaingraves‌:

An hour was more than enough to make up for lost time and the promise of later only spurred him on in the present. He caught Malle looking at their reflection, the remnants of a smile parting her lips. Jacob found himself distracted by the look on her face, the gentle lift in her brow, the heavy, heated gaze–he only registered she had reached around to remove his boxers after it happened. 

Jacob didn’t answer at first, lifting his head to meet her lips in an open mouthed kissed, a little sloppy and very greedy. As they kissed, Jacob only felt the rush of desire for her rise faster than the tide, his hands still firm against her chest and waist. 

He thought distantly about how the queen was needed elsewhere, and how important it was for her to go when the time came. And yet Malle gave in to him, and this moment, and she allowed him to hold her and kiss her and give express permission for him to–Jacob hummed softly and broke off the kiss. He stepped back just enough to turn Malle around and pull her back into him. 

Malle still stood like a queen and made demands like a queen. Because she was one. But Jacob could sense under the fragile surface a woman who desperately wanted to let go, and he’d make her do that, and catch her, too. “Wall,” he repeated, not needing to be told twice. He kissed her again, a hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed his weight forward, walking her back up against the wall between the sink and the door. Realizing he’d left the door cracked, he took a moment to close it with his foot.

As he shifted his body against hers, Jacob felt dazed already by Malle’s effect on him. How badly he wanted to unleash the very tightly controlled desire for her, reigned in by her stature and circumstance. His hand dipped between her thighs and he parted their lips just enough to watch as he began to touch her. “What happens if you’re late?” he asked. Teasing. Maybe. Maybe not. The smirk could have gone either way, playful or wicked. “What if I want to take you to bed after this?”

She thought it was funny that he shut the door. This wasn’t the island, or some boarding school, or even some communal student housing where people mingled around. These were her quarters, held and locked, in her castle, fortified by guards, stone walls three feet thick, and aerial drone surveillance, in the capital city of the country that she, alone, ruled.

And for perhaps the third time since she’d taken the throne, nearly eighteen months ago, the thought excited her.

It was the way he looked at her, she thought. Reverent, awestruck. Hungry not just for her body, the curves and hollows it made, but for her. It was how she looked at him, too, where the unkempt mess of his beard and the scars and the tattoos stretched across his skin all faded away, leaving only Jacob, kind and fierce and loving, before her.

Malle moaned softly as he pulled away, a wrinkle in her nose in displeasure. 

"No--”

She hadn’t been listening, felt a little wary at the smirk. His hand was a distraction, her thighs tense in expectation. She held back, though, pressing her lips together to regain her composure. Didn’t want to be too eager. A rosiness flushed her cheeks in apology. Sorry. That was rude.

Malle shook her head slowly, strands of hair falling around her cheeks. Some stuck, her skin still damp, drawing against the curve of her neck. “You know what this is,” she chided a little, wanting desperately to kiss him and still managing to find the smallest bit of restraint. She swallowed. “You tell me what you want,” dark eyes hinged on his, and she nodded, just once. “And I’ll do it.”

[margaretofwales-archive]

captaingraves‌:

Time for what. A low snort with eyes pressed shut, his mouth split open in a grin. Jacob didn’t answer, dropping one of his hands deliberately over Malle’s hip and coming to rest on the bare skin of her thigh. He didn’t stay long there, rising under the towel in a slow crawl up and over her hip bone. Her skin was warm under his hand and blossomed with goosebumps. A bit of pressure applied to seal her hips against his as she pressed into him. The answer to her query was more than obvious to her now.

Malle kissed him in that way she did, without her lips parted or her tongue playing over his, but kissing so thoroughly with pliable and plump lips that Jacob knew her every intention just in the half second look she gave when they parted. Amusement vanished from his eyes for a darker desire as she brought his fingers to her lips and spoke.

Jacob made a low hum in thought as the hand beneath her towel continued up, peeling open the towel as he reached her stomach and the swell of her chest. He gently moved his hands from hers to find the seam under her arm, parting the towel and letting it drop to the floor. He peered down at her, his eyes darting between the view from the reflection and the real thing beneath him.

“Like this. So I can kiss you all over.” Jacob liked the way her hair was pulled up high on her head. She used to do that when she showered at his villa to keep it from getting wet. It reminded him of the nicer times spent together there, but he was rather intent on memorizing Malle the way she was here in her own home. His hand pressed against her stomach while the other wrapped up under her arm and across her torso, lying flat against the top of her chest. He kissed the top of her shoulder and licked and bit above her collarbone.

It came as a surprise, but she was willing -- not just willing, eager -- to be loved on a bit. Malle turned her head, shutting her eyes and nesting her chin against her shoulder, a shiver chasing down her spine as his lips touched her skin. A gasp escaped at the touch of teeth, steam and damp and the soft trace of his cologne, like firewood, crystalizing in that one, fine point of teeth and soft skin.

So I can kiss you all over. She smiled, fleetingly. She knew he was good for it. It had been his singular fixation since they met, his hands framing her hips and hoisting her onto countertops, onto tables. Against walls, with her hair tumbling around them. His movements always gained speed but never lost their intention. Hers did. Under his hands, she fell apart.

She wanted to turn and she wanted to stay, so curious at the mirror image playing out before her. She saw her own hand travel, reaching behind her, and felt the tug and strain of a waistband under her fingertips. It was only a flicker in the mirror, a flash of dark fabric as it fell from his hips, landed under their feet. The heat radiating from him was enough to make the room feel cold.

Her hand remained against his hip, fingers pressing into the soft skin there. Fingernails dug lightly as he licked against the curve of her neck. She shuddered. “Wall now.” Malle swallowed, the motion rippling against her neck in the diffused light. “Bed tonight.”

Dark eyes fastened to his in the mirror, earnest. 

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infantacardoza‌:

There was a pause.

“Visiting.” Coming home. Almost. For months she had roamed Europe, and the time away made this villa feel as distant to her as Portugal. There was a piece of her still here somewhere, but this was no longer a home to her either. She glanced around the room. She walked over to the locker where Jacob had once kept his most useful tools.

“My papai wishes to learn everything about this island before he knows what choices he will make in this summit. He asks me to show him. I cannot take him to the canteen because it is gone. I show him the big house, and I show him the villa,” she explained. Those were the only places Lecia could stomach. She could not bring herself to lead the entourage around the burned down villas on the other side of the island, and she had not breathed a word about the dungeons.

“And you?”

The last time she’d seen Lecia of Portugal, the princess had shoved a machete into her hands and wished her luck. Malle thought about the other woman often; if there could be such a thing as friends on the island, Lecia was certainly her best. She nodded, slowly. Visiting. The smallest laugh escaped.

Malle nodded, slowly. They were different, Lecia and she. She’d known that all along. Lecia was headstrong, fearless, demanding of what she wanted and those she loved. Malle was hesitant, put a little too much thought into it. Her breath caught for a moment, something clenching deep in her chest. It shouldn’t have bothered her so: it was just a house. 

“I don’t know.”

She shook her head and answered honestly, her eyes a little red. Malle turned away, walking over to the kitchen. The mugs still sat, her own favorite wedged on the lower right-hand side. There was tea in the navy blue jar. 

I miss him.

Clearing her throat, Malle caught some of her good nature again, placing a polite smile on her lips. “Um. Sorry.” She waved a hand, warding questions off. A little embarrassed. “Do you --” Hm.

“I’m going to make some tea.”

[margaretofwales-archive]

captaingraves‌:

The bathroom was hot and steamy, the scent of soap and shampoo still lingering in the air. Rose and lavender, a bit of spice, not the too clean basic soap Malle used on the island. The towel around Malle was plush but Jacob still had an imagination and memory enough to know her every curve beneath his arms. He held her tightly, possessively, his mind far away from the chaste intention of a brief kiss good morning.

His eyes caught the blush lifted from her neck to her face, lifting his gaze to meet hers in the mirror. She looked small in his arms, trapped under his shoulders, her posture straight but acquiesced and secure in his touch. Jacob knew her to be meek on a small handful of occasions, never mistaken for her overall character. She melted into him because she was exactly where she wanted to be.

“An hour,” Jacob murmured, knowing his lips brushed against the space under her ear, and that his unshaven face must tickle her sensitive neck. He’d told her once that if he started kissing her, he wouldn’t stop. Jacob was just about there. “More than enough time.” He loosened his arms only as a way to let her move if she wanted to, resting his hands lightly at her waist and placing another kiss on the point of her jaw, then on her cheek.

“Time for what?” She asked, her voice soft on the damp air. Malle’s face -- wide, brown eyes, lips pale against the rosiness of her skin -- was the picture of innocence, save for a curl playing at the bottom of her lip. Her own body might not have betrayed her as readily as his, but she knew.

Almost in answer, her hips pushed back against him. Malle smiled.

Her hair was dry, piled at the top of her head in a little ponytail. Tendrils floated down, growing damp against her cheeks in the steam. There was something exciting about watching them in the mirror, knowing he was there, behind her, and getting to watch it all the same. She felt at once painfully present -- and detached.

“Hmm.” Her reflection cocked her head back, catching the edge of his lips in a light kiss. There wasn’t anything chaste about it, brief though it was. She broke away. Watching him, her gaze traced the lines of his arms, his shoulders. The knotted, bruised ridges of his hands, still firm against her. Malle reached for one, lifting it to her lips. She kissed his fingertips. “How would you spend it?”